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

by Tori Kayson

  “Sorry, Mav.” Slade wheezed, skidding to a stop at the kid’s side of the cart. “I turned around for a second and he’d disappeared. Took me a few minutes to track him down.”

  “No harm done,” Maverick assured. Thank heaven the ranch encompassed thousands of acres. What if Logan made it to the highway in front of the ranch? A shudder rippled through his limbs. Forget life’s lessons. This kid would be lucky to make it to adulthood.

  “Logan!” Summer’s boots thundered across the ground. Long hair flapped against her shoulders. Her gauzy skirt flowed with the breeze. Worry knitted deep lines in her forehead. Her knees hit the grassy covering. She plucked Logan from the bench. Held him with hands on tiny shoulders, her gaze skimming her son from head to boot. Satisfied that he didn’t suffer any broken bones or ugly scrapes, she tugged him to her heart.

  Maverick closed his eyes, the relief tangible, the pain as intense as a pressure cooker about ready to explode in his chest.

  “Maverick, are you all right?” Slade’s voice came to him through a thick fog.

  He forced his eyelids up. Caught Summer’s worried glance over Logan’s head. “Fine,” he gritted out.

  “You don’t look fine. You—” Slade’s voice broke off at his glare. His hat dipped toward the ground. His brother busied himself by grinding circles in the grass with his boot.

  Logan broke out of Summer’s hold and hopped back on the four-wheeler. “Nother ride, Mav!”

  As if that ride wasn’t thrilling enough. He chuckled, but a wince negated the humor.

  “Logan!” Summer scolded, both her look and tone exasperated. “You can’t just—”

  “How about if we take a ride, but this time I’ll drive?” Maverick asked, trying not to wheeze with the effort breathing required.

  Logan nodded.

  “And your mama can get back to work. We’ve got this under control.”

  One blonde brow hiked high on her tanned forehead. Freckles sprinkled her pink puffy cheeks, and a dimple he hadn’t seen before popped out near her shiny glossed lips. But the real challenge came from the slight upward curve of her mouth. As if she knew better. “You do?”

  “Yeah. The kid’s an escape artist. We know that now. We’ll adjust our babysitting skills accordingly. Won’t we, Slade?”

  “Not me.” Slade shook his head. “I’m sorry, Summer, but I just can’t handle—”

  “We’ll do it together.” No way was he letting Slade wimp out. Their mother would give Slade all sorts of grief over quitting. Besides that, Summer wouldn’t be able to continue her freelance jobs without someone to watch over the youngster. Even if Summer didn’t need the extra income, his mother and sister needed a good photographer for the ranch events. And from what he’d seen, she was it.

  Summer’s jaw dangled, leaving her mouth wide open. What? She didn’t believe that he could take care of a three-year-old?

  He nudged her chin up with a thumb. When her irises widened, he caught himself and lowered his hand.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. Bluish half-moons of worry rimmed the tops of her cheeks. She didn’t get much sleep. That much was certain. But then, how could she?

  Maybe he could help keep an eye on Logan while he was here. Heaven help him, he couldn’t do much else to help with the chores around here. On the other hand, Logan’s mischief just might land him back in the hospital faster than Henry, the orneriest bull on the ranch.

  Back out while you still have the chance. He ignored the voice of doom and committed. “Yeah.”

  Her face lightened and her chest lifted. It took every ounce of willpower not to follow that sigh to where it originated, to stare at the swells heaving from underneath that ruffly white blouse. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He smiled and nodded toward the waiting couple, now making out.

  She pivoted, her skirt swishing around her boots. Flashed a flirty smile at him from over her shoulder.

  His heart stuttered. The urge to kiss her rushed him. Made him forget the pain swaddling his midsection.

  But she broke the connection and hustled back over to the lip-locked duo.

  “What’d you do that for, Mav?” Slade griped.

  “Aren’t you saving up your pennies to buy Hampton’s truck when he finally gets a new one?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No ‘buts.’ Dad didn’t raise you to be a quitter, and Mama sure wouldn’t like your attitude either.” He didn’t even need to cop his best big brother glare.

  “You’re right. Sorry.” Slade’s hat dipped again. There went the heel of Slade’s boot, crushing the grass.

  He hadn’t meant to be so hard on his brother, especially in front of Logan. He patted Slade’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for that ride. And afterwards, we’ll put cowboy here to work brushing horse flesh.” That was his plan. Exhaust the kid with ranch duties and shower him with attention so he wouldn’t have time or energy to find trouble.

  “Let’s go!” Logan hopped up and down on those pudgy legs, his chubby fingers gripping the frame. Excitement burned from his cocoa colored eyes.

  Then again, maybe not. Did his energy just regenerate automatically? How did Summer cope single-handedly? No wonder dark purple smudges smeared her cheeks.

  Maverick waited until Slade stepped onto the back bumper and gripped the handrail. Then, he mashed the accelerator to a decent speed, keeping one hand firmly attached to Logan’s belt loop.

  “Faster!” Logan shouted. One boot pounded the floorboard, as if he could make the cart move faster on command and with a bit of footwork.

  The pint-sized hijacker turned toward him, face shining with excitement, and launched into his chest. Mav’s pain fizzled and morphed into something else...a longing. An ache that ripped the breath from his lungs.

  How could Logan’s father not want to be part of his son’s life every day? Didn’t he realize how much he was missing?

  Sadness for the little dude churned his gut. He tugged Logan onto his lap and allowed the kid to steer, covered those smaller fingers with his own. Mav didn’t want to imagine how different his life would have been without his father around while he was growing up. Could hardly fathom Logan growing up without a daddy’s love and influence.

  If he were Logan’s daddy, he’d show the boy around the ranch, teach him how to do things. Like adjust his britches so they didn’t hike so high on his belly. Serve chocolate milk and cookies for snacks. Make up bedtime stories.

  Musky toddler smell mingled with berry shampoo and drifted toward Maverick. He leaned in, sniffed. Imagined lazing with Summer over coffee on a rainy Saturday morning. Logan racing his plastic horses and trucks at their feet. A couple dogs sleeping on the porch.

  Logan moved his head and bumped Maverick’s chin. What was he thinking? First of all, he didn’t live here. In six weeks, he’d be back in his small apartment in Dallas, working a job that Summer most assuredly didn’t approve of. Besides, she’d made it quite clear she was on the hunt for a cowboy.

  Not a man with a badge plastered against his chest and two weapons on his body at all times. Besides, he was more or less married to his job.

  Disappointment coiled in his gut. He pressed the brake, lurching to a stop outside the barn. He hoisted Logan off his lap. “Wait a second.”

  Mav tugged the little man’s jeans down so they didn’t hike up his waist. He removed his hat and stuck it on Logan’s head.

  “Tank you, Mav.” The heavy brim sank past the boy’s eyebrows.

  His heart melted into a puddle right there on the mule’s vinyl bench.

  When Mav stepped off the cart, a tiny hand slid inside his calloused one, and they walked into the shaded barn. Nope. The boy’s father didn’t know what he was missing.

  6

  Summer hung up the damp dish towel and pivoted, pressing her rump against the kitchen counter. “Thanks again for inviting us to dinner, Rebekah. Logan had me up at an ungodly hour this morning, and I totally forgot about taking anything out
of the freezer. It would have been pizza or takeout for us tonight.”

  “You’re always welcome here, Summer. You know that.” Rebekah poured water into the coffeemaker and pressed the brew button. Gurgles sputtered and black liquid seeped into the glass decanter, filling the cavernous kitchen with a wonderful homey aroma.

  “Yep. Not like we don’t make enough food to feed an entire platoon.” Kierra teased and set three mugs on the counter. “Want some coffee, Summer? It’s decaf.”

  “Right.” She smiled at her friend’s attempt to lure her into accepting a cup. The entire Kester family drank high octane all day, only brewed decaf for special events or requests. “It’s tempting, but no, thanks. I’m going to collect my son and head home. I’m whipped.” She grabbed her purse and camera equipment.

  “Chasing around after a little one will do that to you.”

  “Tell me about it. And I only have one. How did you manage with four?” She couldn’t even imagine corralling four children, especially if they were as high maintenance as Logan.

  “Well, Slade came along much later than the other three. I was lucky the others were spaced fairly close. They all kind of looked out for each other.”

  “That’s what we wanted you to think.” Kierra shared a chuckle with her mother.

  Summer covered a yawn with her hand. Her adrenaline had taken a major hit today after Logan’s runaway attempt on the four wheeler. “That’s a wrap for me. Good night, ladies.”

  “Night.” Both women echoed behind her. Glass clinked against a ceramic mug.

  She inhaled a long whiff of the comforting brew and shuffled into the family room, the camera bags heavy on her shoulder. Maybe just the hint of caffeine would last long enough to propel her home and get Logan bathed and in bed.

  The family room was empty, but male voices murmured and drifted in from the front porch. She toed the screen door open and stepped outside.

  Maverick and Logan huddled on the swing. Logan’s nutmeg colored head was bent slightly. Teeth nibbling his bottom lip, he concentrated on his drawing, the pencil in his hand scribbling furiously across a white page. He stole a glance at Maverick’s drawing, then scribbled some more. Maverick’s sketch was more intricate, horses from the pasture in front of the house.

  Her hand fluttered over her heart. She fumbled with the camera bags, almost dropped one. Finally managed to set them by the door. Breath barely squeezed from her lungs. “Here you are.”

  Perched on the top step, Slade glanced up from a book he was reading. Relief slid across his features. Smiling, he closed the book and unwound his stick-like awkward teenager legs.

  “Mama!” Logan flung the pad and pencil on Maverick’s lap and slid from the bench. He scrambled to her side, wrapped tiny boy arms around her legs, and smiled. Her angel!

  She pulled him to her chest with a happy sigh. Nothing beat the power of a toddler’s hug. Nothing. He could wake her up at four thirty every morning and keep her running from sunup to sundown, ragged and exhausted. But when her son gazed at her like that? Like she hung the moon and the stars? Like she lit up his world? How could she complain about being a single parent?

  Slade stretched to his almost six feet. The teen arched his back and extended his arms in the air, clutching the book in one hand. He stepped over to them and ruffled Logan’s hair. “Good night, munchkin. See you later, all right?”

  Logan waved, but his face still pressed against her leg.

  She pressed a wad of bills in Slade’s palm, trying to be discreet.

  “Thanks, Summer. Night, Mav, Summer.” Slade disappeared inside the house.

  “Good night, Slade.” Maverick called out. His voice, husky and deep in the cool evening air, sparked a flame to life in her chest. How unfair that he was the first man since her divorce to reignite her stagnant heart.

  “Come here, Mama. We dwawing.” Logan took her hand and led her to the swing. To the lawman whose generous shoulders spanned more than his share of the bench.

  Funny how he’d always called her “mommy” until meeting Maverick, then it switched to “mama.”

  “Sit.” The tyrant of her heart demanded.

  Sit? She gulped and settled on the bench, clinging to the far edge, keeping on her side of the imaginary line she’d drawn. Logan crawled up on her lap.

  Something spicy and all too masculine snuck in with autumn’s evening breeze to blend with the usual ranch smells of cattle and horses, and Logan’s musky active boy scent.

  And that grin! Mav’s nutmeg colored brows arched high on his tanned forehead. Like he read her mind and sensed her reluctance to share his personal zone.

  His nearness sent shivers to dance along her spine, goosebumps to spike on her arms, her pulse to skitter.

  Logan shoved a paper in front of her face. So close she had to lean back to focus. She took the paper and held it out to admire. “Is this your picture?”

  “Yes. Me and Mav are dwa-ing.”

  “You did a fine job, Logan.” Summer admired the scribble marks slashed across the crinkled page, only a fraction of white space remaining. Studied the crude shapes. Caught Maverick’s amused expression. “A little help here?” she mouthed, pleading silently.

  Maverick’s fingers brushed hers as he took the paper and flipped it upside down. “Logan wanted to draw horses. This one—” his index finger tapped the middle of the page “—is Majesty.”

  “Awww. Yes, that looks just like Majesty. It’s beautiful, Logan.” She praised her son with a firm hug and handed his paper back.

  Logan hopped off her lap to sprawl out on the wood planked porch. He picked up the pencil and slashed a few more lines across the already dark page. Then flipped the sketchpad to a fresh sheet of paper.

  “Just a couple more minutes, Logan, and then we need to head home, okay?” she said, pulling out her sternest mom voice, totally expecting him to whine about leaving.

  “Okay, Mama.” His dark head bent over the paper, his pencil making squiggle marks across a blank page. “Can I bring my ske…ske—” He glanced back up at Maverick, faltering over the word.

  “Sketch pad,” Maverick offered.

  “Sket pad,” Logan repeated.

  She smiled. “If it’s all right with Maverick.”

  “Sure. It’s yours to keep, Logan,” Maverick said. His rapid hand movements snagged her attention.

  She focused on his drawing as it took shape. A picture of Logan, head slightly bent, intense concentration on his face, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, just like now.

  Mav had captured Logan’s pose and expression perfectly. The mischief that usually lurked under the surface expression. The stubby torso with legs stuffed into oversized boots handed down from her sister’s youngest child. Those sweet, coffee rich eyes.

  “Wow!” she breathed. “That’s awesome!”

  “You like it?” He didn’t look up. Just kept dragging the pencil across the page.

  “Like it? I love it!”

  His hand slowed. He added a few finishing marks then ripped the page from the pad and handed it to her. “This one’s for you.”

  “Thank you.” She held the portrait at the edges, careful not to smear the pencil marks. “I’m going to frame this.”

  How could a man who’d only known her son a few weeks encapsulate his personality so precisely with a few strokes of the pencil? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have one for every stage of her son’s life? Impossible since the lawman would only be around Coldwater Ridge until he healed.

  “May I look at your others?” she asked, extending an open palm.

  “Just some doodles.” Even so, he handed her the notebook, his face lacking the usual confidence he wore like the snug jeans and form fitting black tee. Now vulnerable, as if exposing a well-kept secret, and his voice came out throaty.

  She ripped her gaze away from his too-handsome face to flip through the pages. Horses. One of the shops on Main Street in downtown Coldwater Ridge, some of the doors slung open to greet a new day. Shopp
ers clustered around window displays, autumn leaves fluttering from the sky. The sun hovering just above the horizon, shades of amber and lavender streaking the sky. And another of Logan, playing with his plastic horses on the pool deck. Her, snapping photographs of the newly engaged couple. “You—”

  With a smooth lightning-quick move, the pad was back in his hand and the cover closed. “Like I said. Just doodles.”

  “Doodles?” she scoffed. Could he not see his talent? How magical a pencil was in his hand? “Have you heard about the Coldwater Ridge Art Festival?”

  He nodded and slid the pad to the side table, out of her line of vision. “Yeah. I think my mother mentioned going to it last year.”

  “You should consider showing your drawings in that event.”

  He jerked back a wee bit, the edges of his mouth pulled down. “Show them? As in for the world to see? Not hardly.”

  “Well, not all the world exactly. Just Coldwater Ridge. And why not? They’re awesome, Maverick. I’ll be there, and I could help you organize—”

  “Because it’s a hobby. Something to do while I’m stuck in a safe house somewhere.”

  Stuck in a safe house…

  His words registered, wilting a persistent seed of hope that still clung to life in her heart. Was “doodling” something he did when he wasn’t happy with his surroundings or the people he was with?

  “Stuck in a safe house or stuck watching my son?”

  His brows dipped. Silver eyes clouded, dark, unreadable. “That’s not what—”

  He shook his head and glanced toward Logan. His entire body stiffened. He lifted off the bench, his legs taut. The chain squeaked from the sudden unbalanced weight. But it wasn’t nearly as jarring as the one word that growled from his throat. “Logan!”

  ****

  He hadn’t meant to sound an alarm. But how long since Logan had disappeared?

  Summer’s gasp came from behind, garbled by the creaking of the chains from the swinging bench. Her boots clicked down the steps after him.