by Tori Kayson
Son of a deuce, he wanted this woman. Not just for a night, but for a lifetime. Yeah. He’d wait.
****
The can of whipped cream fizzed out a cloud of white fluff on top of Logan’s hot chocolate, competing with the sound of coffee gurgling in the Kester kitchen.
Summer mashed the to-go lid on tight, and then filled two ceramic mugs with coffee. Contentment spiraled up with the steam. Today was Christmas. Another two whole days to spend with Maverick at the ranch! The only way life could get any better was if—
Slippers scuffled against the wood floor in the otherwise quiet family room. The tired shuffle finally made it to the kitchen. “Oh, coffee, coffee, how I need thee,” Kierra muttered and retrieved a mug from the cabinet.
Chuckling, Summer moved away from the coffeemaker and nudged a hip against the cool granite counter in front of the sink. “Morning, Kierra. That bad, eh?” She eyed her friend over the rim of the mug, sipped. Smiled as the delicious warmth trickled down her throat.
“I was up late wrapping gifts.”
“Ah. One of those people,” Summer drawled.
“Hey, don’t judge,” Kierra said, a playful spark coming to life in her eyes. “And when did you finish yours?”
“Night before last.”
Kierra laughed. “See, you’re almost as bad as I am.”
“Almost.” She shared a smile with her dearest friend. “Hey, where do you keep the trays?”
“Pantry. Right side.”
Summer scanned the shelves in the pantry, pulled out one that should work. “Got it. Thanks.” She loaded the tray with the cups.
Kierra poured a cup of coffee. “Where is everybody?”
“Logan and Maverick are in the barn. I can’t imagine what they’re up to this early.”
“Chores maybe. Or roping the calf.” Kierra tapped her lip. “Ah. That’s it! That’s why Logan was talking about Bucky—”
“Roping a calf? That sounds…dangerous.” Summer’s voice squeaked, and she coughed to corral the worry that slithered up her spine.
She tamped down the anxiety. Her son was safe with Maverick.
But the poor calves? Later, when Maverick wasn’t around, would they find a few calves tied up, bawling out their displeasure, waiting to be rescued?
“Yeah. But it’s not what you think. Bucky is a fake calf my granddad made. We all had fun with it when we were kids, learning to rope, and now the grandkids will enjoy it.”
Grandkids… Kierra said the word as if she included Logan in that category. Pain and hope slugged it out, tightening her chest.
Summer took a swig of coffee to wash down the emotions wadding in her throat. She sniffled and rammed a sleeve against her burning eyes. “I don’t think Maverick has had any coffee yet this morning, so I…” Her voice trailed off at Kierra’s suspicious look. “What?”
“Nothing.” Kierra shook her head. Kindness glowed from her raven colored eyes. Her lips curved with a secret knowledge.
As if her best friend already knew the truth.
That Summer loved Maverick. But how? Summer had barely admitted it to herself. She’d made it clear that she was out to marry a cowboy, but she’d fallen for her best friend’s brother instead. A man with a badge pinned to his chest and a weapon strapped to his hip.
She set the mug back on the counter. Coffee sloshed over the rim and burned her fingers, but fear rooted her to the spot. She loved the Kester family. What would she do if—
“Need some help?” Kierra asked, moving toward the door.
Summer took a deep cleansing breath and banished the panic. She was all in, head over boots in love with the lawman. Too late to back out. Not that she wanted to, anyway.
“Yeah, if you could get the door, that’d be great.” Summer wrestled into her coat and balanced the loaded tray as she slid by Kierra. Cool air blasted her cheeks, invigorating, adding energy to her steps.
“Summer?”
She halted at the bottom of the stairs and angled around. “Yeah?”
Kierra stood on the deck, arms wrapped around her midsection. “It’s okay, you know.”
“What’s okay?”
“For you to love Maverick.”
The air froze in Summer’s lungs. That giant wad clogged her throat again and left her speechless. Acknowledging that love aloud would bury her years-long goal of marrying a cowboy forever. Was she ready?
“Maverick may not be the cowboy you wanted, but he’s definitely the man you need.” Kierra disappeared back into the warm kitchen.
The man you need.
Yeah. He was. Maverick was kind and gentle, loving and patient. Summer smiled and pivoted, love expanding and filling her heart to overflowing. Gravel crunched under her boots as she trekked to the barn.
“That’s right. That’s how you do it.” Maverick’s praise rang loud and clear through the open doors, heaping more shovelfuls of dirt, sealing the grave of her cowboy goal.
She rounded the corner, fumbled with the tray, and almost dropped it.
With their backs to her, she took her time admiring the view. Maverick’s long legs, Logan’s shorter ones, side-by-side. Both dressed in jeans and a cranberry colored flannel. The Stetson practically swallowed Logan’s head as he gazed up at Maverick. An oversized rope dangled from her son’s tiny hand. Maverick nodded and pointed toward a wooden skeleton of a calf. Bucky?
A longing started in her toes and rippled its way up, rocking her frame and sending tingles to the roots of her hair. She wanted this man with every fiber of her being. Not just the part-time cowboy, but the entire package…the family that came with him, the badge on his chest, the weapon always at the ready. She wanted all of him. Shock jolted her boots to the floor, the stutter in her pulse caused her hands to tremble and the tray to rattle.
Maverick must have sensed her presence because he twisted around. A slow grin took over his face. Something sweet and tender, with a hint of forever, graced his expression.
As if he knew what she’d only just figured out.
She inhaled, sharp and quick. He was a marshal, not a mind-reader.
“There you are.” Two long legged strides, and he was there, transferring the tray from her hands to a straw bale. Then, with a gentle grip on her forearms he kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. Everything will be all right, I promise.”
Maybe he was a mind-reader.
He draped an arm around her waist. “Logan, your mama’s up and dressed. You know what that means. It’s almost time to open your gifts!”
Logan whooped and tossed the rope in the air.
Maverick laughed and leaned down. His breath tickled her ear, his woody spicy scent wrapping around her with the same comfort and familiarity as the camera loop around her neck. “You and Logan are all I could ever want for Christmas. Thank you for being here.”
Oh, how she loved this man! Loved how he spoiled them with his attention and sacrificed every weekend by coming back to the ranch, either spending it here or picking them up and taking them back to Dallas.
Yeah. She’d fallen for a part-time cowboy. So what? Why settle for just a cowboy when she could have it all?
****
“Open it, mama.” Logan handed Summer the box.
Mav’s box. Almost as tall as the kid.
Maverick sucked in a breath while Logan bounced like a pogo stick on the rug, clapping. Anxiety clawed at his insides. Would she say yes?
Summer scooted forward and stared at the colorfully wrapped box, leaving Mav’s arm draped along the back of the couch, lonely and cold against the leather. Her fingertips hesitated over the fancy bow and her dreamy expression melted a tad.
Guilt pricked. He probably shouldn’t have chosen such an oversized box to disguise his real gift. But, son of a deuce, she knew how he felt about her. The least he could do was add a small element of surprise.
“Open it,” Maverick urged, hardly able to stomach the suspense. He edged closer to her, his elbows digging i
nto his knees, anticipation making his pulse hammer in his temple.
He’d saved this gift for last, after Fargo’s clan had cleared out. Maybe he should have clued the rest of the family in on the surprise.
Summer tore the paper, slow and cautious. Her forehead puckered, as if she worried what might be inside.
“Can I help? Pleaze?” Logan drawled. His hands and legs jiggled.
“Sure. Dig in, cowboy. Or your mama might not find out what’s in that box until the day after Christmas.” Impatience and excitement took turns jabbing Mav’s gut.
Logan obliged, and five seconds later, Summer lifted the lid to the first box. She bent over, her head disappearing inside the container, and rummaged through a ton of newspaper packing. She gasped and reappeared, holding the camera box. “A new camera! Wow!” She gave him a smooch that made the added expense of the camera purchase worth it.
He chuckled. Just wait.
“This is the exact model I’ve been saving for. How did you know?”
“Maybe because you stopped at every camera shop in the mall and pointed at it?”
Her laughter expanded his heart, warmed him like the sun after a long harsh winter.
She made quick work opening this box, tugging the camera out to inspect. She held it up, pointed and clicked.
Nothing happened. Ha. Not like anything would just yet.
“Ah. Needs batteries.” With shaky fingers, she fumbled with the battery compartment.
Go time! He slid off the couch onto his knees and tugged Logan to his side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a gasp and a camera click, but the “yes” screaming from his heart blotted out all except his beloved.
Summer squinted into the empty cavity and froze.
His heart stopped. Say yes, sweetheart, say yes.
Finally, her surprised gaze skittered to him. Her hand fluttered to cover her gaping mouth.
Maverick pried the camera from her hand and tipped it upside down. The diamond solitaire popped out and landed in his palm. He took her hand, her watery eyes and the pure joy shining from her face giving him the courage he needed, and cleared his throat. “Summer Kyleson, I know I’m not your idea of a perfect cowboy. But, if you’re willing to put up with me, I’ll work on it, I promise. We’ll find us a place to live around here—”
She studied him, frowning. “What about your job?”
“I’d give it up if it meant that you would be willing to share my life. If you’ll marry me.” He’d do whatever it took, whatever she wanted. She, they, were worth it.
“What if I don’t want you to give up your job?”
Huh? Shoot the deuce, woman. She was killing him here. “But—”
“Maverick, your job is just as much a part of who you are as being a photographer is to me. How could I expect you to give up your badge? It would be like asking me to hand over my camera.” Summer set the camera on the couch then slid to the rug beside him. She dipped her head, then looked him square in the face, her expression serious while she traced his jaw with her fingertips. “I admit I wanted to marry a cowboy. But then you came into our lives and made me realize that the what isn’t as important as the who. We love you, Maverick Kester. I love you. Just the way you are. Your job, your badge, even the weapon can’t take that love away.”
“Yeah. We wuv you, Mav.” Logan patted the back of his neck and planted a loud smooch on his cheek.
She loved him! Logan loved him! And she didn’t mind if he kept his job!
A surge of emotion melted his limbs, but love, powerful and all-consuming, swelled and puffed up his chest.
“I love you, too, cowboy.” He kissed the top of Logan’s head, reveling in the silky hair and strawberry smell.
Then, he turned toward Summer. Love and commitment glowed from her face.
He cupped her cheeks. Soaked in every sun-kissed freckle, the dampness collecting under dark lashes, the sweet curve of her lips. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”
Sky blue irises flared. Her chest lifted and fell. She curled an arm around his neck and leaned into him.
He covered her mouth with his. She tasted of chocolate and whipped cream, her mouth warm and inviting. He dived in—
“Ah hem, no PDA’s allowed. Ick!” his younger brother complained, then snorted his disgust.
Maverick would have just ignored the punk, but Summer disconnected, leaving his pucker dangling mid-air. She traced his hungry lips, her fingers soft, gentle, teasing.
“It just means we have to cherish every moment,” Summer whispered, for his ears only. She smiled, shy but mischievous. “I like your Dallas apartment. It’s cozy and warm, and I bet the view from the master bedroom has been worth waiting for.”
He blinked. Did she just say— Was she flirting with him? In front of…his gaze scanned the room. His younger brother slouched in his dad’s old recliner, smirking. His sister sat on the floor next to the Christmas tree with her legs curled under her rear, leaning in to hear every whispered word. Tears of joy slid down his mother’s cheeks. And Logan…where was Logan?
He examined the room, coming up minus one half pint. “Logan?”
Just then, the squirt strolled back into the family room, two half-eaten cookies in one hand and a milk-slopped glass in the other. “Sowwy, mama. I spilled milk.”
“It’s all right, honey.” With a sigh, Summer pressed a palm against the rug to hoist herself up. She leaned toward Mav. “Sorry. I’ll be right—”
What? Disappointment flared. He tugged on her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. “Darling, we’ve spilled a ton of milk in that kitchen. It isn’t going anywhere.” And neither was Mav. She needed to know she wasn’t alone anymore.
“I’ll take care of it, Summer. Just as soon as I hear your answer.” Kierra stood and draped an arm around his son’s— dare he hope? —shoulder.
Oxygen banked up in his lungs, making it hard to breathe, the longing squeezing his chest and clumping in his throat. “Woman, are you going to make me wait until my birthday?” he growled. It was only another week. Surely he could wait that long.
Summer laughed, hearty and robust, and full of wonder. “Now why would I do that? Yes, Maverick Kester, I will marry you!”
Epilogue
“Mom! Dad! Wait until you see what Rachel did.” The voice came from the other end of the hall. Footsteps tromped toward their bedroom.
Maverick groaned and tugged the comforter up to his neck. Burrowing close to his wife, he teased the sweet spot just under her ear with his tongue. “Trouble’s coming.”
“Mmmm.” Her body trembled with desire.
He smiled. Married four years, and he still couldn’t get enough of her. But in about two seconds, the bedroom door would fling open and Christmas morning was not the time to start something. “We’ll continue this later.”
“Mom. Dad—”
Correction. One second.
“A knock would be nice, Logan,” he drawled, not moving away from his beloved. Instead, Mav kissed Summer’s hair, breathing deep of vanilla and berries, and gave her one last lingering look. Just to make her think about tonight all day long. Satisfied by her contented sigh, he rolled onto his back.
“Ew!” Logan squinted and craned his neck sideways, juggling a squirming three-year-old sister and four stockings.
Maverick sat up and scooted against the headboard.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that in front of your kids,” Logan protested.
At seven, Logan had designated himself his sister’s protector and tried his best to keep Rachel out of trouble. One of the traits he loved about his son.
His son.
Pride puffed up Mav’s chest. He’d always considered Logan his son, but since the judge signed the adoption papers last month, now it was legal. Judd had only kept up the daddy image for his current love interest. When that relationship dissolved, the sporadic phone calls ceased. They hadn’t heard from the man in almost four years.
Just as well. Becau
se when he’d found out that Judd had struck Summer…
Anger simmered.
Logan tossed the plump stockings on the bed and adjusted Rachel in his arms.
It’s Christmas morning. A time to spread tidings of good cheer, to extend grace and forgiveness.
Judd’s loss. The man would realize it one day. Mav would keep the door open, but only for supervised visits. And definitely not with Summer anywhere around.
“What am I not supposed to do in front of my kids? This?” Mav made a show of kissing Summer, loud smooches on her cheek, enjoying the giggles from her and both kids.
When he stopped, Summer snuggled next to him against the headboard.
“Finally!” Logan complained, smiling as he held out his sister. Rachel’s pudgy legs dangled against Logan’s bony knees. “She’s all yours.”
“Come here, sweetie.” Maverick opened his arms, and Logan plopped her on his gut.
Oomph.
They’d just barely survived Logan’s toddlerhood and then Rachel came along. Light and fair with creamy skin, she was a total contrast to her brother’s darker complexion. Now at the rambunctious age of three, she rivaled her big brother’s mischievous antics.
Mav wouldn’t squelch their adventurous spirits. He wanted them to go after their dreams, to reach for the stars, to embrace life and not give up during tough times.
His little daredevil launched herself at him, landing flat on his chest, squealing with pleasure.
Mav kissed his daughter’s forehead, then studied those guileless blue eyes. Big pools of innocence. Yeah, right. He knew better. “What did you do, sweet pea?”
“Nuttin, daddy.” Rachel smiled sweetly. If Maverick hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed the wicked mean glare she shot her brother.
“Hey, enough of that, young lady,” he scolded, nudging Rachel’s chin to face him. “Your brother’s just looking out for you.”
“She opened all your stocking gifts, Dad,” Logan tattled. He held up the colorful sock and dumped the contents onto the bed.