The Wrangler and the Runaway Mom

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “Maggie—” he began, fumbling with an apology, an explanation, anything to break the thick tension suddenly seeping between them.

  She lifted one trembling hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever you were going to say. We both know this was a mistake that can’t happen again.”

  He had just been telling himself the same thing. He’d been the one to stop it, after all. But now, perversely, hearing her echo his thoughts annoyed the hell out of him.

  He propped a shoulder against the porch support and crossed his arms across his chest. “Why not?”

  “Why not?” She stared at him. “A hundred reasons. A thousand.”

  “Give me one.”

  She reached behind her with both hands and clenched the doorknob that must be digging into her back. “I have a son.”

  “Last I checked, that makes you a mother, not some kind of nun.”

  “A mother who is trying to do everything she can to keep her son safe.”

  He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I can’t let myself be distracted by—by what you do to me.”

  For an instant he felt a fierce satisfaction that she was as affected by their kisses as he had been. Not that he had needed her words to tell him. He had known it in the way her arms had twisted around him, by the way her mouth had gone all soft and gentle under his, by the way he had heard her heart pounding like the hooves of a horse at a full gallop.

  He couldn’t help his completely masculine sense of triumph that she didn’t hide from it, that she was strong enough to admit she had wanted him as much as he still wanted her.

  Then the rest of her words suddenly sank through and he straightened from the post. “You and Nick are safer here than anywhere else,” he growled. “You know that. No one can get to you while you’re on the Broken Spur. I told you I would protect you. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Then why come up with all the excuses? What’s the real problem?”

  She shifted her gaze down to the old, worn slats of the porch, then finally looked up at him through stricken eyes. “You could hurt me, Colt,” she whispered, so softly it might have been the wind sighing under the porch eaves.

  He stared at her as an emotion coiled in his gut, so unfamiliar it took him several seconds to recognize it for what it was: shame.

  What the hell was he trying to accomplish, pushing and poking at her like this? He knew just as well as she did that it was a huge mistake kissing and touching like this. Sooner or later someone’s toes would end up burned. Most likely hers.

  She was right No, he corrected grimly. Not quite. She said he “could” hurt her, when the truth was, there was no “could” about it He would hurt her. He would take her trust and her faith and he would smash them into jagged little pieces.

  When he told her he was FBI, she would never forgive him for deceiving her for so long. In the deep dark corners of his heart, he knew that was exactly the reason he hadn’t told her yet, when he’d had plenty of opportunities.

  All the excuses he had come up with were just that: excuses. The harsh, unvarnished truth was that he was afraid of her reaction, afraid of crushing that goodness he craved even more than her kisses.

  Before he could form his thoughts into any kind of coherent answer he could give her, her lips twisted into a tiny smile, so sad it sent stinging shards of guilt into his heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Good night, Colt.”

  “Doc—” he began, but she had already slipped inside and closed the door softly behind her, leaving him alone with the regret.

  “When’s Colt gonna come back?” Nicky asked, wiping a milk mustache away with the back of his hand.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie answered for what seemed like the hundredth time since her little caballero woke up. If she had her way, Colt wouldn’t return for hours. Maybe with a little more time, she could regain some of the equilibrium she had been seeking so desperately since she had made such a complete fool out of herself with their heated embrace on the porch the night before.

  It was just a kiss between two adults who were undeniably attracted to each other. In the cold light of morning, she could see that she had completely blown it out of perspective. You could hurt me, she had whispered, and she cringed now, remembering. All he was interested in was a kiss, and she had turned it into a grand love affair that would end with her heart broken and bleeding.

  “Why’s he been gone so long?”

  She scrubbed at an invisible spot on the counter, fervently wishing she could avoid Nicky’s questions, all centering on the same male she couldn’t seem to shake from her thoughts. “This is a big ranch, Nicky. I’m sure there are plenty of chores to do every morning.”

  “I could have helped him,” he grumbled. “You should’ve got me up. I wanted to rope a cow this morning.”

  An image of Nick at the mercy of a steer’s powerful hooves and wickedly sharp horns flashed through her mind and she winced. “We’ll be here for a few more days. You really don’t have to try everything all at once.” And God willing, maybe there are a few things you won’t have to try at all, she added silently.

  “Think Colt will take me with him after he comes back and has breakfast?”

  “Not if you don’t eat a little more of that muffin and drink your milk, young man.”

  “Cowboys don’t drink milk,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “They do unless they’re looking to get into major trouble with their mothers.”

  Nicky scowled but he knew enough to obey her when she used that tone of voice, and a few minutes later, Maggie heard the unmistakable sound of hard-soled cowboy boots pounding the boards on the back porch.

  With a shaky breath she forced herself to tighten the strings on the apron, more to give her fingers something to do than for any other reason, to prevent her from pressing her hands to a face suddenly feverish from more than just the heat pouring from the oven.

  Wouldn’t that just be a sight? What would Colt think if he walked through the door to find her standing there with her face buried in her hands like some kind of ostrich hoping he would go away if only she couldn’t see him?

  Her stomach fluttered. She had known this moment was inevitable, that she would eventually have to face him again, but she couldn’t help wishing she had a little more time.

  No matter how hard she tried, the memory of their embrace had been burned into her mind as surely as the Broken Spur brand in the hide of Joe Redhawk’s cattle.

  Nor could she forget how she had laid her heart bare to him, as if she were so vulnerable that the few casual kisses they had shared would leave her completely devastated.

  Colt probably wouldn’t dream of referring to it again. He was too considerate for that. She hoped.

  The kitchen seemed to shrink in half when he walked inside, filling the space with his scent, his size, his sheer masculine presence.

  “Mornin’,” he said, tousling Nicky’s hair—for once bare of the too-big hat that usually perched there. Colt turned and sent her a hesitant smile, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether she’d smile back or smack him with her weapon of choice, one of the cast-iron frying pans hanging above the stove.

  All those fluttery, dangerous feelings from the night before came hurtling back and she was suddenly enormously grateful for Nicky’s presence to provide a buffer between them.

  “Hey, Colt.” Nicky grinned widely, with unabashed hero worship in his brown eyes.

  “What’s for breakfast, partner?”

  Nicky’s grin faded into a grimace. “Muffins. Again.”

  Colt sent her a teasing look under long lashes that should have made him look ridiculously feminine but instead only seemed to accentuate his rugged appeal. “Uh, maybe I’ll just have some toast.”

  She swallowed the stray tendrils of desire lingering from the night. If he could act like nothing had happened, she would try her
darnedest to do the same. She handed him the tray. “Maybe you’ll try a couple of muffins. I made them fresh this morning with bananas and walnuts. They’re loaded with potassium and folic acid.”

  “Mmm. Sounds delicious.”

  “If you eat them up like a good boy, I might even cook some greasy bacon and artery-clogging eggs to go with it, although it would probably be violating my Hippocratic oath.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He grabbed two muffins from the tray and took a bite of one. She waited for him to grimace and spit it out, but to her gratification, his eyes glazed.

  He chewed, swallowed, then shook his head at her son with an amazed expression on his face. “Why have you been groaning about having to eat these? They’re delicious.”

  “I’d still rather have cocoa crunch cereal,” Nicky muttered darkly.

  “And I’d rather have a son who appreciates my cooking. I guess we have to be happy with what we get,” she answered, pulling a package of bacon from the refrigerator.

  “You know you don’t have to do this.” Colt gestured to the stove. “Cook, I mean. You’re a guest here.”

  “I don’t mind. This way I at least feel as if I’m earning my keep. Your friend was kind enough to open his home to a couple of strangers. Taking over the cooking duties while Pablo recovers is just my way of saying thank you. Besides, I’d rather stay busy.”

  “It is a big help, but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t get out and enjoy yourself. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I am enjoying myself,” she answered, lifting her gaze to his. Instantly she knew it was a mistake, that she should have just kept her attention on the stove.

  He watched her casually enough, but she thought she could see a flicker of desire there in the depths of his vivid blue eyes. They locked with hers and she hitched in a breath, unable to look away, as the memory of their kiss—of her enthusiastic response, of his tongue tangling with hers—flared between them. Just like that, it was as if they were back on the porch, wrapped in each other’s arms while the moonlight washed around them.

  Her pulse began to beat a slow, steady rhythm, and she would have stood there all morning, staring at him like some lovesick teenager, but he was the one who broke the contact. He blinked rapidly, then turned one of the ladderback kitchen chairs with a little more force than completely necessary.

  Eyes hooded now, he straddled the chair, his forearms crossed along the back.

  She took a shaky breath, struggling to rein in the need he unleashed in her with just a look. Hoping the trembling of her fingers wasn’t noticeable to anyone but her, she opened the package of bacon and laid several slices in the frying pan. The kitchen was immediately filled with their sharp, pleasing aroma and cheerful spatter and hiss.

  Only when she turned again to face the table did she realize her son had turned his own chair around so he could imitate Colt’s posture. Nicky’s eyes barely topped the highest rung of the chair, but still he thrust his arms above him at an uncomfortable-looking angle to rest his elbows on it just as Colt had done.

  It’s only one small mannerism, she told herself. It’s perfectly normal for a boy his age to do a little hero worshiping, especially when he didn’t have any kind of a father figure around. He would easily get over it when they finally found a place to call home, when Colt rode out of their lives as abruptly as he had entered.

  Somehow she couldn’t quite convince herself. Colt’s departure from their lives would be as hard on her little boy as it would be on her.

  “Hey, Colt,” Nicky said, “will you show me how to rope one of those big cows after breakfast?”

  “On a ranch we call those big cows cattle.”

  “Can you show me how to rope a cattle after breakfast, then?”

  Colt laughed. “You bet, partner.”

  She opened her mouth to protest as visions of that demon steer out for her son’s blood flashed through her mind again, but Colt’s wink stopped her. “You know, cowboys can’t just run right out and rope a steer first thing. You have to practice awhile.”

  “I’ve been practicin’.”

  “I know you have, and you’re getting real good at swinging a loop. I have this old iron steer head I practiced on when I was your age. Why don’t you help me find it after breakfast and you can work on that for a while? Then later you and I can take on a real steer.”

  Nicky frowned and started to protest, but Colt headed him off. “In the meantime, how would you and your mom like to ride up with me to my favorite fishing hole today?”

  “Yeah!” Nicky gripped the chair in excitement, his brown eyes wide. “Can I ride Star?”

  “You bet. Doc, what do you think?”

  That I should grab my son and go while I still can, she thought. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I be here to fix lunch for the others?” It was a lame excuse, and both of them knew it.

  “Maggie, you’re a guest here. The whole point of coming to the Broken Spur was to give you a chance to relax for a few days. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “Then ride up to the fishing hole with me. Joe and the rest of the boys can fix sandwiches if they’re starving. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

  She’d been so busy worrying and gearing up for an argument she hadn’t noticed her host standing in the doorway. “That’s what we usually do,” he said.

  “Please, Mom?”

  She might have been able to resist the entreaty in one pair of eyes. But when both of the males in her life looked at her like that, she really had no choice.

  “All right,” she finally agreed. “Just don’t expect me to fish.”

  Chapter 11

  Breathtaking. It was absolutely breathtaking.

  The three horses had been steadily climbing for an hour, through the fringy, outstretched branches of pine trees and trembling stands of aspen. Now they paused on the crest of a hill, looking down on a small lake whose mirrored surface reflected snow-capped, craggy peaks.

  Colt, in the lead of their little procession, reined in Scout, and she and Nicky followed suit with their horses.

  “This is beautiful,” she exclaimed. “Is it still Broken Spur land?”

  He nodded and stretched out a hand. “The ranch border is down there, at the edge of those trees. Beyond that is National Forest land. That’s Butterfly Lake there, packed with the best rainbow trout in Montana.”

  “And it’s on your...” she stumbled, then corrected herself “—on Mr. Redhawk’s land?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Right,” he said tersely.

  How could he stand it, knowing this had once been his and that he had somehow lost it? Her heart twisted with regret for him. “It’s a beautiful spot,” she said quietly.

  He grinned suddenly, unexpectedly, the shadows gone from his eyes. “I practically lived up here at the lake when I was a little kid. I’d hide out up here whenever I wanted to weasel out of ranch work or escape my dad yellin’ at me for something or other. Once when Joe and I were about ten or so we snuck away from the bus stop when nobody was looking and grabbed a couple of horses. Spent the whole day up here. Man, that was one great day of fishing.”

  “You only did it once?”

  He chuckled and cast a sidelong look at Nicky, who was too engrossed in his new love affair with the little pony Colt had introduced him to to pay them much mind. “Once was enough. We got busted. My dad caught us trying to sneak the horses back to the pasture. We were stupid enough to bring back a day’s catch. Don’t know how we planned to explain it to him, but we tried to tell him it was an educational field trip.”

  She laughed, delighted at the picture of him as a mischievous little boy. “An educational field trip?”

  He nodded. “If I remember right, we tried to tell him our class was studying trout habitat and we felt we needed to get an up-close-and-personal look to truly understand what our teacher was talking about. A good story, but he didn’t buy it.”

  “Sounds like
a smart man.”

  His mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile. “About most things.”

  Not about his son. The words were unspoken, but she sensed them as clearly as if he had said them. Her heart ached for him but she knew he wouldn’t welcome her compassion. “Well, do me a favor,” she said instead after a few moments, “and don’t give Nicky any ideas.”

  “Ideas about what?” At the sound of his name, her son looked up from patting Star’s gray-speckled withers.

  “Ideas about catching more fish than me today.” Colt gave Nicky a mock scowl, which only earned him giggles from her son.

  “How can I catch more than you? I’ve never even been fishin’ before.”

  “We’ll fix that, partner. By the end of the day, you’ll be ready to go on the professional trout-catching circuit.”

  Nicky giggled again. “I’d rather be a cowboy.”

  “It never hurts for a guy to know how to catch his supper when he’s out on the trail.” He wheeled Scout around. “Come on. I’ll race you down to the lake.”

  Colt let Nicky and his pony take the lead. She would have been frantic with worry if they were really racing down the hill, but since the pony didn’t seem to move any faster than a trot, she just smiled and watched them go, following along at a more sedate pace.

  Once on the shore of the lake that couldn’t be more than two hundred yards at its widest spot, Colt—with his five-year-old shadow not far behind—led the horses out to hobble them where they could nibble on the fresh meadow grasses.

  She carried a colorful old quilt Colt had packed for them to a huge, fragrant pine tree a few feet from the shore. A cool wind, tart from the evergreen trees ringing the little lake, rippled across the sapphire water and teased the edges of the quilt as she tried to spread it. After several attempts, she finally found success and settled down to read.

  She had brought along a medical journal to try to catch up on some reading, but for now she let it sit unopened next to her while she enjoyed the view.

  The spreading branches of the tree made a cozy little haven, the only sound coming from the wind that sighed above her in the treetops and from a pair of brilliantly colored magpies who loudly protested the invasion of their domain.