Roping the Cowboy

by Tori Kayson

  Bumps popped up along her arms, and she shivered with heat. What was up with her lately?

  She tossed another pebble in the lake, her fingers tightening around the bunch still in her palm. “Does Jayce want to be a rancher?”

  His shoulder twitched, but pride glowed from his face. So different from her own father’s.

  What would that be like? Unconditional love, no pressure, no expectations other than just being a family.

  “I’d never hold him back if he wanted to do something else with his life.” Fargo’s deep voice rumbled through her musing.

  “But you’d be thrilled if he wanted to take over the ranch eventually, right?” Was she trying to convince herself that she’d made the right decision devoting ten years and most of her waking hours to her father’s company? Or trying to find out more about this alluring man next to her?

  Green eyes glimmered in the moonlight, the gold specks warming her with their intensity. “That would be an honor and a tribute, but honestly, I want him to find his own path in life. Not to do something just because he feels obligated or pressured.”

  She hugged her arms, more to keep herself from reaching up to graze her knuckles along his jaw than from being cold.

  Cold? Mercy! Not around this man. “Did you?”

  “Did I…what?” He toed a rock and lobbed it in the lake with his boot.

  “Did you feel pressured to ranch?”

  He scoffed and pitched another rock into the water. “No. Other than assigning us chores, my father was pretty laid back about the whole thing. I think he figured the more kids he had, the better the chances were that one of us would want to take over the ranch.” His gaze swiveled to her, his slow smile sizzling her senses. “Or it could’ve happened just like my mother said. She couldn’t keep her hands off that cowboy.” He chuckled.

  The sound, seductive, intoxicating, fluttered to her on the whisper of a breeze.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in, granting permission for his words to reach deep and settle around her heart, to alter her skewed perception of family and parenting.

  This is what families were all about. Pride and concern, togetherness and tenderness, fun and laughter.

  Not indifference or callous disregard.

  But she’d been right all along about one thing.

  This cowboy was dangerous!

  ~ CHAPTER 11 ~

  “What is she doing on the tractor?” Red spots of anger danced in Fargo’s vision.

  Or was it Darby’s raspberry colored shirt? As if waving with abandon in front of an ornery bull.

  He’d just come in from the fields…

  To this.

  Darby perched high atop the tractor seat. Bare legs, firm and tanned, stretched out for an eternity. Nutmeg tresses cascaded down her back in waves. One of Slade’s ratty old hats shaded her face. Her colorful shirt only covered her…top.

  Acres of smooth skin. Fresh. Clean. Pristine. Compared to the dirty machine her legs hugged.

  A tremor rippled through his limbs. He sucked in a breath, wincing at the raw passion that roared to life, drowning out the engine’s chug.

  Hope and Charity yipped and raced across the yard to the tractor, tongues hanging, jowls flapping. He didn’t have the heart to call them back. Or the voice.

  He covered his groan by scrubbing a hand across his whiskers.

  “She waved me down, Fargo. Said she’d never mowed before and wanted—”

  “And you let her?” he sputtered, interrupting his younger brother. “Mow.” He shook his head, disbelief taking control again.

  “Well, I disengaged the mower extension, so she could practice first.” Slade held up his palms. “Why would I turn down a good deal like that?”

  Darby on a tractor? Mowing? A good deal?

  She wrestled the steering wheel and headed back in their direction. She waved that shabby hat in the air, her smile wide and proud, sunbeams dancing off her face. Then, she angled her head down to coo at the boys.

  Hope and Charity pranced alongside the tractor.

  He scratched his temple. The boys’ behavior around Darby baffled him. Any other time, they’d circle the tractor. But now they romped and jostled each other like hopeful suitors.

  “Besides, I’m keeping an eye on her,” Slade said.

  “Yeah. I bet you are,” he mumbled. Could he blame his brother? His eyes hadn’t strayed, either.

  “Well, since you’re here, I guess I’ll finish the rest of my chores,” Slade said, regret coming through loud and clear in his voice.

  “Yeah. You do that.”

  Slade lumbered away, his hat angled toward City Gal until he disappeared inside the barn.

  Now what? His shower would have to wait. Dinner, too. At least until Darby finished playing. He couldn’t leave her alone on the heavy machinery.

  He plunked down on the bottom step of the porch and leaned back, planting his forearms on the wood and stretching out his legs.

  Lavender and auburn ribbons threaded the sky. The orange globe hung close to the horizon. Roses from the front flower beds blended with the scent of freshly sheared grass. No guests to worry about intruding his personal zone. Other than the beautiful woman on the tractor.

  His muscles relaxed, the tractor’s chug like a lullaby. He closed his eyes.

  “Farrrrgggo!” The worried scream ripped through the peace.

  Hope barked a worried warning. Charity echoed the alarm.

  He bolted to his feet in a flash and scanned the yard. Where was she?

  There! Down the driveway a good ways. Just on this side of the ditch, the dog duo stationed between the tractor and the crevice.

  Uh oh. “Turn the wheel!” he yelled, his legs already in motion.

  “Farrrrgggo! I cannnn’t stop!” She jerked. Moved the giant tires away from the ditch.

  Not enough to satisfy him. If the tractor rolled, it’d crush her.

  Fear pumped his arms. Faster, faster, faster. Sweat dribbled down his neck and rolled down his back. Wind whipped his hat off. Adrenaline rocketed through his legs.

  She bounced along, her rump almost coming off the seat.

  Slade. He was going to kill his brother. If rescuing Darby didn’t kill him first.

  He didn’t dare waste a breath yelling more instructions. He bared his teeth. Gave it all he had. Almost there.

  The tires bumped across the rutted grass, dangerously close to the road now. The wrong foot jabbed at the pedal. She gave up fumbling with the levers and jerked the tractor to the left.

  Good girl!

  Right in front of him now. Her jumping worried him, but not as much as being crushed by the giant machine. “Jump far!” he yelled.

  Fear tightened her face. She shook her head.

  He gestured ahead at the trees, his energy dwindling. “Now!”

  Her gaze skittered forward. Alarm widened her eyes and forced her legs into action. She stood, poised, her fingers still gripping the steering wheel.

  He held out his arms. “Go!”

  She whipped the steering wheel, diving as the machine angled toward the road again.

  Her full weight smacked into his chest. He coiled protective arms around her. His back plowed into the ground. White hot pain stole most of his breath.

  The womanly frame now attached to him like a second skin stole what was left.

  The tractor nosed into the ditch, crashed. The enormous tires clawed at the ground until the engine coughed and died.

  Hope and Charity bounded over to inspect the carnage.

  Silence. Except for the dogs’ sniffs and his pants of exhaustion.

  Her palms curled around his shoulders and she lifted herself up. Only a fraction. Not enough to stop the mandarin and jasmine from teasing his nose. Or the curls from caressing his cheeks.

  His nostrils flared with want. With need.

  “I am so sorry.” Her butterscotch puffs fanned his lips. Her doe-eyes skimmed his face, lingering on his mouth. Ignited a flame, scorchin
g every inch of his body. Branding him with a smoldering iron, singing the letters DB across his chest.

  He couldn’t bring himself to care about the damage.

  She was all right.

  But, Lord have mercy, he’d never be all right again.

  §

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s what insurance is for.” Fargo’s deep voice rumbled. His chest expanded, every heave lifting her with it. The sleepy look on his face and the powerful arms locked around her back set off all sorts of alarms in her brain.

  Not like her brain paid any attention. Or her extremities. Her legs twined with his until she had no idea where he stopped and she began, and her fingers still threaded around the cowboy’s shoulders. The tic in his jaw, and his earth and woods and oh-so-male scent, held her hostage.

  As if she wanted to let go.

  “You saved me.” Finally, one hand obeyed. But drat if it didn’t go right to that jaw and graze the skin. His whiskers tickled her knuckles.

  His eyebrows hiked. Other than the lump that worked its way down his throat, he didn’t move. Not his chest. Not his arms or legs. Not even those lion-wary eyes, focused somewhere around her mouth.

  She leaned in. The allure of his full lips. The strong jaw. The pleasure of his body stretched underneath hers. The intimacy of the moment, more than she could fight. Surely he wouldn’t object to one kiss? Just to thank him for coming to her rescue.

  Footsteps thundered across the hard packed ground and skidded to a stop.

  Really? Of all the rotten timing! She winced and peeked sideways to a pair of boots.

  “You guys all right?” Slade asked. Amused. Not in the least concerned now that he’d reached them and discovered their…predicament.

  Drat the kid.

  Fargo groaned.

  Frustrated with the interruption like her? Or glad to get her off his chest? She didn’t have time to ponder.

  His body came to life. Legs and arms untangled. He hoisted her off of him with ease and set her to the side with gentle hands. Then, he sat up, looking dazed. He shook grass off his jeans. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

  Fine? She didn’t feel fine. She felt ragged. Like she’d run a marathon without any water and never crossed the finish line. Definitely. Not. Fine.

  Especially not with the mangled tractor.

  She scrambled to her feet and stepped over to survey the carnage. “I’m so sorry about this, guys. So many levers and gears. I got confused.”

  “You weren’t hurt, so it’s all good.” Fargo said, standing next to her, his arms crossed. So why did he glare at his brother?

  Slade stepped up on the other side and cringed at the tractor, nose-dived in the ditch. He ran a hand across his face and faced his brother. “Sorry, Fargo.”

  She laced an arm around the younger Kester’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Slade. It was mine. I’ll pay for the repairs.”

  “Thanks, Darby.” He cast a sheepish look at Fargo. “But, as Dad used to tell us when we screwed up. ‘It’s not necessarily the money, but the lost time.’”

  She sighed and dropped her arm. Riding the tractor—

  “We’ll make do. It was on borrowed time anyway.” Fargo interrupted her self-scolding while he inspected the damage to the ancient machine. He angled back toward his brother. “Slade, go get the mule, please. And the chains.”

  “Sure.” Slade pivoted and charged back to the barn. As if relieved to be excused.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “Don’t get any ideas about riding the mule,” Fargo growled. But his tone lacked any real bite.

  The utility vehicle revved to life and roared toward them.

  In two giant steps, Fargo was out of the ditch and facing her. Gold flecks shimmered from his irises as his thumb traced her lips. His face softened along with his voice. “And don’t forget where we left off.”

  ~ CHAPTER 12 ~

  Darby’s father stared at her. Dark brooding eyes pestered her until his picture finally vanished from the phone’s screen.

  Her chest heaving, Darby jammed the lifeless now-silent thing in her pocket. Maybe she should chunk it out the bedroom window and hope that Majesty’s hooves shattered it. Or that Hope and Charity would find it and chew it to pieces.

  Lately it seemed only her dad’s picture popped up on the screen.

  She snorted. Why should that surprise her? Her entire life revolved around Brewster Oil. And pleasing her father. The only true friend she could claim was Kate.

  Pressure built into a deafening crescendo in her head. She closed her eyelids and rubbed her forehead with a thumb and forefinger, willing her breathing to return to normal. Willing her muscles to loosen, her fingers to unclench.

  Another late afternoon phone call by her boss, demanding answers and wielding threats if she didn’t come back soon with a contract. As if she needed a reminder.

  Fresh air would release some of this tension, and she knew just what to do.

  And she needed her blasted phone to do it.

  She walked over to the dresser and rifled through the pictures Kierra had printed for her. One of her and Kate, arms linked around each other, smiling, their first day at the ranch. Another picture of the whole group on the back of the wagon.

  And the last one…Fargo, in front of the barn, his arm around Jayce. His head was tipped back, laughing. A perfect shot of the adoration on Jayce’s face, head angled up toward his father, a smile curving his lips, love evident between the two. She still wasn’t sure why Kierra had handed her that one, but she hadn’t given it back.

  Darby slid that photo back on the dresser. That one wasn’t going in the geocache container.

  She scooped up the shabby discarded horseshoe Uncle Chips had given her and ran her fingertips along the dusty memento of her first hayride.

  That was enough for her first hide. She rummaged through the bottom drawer of the dresser and tugged out the waterproof container, a miniature oil drum, and the logbook along with written permission from the state.

  Now she just needed to find the perfect spot.

  §

  She was making him think about things he’d given up on a long time ago. Things he had no business considering. Unleashing stirrings he didn’t welcome.

  Disgusted with himself, Fargo made a clicking noise, urging Majesty into a canter. They paralleled the fence line bordering the road leading back to the ranch, Hope and Charity running alongside.

  It had been a long day. His jeans could probably stand up on their own and he was covered in dust. He looked forward to standing under a warm shower before starting dinner. Or, if he was lucky, Mom had made enough to share with him and Jayce.

  A flicker of red in the distance snagged his attention. People passing by on this road either rode horses or drove trucks. But, a pedestrian?

  Fargo tugged at the reins, slowing his horse almost to a crawl, and tipped his hat higher on his forehead to squint against the sun.

  Molasses hair spilled out from under a big floppy hat. Darby? What was she doing clear out here? Walking, no less.

  Majesty gave an impatient snort and pounded the ground, but Fargo held tight on the reins.

  The shower could wait.

  Darby bent over. Came back up with something in her hand.

  What is she doing?

  Soil samples?

  He sucked in a breath, disappointment squeezing his chest. He should’ve expected she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  He clamped his jaw and guided Majesty toward the nearest gate at a full out gallop. He made it through the gate when her floppy hat turned his way.

  Surprise rounded her lips and arched her brows. Her hand slid into her pocket and then back out, empty. Her other hand clutched a paper sack, tucked close to her side. Hiding something? Caught in the act?

  She bent down to scratch the dogs around their necks and to coo in their ears.

  A contradiction this one. Savvy but sweet. He’d do well to stay away from her,
but he couldn’t seem to make that happen.

  He was crazy about a woman that was all wrong for him. Again!

  Grim acceptance firmed his lips and stiffened his spine. He dropped from Majesty’s back and locked arms over his chest, peering at her from under the welcome shade of his hat. “What’cha doing?”

  She stretched and her sad smile just about did him in. “Trying to work off some steam.”

  Working? Just as he suspected. “You can’t take soil samples out here.”

  “Soil samples?” Her voice came out tiny, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Dark brows edged together. Her head tipped slightly to the side.

  Doubt poked him in the gut. “Yeah. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  She shook her head, but still didn’t clue him in on what she gripped so tightly, tucked under an arm, hidden in a bag.

  “You said you were working.”

  Citrus and roses drifted his way, reminding him of what he surely smelled like. Horse and cattle manure.

  He took a step back. Just in case the breeze switched directions. He refused to dwell on why it mattered if she didn’t care for his, er, natural cologne.

  “Working off steam.” Her cute nose wrinkled. Underneath that adorable floppy hat, emotion glimmered from those coffee warm eyes. “My father called again this afternoon. It wasn’t a pretty sight. All that smoke wafting out of my nose and ears.”

  Make that savvy, sweet and sensitive.

  He huffed out his relief. So she hadn’t gone against his wishes.

  “You’re a good two miles from the ranch property, dar—.” Whoa! Darlin’ almost slipped out! “—by. Your dad got you this upset?” Fargo clenched his fist. Her father sounded like a tyrant who didn’t care one whit for his beautiful daughter. How—

  “Two miles? That’s not so far.” She scoffed then blew out a breath, sending butterscotch to mingle with the other scents already driving him crazy. “You’d have to know my father.”

  He made a noise he was sure didn’t qualify as polite. He never wanted to meet the guy, but something about that niggled untrue in the back of his mind. He put the skids on that train of thought. No sense heading in that direction.