by Tori Kayson
Hawk closed his eyes, the mountain of regret crashing down on him again.
“Look, man, I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. She never told me the whole story, and I’m not asking for it. My point is that you obviously meant a lot to her or she wouldn’t have been so broken up about it. She’s dated other guys since then, of course. But none of the relationships stuck and she never seemed all that fazed. Not like with you.”
The meat popped and sizzled on the grill. Hawk whirled around, grabbed the tongs and a serving tray, and started plucking the ribs off. What was he supposed to do with this information? And why was Fargo telling him? Confusion twisted into a hard knot in his gut. Smoke fogged his vision. At least, that’s what he blamed for his bleary eyes.
Fargo continued. “You’ve changed. Single dadhood will do that to you. A weaker man would’ve just thrown in the towel. But you’re not that man.”
Hawk nodded, unable to speak. He set the tray of meat on the counter, covered it with foil, then stirred the pan of beans.
But Fargo wasn’t finished. “So either you two will iron out what happened between you all those years ago or—”
Hawk twisted around to face Fargo. Or…what?
“Put this thing between you to rest for good.”
****
Kierra slid her gaze toward the sky, anxiety churning like a garbage disposal in her belly. The sun had slipped quite a few notches lower from the last time she’d dared a glance. It was late, and Hawk would be well along in dinner preparations. She should be there helping him. How many more questions could Sterling possibly fling at her?
“You’re young.” The editor’s blue eyes rolled from her face to her chest and lingered before sliding back up. “How old are you anyway?”
Not interested, buddy. Back off! Her hand itched to smack him. “Didn’t your mama warn you never to ask a woman’s age?”
He didn’t respond with words. Only regarded her as he sipped from a tall cup of iced tea. He’d rejected the coffee she’d brought.
“I haven’t hit my third decade yet.” There. That would have to be good enough.
“I didn’t think so.” A predatory look flickered across his face.
She tried hard not to roll her eyes, but after being cross examined for the last, what?— surely an hour had passed?—she wondered if this feature was worth the hassle.
“You’ve said often that you love the ranch life, and I can understand why. It’s peaceful and quiet.” But his expression belied his words, his mouth curled almost in a snarl as his head turned in a panoramic sweep of their camp. “But wouldn’t you rather live in a big city like Dallas? Imagine the social life you’d have. The restaurants, the bar scene, theatre, just about anything you could imagine would be right at your fingertips.” He wiggled his fingers in the air then leaned in as if to share a secret. “And thousands of people your age to hang out with.”
With every question, he seemed to delve deeper into the personal range, and her irritation simmered. “Occasionally I drive into Dallas and meet some friends for dinner. But I can’t imagine living among all those skyscrapers and steel and…noise.” Just the thought of wading through the masses that swarmed the city sidewalks at five o’clock or driving on those interstates during rush hour made her cringe. “And I have all the art and companionship I need right here.” She swept a hand through the air, encompassing Kester land. “Stunning sunrises and sunsets that photographs and paintings could never do justice. Plenty of land and wide open spaces to hear myself think. I go to sleep at night listening to healthy cattle and contented horses and—”
Fargo’s long strides in her direction disrupted her tirade. Her brother would never seek out a guest, so he must need her. Sure enough, he halted a few feet away and folded his arms over his chest, glowering. His expression would spur ranch hands into prompt action. Not her. Still, he provided a good excuse to wrap up this interview.
“I love it out here. Being close to my family, being a part of something that’s much bigger and longer lasting than just me.” She flashed a smile at her brother, but Fargo didn’t relax his stiff stance. “Kester Ranch is a legacy that’s been in our family for generations, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I only hope I can share my love of this life, this ranch, to our guests.” She lifted herself off the bench and snatched her tablet and mug from the picnic table. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Sterling, but I’m late for another, um…assignment.”
The editor snagged her arm. “But we’re not finished. I have more questions.”
“She’ll have to answer them later,” her brother growled, moving in like the protective big brother he’d always been. Through slitted eyes, his gaze honed in on the hand still gripping Kierra’s arm.
Why did he still treat her as his baby sister? His behavior was acceptable in middle school. She’d even been grateful for his meddling in high school. But now? She could handle her own life, thank you very much.
Sterling nodded and relinquished her arm. “Sure. That’ll work.”
“Thanks for understanding. I’ll be happy to set aside more time later.” She pivoted, glaring at her brother as she stalked past, her boots snapping twigs and dried leaves in her hurry to escape the embarrassing moment. What was Fargo trying to do? Sabotage her interview? Wreck their chances for a feature?
Her brother matched her steps. And her glare. “Hawk’s practically done with dinner.”
She stopped her march. Crossed her arms. “Did he send you?” Probably ratted on her. The lou—
“No, he didn’t. Actually, he covered for you when I asked where you were.”
He’d covered for her? Ouch. She hadn’t purposely avoided helping Hawk. She hated that the cowboy had worked all day wrangling calves, keeping the mamas separate until they branded, castrated and inoculated the bawling babies, then been forced to prepare and cook dinner for the entire crowd, solo. But Sterling had just kept firing question after question.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but from the scowl her brother flashed, he didn’t appear to buy it. Her legs propelled automatically, the urge to make amends urging her toward the kitchen.
“I assigned you to help him.” Fargo tagged along. Apparently, he wasn’t finished lecturing her.
“I know.” Sheesh.
“I know how badly you want this feature, Kierra, but the success of our ranch doesn’t depend on it.”
“No?” She glanced sideways, expecting to see the usual worry slumping her brother’s shoulders.
Fargo jutted his chin. His back was straight, sure, his steps confident. “No. We’ll make the payment. I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“Fargo, this ranch is as much mine and Mama’s and Slade’s to worry about as it is yours. And Mav’s,” she huffed. Although her middle brother had his Deputy US Marshal income. His little family didn’t make their livelihood from the ranch nor did they live here. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t move here eventually. Mav was vested in its success like the rest of them. It was their heritage.
“Just sayin’, Key. You don’t need to suck up to this guy just because his title impresses you.”
Was she? She hadn’t bent over backwards to entertain the guy. Just answered a few questions. “It’s called being polite and hospitable. My job requires that, you know.” Two traits her brother sorely lacked. Her boot snagged on a rogue root, and she stumbled.
Fargo reached out to steady her, just like the older protective brother he’d always been and would always be. He’d been their rock when their daddy passed away. While they’d all been blindsided by grief, he’d worked twice as many hours as the rest of them. She could trust him to say his mind, whether she liked it or not.
And, truthfully, she valued his opinion. Not that she’d admit it to him.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you, Key. Be polite. Do your job.” The words left his mouth without any condemnation. He flicked his head straight ahead.
She foll
owed his gaze to the outdoor kitchen area. The fragrance of pork and beans hung in the air, tantalizing and drawing a crowd to the covered picnic area where they would soon devour the bounty. Hawk turned around, a platter of meat in his hands, that crazy apron with the words Kiss the Cook barely covering his chest. Just then he smiled, a mixture of relief and gratitude sliding across his features. As if the heavens parted and a chorus of angels started singing Hallelujah. As if she was the answer to his particular prayer.
Her heart went all soft.
Was she sucking up to Sterling just because of the feature? Yeah. Maybe. Okay. Yes.
Fargo was right. She couldn’t let Sterling keep her from doing her job. And that meant helping Hawk in the kitchen, being polite to the cook.
But that apron had to go.
7
“Mmm. These are the best ribs I’ve ever tasted.” Shana sucked on an index finger then slid the digit out with a smacking noise. She did the same for both thumbs.
Shana had squeezed in a tight spot next to the chopper cowboy at the last minute. Figured that the perky woman couldn’t have found an open seat with more generous space farther down the table, right?
It wasn’t bad enough that Shana flaunted her goods in the confines of their bunkhouse. No. Now the woman made suggestive gestures and continually rubbed her upper half against Hawk’s arm. In the cowboy’s defense, he had scooted to the edge as far as he could without landing on the dirt.
Kierra seethed. Tried to come up with a reasonable excuse to escape the table early. Snorted her frustration when nothing came readily.
Her brother jabbed her with his thigh, barely stopping her eye roll.
“Nothing like wrangling ornery calves to build a raging appetite,” Hawk responded to Shana’s comment. To his credit, he never glanced at the seductive blonde with the husky voice and the cleanest fingers in camp.
No, the cowboy kept his attention on gnawing a bone. When he finally looked up, his gaze collided with Kierra’s. He tossed the dry bone on his plate, winked.
Her pulse responded the same way it had all day whenever he’d emerged from the sorting pen to check on the progress of the ribs. A full out gallop.
Kierra averted her eyes and pushed the potato salad around with a fork, silently scolding herself. Willing her pulse to settle into a more sedate trot.
“They are good,” Fargo said, flinging another stripped-clean bone to join the heap of others on his plate and swiping his face with a napkin. “You should consider entering them in the cook-off next month.”
“I’m the new guy in town, remember? What cook-off?” Hawk lifted a shoulder as he shoveled more beans onto his plate.
“The Coldwater Ridge Annual BBQ Cook-Off. It’s our version of the county fair but on a much smaller scale. Amusement rides for the younger kids, games and competitions for the teens, and contests and events for the adults,” Kierra said, finally setting her fork down. No sense pretending to eat.
“The BBQ is definitely the draw, though,” Fargo added, plucking another rib off the platter. Obviously the scene in front of him hadn’t spoiled his appetite like Kierra’s. “And your ribs would stand up to anything I’ve ever tasted there.”
“The draw for you, maybe. I don’t think Mama would agree. She goes for the pies. Wins every year she enters,” she teased.
“Wow. That’s impressive. But after sampling her pecan pie I can understand why.” Hawk wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on his empty plate then speared her with a hope-filled glance. “I would consider competing if I’m still here.”
Silence descended over their end of the table, the chatter of voices and laughter at the other end only a hum in Kierra’s ears. She swallowed, but the lump lodged in her throat.
“Why wouldn’t you be? I thought you just got here.” Shana asked, unaware of the tension that rolled in like a heavy fog.
Hawk didn’t respond, just kept his gaze glued on Kierra. As if she had any control over whether he stayed or moved!
She bolted off the bench and picked up her empty plate. “I’m going to get a jump on the dishes. Excuse me.”
Nods all around, then Shana’s whiny voice followed her. “Oh, I get it. You have a girlfriend pining for you back home.”
Kierra’s legs slowed to a crawl. A girlfriend back home? Hadn’t he said Coldwater Ridge was now home?
“Or maybe you’re one of those love ‘em and leave ‘em types and have females stashed all over the country,” Shana teased. “Which is it?” The stubborn woman wouldn’t give up.
Kierra gasped and covered her mouth, took off like a rocket for the kitchen area, not waiting for Hawk’s response. Her plate clattered on the counter. Moisture rimmed her lashes and blurred her vision. She would not cry! She’d already shed enough tears over Hawk Rowe.
Shana’s words hit the bullseye. Hadn’t Hawk kept Brigit a secret? Hidden until just the right time, that moment when Kierra finally allowed those dreams of happily-ever-after to blossom, and then, boom!
I’m pregnant.”
Two small words obliterated their future. Crushed her.
And she thought he’d changed. Ha!
Nothing had changed, yet everything had. She was still stupid and naïve, allowing herself to be duped into thinking the only man who’d ever been capable of shattering her heart into a gazillion pieces could be different, more mature, more responsible. What really blew her away, though, was that he rocked fatherhood, something she’d seen even back then.
She held her plate over the garbage can and dumped the bones, not bothering to bend over and pick up the few that scattered on the ground next to the can. She filled the sink, letting the hot water run over her hand, the scalding temperature barely registering until her skin colored red.
Almost silent boots stepped near her space and Hawk’s woodsy earthy scent slid over her. She exhaled, determined not to allow any part of him back in, and swiped a sleeve against her eyes.
He didn’t say anything. Just set the plates on the counter next to the sink, tossed the bag bursting with discarded bones in the trash, and scooped up the litter around the can.
Only then did she slide her gaze toward him.
He’d parked a hip against the still warm smoker, arms crossed over his chest. The brim of his Stetson hid his silver eyes.
She dug a plate out of the soapy water, pressed her lips together and lifted her chin as she scrubbed it, suds dripping to her elbows. It didn’t matter what he said. She had a job to do, a feature to score, a ranch to save. How could she have lost sight of the importance of this trip?
Hawk. That’s how.
****
It took about fifteen plates before Kierra’s chest stopped heaving and the tension uncoiled from her shoulders.
“I hope I’m still here for the festival, but that depends on you.” Hawk toweled off a plate and set it on the counter.
“Me?” Her startled gaze finally acknowledged him.
He nodded. “Fargo said as much yesterday.”
Her hands stilled, her knuckles white against the blue plate. Suds dappled her forearms and plopped into the dish water. Her upper lip disappeared, and a lump traveled the length of her ivory neck. Did she know how beautiful she was?
“I don’t care whether you’re here or not.” She lifted her chin in the air. Wrinkled a cute nose.
“Ouch.” He couldn’t resist needling her and gave her hip a gentle nudge. “Not even a little?”
“Maybe I would miss your cooking. And those king-sized snacks.” Her mouth curved up on one end.
Progress. He’d take it. “So you only want me here for my candy stash and my culinary skills. That’s all?”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I might miss that oversized cup of coffee waiting for me every morning. But that’s not so bad. I’d just have to pour my own.”
“Huh? Is that right?” he teased. “I’ve seen you in the mornings. You don’t even open your eyes until you’ve downed half the brew. I don’t know
how you’d manage to find the coffee pot.”
“Easy. I follow the smell.” She met his gaze full-on then, not one of those covert sideways glances. Humor danced across her face. The plate slid back in the sink and her hands dangled in front of her, suds plunking to the ground near their feet.
Game on! He lifted an eyebrow, tossed the towel on the counter and invaded her personal zone with a small step. “You saying I smell?”
He probably reeked. Of smoke and outdoors, cattle and horses. Not good. Not like her. Sweet and sassy, like roses and citrus, combined with the fresh clean scent of the liquid suds dripping from her hands.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she swallowed. Then her tongue flicked across her upper lip. What was going through that pretty head? Was she remembering their fun times together or was she only in the ‘now’?
Then, almost too quick— had he imagined it? –that playful expression disappeared. Her chin dipped to her chest. “No, I—”
Wasn’t it about time they cleared the air? He edged even closer, not about to let her off the hook. After all, she’d initiated this flirting session. “Is it a bad smell or—”
She raised her head slowly. “You smell better than a man has a right to.” Fire flashed from her coal dark eyes, all evidence of humor long gone, replaced by something much worse. Pain. “But, Fargo makes great coffee and he always gets up before me in the mornings. So, I’m good.” She pivoted so fast, smoke practically drifted up from the ground underneath her boots as she made treks toward her bunkroom.
A groan rumbled from his throat. He pounded the counter with a fist then splayed his palms against it, hung his head. What just happened there?
A muscle twinged and pain rippled up his back, coiling around the base of his neck, the strength of it almost blinding him. He twisted his head one way, held it for a count of ten, then the other. Repeated until his vision cleared.
As if wrangling calves and herding people all day wasn’t enough exercise, now he’d need to squeeze in a therapeutic workout, some stretching exercises, or by tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t be able to walk. Especially after seven hours on a thin mattress and days of dealing with this constant pressure—working next to Kierra, wondering whether she’d allow him to stay, how he’d break the news to Cody if he lost this job—paralyzing his spine. Burpees might work. Like a thousand of them.
