Roping the Cowboy

by Tori Kayson

  She’d taken a bag. Whether that was all of her stuff, he didn’t know. And the room belonged to her through the end of next week.

  “I suppose we should take her at her word, then.” Disappointment struck a match in his gut.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  He scooped up the notebook and grabbed the empty coffee cup. “It’s late. Let’s hit the sack. Tomorrow’s another day.” He held the screen door open for Jayce.

  “Yeah. I bet she’ll be back tomorrow,” Jayce said, slipping under Fargo’s arm.

  If only he shared Jayce’s confidence.

  “Tomorrow. Maybe.” Fargo tried hard to keep the doubt from slithering into his voice. As if it hadn’t already hardened his heart. “I’ll be in as soon as the boys take care of business.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Jayce disappeared inside the house.

  Fargo propped his forearms on the rail.

  Darby, please don’t hurt my son.

  Or me.

  ~ CHAPTER 15 ~

  “Dad! She’s back!” Jayce yelled from the opening of the barn. His tone warred between a child hungry for attention to a teenager who didn’t want to appear too interested.

  Not much different from his own attitude, was it?

  “Who’s back?” Fargo picked Majesty’s hoof, feigning indifference, but inside, his legs itched to do a kick in the air. His pulse whooshed through every fiber of his body.

  Took her long enough. But she’d come back.

  He lifted his head and looked to Jayce for confirmation. Crazy hope and a solid wedge of fear cemented his boots to the spot.

  “Darby,” Jayce said, twisting to glare at him like a love struck pup. Sunlight spilled into the barn, framing his son in a golden glow, highlighting long stick-thin legs holding up a short torso. Man, his son was growing up too fast.

  Fargo moved around the beast and picked up another hoof.

  He was an adult. He’d believed in love once. Look where that got him. A widower at the ripe old age of nineteen with an infant to care for and a ranch to run.

  Maybe he hadn’t been able to banish any second of that toe-tingling kiss from his memory. Or forget how she’d melded against his chest, all soft and cuddly, and…perfect.

  But that’s just it. Darby wasn’t perfect…for him. She’d never be satisfied here.

  And he could do without the painful memories. The ones best left buried along with Jennie. He couldn’t go through that again. Why had he—

  Heels clomped through the barn and stopped directly in his line of sight. A pair of brown boots with turquoise tips. A fancy set that didn’t belong to his son.

  He shuttered his eyes. Maybe he was just dreaming? A dream he could handle. Reality…not so much.

  He lifted his lids. The boots were still there.

  Still bent over with a hoof in one hand and a pick in the other, his hooded gaze trailed up the hip hugging denims, lingered along the flowery blouse, soaked in the espresso warm eyes before jetting back to land on those full lips. Luscious and shiny with pink gloss. Lips that just screamed for a kiss.

  Yes. A. Very. Good. Dream.

  A moan gurgled from his throat before he could snatch it back. Majesty’s hoof clunked back on the floor. He stretched to his full height and gave the horse’s neck a reassuring pat.

  “I told you I’d be back.” Something about the slight jut of her chin and the conviction in her voice whispered to the deepest part of his wounded soul, soothing and promising.

  Pure stubborn woman.

  That’s what it took to live out here, though. Persistence and a love for the land. And maybe a little left over for him?

  “That you did.” Heaven help him, he was smiling his fool head off just like his son.

  “What did I miss?” She gave him a lingering look before turning her attention to his son. “Any more water fights?”

  “Nah. Yesterday Dad was—”

  Moping? He interrupted before Jayce spilled his guts. “Preoccupied. With ranch stuff.”

  “Oh. What about today?”

  He set the pick on the shelf and crossed his arms. Anything to keep from tugging her to his chest and kissing the daylight away. “What about it?”

  “Are you busy?” Hope sparkled from her face. Her boot tapped an impatient rhythm on the floor.

  He smiled. “Depends. What do you have in mind?’

  A slender shoulder lifted. “How do you normally spend your Saturdays?”

  “Working, usually. But we might be able to make an exception today.” His fingers twitched with a powerful need. To weave through those glorious curls, to trail the curves and hollows—

  “How about if I help? Then we can play.”

  Play. That word slammed through his head with the force of a speeding train and ignited his limbs on fire. He lassoed the sweet torture and crammed it back in the Don’t Go There corral.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.

  Either he was crazy…

  Or head over boots in love.

  §

  Darby set the salad on the table, her contribution to tonight’s spread. Her belly growled. “What else can I do?”

  “Sit.” Fargo commanded, plucking potatoes and ears of corn from the grill with tongs. The steaks were already plated and resting on the outdoor table. “Jayce, would you please grab the pitcher of tea from the fridge?”

  “Sure, Dad.” The screen door slapped behind Jayce.

  The handsome cowboy hadn’t so much as touched her yet. Hadn’t laced his fingers through hers, slipped an arm around her back, or even tried to sneak a kiss. Had she only imagined that mind-blowing kiss from the other evening? Or did he regret it?

  She intended to find out. She snuck up behind him, slid her arms around his waist, and nestled her cheek against his back. Beneath the thin material of his shirt, she felt his sharp intake of breath, the frantic skitter of his heart.

  “Mmmm. You had to wait until my hands were full to do this?” He twisted around to cradle her against his chest. One hand still clutched the plate, tongs in his other hand.

  “I wanted to make sure you couldn’t get away.”

  His deep chuckle rumbled against her cheek. She slid her palms up the cotton fabric of his shirt to settle over his heart.

  “I missed you.” Her voice came out throaty and hoarse.

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Really?” she asked, soaking in his strength and confidence, breathing in male and the earthiness of Texas at dusk.

  “Too much, actually. Tough to work with that kiss on my mind.”

  She smiled. “Maybe another one would—”

  The screen door squeaked and Fargo shifted.

  She dropped her arms and backed away, disappointment snaking and tightening around her heart. Maybe Fargo wasn’t keen on PDA’s in front of his son. She could understand. Couldn’t she?

  Not really. She wanted what Kate and Darren shared, a love that spoke volumes, even beyond words. If Fargo was interested in pursuing a relationship, Jayce would have to know at some point.

  Maybe he was just cautious.

  Hope and Charity followed the food, their tails wagging.

  She followed the cowboy, her pulse dancing.

  They chowed down on juicy steaks, buttery potatoes, grilled corn and salad. Jayce did most of the talking. She nodded her head and asked a few leading questions, sneaking glances at Fargo.

  Those lazy eyes took their sweet time sweeping over her. And that leisurely smile…as if he could devour her for dessert.

  Heat rocketed through her veins. She set her fork down, her appetite for food diminished.

  “This sure beats eating alone. You cowboys make wonderful company.” One cowboy in particular.

  Jayce actually blushed.

  “And the steak tastes better than any five star hotel kitchen.” She should know. Last year, her credit card paid out over two hundred nights in hotels.

  Weariness settled bone deep. Why did she do it? For a vice pres
ident’s position that might never materialize? For a father who would probably never acknowledge her existence if it weren’t for the phone calls demanding status updates?

  “May I be excused, Dad?” Jayce jerked her from her musing.

  Fargo cleared his throat. “Sure.”

  The almost-teenager scurried across the deck, his bare feet padding rapid-fire against the wood surface. The screen door slammed behind him.

  “I was just thinking how different you are from my father.”

  Fargo’s heavy eyebrows bunched together. “In a good way, I hope. I’m not feeling any warm fuzzies toward your father.”

  “You’re not the only one.” She chuckled but not from mirth. More from the lifelong ache.

  She shrugged. “But he’s all the family I have left. So I try to make the best of it and accept what he’s willing to offer in terms of a relationship without expecting too much.” Like working her soul into the ground. Yet even that wasn’t enough for him to offer her the VP slot without dangling the Kester Ranch contract as incentive.

  “That way you’re not disappointed?”

  “Something like that,” she admitted. So why were her eyes burning? As if the built up pressure kept ramming against the dam and it threatened to give. Once she let go of her emotions, she might never be able to shore their relationship back to the way it was. But was that what she really wanted?

  Fargo stood. “Come on. I know just what you need.” He tugged her out of the chair and against his chest.

  She curled her arms around his back and looked up. “You cooked. So that means this gal needs to do the dishes.”

  “Is that right?” He leaned down for a kiss, light and feathery and not nearly enough substance.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” she teased.

  “Is that right?” His lips softened in a smile. Crinkles fanned out above his cheeks. His palm cradled her jaw and he leaned down again. “I was saving that for dessert.” His husky voice curled her toes.

  But his mouth? Mercy! What that cowboy could do with his mouth! His kiss rocketed her into the clouds then eased her back down to earth.

  She swallowed and opened her eyes. Met his gaze head on. “Sometimes I order dessert first.”

  One brow arched. A satisfied, cat-like contentment glowed from his face. “Do you, now?”

  “Yes. Just remember that, cowboy.” She patted his massive chest.

  He laughed, the sound seeping in and filling all those lonely spots in her soul. He gave her a gentle push toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll help. Then, we can get to dessert quicker.”

  A cowboy that cooked, helped with dishes and kissed like tomorrow would never come? Why would she argue with that?

  A few minutes later, his kitchen was tidy and clean. Soft jazz played in the family room. Hope and Charity lazed on the rug, a boot twined between their paws and nestled under each of their muzzles.

  Fargo stretched out on the couch and motioned for her to sit. He propped his stockinged feet on the table then tugged hers onto his lap. His fingers danced along her heel and then moved to her toes.

  “I didn’t know my room rate included a massage. Is this what it’s like to relax?” she murmured. She closed her eyes. The music and the cowboy’s fingers worked their magic.

  “Are you getting there?” His voice, deep and rich and velvet smooth, rumbled along with the trombone.

  “Oh yeah. Be careful, though. This could be habit forming.” He could be habit forming. Along with the ranch and lazy, wonderful evenings like this.

  But this was just a vacation, right? Maybe so, but she intended to savor every second. A sigh lifted her chest, something beyond satisfied. Her mind meandered to a place of peace, of rest, unfamiliar but definitely pleasant.

  “Darby.” A whisper then something soft and gentle brushed her skin, the barest of caresses. Fingertips blazed a trail of fire from her arm to her forehead.

  She moaned and stretched, arching her back from the sheer pleasure. Such a wonderful dream, so different from most. And this one felt so…real.

  A masculine groan, a twine of pain and delight in equal measure, tickled her ear.

  Desire soared. She turned sideways and burrowed into the pillow—

  “Sweetheart.” A tug on her arm and urgency in the cowboy’s voice jerked her back. “Wake up. It’s getting late.”

  Her lids bolted open to a dark room, soft jazz, and…whoa!

  The cowboy’s head angled down, those green-gold eyes heavy with passion. His chest heaved, in, out, as if he barely held it together.

  She licked her lips and took a deep breath herself. How much had she dreamed and how much had she acted on? Hard to tell since her cheek snuggled against Fargo’s soft cotton shirt and her palm splayed against his chest.

  Well, at least all your clothes are still on. Little consolation for the way her body drummed with desire.

  Swallowing her humiliation, she pushed away from his chest. She sat up and scooted further down on the couch, brushing unruly waves behind an ear and checking for drool. “I fell asleep?”

  He nodded, his palm scrubbing the whiskers shadowing his jaw. Was that relief on his face?

  “I’m sorry.” She pushed the two words past the tightness strangling her throat. A glorious cowboy invites you to dinner, and you fall asleep? Smooth move, Darby!

  “I hope it’s not an indication that I’m poor company, and that you were just totally comfortable enough to drift off.” He closed the distance between them. His amused voice rumbled close to her ear.

  “Poor company? Hardly.” This man heated up her dreams, too. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight. Time to get you back to the house before my mother sends out a search party. And before I lose every ounce of self-control and drag you into the bedroom.” He planted another kiss against her forehead then lifted off the couch to retrieve both pairs of boots from the dogs.

  Would that be so bad? She folded arms over her chest, considered mutiny.

  He narrowed his eyes. He fingered her tousled hair, his gaze lingering around her mouth. Finally, he dropped his hand and heaved a sigh, his half-hooded eyes leaving no doubt about his desire. He held out the boots. “Another time, sweetheart. You need rest. Let’s go, woman.”

  “Oh, all right.” Now that she knew he had just as much of a problem holding on to restraint, she didn’t feel so bad.

  When they reached the big house, he pushed open the front door, hesitated, and shoved both hands in his pockets.

  She twirled a circle against the wood on the porch with her new boot, then glanced back up at him. “I had a great time tonight.”

  “Did you?” Moonlight dappled his face in shadows, but she still glimpsed that raw vulnerability, the doubt lingering around his eyes.

  “Don’t you doubt it for a second, Cowboy.” She curled her arms around his neck. Her body slid to his like ganache on pie. When his arms wound around her waist, she lifted her face.

  Passion smoldered from the depths of those green gold eyes. He clenched his jaw as he attempted to hold it back.

  Nothing doing.

  Especially not when his breath teased her lips, and his woods and spice scent slid around her, as secure and comfortable as his arms. Her fingers danced through his short hair, tempting him to come closer until finally she dragged his mouth to meet hers.

  Another moan, much like the one from earlier. But this time instead of pulling away, his arms tightened around her until only denim separated them. One hand stayed around her lower back, keeping her snug against him, the other cradled her nape. His lips, his mouth dominated hers, sparking fire through her limbs again.

  Just when she thought her lungs might explode and her body puddle from sheer pleasure, he brought it in for a landing, teasing her with those butterfly kisses again. Covering her lips, her cheeks, her neck.

  Tingles of desire raced up her arms, and a tremor rocked her entire body.

  “Cold?” He rubbed her arms. />
  “Not hardly,” she grumbled against his chest.

  A chuckle rumbled from his throat. “I’m sorry for letting it get that far.”

  “I doubt it.” Now she sounded like she was whining, but—

  “Well, maybe only a little.” He held up a thumb and forefinger, separated only by a sliver. Amusement blended with the desire still softening his eyes.

  As if a switch flicked on to flood the porch with light, his expression changed abruptly, sliding back into a raw mixture of wounded and stubborn. Much like an armored knight staring down a teen with a slingshot, all the same guy. A lump crawled down his throat. “But, I haven’t been involved with anyone—” His voice broke off. He licked his lips. “Since my wife.”

  Since his wife? Hadn’t Jayce said that she’d died when he was just a baby? It was her turn to be confused. “Didn’t Jayce—”

  “Yeah. Jayce was just a baby when she committed suicide.”

  ~ CHAPTER 16 ~

  “Committed suicide?” Darby jerked back.

  Even on the darkened porch, Fargo saw the horror flash across Darby’s face. He nodded, stuffing his hands into his denim pockets to keep from reaching for her again, the urge to comfort her undeniable, the urge to be comforted even stronger. But he refused to give in to it. She needed to know what she was dealing with, right? Deserved to know the whole ugly truth. That he wasn’t worth—

  He derailed that train, the one that only cropped up now in his weaker moments. But it still had the power to bring him to his knees occasionally. “So you’ll understand if I’m only up for baby steps right now.”

  A lump slid down her creamy throat, smooth skin he’d just thoroughly enjoyed kissing. She still didn’t say anything.

  “We grew up together. Met in elementary school. Went to the same middle school.” He felt the need to explain.

  “And then transitioned into high school sweethearts?” Finally, she spoke.

  “Yeah. She was it for me, the only one.” And he meant that in every way. He’d never even looked at another girl after he’d finally convinced her to go out with him.

  Jennie had been the cute little girl with the long blonde hair who sat in front of him in third grade. She’d blossomed with every year. In high school, she was the life of the party, made heads turn whenever she walked into a room. Voted Homecoming Queen and Girl Most Likely To Go Places.