You Had Me at Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  “What did I miss?” Aunt Sassy asked as she pushed through the screen door. She held a basket of rolls in her hands. Mason loped up the stairs and took the basket from her, then offered his arm to steady her as she walked down the front steps.

  “You didn’t miss much…just some of Quinn’s cake that Truman ate.” He led her to Tess, who was kneeling and petting the cake-eating dog. “Tess, this is my great-aunt, Sassy. Well, Cassie, I guess.”

  His aunt smiled at Tess. “It’s okay. You can call me Sassy. All the rest of these yahoos do.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you.” Tess stood and started to hold out her hand, then must have realized she’d been petting the dog and wiped her hand on the side of her shorts. “Sorry, my hand’s a little slobbery.”

  Sassy took her hand anyway. “That’s all right. A little dog slobber never hurt anyone. I was raised in the Depression, ya know?”

  “Oh goodness. That must have been hard.”

  “It was.” Sassy still had hold of Tess’s hand and was studying her face. “Where do you live, Tess?”

  “In Denver.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “What’s your zodiac sign?”

  “Sagittarius.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Purple.”

  “Morning person or night owl?”

  “Night owl.”

  “Milk chocolate or dark?”

  “Milk.”

  “Favorite season?”

  “Summer.”

  “If your house caught on fire, what’s the one thing you’d save?”

  “My grandma,” Tess answered without hesitation. She’d answered all his aunt’s rapid-fire questions with barely a blink.

  A grin curved across Sassy’s lips, and she patted Tess’s hand, then finally released it. She gave Mason a small nod. “She’ll do.”

  He let out his breath, not realizing he’d been holding it, as his aunt took the basket of rolls from his hands and crossed the yard toward the table.

  “What the heck was that all about?” Tessa whispered.

  “I told you she was sassy.” He slid an arm around her waist and leaned toward her ear, not because anything he had to say was a big secret, but just because he liked being close to her. “She’s a character. She does that to everyone. It’s like a litmus test when she first meets someone.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “She really only cares about the last question, and without missing a beat, you told her you’d save your grandmother instead of a family heirloom or the television. So yeah, I’d say you passed.”

  “My grandma is my family heirloom. And who’s going to save their television? It’s insured.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Thirty minutes later, the whole family, including Quinn’s brother, Logan, an assortment of farmhands from both ranches, and Tess were seated around the long picnic table they’d set up in the side yard of the house.

  Yesterday’s party had been for the locals and Rock’s team. Today’s meal was just about family and celebrating Rock and Quinn. They’d selected choice steaks from their own stock to cook, and the scent of grilled meat filled the air.

  Ham stood at the end of the table and took off his hat, signaling to the family that he was about to say grace. Mason reached for Tess’s hand, glad to have another excuse to touch her. It was crazy the number of times he’d already found in the half hour that she’d been here.

  A touch of her hand, a brush against her hip, a nudge on her shoulder. He didn’t consider himself a touchy kind of guy, but something about this woman and the smooth, tan skin of her bare legs and arms had his palms itching and his body aching to run his fingers along her—hell, along her anything.

  He just wanted to touch her.

  What he really wanted was to whisk her away where they could be alone, and he could get not only his hands but also his lips and his tongue on her. Except that he wasn’t sure what would happen if they were alone.

  This way, when they were around others, he had an excuse to touch her, to hold her hand, to stroke his fingers down her arm and revel in the rash of gooseflesh that cropped up there.

  He got a kick out of watching the skin on her neck blush a soft pink when he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Which made him want to whisper everything, even if it was just to ask her to pass the salt.

  She had an easy laugh, and he liked the way she seemed to blend effortlessly into his family, chatting with Quinn and giving his brothers a hard time. Heck, if she could handle Rock and Colt, the girl just might be a keeper.

  Except that Mason wasn’t looking for a keeper. He wasn’t looking for anything. Except a quiet life on the ranch where he could farm, tend to the cattle, and ride his horse. He felt his scowl return as he sighed and dug into the food on his plate.

  As it often did in their family, especially when they had fresh blood for an audience, the conversation soon turned to telling stories and sharing memories of stupid things he and his brothers had done growing up. Most of their antics involved Quinn and Logan, so it seemed everyone at the table had a memory or a story to tell.

  Tess held her sides, unable to stop laughing, as each one tried to top the craziness of the story before. They regaled her with tales of sneaking out at midnight, the time they’d tried to hook sleds to their horses, the time they’d hosted their own pie-eating contest, and numerous stories of teeth being knocked out—usually during another of the endless hockey drills Rock insisted on putting them through.

  Max’s small face beamed with pride as he watched Rock speak. He stood up on the bench seat and wrapped a skinny arm around Rock’s neck. “Rock is the greatest,” he told Tess, who was sitting across from them. “He’s like a superhero. And I love superheroes. They all have superpowers. Rock’s is that he can skate really fast, and he’s superstrong. What’s your superpower?”

  “Excuse me?” Tess’s eyes widened as all eyes turned to her. “I don’t have any superpowers.”

  Quinn leaned forward and offered her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. He does this with everyone. He thinks we all have superpowers. Mine are more like super mom powers, like finding lost items and being able to read minds.”

  The pink color rising on Tess’s cheeks darkened. “I can assure you I don’t have anything like that. I’m really pretty ordinary.”

  Mason didn’t believe that for a minute.

  “Your superpower is just something you are super at doing,” Max explained. “What do you think you’re really good at?”

  “Making poor life decisions,” she mumbled.

  A round of laughter rippled through the table, but Mason had an odd feeling she hadn’t been trying to be funny. He remembered her earlier terror at speaking in front of people and slid his hand across her leg to twine his fingers through hers. Her hand was trembling.

  “Actually, I think Tess’s superpowers are telling good stories,” he said.

  Her hand gripped his tighter.

  Maybe that hadn’t been the way to go. Her face had just lost all color. She probably thought they were going to ask her to tell them a story. Dang. He’d been trying to help and had just put her more into the spotlight.

  “But she doesn’t tell them out loud,” Mason said before anyone asked her a question. “She writes them down. She’s a writer.”

  She shook her head and lowered her eyes to her lap as a ripple of interest flowed around the table.

  He pointed at Max. “But you should tell us what your superpowers are. It seems like they change every week.”

  Max giggled and raised his arms above his head. “My superpower this week is talking to animals. And making cookies disappear.”

  Vivi, who had been watching him and Tess with her discerning mom eye—one of her superpowers—laugh
ed and gave Max a round of applause. She must have realized all the attention was making Tess uncomfortable as well.

  Mason leaned down and whispered into Tess’s hair. “Sorry about that. I know you don’t like to be the center of attention.”

  She offered him a thankful smile and whispered back, “Thanks for trying to help. I think your superpower is taking care of others. I know you keep saving me.”

  Hmm. That might not be too far from the truth.

  Not the part about saving her. He hadn’t really done all that much except loan her a shirt and get her mixed up in an entire weekend spent with his family and the small-town folk that believed every detail of anyone’s life was everyone’s business. That didn’t sound like a superpower to him. More like an anti-superpower.

  “I think I would like my new superpower to be skating,” Max announced, grinning up at Rock with adoration. “I’ve decided I want to play hockey like you.”

  Mason’s brother’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, buddy?” The first time Rock had taken Max skating, the boy had fallen and broken his arm. He’d only recently got the cast off. Rock had been too freaked out to take him again, so he’d asked Colt to teach him.

  Max bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Colt’s been teaching me lots of stuff, and I’ve been working on my stickhandling.”

  Rock looked at his brother. “Stickhandling?”

  Colt shrugged. “You asked me to teach the kid to skate. So I bought him a stick, and we’ve been tossing a puck around. That’s how Dad worked with us. You know it helps to keep the focus on something other than your feet.”

  “Do they even have a Mites team here?” Rock asked, referring to the eight-and-under league.

  “Some of the moms have been asking me about starting one,” Quinn told him. “Apparently, now that I’m going to be the wife of a famous player, I have been elevated to expert status on all things hockey.”

  “What do you think about it?”

  She raised a shoulder. “I’m okay with it. It’s exercise, and I’ve always thought it was good for kids to be involved in a team sport. Although I have to admit I was picturing him playing soccer first. But if he wants to try hockey, I’m fine. And you can understand why he wants to, considering the majority of the male role models in his life either have played or are currently playing it.”

  “Not this role model,” Ham said. “You couldn’t get me on a pair of skates for a million bucks. I’ll keep my feet in my boots, thank you.”

  Quinn leaned closer to Rock and lowered her voice. “You can’t blame him for wanting to play hockey when everything about the sport gives you a zam-boner.”

  Rock grinned, then glanced over at Mason and Colt. “I guess Max is going to play hockey. But I’d only want him on a team where I knew and trusted the coach. And a young team like that would need a coach who was good with kids and had a lot of patience. And who knew the game inside and out.”

  Mason nudged his younger brother. “Sounds like he’s talking about you, Brother.”

  “Me?” Colt asked, looking up from where he was spinning a quarter across the table to Max. “Why me?”

  “Come on, Colt. You’d be the perfect choice,” Quinn said. “You’re great with kids, and you have the patience of a saint. You’re already teaching Max how to skate and apparently to stickhandle. What’s the big deal of adding one or two more kids to the lesson?”

  “Or twelve,” Mason said, thankful they were asking Colt and not him. With all the responsibilities of the ranch, there were days he didn’t have time to eat lunch, let alone try to coach a kids’ hockey team. But it was a great idea for Colt. He loved the sport, and this would give him a chance to be part of the game again.

  “You would be an awesome coach, Colt,” Max agreed. “Will you do it?”

  Colt’s brow pulled in, and he tugged at the side of his ear. He looked like he was thinking, but Mason already knew he was going to do it. That guy couldn’t turn down a request for help if he tried. Half the town owed him a favor because he was the first guy they called when they needed something, whether that was someone to help them move a refrigerator or paint a barn. Colt was always willing to pitch in.

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll do it,” Colt relented. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Rock asked.

  “That you agree to sponsor the team so all of them get good equipment and new skates. I don’t want anyone to feel like they don’t get a chance to play just because they can’t afford equipment.”

  Rock nodded and stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

  Max stood up in his chair and cheered as Colt and Rock shook on it. “This is so cool. I think I want to be the goalie.”

  Colt shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d recommend that. You don’t have to be crazy to play goalie”—he paused, and both of his brothers chimed in to help him finish the sentence—“but it helps.”

  Max shrugged his shoulders as he sat back down. “Okay, but what’s a zam-boner? Do I need one of those?”

  The table erupted in laughter.

  That kid was too much. Mason leaned toward Tess. “Are you sure you’re ready for a whole weekend of this?”

  She chuckled and nodded her head. “Oh yeah, this is hysterical. And I’m getting great material for a future book. I’ve got to use that ‘zam-boner’ line somewhere.”

  The laughter around the table died at the sound of an engine. All heads turned toward the road as a white news van pulled down the driveway, its call letters boldly displayed on the side.

  “So much for our nice family meal.” Rock pushed up from his seat, an angry scowl already forming on his face. He slammed his fist onto the table, making his plate and silverware jump. “Why can’t the damn reporters just leave me alone and let me enjoy a day with my family?”

  Chapter 9

  Tess grimaced, shrinking smaller onto the bench seat. She was one of those damn reporters. But she was worse. Because she had finagled her way not just into the family meal, but practically into the family itself.

  “I think I may have told you that Rock detests reporters,” Mason said, his voice low next to her ear. His breath tickled her neck and sent a delicious shiver running down her spine.

  “Yeah, I seem to recall you mentioning it.”

  Numerous times.

  Mason stood up. “I got this one, Rock. I’ll tell them to shove off.”

  Rock shook his head. “Not this one. I recognize those call letters, and they’re particularly obnoxious. They don’t take no easily.”

  Colt pushed to his feet, an excited grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Sounds like this calls for Operation Gunslinger.”

  What the heck was Operation Gunslinger?

  Whatever it was, it caused a ripple of enthusiasm to course around the table, and several of the men’s expressions mimicked Colt’s excitement.

  A chorus of “Yeah” and “Let’s do it” flowed over the table as the men all rose to their feet, their faces turned to Rock, waiting for confirmation.

  Rock’s scowl slowly turned to an impish grin. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

  Vivienne added another spoonful of potato salad to her plate as she rolled her eyes. “Have fun, boys.”

  “What’s going on?” Tess asked as she watched the men scatter, fanning out and disappearing into the barn, the bunkhouse, and the house.

  “Just a display of cowboy machismo and a bunch of men who’ve watched way too many westerns,” Vivi answered, snagging a chunk of pickle from her plate and popping it into her mouth.

  Quinn laughed and came around to their side of the table, snatching another biscuit from the basket and squeezing in next to Tess. “I think it’s hilarious. And they love it.”

  “Love what? What is happening?” Tess asked, wondering if she should be grabbing more food as well. Did she need more sustenance for this �
��operation” or were Vivi and Quinn just both still hungry?

  “Just watch.” Sassy, who sat on Vivienne’s other side, nodded to the news van as it pulled up in front of the house.

  The doors of the van opened, and a perky blond reporter stepped out, followed by a heavy-set guy with a bushy beard who hoisted a camera to his shoulder.

  “Hi there.” The blond waved, the sun glinting off her sparkling white teeth. “We’re lost, and we were just wondering if you might be able to give us directions.”

  Tess started to open her mouth, but Vivi put a warning hand on her arm and lifted her chin toward the front porch of the house. She jumped as the screen door banged open, and the James brothers stepped out on the porch, all three of them armed to the teeth.

  Rock stood in the middle, a shotgun resting easily on his shoulder. His eyes were fixed on the blond, giving her a steely stare. “Do you need a news camera to ask for directions?”

  The man turned the camera toward Rock.

  Mason took a step forward to stand even with his brother. He also had a shotgun in the crook of his arm. “I’m going to remind you that you’re on private property and suggest you don’t turn that camera on.” His voice was lower than usual, tinged with the menace of a threat as he raised the gun and cocked the barrel.

  The cameraman glanced from the reporter to the three cowboys but didn’t lower the camera.

  This time Colt stepped forward, his eyes narrowed into hard slits. He carried an older-model revolver that looked like it was possibly an antique. But he held it out in front of him and pulled back the trigger with a resounding click. “My brother might have offered a suggestion, but I’m giving you an order. Get back in your van, and get off our property.”

  The blond held up her hands and offered them an apologetic smile. “We don’t want any trouble. Like I said, we were just looking for directions.”

  “You don’t want to hear the directions I have for you,” Rock answered.

  “We’re going to stick with ‘no comment’ and repeat our instructions to get off our property”—Mason used the end of the gun to direct their attention toward the barn—“before we do something you’re going to regret.”