Roping the Cowboy

by Tori Kayson

~ CHAPTER 2 ~

  “Dad?”

  Fargo’s lion eyes shuttered at the intrusion. His hand disengaged from hers, and his arm dropped to his side faster than a lightning strike.

  So he had a son. Did that mean a wife was tucked inside that house, too? He didn’t wear a ring, but he was a rancher. Maybe he just didn’t wear jewelry for the safety factor. Maybe he should, for the same reason.

  Whatever. She had no intention of repeating that mistake. Ever. But then a lack of ring didn’t make a man a cheater. Lack of character did.

  She put a few more inches between them, but that didn’t stop the energy beaming off the cowboy and pinging her like stray bullets. Ignoring the heat blasting her skin, Darby glanced in the direction of the voice, a voice that was somewhere beyond childhood, but one that hadn’t quite dived into manhood. Yet.

  A boy perched on the porch in his bare feet, his hair sleep tousled and his superhero pajamas rumpled. At least he had on more clothes than his father. Which wasn’t saying much.

  Darby peeked sideways, stealing another glance at the bare chested cowboy.

  Sunbeams dappled across Fargo’s short honey colored hair, spiked straight up, as if he had just been roused from a winter hibernation. Denim hugged his lean hips, but not a scrap of material covered the curly golden hairs sprinkled across his wide, massive chest. Heavy brows hovered over sleepy looking eyes, three deep furrows etched between them.

  Mercy! It should be against the law for a man to step outside like that. Good thing she hadn’t been barreling up the driveway in her car. She’d have lost control for sure.

  But what really stopped her in her tracks was the transformation on the cowboy’s face, transitioning from entirely all too rugged male to tender and paternal. Wow. Had she ever caught even a glimmer of that affection shining from her own father’s face?

  “Yes, son?” Even the cowboy’s rough voice gentled.

  “Is breakfast ready?”

  “Not yet. Give me a minute. It won’t take long to get it ready, but why don’t you take your shower first? And would you mind feeding the boys?”

  “Sure.” The child hesitated, his gaze sliding between her and Fargo, as if his dad talking with a woman in their front yard was a strange phenomenon. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was just that his dad wasn’t totally dressed.

  Like she needed to be reminded of that!

  “Hope, Charity, come!” The younger voice commanded the same attention that Fargo’s had earlier. The two gorgeous dogs, one black and white and the other a reddish chocolate and white, obeyed, scurrying to the porch, their nails clicking as they raced each other up the stairs.

  The boy took one more glance between them, inquisition in the slight arch of his brows. Then he swiveled and padded back into the house on bare feet, the screen door banging behind him.

  “Jayce.”

  Huh? She blinked.

  “My son. Jayce.” Fargo crossed his arms, covering brown spidery trails on his exposed chest.

  About time. How could a woman think straight with all that barely harnessed power directly in front of her?

  “Jayce.” She repeated the name, enjoying the way it rolled off her tongue as much as his father’s. “How old is he?”

  “Eleven.” Golden specks shimmered from Fargo’s sage colored eyes. The deep valleys between his heavy eyebrows disappeared and his cheeks softened.

  “He’s really cute.” She debated the wisdom of asking about Jayce’s mother. For about three seconds. Long enough for Fargo’s woodsy, spicy scent to drift into her space and take complete control of all her senses.

  “So…are you raising him alone?” She chanced another covert glance at his left hand, just a dart of confirmation before flicking back to his face.

  His jaw clamped so tight that a tic pulsated at the bottom of his cheek. He scrubbed at it with his palm, the roughness of his whiskers making a scratching noise. He cleared his throat, and his voice came out harsh. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  What kind of answer was that? Was he shutting her out already? She deserved it, after being so nosey and invading his morning like she had. “Well, I guess I better head back—”

  “There you are!” Another interruption, this time from behind her.

  Fargo groaned, his lids shuttering once again over those too-stunning-to-belong-to-a-man eyes.

  Darby twisted her neck to identify the female intruder, welcoming the chance to make a graceful exit after such an awkward moment. “Good morning, Kierra.”

  “Morning, Darby. I see you’ve met my brother.”

  “Your…brother?” Darby whipped back around to face Fargo, who remained mute, a resigned look on his face as he gave a quick flick of his head, acknowledging his sister’s comment. With Fargo’s golden head and Kierra’s darker complexion, she hadn’t seen the resemblance, but it made sense since he lived on the property and shared the same surname.

  “Um, yes, I guess I have.” Slap forehead moment. Why hadn’t she boned up on the portfolio her assistant shoved in her hand when she hustled out of the office last night?

  Her father would not be happy that she’d botched her first meeting with the son of the owner of Kester Ranch, especially if Fargo worked the ranch and could sway his mother.

  Come back with a contract signed by the Kester widow allowing us to install an oil drilling rig on the property and the title is yours, Darby. Just think. That would make you the youngest VP in the industry.

  Would she kiss her VP title goodbye all because of a stunning sunrise, a cool morning breeze, and an irresistible horse? Like an ambulance siren, the persistent whinny lured her outside, away from her laptop.

  Why did they call these things retreats anyway? Meet, plan, meet, plan, and then work twice as hard to catch up. Why didn’t the schedule include time to explore, to breathe in the fresh country air, to restore creative juices?

  “Fargo.” Kierra joined them. The event planner’s gaze travelled from Fargo’s unsheathed torso to the toes beating out a rhythm in the crinkled grass and back up. Her dark brows spiked high on a smooth forehead, and her lips tightened.

  “I know. Don’t say it.” He growled, shifting his stance and crossing his arms.

  The guy was massive, built like an oak tree with a solid trunk and impressive shoulders that appeared as if they could handle whatever life hurled his way. Did anything ever rattle him?

  “Don’t say what, dear brother?”

  Darby suspected Kierra’s sugar sweet tone couldn’t be a good thing.

  Fargo’s only reaction was to glare at his sister. Must be a sibling thing. Since she didn’t have any, she didn’t know for sure. And she surely didn’t want to get in the middle of—

  “Breakfast is ready at the main house, Darby, but if you’d rather—”

  Fargo cleared his throat, his features darkening, taking on the look and feel of a thundercloud.

  Had she overstepped her bounds by straying too far from the house or was something else going on here? The awkward undercurrent swirled between the siblings.

  “Breakfast sounds great.” Darby glanced between the two of them, confused. “I’ll head back now. Thanks for coming to get me, Kierra.” She soaked in one last drink of the handsome cowboy, the first man to set off any warning bells in her heart since Blake. But then after three years, that bell might be plenty rusty. “And thanks for rescuing me, Fargo.”

  If only someone could rescue her from such a horrid track record with men.

  §

  Fargo waited until Darby disappeared through the front door of the main house before he let loose on his sister. “What was that all about?”

  Kierra didn’t bother masking her irritation. Her voice came out dry, seeping with sarcasm. “I didn’t know if she preferred your, um—” Kierra’s gaze jerked to his bare chest and back up to his face “—coffee over mine.”

  He glared at her. “Funny. I got your point. But trust me. I didn’t intend to socialize with one of your guests before breakfast. Especially n
ot one of those.” His head snapped toward the big house. The reminder of who he’d been entertaining on his front lawn filled him with regret, disdain. Clearly, his brain had left the building.

  “Let me guess.” Kierra’s fists settled on her hips. “It was purely by accident that she stumbled into your yard. As remote as it is, all tucked back in the woods, where a person would have to be looking to find it.”

  “Well, actually, it was.” He explained the deal with the dogs.

  “Oh, wow. That is weird.” The annoyance slid off Kierra’s face, replaced with concern.

  “Totally random. So you see? It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, it appears. I wonder what’s up with Hope and Charity?”

  He shrugged and lifted a palm, now feeling incredibly naked and cold, that huge gaping hole of loneliness having shifted and fissured into tiny cracks of emptiness. He refused to consider that Darby’s departure from his yard might be the cause. He was just missing his dad and how things used to be on the ranch, quiet and rather uneventful. Now he had to worry about stepping out on his front porch in the mornings.

  He turned and faced the security of his house. Just one glimpse of his son would be enough to remind him why he chose not to date or get involved with women. “I’m headed inside.”

  “Get a shirt on.”

  He halted at the front door and glanced back over a shoulder. “Order me a ‘No Trespassing’ sign.”

  “Not happening.” His sister wagged her pretty head.

  He grinned, tugged the screen door open and thumped his chest. “Not happening either.”

  She was probably calling him all their horrible pet names from childhood about now, but he sure loved getting the last word with his sister.

  ~ CHAPTER 3 ~

  Darby headed down the stairs in her stockinged feet, gripping her sneakers in one hand. After her not-how-she-envisioned first encounter with Fargo this morning followed by a day of brainstorming with a dozen other executives, tension knotted her shoulders and coiled in her belly.

  Nothing a long run and a few minutes of solitude wouldn’t cure.

  The image of the handsome cowboy, leaning his forearms on the porch rail, cradling a cup, the steam circling and drifting up to hide his lion eyes, flashed through her brain. Rugged didn’t begin to describe that guy.

  Make that a long run and then an even longer shower. Something to erase the image burned behind her eyelids, the word that popped up every time she considered the small house nestled way back in the woods, blending into its surroundings so naturally.

  Home.

  She stumbled over the last step and regained her footing, scoffing.

  Home was a downtown loft in Dallas. Not— her gaze slid across the sitting room, with the fat leather furniture centered in front of the giant stone fireplace —this. Relaxed and comfortable, as nice as it seemed, didn’t fit her lifestyle.

  Muffled voices carried from the kitchen, along with an amazing scent. She followed the wonderful aroma.

  Kate, her best friend since their freshman year of college, hunched over the bar, dangling a short stub of celery in front of her mouth. Her shoulder length hair was fastened up by a clip. Her mounded belly poked the counter. Thirty five weeks pregnant, Kate grazed all day rather than eating three regular meals lately.

  Mrs. Kester and Kierra moved about the enormous space, sliding pans into the oven and pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

  “Figured I’d find you in here.” Darby smiled and nudged Kate with an elbow.

  “Didn’t take much guesswork to come up with that brilliant deduction, detective.” Grinning, Kate popped the last piece of celery into her mouth and munched.

  “Smells divine.” Darby plopped onto one of the plump cushioned chairs around the oversized rectangular table, built to squeeze eight people in with ease, maybe ten if they really tightened up. Her cramped living space couldn’t accommodate that many people. Besides, she rarely entertained. Usually just Kate and her husband, Darren, but soon-to-be baby made three extra people around the table. Hmm…

  Her fingers trailed the rustic surface, the homey, relaxed aura of this kitchen so different from her condo’s sterile sparkling white and stainless steel surfaces. Maybe it was time to remodel?

  A remodel? When would she cram that into her calendar?

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Kester replied. “That’s the plan. I hope it turns out that way.”

  “I won’t be gone too long, but please don’t wait on me for dinner.” She bent forward to lace her running shoes.

  “Are you sure, Darby?” Mrs. Kester peered over a shoulder, the oven door open in front of her. “This ham isn’t quite done yet.”

  What a dear, gracious lady.

  “Thanks, but after all day being cooped up inside, I’m looking forward to a long run to clear the cobwebs.” The cobweb mainly spun by Mrs. Kester’s son. And she needed a game plan to approach them about the contract.

  Darby finished lacing and stood. She reached for a carrot and dunked it in a creamy dip.

  “Makes you wonder why they call them retreats, huh?” Understanding glittered from Kierra’s dark eyes.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Darby nodded agreement. “And if I’m still out after the sun goes down, don’t feel obligated to come looking for me. That just means I found a quiet place to chill.” She bit off a piece of the carrot.

  “We’ll give you until midnight before we send out a search party.” Kate teased, her palm cradling her belly again, exhaustion tightening her face. The never-ending meetings had to be taking a toll on her friend.

  “Wish you could come with me. Like old times.” Once Kate had the baby, would their friendship ever be the same? Probably not. It had already molded into something different when Kate married Darren. Not bad. Just…different.

  Kate’s face softened in agreement. “So do I, but that won’t be happening. For a few weeks anyway.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. Once I have this baby, I will be chomping at the bit to get back to my pre-baby weight.” Kate’s chin dipped to her chest, surveying the swelling mound that her once-skinny belly had become. She looked up with a grimace. “I’ll be banging on your door to wake you up just as soon as the doc clears me.”

  Chuckles echoed around the kitchen.

  “You must live close to each other,” Mrs. Kester said, her tone more statement than question.

  “Four blocks. Not far.” Kate offered, digging through the tray to scoop up a piece of raw broccoli.

  Granted, that possibility was within the realm of reality, but not likely.

  Darby nudged Kate with a hip. “You don’t get up early now. What makes you think you’ll change after he’s born?”

  “For one, he’ll probably be up.” Kate grinned, settling an arm over her belly.

  Mrs. Kester murmured her agreement.

  “Right. Combine a sleepless night with breakfast and bath, playtime and naptime. And then it’s time to repeat the process all over again.” No thanks. Give her an office and a laptop to play with any day.

  Kate nodded, her brow furrowed. As if her friend just realized how much her life would change. “Probably true.”

  Or maybe it was just that Darby knew her life would change, especially when Kate stopped working. Who would she talk to? Her father?

  The carrot clumped on the way down her throat. “So we’ll run in the evenings after Darren gets home from work,” Darby offered, coughing.

  “That would mean you’d have to curtail your work hours. Don’t know how well that will sit with Big Daddy.”

  “Who’s Big Daddy?” Kierra asked.

  “Darby’s father. He owns Brewster Oil,” Kate clarified.

  “Ohhhh.” Kierra’s dark eyes widened, and the single word faded into oblivion.

  Mrs. Kester remained silent, going about her business in the kitchen, her lips clamped tight.

  It wasn’t like Darby hid the fact that her father owned Brewster Oil. She just didn’
t usually go around blurting it out. People took advantage. Guys, mainly, who considered her their free ticket to a lucrative career. Blake, the cheater. And before him, Trevor. The why-bother-to-mention-he-was-married jerk.

  Not like she had to worry about that here. Or did she?

  She moved to the door, curving her fingers around the metal knob. “See you in a few.”

  “You got it. Enjoy the peace.” Kate smiled and popped a piece of broccoli into her open mouth.

  “I intend to.” And she would. As soon as she deleted that cowboy image from her internal gallery.

  “Darby—” Mrs. Kester’s voice stopped her.

  Darby swiveled her neck and glanced back.

  Mrs. Kester snatched the dish towel from the hook and turned, swiping her hands. “Behind the big barn is a dirt path that leads to one of the lakes on our property. Well, really it’s an oversized pond that my husband made for the kids to go swimming when they were small.” Mrs. Kester sniffled.

  Kierra dropped a hand on her mother’s shoulder, then leaned in to kiss her mother’s temple.

  Boots clomped toward the kitchen. A head poked around the corner of the doorway, breaking the not-so-private moment. “Hey, Mom. When’s dinner?”

  Mrs. Kester smiled, her watery eyes shimmering with pride. “Meet Slade. My youngest son.”

  “Great to meet you, Slade,” Darby said.

  Kate echoed the greeting.

  “Thanks. Same here. Sorry for interrupting,” Slade said.

  “In just a few minutes, son. You done in the barn?” Mrs. Kester asked.

  “Yep. Just finished.”

  “Great. By the time you wash up, it’ll be ready.” When Slade’s boots retraced his steps, the older woman turned back to Darby, the quiver gone from her voice. “Anyway, you won’t run into any cattle back there, and it has a nice even path. It’s also lined with trees. So it should be cool and peaceful this time of the evening.” A glimmer of emotion flickered to life in the older woman’s eyes. Something different than what was just there.

  She regarded the older woman, the apron drawing her attention. Such a contrast to her mother’s surgical scrubs. But it didn’t stop with the apron.