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

by Tori Kayson

  Tough break. Poor Summer, so far away from her support system and raising such a high maintenance kid on her own. Even so, he’d seen her at Logan’s worst, an unexpected dip in the pool, a mud bath. She always seemed patient, her voice firm but her touch gentle.

  What about Logan’s daddy? The guy’s treatment of his family still irked Mav. But, a career with the Marshals had taught Mav that issues weren’t always so neat and tidy, and to reserve judgment until he listened to all versions of any conflict. “Um…does Logan get to see his dad a lot?”

  “Judd? Are you kidding?” Her entire body went rigid against the chair. Her neck jerked back. “And leave his almighty important career for even a few days?” She snorted and scorn creased her forehead. Her gaze, hot and aggravated, blew over him.

  “So, he’s an important guy?” he asked, curious now.

  “Yeah. You could say that.”

  Judging by her dry tone, he sensed he wasn’t going to like what she threw out next. He waited. Crossed his boots at the ankles, aiming for nonchalant, but every tight muscle screamed otherwise.

  What did Judd do for a living? Brain surgeon? Senator? Money trader?

  “He’s in law enforcement. An undercover deputy.”

  He sucked in a breath. Her words slammed into his broken ribs with more force than two tons of steel hurtling into his car. With a finality that made any dreams of exploring a relationship go up in smoke.

  Too bad! Loss and disappointment took turns pelting his gut. Outrage joined the others.

  He picked up the mug. Held it away from Logan’s sleeping form and took a long drag, willed the rich brew to smooth the tension that just clumped there. He swallowed, managed to ground out, “Come on, now. We’re not all bad.”

  Her lids fluttered as if she had just awakened from a nightmare. When her attention finally honed in on him, her eyes widened. “Sorry. No offense.”

  “No offense?” He considered the three words, knowing she wasn’t really sorry at offending him, but sorry she’d shared something so personal, and with such vehemence. “Isn’t that what people generally say after it’s too late?”

  Her freckled nose scrunched. She gave him a once over that jolted his pulse. “You have broad shoulders. I can’t imagine you offend easily.”

  Shoulders? Her gaze hadn’t stopped there. Nope. It had rolled clear down to his boots. One corner of his lips curved. Did she like what she saw? Because he sure did. It’d be a challenge to get her to change her view on law enforcement.

  And he was always up for a challenge. Besides, what did he have to lose? Time? Right now, he had plenty of that.

  “You got that right. But you can’t allow your ex to skew your opinion of law enforcement. We’re not all made from the same cloth,” he said, pride in his chosen field hiking his chin a mite.

  “What? You mean selfish?”

  “Selfish? Nah.” Didn’t think any of his friends or family would call him on that. He shook his head.

  “Power hungry? As in above the law. It’s okay for him to speed through town, but not anybody else,” she continued her tirade.

  Really? Mav fumed. First, the guy didn’t value his family, and then this flagrant disregard of law? Sounded like a real loser. “Maybe some of them, but not most. And definitely not the fine men and women I work with.”

  One brow hiked in disbelief. Then she aimed for the jugular. “What about being totally absorbed in your career? To the point that you forget where home is.” She leaned in. Her forearms rested against her thighs. She stared at him as if her future depended on his answer.

  “Ouch. You got me on that one.” Son of a deuce! She was killing him here. He swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck, squinting at the verbal grenade she’d lobbed his way.

  “Not going to lie. It is tough to maintain a work-life balance in this profession.” Hadn’t he just had this conversation with Fargo the other night? Mav spent so many nights in safe houses lately, why bother keeping an apartment? Why not just crash at the ranch and make the long round-trip drive?

  Summer sat back against the chair. The satisfied look on her face warred with the straight line of her lips, the impatient tap of her fingertips, and the rapid jiggle of her sandal.

  “But not impossible,” he added, “especially for two people committed to making a relationship work.”

  She winced, and he was sorry he said that last bit, but it was true. Several of his buddies were married and worked around the challenges of the job. Surely others could do it. And since he wasn’t married, he usually volunteered for the overnight gigs. Why not? It just put more money in his pocket and kept the married guys closer to home. Mav hoped one day his co-workers would return the favor when he needed them.

  “Yeah, well. That’s just it. He wasn’t committed. To me or to Logan. And then when he hit—”

  Did she just say? “He hit—”

  “Forget I said that,” she said, her words whisper-soft. She shifted back in her seat, swallowed by darkness. Was that fear etching her eyes and hollowing her cheeks?

  Forget? Not. Likely.

  Outrage swelled and swirled like rising floodwater. He took a deep breath and tamped down the angry words that threatened to spill out.

  Summer shrank back even farther. Surely she wasn’t frightened by him?

  He cleared his throat, slicing through the dead air. “So you’re not looking for another relationship with someone in law enforcement.” Didn’t like it. But he could understand.

  She shook her head.

  “You looking for someone in particular? Or not in the market at all?” Might as well cut to the chase. Before he laid his heart on the ground for her to stamp all over it with those pretty sandals, he needed to know if he had a chance.

  “Actually I am.” Her chin hiked, and the tip of her pink tongue slicked across full bow-shaped lips.

  His pulse hitched again. He stared, mesmerized.

  She flicked a stray blonde lock away from her freckled cheek. “A…a cowboy.”

  A cowboy? He blinked. His head betrayed him with a tiny jerk.

  If he’d been on assignment, that slight movement might’ve gotten him killed.

  He brushed that thought off. He was here, on the ranch, and wow. That hadn’t been on his radar. At least she’d moved to the right state if she had her sights set on a cowboy. Not too many cowboys in Florida, he reckoned.

  “I’m going to marry a kind, good old-fashioned cowboy,” she said, smiling, her tone less defiant, more determined.

  What could he say to that?

  When he remained mute, she continued, “A man who values family and hard work, but who manages to find his way home every night.”

  Well, heck, he could find his way—

  “After all, what’s the point in being married if your spouse doesn’t want to or refuses to appreciate the little moments together?” Her gaze aimed toward the pool.

  “True.” Did this count as a little moment? He studied her profile from under the wide brim of the Stetson. Her hand had curled into a fist and her lips drooped, as if she’d disappeared into her memories again. Unpleasant ones. Then, a dewdrop leaked from the hollow under an eye to trickle down her cheek. She angled away, swiping at it with the back of her hand.

  His gut lurched, and he tightened his hold around the sleeping boy to keep from reaching out to her.

  His parents modeled what marriage should look like and how to make it go the distance until death parted them. Their entire family benefited from their show of love and support through good times and bad. But without any experience of his own, what could he offer?

  A sniffle, then a muffled cough broke the silence.

  He needed to drag her back to the present before she went all weepy on him. “You know that swing on the front porch?”

  Shadows still dappled her face, but he made out the hope in her eyes, the vulnerability in her rounded lips. “Yeah.” The one word came out soft, almost dissolved into the gentle breeze.

&nbs
p; “Every night for as far back as I can remember, my parents would send us kids to bed. Then they’d head out to the porch with a cup of coffee or a glass of iced tea or wine, depending on the temperature and how their day had gone. I remember complaining once that we had to go to bed. I can still hear my dad, that quiet commanding voice of his.” He hesitated, the memory crashing over him in a painful wave. Painful, yet tender.

  He gulped back the sorrow and imitated his father’s voice. “‘Son, your mama needs my attention now, and I intend to give it to her. This is our time. Off to bed, now, ya hear? And don’t be listening through your window.’ Then, he’d wink at my mother like they shared some big secret he couldn’t wait to tell her.”

  Summer scooted closer, moving back into the dim light from the pool. Her cheeks softened with her smile. “That’s so sweet.”

  Hair tickled Mav’s chin. He shifted the boy on his chest. “That was their routine every night. My bedroom was right above the porch. I usually fell asleep to the creaking of the swing, and some nights Dad’s deep voice or Mom’s laughter would wake me up.”

  “Exactly why I want to marry a cowboy.”

  Shoot the deuce! That wasn’t the response he’d hoped for. “Honey, there are cowboys who are just as selfish and self-absorbed as your ex.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m sure.”

  “You know, cowboys come in all different forms. We’re not all cut out to be ranchers or bull riders or bronc busters.”

  Her chin dipped to her chest. “I’m—”

  “And what if you found a man—” he cleared his throat and tugged the hat’s brim lower on his forehead. He was putting himself out there for her to stomp all over his ego— “maybe not a full-time cowboy, but a man who would treat you and Logan as the most special people in his life? What then?”

  Understanding lightened her face. She nodded, slow and thoughtful. Her gaze shifted to Logan’s head. “Yeah. That’s another thing. My son’s a bit high maintenance—”

  She could say that again. But the junior cowboy was also adorable, so he could get away with it. His arm tightened around the mischievous prankster.

  “—so when I marry again, it’ll be to someone who loves my son as much as I do.”

  He wanted the “little moments” that she spoke of too, a lifetime of them actually. With a forever love like his parents shared, something potent and tender, a love that lasted longer than life. Longing swelled in his gut, churning into a powerful ache for something more than casual dates with ladder-climbing women.

  He may not be a full-time rancher now, but he’d grown up on the ranch and knew his way around horses. Granted, he was a hard worker and dedicated to his career, but if these two precious souls were waiting for him every night, he’d find his way home. That had to count for something, right?

  Or had he sacrificed his dreams of family for his career? Would he be able to convince Summer that all law enforcement officers weren’t cut from the same pattern?

  4

  Maverick nudged the screen door open with the tip of his boot and stepped out onto the porch, a sketchpad tucked under his arm and a mug cradled in his hand. He settled his forearms against the rail.

  Majesty galloped across the pasture, hooves thundering across the hard ground. His tail flumed against the backdrop of orange and purple hues of the sunset splashing the sky.

  The warm brew slid down Mav’s throat as he cataloged the details for his sketch. Satisfied, he set the mug on the window ledge and sank onto the swing. He plucked the pencil from behind an ear and slashed a few lines across a clean white page.

  The screen squeaked open then slapped the frame.

  “Hey, Mav.”

  He glanced up, taking in his mother’s hesitation. The way she hugged a book against her chest. The white-knuckled grip around a ceramic mug. The sadness lining her lips as she forced a smile.

  She needed his attention. Just as she once needed his father’s.

  “Mama. Come join me.” He patted the open spot next to him.

  “I don’t want to interrupt—”

  “You’re not interrupting anything. I have plenty of time to finish this. I’ll be here for a few weeks, remember?” He tucked the sketchpad between his thigh and the swing’s arm.

  “In that case…” She set the book on the ledge and, holding the mug aloft, plunked down beside him. The swing dipped with her added weight. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He curled an arm around her shoulder, stifled a wince when his hand landed on bone and frail skin. His mother had never been particularly heavy, but she’d always carried a few extra pounds than what society considered healthy and mostly in the mid-section. Not so much anymore.

  Maybe he could work on getting her to eat more and work less while he was here. That might be a problem with their prearranged events, but tonight was a start.

  “I miss sitting out here in the evenings.” Her words came out on a sigh.

  A person would have to be dense to fail to notice the underlying message. She missed his dad.

  “Yeah. Me, too.” He rolled the heel of his boot, setting the swing in motion.

  “I’m sorry about your partner, Maverick.”

  His boot stilled for a second, the swing idling in the reverse direction. He nodded, didn’t trust his voice to work properly. His fingers clenched around the mug. Shock still gripped his insides tighter than a vice. Along with sorrow. Guilt.

  “But the accident wasn’t your fault. Stop beating yourself up. It’ll take that much longer for you to heal.” She thumped her chest. “Inside and out.”

  He gulped down a swig of coffee, stared at his denims. He squeezed his eyes shut, but Sam’s lifeless body swam across his vision. That arctic chill from the morgue descended. He shivered, freezing despite the humid air. Ached to hear Sam’s hearty chuckle one more time.

  That wouldn’t happen. Just like with his father.

  He jerked his eyelids up, refused to give in to the despair that could swallow him whole. He scraped a palm across the whiskers stubbling his clenched jaw. “I just can’t help but—”

  “You can’t control the actions of others, son, only how you respond to them. Isn’t that what your dad always said?”

  He nodded, his gut churning afresh with the loss of his father. How did his mother cope every day, facing the huge gaping hole in her life? How did she slide under the sheets at night, knowing her life’s partner wouldn’t be there to snuggle next to? How could she find the strength to head to the porch in the evenings, knowing she wouldn’t hear her husband’s deep voice? Couldn’t share hopes and dreams, struggles and complaints, laughter and joy? Emotion, thick and heavy, clamped his jaw again.

  “Your dad was proud of you, you know.” His mother patted his thigh. “He wasn’t one to say the actual words much, but he was.”

  His dad had been pleased with his career choice? But all these years, he’d thought— “He wasn’t…disappointed?”

  “Disappointed?” She scoffed and jerked back. “Why ever would you think that?”

  “Because I didn’t choose ranching. And I know he wasn’t happy that I moved to Dallas.” Years hadn’t dulled the memory of the grim look on his father’s face as Mav drove away from the ranch. Or the relief that slithered in when the dust finally clouded his dad’s expression.

  Compassion tinged his mother’s face. “Son, your daddy knew all his kids wouldn’t choose ranching. And he wouldn’t have wanted you to if your heart wasn’t in it. And as far as you moving, he just had to get over the fact that you wouldn’t be at home anymore.”

  If he could only have one more conversation with his father, how different it would be.

  “When you passed basic training, you should have seen him strutting around town like a proud rooster, telling all his friends his son was going to be a Deputy US Marshal.” Mama shook her head, her lips rounding with the memory. “Oh, no, son. Don’t you ever doubt that he wasn’t proud of you.”

  Still smiling
, she heaved her frame from the swing and pressed the notebook into his hands. “You’ll see. It’s all in here. I want you to have it.”

  He tipped the cover open. There, on the front page, was a copy of his college diploma. He flipped through the pages to see newspaper articles covering some of the cases he’d worked on.

  Surprise fluttered in his chest. His father hadn’t been disappointed?

  The screen door squeaked open. His mother rested her forehead against the frame, a sweet smile curving her lips. “Good night, son.”

  “Night, Mama.” He sighed and shifted his attention back to the book in his lap.

  Yes. It was a good night.

  ****

  “Great party, Beth. As usual.” How did her sister do it? She worked a full time job, managed a household of five, including a special needs child, and still threw a party that fifth graders drooled over?

  Summer glanced around the kitchen, skimming the empty sink, the otherwise clean counter except for the paper cups and plates and platter of professionally baked and designed cupcakes, and spotless tile floor. How did Beth’s house always look like nobody lived here?

  Summer had one child. Granted, he was a handful, but only two of them lived in her tiny apartment. She rolled her eyes. Constant piles of clothes on the couch. Dirty dishes heaped in the sink. Floors that needed mopping.

  Judd had always criticized her lack of housekeeping skills. But, what was more important? Spending all her time keeping her house spotless or creating memories with her child? She didn’t care as much about keeping a neat house as keeping up with Logan.

  “Thanks, sis. I have a housekeeper. Don’t judge.” Beth handed Summer the stack of plates, then poured lemonade into the cups.

  “Judge? Me?” Summer laughed and plopped a chocolate cupcake topped with a superhero on a plate. “I’m the last person to judge someone on the neatness of their house. Just sayin. You wouldn’t want to see mine right now.” The bras hanging on the bath rack, drying. The freshly laundered clothes in a basket on the couch, waiting for her to fold. Eventually. But truthfully, the basket had become a permanent fixture on the couch and usually she just grabbed something from it as needed.