Where Wishes Live: A Contemporary Christian Romance

by Dora Hiers

  A foot tapped his arm until Shiloah’s eyelids drooped. Soon, she surrendered to sleep, formula dribbling from her lips.

  He set the forgotten bottle on the table. Movement off to his left snagged his attention. An older model compact snaked up the driveway. Gravel dust flumed from behind like an angry gray cloud.

  He nudged Fargo’s boot with the tip of his own. “Hey. You expecting company?”

  Fargo snorted and scooted up in the chair. “Not me, but the ranch is busier than a Dallas hotel now. Hope you didn’t think you would escape civilization by coming here.”

  Maverick grinned at the displeasure tightening his brother’s jaw. “Don’t be disrespecting Kierra’s new business. Appears she’s making a go of it and doing quite well.” Their sister’s idea of generating extra income by converting the ranch into a destination spot for special events paid off in a big way, actually. The special events income alone covered the huge balloon payment that loomed over their family after their father’s sudden death.

  Fargo scoffed. “Too well. There isn’t a moment’s peace anymore.”

  Peace? Escape? As if he could ever escape the chaos of his thoughts. The heaviness of Sam’s body pinning him in the mangled car. The constant yammering in his head that it was his fault—

  He checked his phone. No messages or text from work. Any day now they’d catch—

  “That’s Summer and her son, Logan. Summer’s the photographer for tonight’s wedding.” Fargo craned his neck to identify the car.

  Maverick slid the phone back in his pocket. Shiloah startled, but never lifted an eyelid. “A wedding. Huh. That explains why Mom and Kierra shooed me out of the kitchen. Barely got a hug or a hello from either of them.”

  “Yeah. Mom’s been cooking and baking like crazy for a couple weeks now.”

  A car door slammed. He glanced over a shoulder.

  A gentle breeze tipped up the hem of the woman’s dress to flutter around her legs. Honey colored hair fell halfway down her back in sleek waves. Her arms disappeared, and within seconds, a young boy materialized. As soon as the toddler hit the ground, his chubby legs raced toward the house. Love and tenderness radiated from the woman’s smooth golden face as she watched the boy until he disappeared inside the house. Then she angled back to reach inside the car again.

  “What did you say her name was?” He couldn’t tear his gaze away if he tried. So, he didn’t try.

  “Summer,” Fargo said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his tone. “But that little guy? He’s a tornado. Summer pays Slade to babysit, but when that tiger’s around, we all keep a close eye on him.”

  “What is he? Two? Three? How bad can he be?” Maverick scoffed, a tight invisible bond holding his gaze hostage to the gorgeous woman.

  A camera case hung over a shoulder. She flashed a look in their direction as she hustled toward the front door. She flicked golden strands of hair behind an ear and cherry red lips curved in a glorious smile.

  Six weeks at the ranch might not be so bad if this woman came around often.

  “…almost three.” Fargo mumbled something, but Maverick only caught the tail end.

  “Three what?” Maybe this was a dream. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Dream or not, this angelic vision was most definitely a welcome change from the nightmares that plagued him since the accident. His eyelids jerked up at Fargo’s chuckle.

  “The boy, Logan. Not the mom.” His brother’s amusement irritated him.

  Maverick glared at his brother.

  “Just sayin. The boy’s cute, but he’s a wild one with a nose for mischief.”

  He snorted. “How much mischief can a three year old get into?”

  Fargo rolled his eyes. “You just wait.”

  The back screen door squeaked open. Leather soles slapped across the deck and tromped down the stairs. Logan, the three-year-old terror, headed their way.

  “Uncle Far! Uncle Far!” A hand landed on Fargo’s shoulder. Two pudgy legs stuck out of a pair of outgrown denim shorts, and the kid’s feet sported the smallest boots Maverick had ever seen. Coffee warm eyes, almost the size of the biscuits he’d eaten for breakfast, shot him a shy glance. The kid was adorable! Fargo didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “What’s up, bud?” Fargo ruffled the boy’s hair, and loose, baby-fine strands stuck up even more.

  “Who’s dat?” A miniature finger pointed at Maverick, but the boy’s gaze landed somewhere behind him.

  What did the kid see? Maverick angled a glance over a shoulder.

  Ah. The boy’s mother. Holding the screen door open. Keeping an eagle eye on her son.

  Summer made eye contact with Fargo and nodded, smiling. All too quickly, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Well, that was just too bad. He kinda enjoyed that view. Just as well, though, since the kid had to come with a daddy, right?

  Fargo’s voice drew him back to the mischief finder. “Logan, this is my brother, Maverick Kester. Maverick, Logan Kyleson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Logan.” He reached over the sleeping baby to shake the kid’s hand.

  “Tank you.” The boy had good manners. But his smile dissolved. His forehead scrunched and he pinched his nostrils. “Ewww! What stinks?”

  Fargo chuckled. “Uh, that would be my daughter. Mav, I need to head back to the house to change her diaper. Will you be all right?” Fargo scooped Shiloah from Maverick’s arms and flicked his head toward the boy. A sharp warning tugged Fargo’s eyebrows together.

  “Just like every other day on the job.” Maverick just didn’t get Fargo’s concern. Why all the fuss? If he could keep a witness safe from violent thugs intending to do them harm until their day in court, he could surely keep an eye on this tiny dude. “We’ll hang out for a little while, won’t we, Logan?”

  Logan wagged his head, a picture of pure innocence.

  “See?” Piece of cake. Babysitting Logan would seem like a party compared to long boring evenings hunkered down in a safe house.

  “Okay, then.” Fargo left the pool area, bent over, crooning to his baby girl. The canine duo cast wide circles around Fargo as they headed toward their house.

  Maverick waved a hand through the air to dispel the lingering stink of Shiloah’s diaper. “So, Logan…” He angled back to the boy, but the spot next to Fargo’s chair was empty. Where’d he go?

  A soft footstep. A muffled giggle. A splash.

  A splash? Maverick’s head whipped toward the pool. Just in time to see a head bob from the water, then an arm.

  Son of a deuce! Pain ripped through his abdomen as he hauled himself out of the chair.

  One giant step. Two.

  The kid was already in the middle of the pool, head under water, arms floating out to the side.

  Maverick dived. Braced for the frigid blast of water. Battled the pain that arced through his entire torso and shot up his spine. He snagged the top of the toddler’s britches and dragged him to the surface. They broke through into glorious air, but the boy’s eyes stayed shuttered.

  “Stay with me, Little Guy.” Pulse thundering, Maverick looped an arm around the toddler’s torso, hauled the kid out of the pool and patted his back.

  Water trickled from the child’s throat. But one eyelid cracked open, then the other. Brown orbs skittered to Maverick before squeezing closed again.

  The kid might’ve gotten away with it. Might’ve. If not for the rounding of his mouth or the puffed out cheeks, truth that he was faking. Did the boy crave attention? Or was this a rebellious act because his mama told him no swimming?

  Maybe Fargo was right. This kid was a recipe for disaster.

  Maverick would never survive six weeks at the ranch. Let alone feel any measure of peace. Especially with the kid’s oversized eyes, deep and rich as the espresso he loved, but as dangerous and worrisome as his last assignment.

  ****

  Summer raced across the lawn and skidded to a stop next to Logan’s rescuer. Her bare knees slammed into
the rigid concrete, but the bloody scrapes were nothing compared to the beating her heart was taking.

  “Is he all right?” Please. Please. Let her baby be all right. He had to be. He was all the joy in her world.

  Silver eyes tinged with pain angled to meet hers. The cowboy winked, his expression twinkling with more than a bit of the devil.

  Huh? Her baby could be dead, and the man dared to flirt?

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe your boy will be fine. But it wouldn’t hurt for the paramedics to check him out. They might even suggest a ride to the hospital in the ambulance.” His serious tone belied the teasing curve to his lips and the fractional softening of his jaw when he looked back at Logan.

  One masculine well-shaped hand rested on Logan’s shoulder; the other pressed his own abdomen, his breathing labored. From rescuing her son?

  Logan flashed his trademark mischievous grin. His whole face scrunched with the effort of keeping quiet.

  She bit back a cry of relief. She’d save the cry for later tonight, alone in her room.

  Just like always.

  Meanwhile, there was a lesson to be taught here, and a willing cowboy to help her. How often did that happen?

  Wade usually lavished attention on his own daughter since he only got her every other weekend. She didn’t mind. He might want more from their relationship, but she wasn’t ready to move past friendship and casual dates. And, Lord knew, her ex never volunteered in that department.

  Not that she’d welcome his…help.

  Summer nodded, signaling her intention to play along. Her rebellious heart twitched at the friendliness glowing from the man’s face. She ignored the stutter, attributing it to the frantic rush to get to her son. “Yes. And the doctor will probably have to give him a shot or two or three. He might even have to spend the night in the hospital—”

  Logan’s lashes fluttered open. His arms thrashed, but Summer double checked that his rescuer kept him in place with what appeared to be a gentle grip on his shoulder. Yeah. No pressure.

  “If you haven’t already, you should call 9-1-1. Let’s get him inside.” The cowboy inhaled, sharp and painful sounding, as he scooped up her boy. When he reached his full height, the man towered over her, cradling her son in massive arms. Chlorine-scented water dripped from his short honey blond hair and slicked off those thigh-hugging jeans to puddle on the concrete.

  She couldn’t blame worry for her heart’s stumble this time.

  “But, mister, I’m all wight.” Logan thumped his rescuer’s shoulder several times.

  The cowboy reared his head back, his expression an amusing blend of shock and mischief. “You’re all right?”

  “Oh, thank heaven!” She palmed her chest, playing along.

  “You don’t think you need to go to the hospital?” the cowboy asked, that deep country singer’s voice doing all sorts of delicious things to her insides.

  Her baby’s head wagged back and forth, horror etched on his face.

  “Well, that’s great news.” Clear silver eyes met hers. “What do you think, mama? Does he look all right to you?”

  She slicked a hand over her son’s wet hair, taking in the smooth chubby cheeks, the precious wide-eyed gaze. “He looks more than all right. He looks perfect.”

  The man chuckled and looked at her as if she was a bit crazy.

  Maybe she was. Sure, her son tended to be a bit mischievous, but that just made him unique, special, fun. At least, during those times when she didn’t fear for his life. Or hers.

  “All right, then, kid. Your mama says no trip to the hospital...this time.” His amused gaze slid to her and then back to her son still wedged in the crook of his arm. “But let’s get you inside and into some dry clothes.” He scooped a phone off the table and attached it to his belt, then planted a hat on his wet head.

  She scrambled to keep up with those incredibly long legs. Finally, she halted him with a tug on his upper arm.

  Muscle tightened beneath her fingertips. He paused and angled around slightly, golden brows arched in question. His hat dripped on her hand while he regarded her in silence.

  She blinked, and her mind blanked. Why had she stopped him? And were those really her fingernails digging into the man’s arm? She released her death grip on the cowboy.

  Logan’s tiny arms clung to his rescuer’s damp neck. Awe glazed his face as he gazed up at the man. Drinking him in…as if the cowboy was a superhero.

  Maybe he was.

  That thought startled her. The slightest of breezes drifted over them, bringing the clean scent of pool water that clung to his clothes along with leather and spice. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the scent comforting her as much as the knowledge that her son was all right. All because of this man.

  “Yes?” Finally he broke the silence, and the one word lingered in the air.

  She knew the energy he’d expended to save her son, to protect him. Didn’t she slide under the covers every night, exhaustion weakening every limb?

  Her lids flickered back up and she met his steady gaze, void of the impatient vibes her ex-husband surely would have given off by now. Like tapping his shoe or checking his phone for the zillionth time. Or worse, grabbing Logan’s arms and squeezing tight, getting right in his little boy face with clenched jaw and angry words.

  She stuffed the old fear back by blowing out a breath, cleared her throat, and focused on the man clutching Logan with a gentle grip. “‘Thank you’ seems pathetically inadequate.”

  The hard angles of his face softened, including his mouth, and he winked again. “It’s a start.”

  “Thank you, then.” On a sudden impulse that both terrified and thrilled, she threw herself at him. She locked arms around both boy and man and planted a quick peck on the startled man’s cheek.

  Logan squirmed under her pressure, but his rescuer only sucked in a giant breath and held it as he patted her back.

  Awkward! The poor guy. She was squeezing the stuffing out of a stranger, but she couldn’t help herself. His quick action saved her son from drowning. She pressed a cheek to his chest, his wet shirt dampening her skin as much as her tears. Relief flowed through her limbs, and her legs threatened to give out on her. When she was sure she wouldn’t lose it in front of him, she stepped back and swiped a palm across her cheeks.

  His entire body sagged, visibly loosening its tautness. His smile came out more on the brittle side, but his tone was soft, tender almost. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  What happened to the amused expression, the teasing tone? Right now, her heart could handle that. Not so much the compassion warming his face.

  His boots started moving again at warp speed, the leather soles squishing pool water with every step. Huff, slosh. Huff, slosh. Was he angry? Or worried about a wife’s reaction?

  What had she been thinking? She could have slapped her forehead, but settled for a quick glance at his profile.

  He had a strong jaw with a smattering of whiskers and a slight cleft tucked into his cheek. Thick muscled arms cradled her boy against his heart as if ...as if Logan actually meant something to the man. Logan’s head bobbed above his rescuer’s shoulders, and his hand curled around the man’s neck.

  With the exception of those loud puffs coming from the man’s rapid stride, he didn’t seem angry. But neither did he look like any of the cowboys from around here. Not in the way he walked, his legs moving across the lawn with athletic grace and good posture, as if he didn’t spend most of his days on the back of a horse. And not in the way he dressed. His jeans were too new, too starchy and stiff, his shirt too pressed. At least, they had been before the unexpected dip in the pool. She’d seen that much from her brief glimpse when they first arrived.

  He twisted to look at her over Logan’s head. Honey colored eyebrows hiked high on his forehead and that amused expression returned. His chest puffed up and his shoulders straightened. Confidence oozed from every step.

  Seriously! He’d caught her gawking at his legs.

&
nbsp; She dipped her head, hiding her embarrassment behind a curtain of hair as heat crawled up her neck. Sure, she had her sights set on finding a kind, hardworking cowboy to settle down with, but—

  “A pair of boots would be nice, too.” The rescuer’s deep voice sounded as if he found this whole situation entertaining.

  “Oh!” Her hand fluttered to cover her mouth while her gaze skittered to his leather boots. They looked as if he’d just plucked them off the showroom shelf before the unanticipated swim. But now…ruined.

  He clomped up the porch, water squishing from the soles.

  “I’m so sorry. Of course.”

  “Not for me. For the boy.” He plucked one boot from Logan’s foot and tipped it upside down. Water spurted and drained onto the deck. He tossed the soggy footwear and it landed with a thud on the wood planking. He repeated the process. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll ride into town with you and get replacements for mine.”

  “Sure. But, I’ll be glad to buy you a pair, too.” Small price to pay for saving her son.

  “No need, but thanks. I was due for some new boots anyway.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me.” She arched an eyebrow and dipped her head to glance pointedly at his boots, but he didn’t bite. “Are you a guest at the ranch?”

  “You could say that. Mind getting the door?”

  She scrambled to open the door, and he carted Logan inside. For a guest, he seemed fairly familiar with the layout of the house already. But she hadn’t been to the ranch in over a week, so it was possible that he’d checked in right after her last event here.

  Rebekah hurried into the kitchen, clutching a towel. “Is Logan okay?” Her worried gaze skimmed from the cowboy to Logan as she pressed the bath towel into Summer’s trembling fingers.

  “He wescued me!” Logan’s voice came out excited and not at all sorry, and his body suddenly wiggled to life.

  The cowboy lowered her little guy to the floor with great care and even more huffing.

  Summer draped the towel around Logan’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, a tight squeeze with every ounce of love from her heart, unable to dredge up any real anger over the situation. Her son was alive! “Yes, he did.”