Not Their First Rodeo

by Christy Jeffries

  Marcus winced. “Yeah, the name of the horse should’ve been my first clue that he wasn’t ready for a leisurely trail ride.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I chose a small, unassuming-looking horse named Gidget the second time around and she wasn’t much better.” Violet must’ve seen the confusion on his face because she held up a hand. “No, she didn’t try to mount anything. She just thought she was a surfer and kept rushing into the waves and rolling around in the sand. Again with me on her back. So suffice it to say that horses are one of the few creatures who refuse to acknowledge my commanding presence.”

  Marcus allowed his eyes to wander down the snug fabric encasing her long legs. Violet certainly had a commanding presence that was becoming increasingly more difficult for him not to acknowledge.

  “You know, Fabio’s still here. He’s an old man now and sired so many colts, we had to finally retire him. He’s over in Shady Acres.” Marcus put his arm over her shoulders to steer her away from the outer corrals. “Come on. I’ll take you to see him, and you’ll realize that he’s not so threatening anymore.”

  “Shady Acres?” Violet angled her head sideways as she questioned him, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Yeah. You know, from the TV show Golden Girls? Finn loves to name the horses and the different wings of the stables after her favorite sitcoms. If I remember correctly, the horse you were riding that day was also named after a character in that show. Blanche. Which explains why Fabio couldn’t stay away from her.”

  Violet let out a full-bodied laugh, and Marcus instinctively pulled her in tighter. This. This is what it used to feel like between them. They would playfully tease and crack jokes and walk completely in step with each other. Violet fit perfectly beside him.

  In fact, he was tempted to take her the long way around the stables just so they could keep walking like this. But Finn had carved wooden signs above each row of stalls, and Rider believed in putting the older horses front and center so that nobody forgot how hard they’d once worked for the ranch. So Shady Acres was the first section they came across, and Fabio was in the third stall down.

  “No way,” Violet said when she saw the once-palomino-colored muzzle was speckled with gray. “This can’t be him. What happened to his flowing golden mane?”

  “Let’s just say that, nowadays, he likes his food much more than he likes the ladies. He managed to get his head stuck in one of those self-feeding hay nets. His mane was all tangled up in the netting, so we had to buzz it off. It hasn’t grown back yet.”

  “He certainly looks way less threatening now. Don’t you, boy?”

  “Here.” Marcus pulled an apple-flavored oat biscuit out of his inside jacket pocket. “Give him this, and he will love you forever.”

  Violet wrinkled her nose. “You keep horse treats in your uniform pocket?”

  “I’m a sheriff in a small ranching town. Half of my job consists of interacting with citizens who are either riding livestock, herding livestock or complaining about someone else’s livestock. I’ve got dog treats in the other pocket. Now, hold your fingers out straight like this.”

  Violet’s palm was stiff when he handed her the biscuit, and Marcus slid his hand under hers to coax her into relaxing. A zing of awareness shot through him at the feel of her warm skin. She must’ve felt it, too, because she shuddered delicately. Or maybe she was afraid of Fabio’s protruding teeth coming her way.

  “It’s okay. Just hold yourself steady.” Standing behind her, Marcus put his other hand on her waist so she’d know he was right there with her to intervene in case something happened.

  But as expected, Fabio took the treat, smacked his lips as he chewed, then snorted in appreciation. Violet’s body relaxed against Marcus, and he let his fingers splay around the curve above her hip, his thumb grazing along the soft, stretchy fabric toward her waistband.

  “That wasn’t so bad.” She sighed, and it took him a second to realize she was talking about the horse.

  Or maybe she wasn’t.

  The back of her neck was resting against his shoulder, so when she tilted her face to look at him, her smiling lips were inches from his. Marcus groaned before claiming her mouth with his own.

  Unlike two weeks ago in his office, though, this kiss started out tentative and slow. As if neither one wanted to be the first to lose control.

  But as their tongues explored deeper, his fingers followed suit, and soon his hand was nudging under the hem of her sweater. Violet gave a breathless moan and twisted so that she could face him, which only pressed their bodies closer together.

  The unmistakable whirling of an engine sounded outside, and Violet pulled away slightly. Her breath was warm, and her voice was raspy as she whispered, “Is that the helicopter?”

  “Probably.” He moved his lips to her cheek and pressed light kisses along her jawline. After a daring paparazzo had chartered a local sight-seeing chopper to get some long-range aerial photos of Tessa, the Secret Service agents had been doing routine air patrols around the ranch twice a day.

  When his mouth dipped lower to her neck, she threw her head back and moaned. Her fingers were stroking underneath the lined collar of his jacket, holding his head in place as she gave him full access to the tender spot where her pulse was beating out a frenzied tempo. Marcus was so intent on what he was doing, he barely heard her whisper, “What if someone catches us?”

  “Come on, we can go in here.” Marcus had noticed that the stall across from Fabio’s was empty, and he pulled her inside. He rolled the solid wood sliding door closed, but that only hid them from the chest down. There was a pile of straw in one corner that looked clean, and he steered her in that direction. “We’re going to have to hunker down if we want to stay out of sight.”

  Violet’s laugh was low and throaty as she sank into the pile as though it was a regal throne. “This reminds me of the time our families were both staying at Camp David for that Department of Defense conference, and we snuck out of our cabins and hid in the archery shed. Except you’re a much better kisser now.”

  “That’s because I remembered to take out my retainer this time.” Marcus lowered himself over her, determined to prove how much better he was at everything. She eagerly embraced him, lifting her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Her sweater rose, and he slid both of his palms higher, caressing the silky warmth of her bare skin until his hands were just below her breasts.

  They were lying side by side, facing each other, and his arousal strained against his uniform pants as she pressed herself against him. Without breaking their kiss, Violet’s fingers began to work at the heavy clasp of his leather duty belt.

  But before she could get it undone, they heard voices entering the stables. Violet’s eyes flew open, and she put a finger to her lips, as if Marcus needed the warning to stay quiet. He was rock hard, and there was straw sticking out of Violet’s hair at all angles. Anyone who saw them would know exactly what they’d been up to.

  The voices—at least three of them—grew closer. Violet whispered into his ear, “Do you think you can shift your weight back the other direction? Your gun is digging into my hip.”

  He responded through clenched teeth. “If I shift back to where I just was, it won’t be my gun pressing into you.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she reminded him of Jack when he was a toddler and thought that if he couldn’t see anyone around him, then nobody could see him, either. Marcus used his elbows to lift his torso enough to roll away but then froze at the rustling sound of the straw surrounding them.

  “Shhh,” she said. He didn’t think it would be possible to make her blush more than she already was, but then he realized the rosy color spreading up her neck wasn’t from embarrassment. It was whisker burn.

  The voices were now right outside their row of stalls. He recognized the annoyance in his sister Tessa’s tone before realizing who she was talking t
o. He slowly shifted to his knees so he could see out one of the slats.

  Congressman Davis Townsend, better known as Congressman Smooth to the rest of their family members. Nobody understood what Tessa saw in the up-and-coming politician, who was clearly using her to get closer to the famous King name.

  From the sound of things, the congressman was upset about all the media hype surrounding Tessa and Agent Wyatt, who was now standing by quietly as Tessa rejected Townsend’s not-so-romantic proposal. Suddenly, the conversation turned angry.

  “Together, we could’ve gone further than Roper King could ever have hoped,” Townsend said, and Marcus’s blood rang in his ears. Nobody was going to disrespect his dead father on the very ranch that his legacy had been built upon.

  Marcus started to rise, but Violet tugged on his hand. Her whisper was hushed yet firm. “Let your sister handle this, Marcus. She’s been bottling everything in lately and needs to speak her piece.”

  As if to prove Violet right, Tessa finally snapped. “My dad got exactly as far as he wanted, Davis. And, for the record, he hated people who needed to use someone else to get ahead.”

  “I was never using you. At least, not any more than you were using me.”

  “How did I use you?” his sister asked. She was a political analyst with a prime-time show interviewing some of the most powerful world leaders. At least she was finally acting like herself again. “I’d love to hear this.”

  “Tessa King had the reputation of being a cold, cutthroat bitch before I came along. I humanized you. Being in a relationship with me made you at least seem like a real woman.”

  Marcus was on his knees and ready to spring into action, his fists clenching at the insult to his sister. He didn’t think he could stay silent much longer.

  “I think you need to leave now, Congressman Townsend,” Tessa said.

  “But your mother invited me—”

  “Miss King has politely asked you to leave,” Agent Wyatt interrupted in a direct, deliberate voice. “I’ll have the command center radio your pilot so you can fly out of here on your own accord.”

  “Or else what?” Davis’s chin lifted.

  Oh, hell no.

  Wyatt was more than trained to handle the situation on his own, but Marcus was a law-enforcement officer as much as he was a brother. Challenging a sitting member of the House of Representatives would be a risky career move for the agent, who’d already gone above and beyond his duty keeping Tessa safe.

  Plus, Marcus was not about to let some sanctimonious prick stay on his family’s property a second longer. He was out of the stall before Violet could pull him back.

  It took every ounce of training for Marcus to keep himself reined in as he purposefully approached the congressman. “Or else we can escort you from the premises in the back of the Ridgecrest County Sheriff’s unit.”

  She should’ve stayed put, but Violet stepped to his side, risking her own reputation by backing him up. Marcus’s chest swelled with pride and appreciation.

  Three pairs of eyes darted back and forth between them. Instead of giving anyone the chance to question what he and Violet were doing there in the first place, Marcus continued, “Before you make your choice, it’s only fair to warn you that the back seat of my squad car doesn’t have tinted windows. I’m sure the press stationed outside the gates would love to get a great shot of you back there.”

  Townsend took a step back in retreat and flashed his ridiculous fake grin. “We’re good. I was just leaving.”

  The congressman turned to go, and Marcus followed to make sure the man actually left the premises, not just the stables. Violet kept up with Marcus’s determined strides, and right before they exited into the daylight, she slipped her palm into his, gave his hand a firm squeeze and then dropped her arm to her side before they went outside.

  He wished he could’ve glanced in her direction to see what she was thinking, but he had to keep his eyes trained on the back of Townsend’s head.

  Initially, he thought the hand squeeze was a silent promise to finish what they’d started back in the horse stall. But then, in his peripheral vision, he spotted his sons and Uncle Rider cooling down their horses in the outer corral.

  More than likely, she was simply giving him the warning that they now had an audience. Playtime was over, and they were back to being adversaries.

  Chapter Eight

  Violet finished her list of exhibits for the pretrial hearing and closed her laptop before deciding to take a long run to clear her brain. She’d tried to put Marcus out of her mind for the past few days but couldn’t stop thinking about how close they’d actually come to both literally and figuratively having a roll in the hay.

  She especially couldn’t stop thinking about how his initial response had been to protect Tessa during his sister’s argument with her ex-boyfriend. Even with emotions running high, Marcus had been extremely professional in the way he’d handled the trespassing congressman, considering the fact that Violet herself had wanted to punch the jerk.

  Marcus truly did have his family’s best interests at heart, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that he just wanted to protect his siblings. All of them. Including MJ. Now if she could only convince him that the way he was going about looking out for his brother would surely backfire.

  She passed an old tree with a faded carving in its trunk along with an arrow. RKx2 was here. Finn had explained to Violet that as boys, their father and Uncle Rider used to carry pocketknives and scratch their initials into trees along their favorite trails so that they would know where they’d already explored.

  “RKx2 is a lot shorter to write than spelling out Rider King and Roper King every time,” Finn had said. “If you follow the arrows below the initials, they’ll always point you toward the stables so you can’t get lost. They were adults, though, when they purchased the western acres. So if you ever end up on that side of the ranch, you better have a GPS because there aren’t any RKx2 markers over there.”

  Every time Violet went for a run, she always tried to follow the marked trees on the east side, since it gave her a better sense of direction. However, seeing the carving today gave her an unexpected sense of comfort, as well. Marcus’s father had been one of the smartest and most diplomatic men she’d ever known. Sure, he was a politician and could smooth talk with the best of them. Yet, he always knew the right thing to say and exactly when to say it.

  “Hey, Mr. King, if you’re up there listening, maybe you could give me the right words to talk to your oldest son.” She felt silly making the request aloud. Mostly because her job was to come up with convincing arguments. So she added, “Preferably at a time when he’s willing to actually listen.”

  She was only a mile into her run when she passed the small road leading to the family cemetery and saw Marcus’s patrol vehicle parked at the top. Her heart skipped several beats. She hadn’t expected the opportunity to talk to the man to pop up this soon.

  Violet paused, jogging in place. She shouldn’t interrupt him while he was visiting his father’s grave. But then again, she had asked Roper King himself for a sign. What should she say, though?

  After arguing with herself for several minutes, she finally decided to continue her run, taking the two-mile loop path skirting a cluster of trees. She told herself that if Marcus was still there when she returned this way, then she would approach him.

  Violet wasn’t the fastest runner to begin with, and despite slowing her pace, his vehicle was still there when she finally made it back to the crossroad. Ugh. Even though she’d yet to come up with the right words, she was going to have to say something. Otherwise, she’d regret wasting the opportunity and then spend the rest of the day kicking herself for not having the courage.

  And Violet didn’t want any more regrets when it came to Marcus King.

  Rolling her shoulders a few times before walking through the gated pa
th, she expected to find him standing in front of the newest—and biggest—granite headstone in the cemetery. When she realized he was standing in front of his wife’s headstone, though, Violet froze before trying to quietly backtrack her steps.

  Unfortunately, Marcus had already turned his head and spotted her.

  She lifted her hand in a wave before realizing that maybe that wasn’t the most appropriate greeting under the circumstances. “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I was just hoping to catch you...” Not alone. Don’t say alone. “I should’ve waited until you were done with your visit.”

  “I was pretty much done.” Marcus rocked back on his boot heels. “What’s up?”

  Violet should’ve brought up the subject of MJ, but instead said the first thing that popped into her head. “Tell me about her.”

  Judging from the surprised expression that crossed his face, he clearly hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “About Brie?”

  Damn it. Maybe that was out of bounds. “I mean, only if it’s not weird.”

  “Everything has been weird since you arrived, Vi. So why would we want to go back to normal now?” Marcus let out a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I might as well tell you all about her since she knew all about you.”

  Now it was her turn to be surprised. “You talked to your wife about me?”

  “Yeah. I used to talk to her about everything. I mean, not initially. We’d gone to high school together but never really hung out back then. According to her, she had a crush on me, but everyone knew I was in love with someone else who lived far away.” Marcus obviously meant Violet, but she didn’t want to make this conversation about her, so she nodded, and he continued, “I was a mess after I got out of boot camp. I had a one-week leave before starting my advanced individual training school, so I came back to the ranch to get over...whatever had gone wrong between us. Duke was playing in some garage band back then with Dahlia’s ex-husband and talked me into coming to one of their gigs. Brie was there, and she came over to say hi. I ended up crying in my beer the whole night and telling her all about us. Or at least the version of us that I knew at the time.”