by Tori Kayson
“Not at all. Just going over some last minute, um, details. Sure. We can ride together.”
“Great.” The editor smiled, but the curve of his lips did nothing to her pulse. Nor could she scrounge up any desire to watch him mount his ride.
No. Her rebellious gaze turned in time to see Hawk disappear inside the chopper.
“You good?” Fargo came alongside atop Majesty. The rest of the horses plodded toward the trail behind her brother. Hope and Charity looped circles around the motley crew.
“Yeah. Let’s rock n roll.” She had an event to work and details to go over in her head. She didn’t have time to daydream about the handsome cowboy in the chopper. Not when the man riding next to her had the potential to put their ranch on the map.
****
“Here’s the last one.” Shana set the dry plate on the stack of others and dropped the towel. She bent over to pick it up, her robust swells practically exploding from her skin-tight tank. Virtually nothing was left for him to imagine.
Hawk blinked to dispel that image. For crying out loud, she had to be what? Nineteen, twenty, tops. Heck, his kid was roughly half her age. He didn’t need or want that kind of trouble. “Thanks for helping with the cleanup, Shana.”
“Sure. Anytime.” She gave her hands a final swipe on the towel and leaned past him to hang it on a tree limb to dry, brushing against his arm.
For two days now, Shana had flaunted her goods, but he couldn’t scrounge up the slightest interest. Did that make him ancient? Or had he finally earned a smidgeon of self-restraint? Hawk had no intentions on taking Shana up on her unspoken invitation but, shoot, he wasn’t dead.
He jerked back, making quick tracks to the fire they kept feeding for the after-dinner coffee. The tub of leftover soapy water could wait until later. He’d dump it when she wasn’t around.
“Well, if you don’t need me anymore…” She left the invitation hanging, her full lips pouty, her heavy blonde eyebrows arched.
And lose his job and erase any hope for a judge to consider granting him full custody of his son? Not a chance! Kierra’s startled face from this morning flitted across his thoughts. For some reason he refused to dwell on, regaining her respect meant a great deal too. He shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
With the towel wrapped around his hand, he disengaged the hot pot of coffee, keeping a wary eye on Shana as she marched away with a huff, her chin hiked high in the air.
Phew. Crisis averted. He shook his head, refusing to be sucked in to the sway of those voluptuous hips, and skimmed the guests in search of Kierra.
Who was giving him the look, her lips pressed together in a thin line, those long lashes barely distinguishable from her dark eyebrows.
He shook his head again and lifted a shoulder, but she refocused on her tablet. At least she’d finally ditched the dude with the fancy boots.
Hawk poured coffee in two tin cups. Steam coiled up and the strong java scent bolstered his courage. He carried the mugs over to where she sat on the ground hunched over her tablet, her back resting against a wide oak tree. “Thought you could use this about now.”
Her head popped up. A kaleidoscope of expressions slid across her features. Surprise, delight, irritation. As if she couldn’t decide which, but finally settled on gratitude. “Thank you.”
Juggling his coffee, he sank down beside her and leaned back against a log, studying her as she took a cautious sip.
“Mmmm. You’re right. I did need this.”
He dug into his pocket for the goodie bag. Tossed it on a smattering of grass between them. “And what about this?”
She scooped up the bag and chuckled, the sound fresh and pure and so peaceful compared to Shana’s high-pitched giggle, and speared him with her warm espresso colored eyes. “You’re spoiling me. And these king-sized bags surely don’t help my waistline.”
“Are you digging for compliments? Because if you are, there’s nothing wrong with your waistline.” He didn’t allow his gaze to wander. Instead, kept it focused on her so she could see his appreciation. Not his want. Or the longing for something more than physical that suddenly swamped him.
She inhaled sharply, and then a giant lump puckered her throat.
So he’d gotten through to her. Pride puffed up his chest.
“Looks like one of our guests appreciates your…” Kierra’s voice trailed off as her hand circled the air in front of him.
“Yeah, well, she can appreciate all she wants. No touching allowed.” Earned him another chuckle. “Long day?” he asked.
“Longer than long. I think you got the cushy job.”
He hiked an eyebrow. “Cooking for this crowd?”
“Hey, I offered to help. You said you had it under control.” Her full lips puckered in a pout, but her soft tone teased.
“Yeah, well, if I’d known that Shana would muscle in on your job, I wouldn’t have agreed to let you off the hook.” That last part was a lie. Because he’d seen the dark shadows rimming her cheeks, the weary hunch of her shoulders. “But no guarantees for tomorrow.” Didn’t he wish for guarantees? Not just for full custody of his son. For this job to last. For a different, brighter outlook for the future.
“I hear you. But Shana might not like me butting in on her—”
“Last I heard, Fargo assigned you.” Couldn’t the stubborn woman see that he wasn’t even remotely interested in Shana?
Sighing, Kierra closed the lid on the tablet then set it on a patch of grass next to her hip and moved the candy bag to her lap. “I’ll help, I promise. But maybe we can switch places tomorrow and you can ride on the back of the horse for eight hours?” She stretched her spine and reached around to rub her backside.
He quelled the strong urge to follow with his eyes. Instead, shifted behind her and massaged her shoulders. “Why do you think I got my pilot’s license?”
Her eyelids fluttered closed with a moan. “To show you’re smarter than us lowly cowgirls?”
“Nah. For that very reason.” His fingers moved to her spine. Why wouldn’t the woman loosen up? Her back was stiffer than a crusty piece of bread. “Apparently, my last truck had a big target on the tailgate. Someone plowed into it while I was stopped at a light. My physical therapist advised against sitting in a saddle for ten hours a day. So I traded the leather saddle in for a cushioned seat.”
Her cheeks scrunched, but her eyelids stayed shuttered. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Worked out for the best. It’s actually more enjoyable for me to keep an eye from the sky than eating dust at ground level.”
“I bet.” Laughing, she finally opened her eyes and shifted slightly, just out of reach. “Thanks. That should help.”
Working out that stiffness would take more than a couple minute massage. “You’re welcome.” He resettled next to her and scanned the makeshift camp. They could’ve stayed in the bunkhouse near the loading pens, a more comfortable alternative with beds and facilities, but Fargo told him that Kierra wanted the guests to experience roughing it. Hawk preferred this more rustic atmosphere anyway. Even if cooking over a fire versus the propane powered stove and smoker was more work.
At the edge of the clearing, Fargo tossed a ball for the Koolies to retrieve. Most of the guests lazed around the campfire, the drone of their chatter melding with an owl’s hoot, the shuffling of cards, and the crackles and pops of wood. But, a handful had already retired to the tents and slithered in their sleeping bags after downing a few ibuprofen tablets, the day’s activities a bit strenuous for weak muscles. How many of these wannabe cowboys and cowgals hunched over a desk for eight hours every day? He flicked his head toward the remaining guests. “How many do you think will drop out by morning?”
Kierra regarded the group. “The goal is for everyone to enjoy the experience.”
Other than a hiked brow, he allowed her comment to slide. The waning light painted orange and purple shadows across her smooth, pretty face. “If you need a break, you’re welcome to
ride shotgun in the chopper. But I can’t promise that you won’t find some kind of toy or video game stashed in the seat somewhere.” Would she take him up on the offer? He held his breath, wishing she would, the nerves squeezing his chest as tightly as the very first time he’d asked her out.
“If I did that, the next day wouldn’t be any easier. Thank you, but by tomorrow night, the stiffness should be mostly gone.” Apology softened her cheeks and her tone.
Disappointment kicked him in the gut. “Don’t you ride much on the ranch anymore?”
She scoffed. “Not enough, apparently.”
“You used to ride every day.” Actually, they’d ridden every weekday before school. And at least one day on the weekend, sometimes both.
“Those days are over.” Her quiet, carefully aimed zinger pierced his chest, added another layer to the mountain of regret.
As if he needed the reminder. Words wedged in his throat.
“Now I spend most of my time planning or preparing for guests. And cleaning up after them.” She whisked some stray strands of hair back from her face then popped a candy in her mouth.
“You’ve done a great job. Everything seemed to go according to plan today.” Not that Kierra wouldn’t do well at anything she attempted. That’s just the way she was. Hospitable and friendly, good business skills, organized. And just enough stubbornness to succeed.
She nodded, her dark eyes shimmering with warmth and excitement. “Actually, remarkably well, considering it’s our first time for this type of event.” Sipping, she squinted at the steam that curled up from the cup.
Kierra probably didn’t realize, but she’d just revealed her vulnerable, sweet spot. Hawk made a mental note. All he needed to bring out that dazzling smile was to get her talking about—
“Is this a private party?”
Hawk almost groaned out loud. A cowboy with any decency could sense that, yes, indeed, this was a private moment. Back away, buddy, and you won’t get hurt.
“No!” Kierra glanced up, her megawatt smile flashing welcome as she patted the empty space on her other side. “Please join us, Sterling.”
Was it selfish to want to be the guy who made her face glow like that?
The dude disregarded Hawk’s silent warning and plopped down on the ground, planting his back against the same tree as Kierra. Wasn’t the wannabe cowboy afraid of staining those brand new jeans? Shoot, he’d even pressed creases in the front for Pete’s sake.
Sterling. So that was his name. Hmmm.
It wasn’t enough that this dude had occupied Kierra’s attention for most of the day on horseback. Now, he had to hone in on the few precious moments Hawk had managed to steal? The man rubbed shoulders with Kierra. If his mouth moved any closer to her lips, they would for sure be one less guest in the morning.
And, Hawk seethed, he’d be out of a job.
“I’m not sure either of you have formally met outside of the round up pen. Sterling Winsome. Meet Hawk Rowe.”
“The chopper cowboy?”
“That’s right.” Time to exit before he lost his self-control. Hawk hoisted himself from the ground and bent to shake hands since city dude kept his seat.
“He’s also an EMT and our cook. He’s responsible for the juicy, cooked-to-perfection steaks we enjoyed tonight.”
“Is that right?” Winsome’s eyebrows arched and he finally turned to latch that arrogant gaze on someone other than Kierra. “I must confess I only dared a couple bites. I don’t eat much red meat. Doesn’t agree with me. But everybody raved about it, so I know it must’ve been good.”
The man didn’t eat red meat. In Texas. On a cattle roundup. Huh. Who’d have guessed. Judging by the sudden red diffusing up Kierra’s neck and pinking her cheeks, this was also news to her.
“Really, Sterling? Why didn’t you choose the vegetarian option on the signup form?”
City dude lifted a shoulder. How did the guy manage to look so put together and clean after a day rounding up cattle? “My job is to experience everything.”
Hawk tried, he really did, to keep from rolling his eyes, but—
“Sterling’s an editor for the Amazing West magazine, Hawk. He’s considering featuring Kester Ranch on the cover of the next issue.”
Hawk blinked to cover up the eye roll, coughed. No wonder the woman lit up like Fourth of July fireworks every time the dude got close. How was he supposed to compete with that? But, the bigger question, why was competition even in the cards?
Kierra had made her feelings crystal clear ten years ago. You made your bed, cowboy!
5
Kierra lifted the tent flap and slipped outside, the only light the millions of stars still dotting the sky, the aroma of caffeine greeting her like a long lost friend. She followed her nose to the gurgling coffee pot, only stumbling over uneven spots in the ground a couple times.
“Morning, sunshine.” Hawk’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet.
Like magic, a cup slid against her palm. She curled her hand around the warmth, inhaled, sipped, and finally opened her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Still not a morning person I see.” Amusement rounded his lips, and tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his silver eyes.
She sighed. Took another sip. By the time she finished this cup, she might be ready to face cracking a gazillion eggs into a skillet. “No. But I’m getting better.”
“Really?” Humor laced his tone.
She intended to bump his shoulder, but made contact with hard chest instead. Whoa! She wobbled, more from the electricity that zapped through her limbs and pinged to life in her belly than from lack of balance. Her eyelids flapped open.
“Careful.” Hawk gripped her arms, his grip solid, steady.
Maybe she’d best keep her eyes open. Wouldn’t want that to happen again, right? Her brain didn’t respond quickly enough to satisfy her, so she prodded a second time. Right? Nothing good would come from dredging up how safe she used to feel in Hawk’s arms. Or how at home with her cheek touching his downy soft cotton shirt, her palm flattened against his heart, the rapid thump thump thump matching the frantic pace of her own. Or the way his cinnamon breath warmed her neck, his earthy masculine scent as much a part of her as hay and horses.
Stop it! Mercy, this morning wasn’t off to a good start.
“Thanks. I got it.” She took a shaky step back, disengaging from Hawk’s touch. There. That was better. At least now she was wide awake.
“Did you sleep well?”
Not hardly. Not when dreams of him tangled with magazine headlines. “No. Should’ve taken some ibuprofen like everybody else. You always this cheery in the mornings?”
He grinned, both rows of teeth enamel gleaming in the starlight, a giant whisk now dangling from his hand. “Only when I’m around you.”
Her gaze dropped to the apron draped around his neck. Big red letters Kiss the Cook splashed across most of the real estate on the white cloth. “Save it, Rowe.”
Chuckling, he angled back to the temporary work surface he’d prepared. Sausage links sizzled in a frying pan. Egg cartons lids were flipped open, empty shells in the holes, some eggs already cracked and in a mixing bowl. As much as she didn’t like that Fargo hired him, her brother had been right. Hawk was the perfect addition to this gig. But she didn’t plan to let either cowboy know that.
“What would you like me to do?” She set the mug down and tugged a spare apron over her neck, glancing down as she fastened it around her back.
I cook as well as I…kiss?
Oh no he didn’t! She jerked it off and flung it over a tree limb.
“What? You don’t like my aprons?”
The man was incorrigible! “What happened to the ones I packed?”
“Hmmm. I didn’t see any aprons in here.” He pretended to sift through the storage container of kitchen supplies, the whisk still dangling from his hand. With a half-hearted shrug, he flashed those trademark dimples and surrendered the search. “Good thing I had a couple on
hand.”
Still as full of it as he used to be.
“Huh. Go figure.” She shot him a glare and dug to the bottom of the box, her fingers finally landing on cotton material. She tugged out a black apron with Kester Ranch embroidered on the front. “Ah ha!”
He grimaced, but those clefts in his cheeks deepened as he whisked the eggs, his bicep a hard, firm mass. He’d always been lean and muscular, but over the last decade, his shoulders and arms had bulked out. “Oh. There it is.”
“Yeah. Right where it belonged.”
His head jerked up, a tic pulsating in his jaw and nostrils flaring. Egg batter dripped from the motionless whisk to plop on the makeshift wood surface. Did he recall the words she’d hurled at him back then? When she’d discovered that he’d not kept his male body parts to himself?
“Who needs an alarm clock with you two around?”
Startled, she twisted her head over a shoulder to see her brother reaching for a coffee mug. Either Fargo had snuck up on them or she’d been so preoccupied with Hawk that she hadn’t heard him. She suspected the latter.
“Morning, boss.” Hawk busied himself with beating the eggs again.
“Good morning,” she said, hiding the warmth creeping up her neck by sliding the correct apron over her head.
“Is it?” Fargo poured the brew into his cup and angled toward them. Steam curled up as he eyed them over the rim of the mug, capturing both of them with his glare, but finally settling on the cook.
The increased volume of their conversation was just as much her fault as Hawk’s. She couldn’t allow Fargo to put all the blame on Hawk. She cleared her throat, glanced up at the sky, finally lightening to a golden hue. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Hawk slapped the whisk against the skillet then flashed a look of gratitude her way. “Want your breakfast now or when you get back, boss?”
Fargo plunked a hat on his head. “When I get back from checking on the horses.” He took a step and then pivoted. “That is, if I can trust you two to get along.”
Hawk’s only response was a tic in his jaw as he flicked the sausage links.
