Roping the Daddy: A Contemporary Western Romance (Kester Ranch Cowboys Book 3)

by Tori Kayson

  Was it really that bad? The thought of spending hours with him in the cockpit?

  Rubbing shoulders as he flipped switches. Her sweet scent soaking into the chopper’s seats and filling the cabin with wishes and dreams of happily ever after.

  His pulse spiked and sputtered.

  Yeah. Maybe it was a bad idea.

  She pouted, those pretty lips sticking out as valiantly as her cheeks, but she finally nodded assent.

  “Kierra giving in? Wow. A day to record in the history books,” Fargo teased.

  Brave man. Braver than he. Hawk wrapped an arm around Kierra’s back, surprised when she leaned into his side. A thrill shot through his veins.

  Hooves plodded against the ground at a snail’s pace and the wannabe cowboy meandered into view. “There you are. If you needed a break, why didn’t you just say so.” The guy had the nerve to laugh at his own lousy joke.

  “Just in time to save the damsel in distress,” Hawk muttered, under his breath. Even though the editor was still a good ways out, he wouldn’t risk Kierra’s chance for a feature by speaking his mind. Or cramming a fist down the man’s throat.

  He blinked. Had Kierra just bumped him with her hip or did he imagine it?

  Fargo must’ve heard his comment, though, because he chuckled as he hoisted himself into the saddle. “I’ll take care of them.” His boss’s face softened as he looked down at his sister then firmed as he switched to Hawk. “You take care of her.”

  “Sure thing.” Taking care of Kierra would be his pleasure. Truly.

  Fargo nodded and directed Majesty toward the unwelcome guest. “No sense getting off that horse, Winsome. Kierra’s going with Hawk.”

  Winsome? For real? That was the dude’s last name?

  The magazine editor resettled in the saddle. “Oh—”

  “And we have work to do. Let’s go.” Fargo grabbed Charcoal’s reins and led the older man and the extra horse back to the group.

  You win some. Or you lose some. And today you lost, bigwig editor.

  Hawk dipped his head. Hopefully, his hat hid the grin he couldn’t control.

  Kierra groaned and sagged against him. “This cannot be good.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sorry about your ankle, Kierra, and the tumble. But I’d much rather you be the one hanging out with me in the chopper all afternoon than that dude.”

  Strands of her hair tickled his arm, teasing him with its silkiness and fruity scent. She gave him a gentle elbow in the gut.

  About as much force as a gnat, but he recoiled as if she’d punched him. “Ouch. Then again, maybe not.”

  Earned him another playful jab along with a raised eyebrow and a snort, the pain etching creases and shadows in her upturned face.

  He leaned down and sniffed, long and loud. “Just sayin’. You smell better too. I don’t know what that city dude wears, but it’s mighty powerful and I don’t want it anywhere near my chopper.” Truth. If Sterling was the one injured, Hawk would be disinfecting the seats as soon as he got back.

  She laughed. “You’re terrible.”

  Maybe. But if it meant taking her mind off that swollen ankle, he’d tease her all afternoon. He scooped her up in his arms, ignored her squawk of protest.

  “What are you doing?” She flattened her palm against his chest.

  Pushing his luck, probably, but how could he resist this golden opportunity? “Well, the way I see it, you have two choices. We can take all the time you need to walk to the chopper on your own, which would slow us down considerably. Or I can carry you. Since I’m quite sure you’d rather Fargo not spend any more time with your guests than necessary, I assumed you’d prefer this method of transportation. Was I wrong?”

  Her face was so close, he caught a whiff of chocolate on her breath. Her pretty bow-shaped mouth rounded in an open circle. “No. You’re right,” she finally said. Then, miracle of miracles, her arms coiled around his neck.

  Dreams lifted off, and his lungs stopped functioning. Could he take the long way back to the chopper?

  He scanned the path. Only about twenty steps separated them from the bird. Of all the rotten luck.

  Reluctantly, he carried Kierra the few steps and lowered her feet to the ground, curling his hands around her waist to hoist her up into the chopper.

  She dragged them away. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Okay.” He backed away, palms up. Not too far that he couldn’t rush in to help if needed. But far enough to appreciate the view.

  She inspected the cockpit. Slid her fingers inside to locate a support handle, and then pulled herself up. Slow going for her to maneuver inside the cab with a swollen ankle, but Hawk didn’t mind.

  Especially when that cute tush wiggled and swayed. She finally sank into the seat and let out a loud sigh of relief.

  He strangled his sigh, but his relief was for an entirely different reason. The image of her climbing into his chopper seared into his eyes. Likely to send him out of the bunkroom tonight, pacing the campsite during the overnight hours, wide awake, frustration setting a fire to his limbs.

  “How does this work?” She held up the harness straps. Turned her pretty face on him, those dark eyes wide, looking at him as if he could fix anything.

  And in that moment, he felt like he could.

  If only he could fix the past. Regret swamped him as he leaned in to take the buckle from her hand.

  Already her sweet scent permeated the cabin. Almost like a garden had invaded his space. Roses and spice drifted over him, and that’s all he could breathe in. Her.

  His hand shook, the belt still unfastened.

  She must’ve sensed his hesitancy because she lifted her face, just a fraction, but enough for her chocolate scented puffs to blow against his lips. She gulped, and memories mirrored from her eyes. Every single kiss they’d shared. How perfectly their bodies fit, snugged together. How her arms twined around his neck and tugged his head down. Like she could never get enough.

  Was she thinking of that now?

  His gaze dropped to her lips. Watermelon red, luscious and ripe, and only a heartbeat away. He threaded fingers through her hair then framed her cheek, his thumb grazing soft and dewy skin before moving on to skim her lips. As if they shared the same breath, her chest lifted and fell in exact rhythm with his, heavy pants thundering through the confined space. Her eyes glowed dark and bold. Inviting…

  Until her cell phone buzzed.

  She jerked back. Horror flashed across her face as she dug into her pocket and tugged the offensive intruder out. She fumbled with the phone. It landed against his chest, and she snatched it back.

  “Hey, Fargo.” Her voice rasped.

  Oh, Lord! What was he doing? He worked for her brother, for pity’s sake.

  He shoved the harness into the buckle properly, keeping his hands to himself this time, and dropped back to the ground, calling himself a hundred kinds of fool.

  Come on, dude. You’re better than this. Your son is counting on you! Leave the past alone and quit digging up trouble!

  He took his time rounding the chopper, inspecting. Behind the bird and out of her vision, he kicked a tree stump, bit back the expletive.

  Maybe having the editor in his chopper all afternoon would’ve been better, easier at least. He could’ve just ignored the guy.

  But Kierra? There was no ignoring her. She’d be all up in his space, whether she actually tried to or not.

  It was going to be a long afternoon.

  9

  It was going to be a long day. The brief ride in the chopper yesterday was only a sliver of torture compared to all day in close quarters with Hawk.

  Kierra sighed and stared at the helicopter. You can do this.

  She didn’t really have a choice. With her sore ankle, she couldn’t even consider riding. All righty, then. Onward.

  “Whoa! Not so fast, woman.”

  Fast? At this rate, she might make it to the chopper by morning break. Kierra stopped and sipped her coffee while s
he waited for Hawk. The dark brew slid down her throat, smooth and welcome. The sweat trickling down her back and the throb in the ankle from the short trek, not so much.

  Didn’t take long for the cowboy to catch up to her. His stride had always attracted her. Bold and confident, athletic, and entirely too masculine.

  She ripped her attention away from his legs. Moved past the wide silver belt up to his shoulders, his solid frame and rippling muscles barely held captive by the black shirt.

  Mercy! Hadn’t she suffered enough insomnia last night? With that image ingrained in her eyeballs, there was no hope for sleep tonight, either.

  “You can’t take that in the chopper.” Hawk flicked his head toward her hand. “Sorry.” Although he said the word, almost as an afterthought, he didn’t look remotely apologetic.

  “What?” Kierra tightened her grip around the travel mug and shielded it against her chest like a child hugging a beloved toy. The man really thought she’d go without her coffee? Of all the crazy ideas! “Why not?”

  “Because if it spills—”

  “It has a lid. See?” She held it up for him to inspect.

  A flock of birds flew past, blocking the morning sun. Honey colored dots spackled his face, but his solemn gaze never left hers to check the cup. “Doesn’t matter. If liquid seeps into the controls, we’re toast.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t thought about that.

  He was the pilot, and he was doing her a favor letting her ride along. But it wasn’t her fault she needed caffeine in a bad way. He was the reason.

  Sleep had eluded her last night after yesterday’s heated encounter. When he’d leaned in to fasten her buckle, his earthy cologne seeping into the confined space and settling over her clothes, his kindness seeping into her spirit. And his butterscotch scented breath was so intense, so close, she could almost believe she’d tasted the candy. If it hadn’t been for Fargo’s call, she would have let him kiss her. Or she would have kissed him!

  Not good. Not good at all.

  She gulped. Because his kiss would hurl her right back into that dark place from a decade ago. Because Hawk Rowe surely didn’t plan to stick around Coldwater Ridge for long. No matter what he said to the contrary.

  She hiked her chin. Pressed her weary shoulders back. Blew out a frustrated breath. A kiss was so not happening. She’d just have to make sure Hawk stayed on his side of the cockpit. Even then—

  The cowboy held out his hand, waiting for her to surrender.

  “Oh, all right!” she snapped. Handed it over, scowling. How and when could she snag another blast of caffeine?

  “Good choice. I’m proud of you,” Hawk said, as if complimenting his nine-year-old. He lifted the lid and tipped the cup, dumping the hot, treasured brew.

  Panic swelled. She reached for the mug, but he jerked his arm back, held it out until every last drop drained.

  Then the cowboy had the audacity to smile. Smile!

  Didn’t he realize she needed that caffeine jolt? Needed something to hold onto, to keep her hand from sliding over to rest on his thigh. Something to do, rather than sneaking peeks at his profile.

  He leaned in the cockpit to stow the offending mug somewhere behind his seat, giving her a front-and-center view of his lean legs and that cute rear.

  Desire gnawed at her. She stifled the moan and squeezed her eyelids closed. They were due back at the ranch tomorrow. Then, she could sleep in her own bed, drink as much coffee whenever and wherever she chose, and, more importantly, avoid the cowboy like the flu. That should make her happy, right?

  So why the prickling twinge of disappointment?

  Kierra stalked over to the passenger hatch. More like hobbled with her weak ankle, and promptly buckled herself in. She didn’t need—or want—a repeat performance of yesterday.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true, now was it?

  Need. No.

  Want. Yes.

  Blast it all! Huffing out a frustrated snort, she dug into her pocket and shot Fargo a text. Early coffee break. Please!

  “I know I haven’t always been this way, but I’ve changed.” The deep voice sounded just over her shoulder. Too close!

  She startled. The phone jostled out of her hands and landed on the ground near his boots.

  He bent over and scooped it up. When he handed it back, his fingers locked on to hers, the phone sandwiched between their palms.

  “I take care of my equipment now. I want it to last a long time.” His voice was steady, his silver eyes trained on her, his touch lighting a fire in her limbs. He held on as if trying to convey an important message. As if the words meant something deeper. As if he was talking about more than just the chopper.

  A huge lump clogged in her throat. Confusion from the past tangled with the reality of today. Was he really different? Had he changed that much?

  She tugged her hand away, tucked the phone into her pocket, slid her headgear on and faced forward.

  He walked around the chopper, inspecting it, while she inspected him. If a simple touch or just looking at him made her heart race and her breath hitch, how would she survive being in this tiny bubble with him all day?

  She blew out a steamed breath. This was not good.

  He climbed in, cranked the engine, and spoke through the headgear. “Ready?”

  No. Only a few hours left. She could do this. She had to. “Ready for liftoff.” She pumped her thumb up.

  He smiled, and in a handful of minutes, they were directly over the herd. The sun drenched the land with an amber glow.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Hawk looked over at her, smiled and nodded, but his attention quickly reverted to the action on the ground.

  She glanced out and down, but couldn’t focus. Too much commotion, too many cattle, too much dust. How did Hawk keep up with all the riders and cattle? She stole a sideways peek.

  The chopper cowboy’s steady hands navigated the controls. Curly honey colored hair smattered the length of his forearms. Muscles twitched in his neck as he twisted first one way then another, his eyes trained and alert for any sudden movement in the herd such as a bolting calf.

  That’s probably how he’d been so quick to rescue her yesterday. It wasn’t that he’d been watching her. He was just doing his job.

  So, why did that sting?

  ****

  Torture. That’s what two consecutive days with Kierra in his cockpit amounted to…torture!

  Her sweet scent tickling his nose for hours on end. Every time he reached for a control, brushing against her smooth skin. Listening to her silky voice and those few times her tinkle of laughter filled the cabin just about did him in.

  Pure. Delicious. Torture. And he wanted to hang onto it forever.

  “So, have you talked to Cody since you’ve been gone?”

  The mention of his son puffed up Hawk’s chest, but it deflated like a popped balloon. He leaned forward, checked the reading on a couple dials, dodging her gaze. But, mostly, because he missed Cody something fierce. His sigh exhaled on a huff. “Actually, I’ve avoided calling.”

  “Really? Why?”

  He flicked his head once on the pretense of studying the ground, but the cattle proceeded along like good little boys and girls. Same for the guests. Who’d have guessed? “Don’t want to get his hopes up in case I lose this job.” This time, he stole a sideways glance. Long enough to catch the lump crawl down her throat and the hand flutter to cover her mouth.

  He’d hit his mark. Not that he wanted to lay all the guilt at her feet, but Fargo had warned him that his paycheck depended on how well they worked together.

  So far, it wasn’t looking good.

  The gut-deep sigh almost rumbled from his chest, but he covered it up with a raspy cough. All their dreams, all the tuck-his-son-in-bed conversations Cody had initiated about living in one place for more than a few months at a time, all the years of working twelve to fourteen hour days…

  All of that. Yeah. Depended on the whim of a woman whose hea
rt he’d broken, tossed aside for Cody’s mother a decade ago.

  Like Kierra would vote for him to stay. What made him think this was a good idea? That he could make it work?

  “He’s a good boy,” she said, finally breaking the minute-long cloak of silence, her voice hoarse as if she’d scrounged up more emotion than she really wanted to. “It’s obvious he adores you.”

  “Yeah, well the feeling’s mutual. The kid deserves so much more than the deal he’s been given.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me, as a father, for one.” Poor kid plucked the short end of the daddy straw.

  “Are you fishing for compliments?” She flashed a teasing glance his way.

  He scoffed. “Hardly. Just stating facts.” Add another one to the list. He was about to let his son down. Again.

  “From what I’ve seen, you’re a wonderful father.”

  He whipped around so fast he might need a neck brace after this ride, but she dipped her head, shielding her face behind a curtain of hair. “Thanks. Being a father is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Forced me to grow up.”

  She nodded then stared out the passenger side. Likely already bored with the conversation.

  “It must be incredibly tough him not living with you.”

  Then again, maybe not.

  “It’s agony of the worst kind.” He clamped his jaw and studied the action on the ground through his hatch. He didn’t dare look at her. Not with the stinking tear tracking down his cheek. What would she think of him if she saw it?

  He swiped at it with his shoulder. If she asked, he could always blame it on the bright sunlight, right? Nah. Probably wouldn’t fly. Not wearing shades.

  “So, is Brigit a good mother?”

  Her direct question startled him. When would Fargo call for a break? Maybe then Hawk could clear his head of the regrets, the lingering wishes clinging to his skin like the subtle perfume she wore. He forced his response past parched lips. “She loves Cody. In her own way. Not enough to make her give up the steady stream of boyfriends—” That slide in and out of her bed. The words almost eked out, but he caught them.