Roping the Marshal: A Sweet Contemporary Cowboy Romance (Kester Ranch Cowboys Book 2)

by Tori Kayson

  ****

  Summer flashed a frightened look his way and scurried down the porch steps, shielding Logan. She obviously didn’t want him anywhere near her son. But why not? Hadn’t he kept a watchful eye on the tireless cowboy all evening?

  He bit back the offer to help, folded arms over his chest, and nudged a shoulder against the doorframe.

  What was her deal? Curious, he watched Summer load Logan into the car seat. Her movements seemed stiff. Almost angry. Not with the boy, but for the boy. And he smelled fear. Odd.

  Hmmm. As if he needed another reason to check her out.

  Finally, she glanced back at him. Her face pinched with fear…or relief? Whatever, she masked it with firm resolve. She slammed Logan’s door and rounded the car, her sandals barely touching the ground. Her blonde head disappeared inside the dark car, and seconds later, she stomped on the accelerator. The car hurled down the driveway, leaving silence in its wake.

  He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, staring at the bright red taillights. Had he failed a test somehow? What happened? One minute Summer gave off warm, inviting vibes. The next, she turned ice cold, prickly as a porcupine and couldn’t get off the ranch property fast enough.

  “The tiny terror’s gone?” A voice sounded behind him, husky from sleep.

  Maverick angled around, his arm still lodged against the cooling doorframe, his vision still filled with the blonde hair and freckled cheeks. “Yeah.” One last look, but the taillights disappeared, swallowed up by the dark Texas night.

  “Better rest up, Mav. They’ll be back tomorrow.” Slade rolled his eyes.

  A seed of hope uncurled, springing to life in his gut. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. You know Mom. Thinks she has to feed the entire population of Coldwater Ridge. It’s really a good thing her and Kierra started the business. Now, at least, she gets paid for most of her labor.”

  Fargo would probably disagree, but Slade was right. Their mother always had been a softie, inviting newcomers and single folks around town into their home.

  “They have a standing invitation to Sunday dinners, almost like they’re family. They’ll probably be here all afternoon.” Slade didn’t sound thrilled. Even yawned.

  Unlike him. He couldn’t deny the jolt of joy that sparked through his limbs, but his brother didn’t need to know that. “Oh, she mentioned she’d catch up with you later.”

  “She’s always good for the bucks. Just wish the kid wasn’t so much work.” Slade snorted.

  Maverick chuckled.

  “I’m glad you’re home, Mav. G’night.” His younger brother turned and headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

  “Thanks, Slade. Good night.” Maverick stepped out on the porch and took a long whiff of the violet and vanilla blend Summer left behind.

  He had a month and a half of medical leave. It might take every day of those six weeks to figure out what frightened this woman, but he planned to do just that.

  What else did he have to do?

  ****

  Summer nudged the screen door open with the tip of her shoe. Her gaze skittered to the grill where she’d last seen Maverick flipping burgers while Logan played on the grass nearby.

  Now, the grill lid was closed, and her son? Gone.

  She sucked in a breath, her body’s natural inclination where her son was concerned. Thankfully, all the Kesters looked out for Logan. She shouldn’t worry. But it only took one second for Logan’s curious nature to take over.

  She squinted against the late afternoon sunny haze and scanned the property.

  There! On the pool deck again. Two heads bent over the toy horses scattered across the surface of the patio table, their chairs pulled close together. Logan’s face tilted up toward the man as he babbled on about something.

  She squeezed out the breath she’d been holding. Her son was safe. For the moment.

  Maverick’s muscled legs stretched out forever in front of him, crossed at the boots. His Stetson-covered head nodded at Logan. He scooped up a plastic cowboy and settled him on a black horse then held it up.

  Logan reached for it. A giant smile brightened his face as the miniature figurine exchanged hands.

  Safe? Maybe in the physical sense, but not so much where his fragile, too-trusting, little boy heart was concerned. For once, though, he wasn’t in imminent danger. Or looking for trouble.

  She sighed and unloaded the potato salad next to the platter of hamburgers. She folded her arms and stared at the pair.

  “It could be worse,” Kierra said.

  She pivoted and glared at her best friend.

  Kierra only smiled. Her almost coal black eyes glittered with kindness and understanding. Dark brows hiked high on her smooth forehead. She set the heavy-duty paper plates on the table and splayed her palms in the air. “I’m just saying. It could.”

  Summer stole another quick glance at her son, who’d abandoned the chair and climbed into Maverick’s lap. Shaking her head, she frowned at the pint-sized traitor. She huffed out a sigh and focused on Kierra again. “How exactly?”

  “Maverick’s my older brother. He’s just as hard working and kind as Fargo. Just because he’s not the—” Kierra’s voice faded abruptly. She hunched over the table, reorganizing the plastic utensils in the basket. Lips pressed together in a firm line. Deep furrows bunched her brow.

  What the heck? Did her friend think she could leave her hanging like that?

  “Because he’s not the ‘what’?” she prodded. “Cowboy? Father material? In any of the gazillion other professions out there besides law enforcement?”

  Kierra shook her head, so slight Summer almost missed it. Her gaze darted beyond Summer, and then dropped back to the plastic ware.

  “Logan, it sounds like we might have stumbled upon an interesting conversation.” A masculine voice, rich with amusement, drifted over her shoulder.

  Uh oh. She rolled her eyes skyward, silently cursing her big mouth. She should have known Kierra was trying to warn her. Her friend wouldn’t intentionally shove her under the bus. She pivoted and…caught her breath.

  Her baby’s head nestled against the marshal’s chest as if he were made to fit, his chubby fingers clutching the man’s shirt as if he meant to stay there forever. A hat bigger than Texas covered most of the boy’s face.

  And, sheesh, wasn’t the man sporting a few fractured ribs? Sure couldn’t tell that he wasn’t in top physical form, with only one muscled arm holding her son in place as if he weighed next to nothing.

  She exhaled, slow and quiet.

  “Look, mama. A cowboy hat.” Logan tugged the Stetson up so that she could make out two rows of pearly whites and the delight puffing out his cherubic cheeks.

  “I can see that. It looks mighty good on you, handsome boy.”

  He smiled bigger. The hat wobbled and knocked into Maverick’s arm.

  Maverick saved it from tottering to the ground and gave it a firm tap on Logan’s head.

  “Mav gave it to me.”

  Her gaze whipped to the marshal’s honey colored hair. “Isn’t that your hat?”

  “Not now. Cowboy here needed a hat.”

  Cowboy. The nickname, and the way the word rolled off his tongue, his tender smile as he gazed down at her son, implied a relationship, a familiarity that Logan didn’t even share with his own father.

  A sense of failure and a giant dose of regret rose up to choke her.

  “Time to eat.” Rebekah sailed through the back door, juggling a pitcher of iced tea and an apple pie. Slade followed, carrying another pie.

  Maverick sniffed. “Mmm. Which is your favorite, cowboy? Peach or apple pie?”

  “Peach!” Logan yelled and knocked the hat off balance again.

  Maverick chuckled, something hearty and well-used, as if the man never had a problem finding humor in every circumstance life dished out. How could that be when he worked in law enforcement? Hmmm. So opposite from her ex-husband.

  Whenever she’d complained to Judd abo
ut his bad moods, especially around Logan, he responded with a snarl. Muttered something about wading through the angry, ugly cesspools of people’s lives, the dark holes they never wanted anybody to see, and to cut him some slack. Claimed it was hard to work up a smile or play. And intimacy? He usually brushed her hand away.

  With comments and behavior like that, she never understood why he liked his job so much.

  Or why he bothered coming home.

  “How many people are you expecting for dinner, Mom?” Maverick asked, interrupting her thoughts. His gaze rolled across the table loaded with platters and bowls.

  “Just us tonight.”

  “Just us? There’s enough here to feed all of Coldwater Ridge.” Maverick shot a sly look at Slade and winked. He lowered Logan to the ground, keeping his hands around her little fella until boots touched the grass. Then, he scooted back a chair and waited for Logan to crawl up by himself.

  Summer couldn’t help but stare, his gentle empowering treatment of her son so different, so at-odds with her ex-husband’s casual, indifferent attitude. When firm fingers tapped her chin a couple times to lift it back into place, she startled.

  Kierra. And the rat was smirking.

  “You know how Mom is. She doesn’t want anybody to leave the table hungry. That’s why she’s so good at this business, and why she’ll help us land that prime real estate on the cover of The Amazing West magazine.” Kierra’s words came out on a sigh. Kierra had one goal in life, recognition of the ranch as a premier destination spot. She had made that clear from the very first photo gig she’d contracted with Summer to shoot.

  Summer aimed to help the Kester’s snag that cover feature. Not just because that meant more business for her, but also because Kierra had befriended her when she was lonely and new to the area. And Mrs. Kester was all about family and hospitality and showering love. The gracious hostess made the ranch a spot where clients would want to return year after year.

  “Well, I’m all for that, but all this chit chat means we’re not eating.” Slade pulled out a chair and plopped down across from Logan. “Where’s Fargo and his brood? Hope you don’t plan to wait for all of them to mosey on over.”

  “No. They’re not coming tonight. Darby had a conflicting event at the university.” Rebekah pulled out a chair and sat. “Phew. Feels good to sit and take a load off.”

  Kierra settled in at the table, too.

  The only two remaining spots were next to each other. Summer glared at her friend, but Kierra avoided her pointed daggers.

  “Sit here, Mav.” Logan patted the chair next to him. The traitor!

  “Sure, cowboy.” Maverick scooted the other chair out for her. His fingertips lingered on the chair as he waited for her to sit. Golden brows arched high over silver eyes. His cheeks rounded as if he enjoyed her discomfort.

  She let out a tiny huff and plopped down on the seat. Ignored the warm fingers that grazed her shoulder. Blinked against the spicy blend of woods and outdoors that drifted over her.

  He leaned in close. His breath tickled her neck, shooting spikes of awareness to dance along her arms. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  How long was he home? Six weeks?

  Bad? It would be six weeks of torture!

  ****

  Heaven! If Summer and Logan came around the ranch often, the next six weeks would be a slice of heaven!

  Things were looking up. Maybe this forced medical leave might not be so bad after all.

  Maverick took a long whiff of the pajama clad boy nestled against his chest, his brown hair damp from the bath his mother had given him after he’d dumped a pile of dirt over his head. Nothing beat the fresh scent of powder and…oranges?

  He glanced down at the sleeping boy. Logan’s angelic face tilted upward, belying the wild child that hid within.

  Holding him felt right, as comfortable as the warm Texas air kissing his skin. As homey as being back on the ranch, surrounded by his family.

  “Thought you might need this, but it looks like you have things under control.” Summer held out a mug. Steam coiled from the top.

  “You thought right. On both counts.” He stifled the wince when he shifted the boy to his side and set the storybook on the patio table. Soft slender fingers grazed his, her light touch searing his skin more than the heat from the cup.

  He sipped, eyeing her over the rim of the mug as she settled into the Adirondack chair next to him. She’d tugged her hair from the clip that had held it up earlier, and now long blonde locks cascaded over a jade colored shirt of a flimsy material that hugged her curves in all the right places. Blue eyes, so clear and deep, inviting, mirrored the pool water that sparkled in the waning evening light.

  “I can’t believe he finally conked out.” She sipped from her cup. “Twice now he’s fallen asleep in your arms.”

  Her smile, the way her gaze dropped to his chest and her tongue snuck out to moisten her bottom lip, ignited ripples of desire. A slow burn worked its way up from his sock-covered toes.

  “How do you do it?” His voice came out husky, but that couldn’t be helped. Especially when she stretched those never-ending legs out in front of her and cherry red toenails peeked at him from open-toed sandals. And definitely not when Logan’s pudgy hand curled around his neck, sparking wishes of more evenings like this to creep into his gut.

  “Do what?” Cinnamon colored brows lifted, and her head slanted to study him. She flicked a curtain of hair away from her face.

  That was better. Now he could catch her reaction unhindered. Still, it didn’t squelch the urge to reach over and finger the tips, to see if those strands were as luxurious as they looked.

  “Keep up with him.” Alone, he wanted to add, but didn’t. His family had clued him in on her marital status, but he’d rather hear it from her. Maybe she’d open up tonight.

  Her gaze landed back on his chest, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t him she drooled over. No, judging by the love shining from her face, she only had eyes for her son. He tamped down the envy that surged. If Logan was his son, he’d sport a similar expression.

  She sighed. “It’s not easy. Especially since he tends to be a bit…curious.”

  Curious? Maverick doubted the teachers Logan would have in school would call him curious. More than likely, he’d be branded a troublemaker. The class clown.

  Mav had been sent to the principal’s office enough times that he should know.

  “Do you have someone to help?” he prodded.

  She shifted in her seat until her face was shrouded in shadows and scoffed. “Like a husband? No.” She shook her head. Her fingers curled around the chair’s arm, knuckles clenched. “His father and I divorced when Logan was just eleven months old.” Her chin dipped to her chest. Her voice came out so soft he almost didn’t hear the words. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told him I was pregnant. Wanted me to—” her voice broke off. Her head jerked left and right. She sniffed and her fist covered her mouth.

  He could only fill in the blank. He didn’t realize he growled until Logan’s fingers moved against his heart and clutched his shirt. A soft dream-like gurgle bubbled from the boy’s throat.

  How could a man not want his own flesh and blood child? Especially after it was a done deal? How could her ex-husband just relinquish special moments like this? And he wasn’t only thinking of the angel face framed against his chest, but also the beautiful woman who sat by his side, obviously still hurting.

  Maverick had this sudden urge to hunt the man down. To have a little chat with the sorry excuse for a husband and father. “I’m sorry,” he gritted out.

  “It’s okay, really. We’re better off without him. Especially Logan. Judd never—” her voice trailed off and she nibbled her bottom lip. The moisture rimming her cheeks as her gaze skimmed his chest told the story.

  What? Never held the boy? Never read him a story or tucked him in bed at night? Unbelievable!

  Logan stirred against Mav’s ribs, and he masked the pain with
a cough. If Mav had a child, he’d hug the kid every chance he got. Life was precious, could be snuffed out at any minute. Like his dad and…Sam. “Family’s not supposed to be like that.”

  “I agree.” Her chin came up. Determination thinned her lips.

  Proud, feisty woman. His admiration kicked up several notches.

  “You ever been married, Maverick?”

  He shook his head. What could he say? That he only dated women who were just as busy as he was? Who were just as involved with their careers and their power lunches and networking over late night dinners, and who wouldn’t whine about his long hours?

  Nothing. Not when this sweet, gentle woman with spunk and grit, and casual easy elegance, sat next to him. Mighty tempting, maybe even enough to sway him to change his ways.

  She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. Almost as if she sensed his turmoil, and blocked his advances already. Like she’d judged him, and he came up lacking.

  Disappointment exploded. Stomped his gut with more force than the karate chop he’d taken from Sam during a training exercise a few months back. Only his partner had been able to know his weak spot and to capitalize. Apparently, Summer had found it as well.

  But something else lingered after the initial reaction.

  Fear.

  That this woman and her son already held power over his heart.

  “Anyway, your family has all but adopted me and Logan.”

  “That a fact?” For some reason, the words brought a grin to his face. Melancholy dropped away faster than a slick pig through his fingertips.

  “Definitely. Just ask your sister. We spend more time together than I do with my own sister.”

  “Your sister lives nearby?” Here it comes. He didn’t even have to ask. But a need to prolong their time together prodded him.

  She nodded and sipped her coffee. “In Canton, with her family. But we don’t see them as much as we’d like. Well, as much as I’d like.”

  “That’s too bad. Too far? Or just too busy?”

  “Ben and Beth are both busy with their careers, and the kids are older. So the ages don’t really work out for play dates. Besides, after they get home from work, they’re running the kids around to different sporting events or ballet.”