Roping the Cowboy

by Tori Kayson

  Was she any different? She’d come to the ranch intent on wrangling a contract from the cowboy.

  She reared back, the thought stabbing clean through to her heart, breaking the connection. Her breathing shallowed. Suddenly, the goal that she’d embraced for most of her life loomed like a murky shadow from the past, forgotten and abandoned for something that held value. Infinitely more precious.

  Fargo. His son. Family. The ranch.

  Who are you kidding, Darby? Fargo will never be interested in you. Not really. He hasn’t had a relationship since his late wife and she’s been dead for a decade. That should tell you something! Not only that, but he has a son to consider, and you’re not ranch material, remember? Didn’t Trevor and Blake teach you anything? Like just because a guy commits doesn’t mean they can be trusted to remain faithful.

  “Want more coffee?” Fargo asked, reaching for her cup. His work-calloused fingertips brushed hers, jolting her from the painful reminder.

  Fear battled with hope. She swallowed the ugly taunts from her ex’s, stuffing them back into their years-old vault. Hope emerged, the victor.

  “No, thanks.” She scrounged up a smile.

  He scooped up her mug anyway and padded into the kitchen in stockinged feet. He slid the coffee decanter off the warmer and refilled his cup. The sound, the warm smell filled the room, comfortable and cozy.

  She wandered into the great room. A well-used journal rested on the coffee table, its faded edges inviting her to pick it up.

  She digested the first few lines of the poem, tightly scrawled words about a sunrise that grew brighter with every day. She sank into the soft leather folds of the couch and curled her legs under her rump.

  The poem was obviously written by someone who’d been hurt deeply. Raw pain radiated from the pages. She twisted it to check the author’s—

  “Oh.” The one word, no, more the way it was spoken, with such angst, ripped her gaze from the leather spine.

  “I shouldn’t have left that out.” Panic etched deep shadows around Fargo’s eyes.

  Her jaw dropped, and her gaze jerked back to the cover. Nameless. She looked back up at him, gripping the notebook tighter. “You wrote this?”

  He nodded. A lump slid down his whiskered throat. A tic poked from his clenched jaw.

  “This is really good,” she said. Really good in a “his life must have sucked for a long time” kind of way. Was he just now recovering from his wife’s suicide? Or had this poem been written years ago?

  “I’m sorry if I intruded on something you hoped to keep private…” her voice faded. She didn’t know what else to say. When she’d picked it up, she hadn’t known he was the author.

  But now that she did…wow! Such depth and sensitivity. Deep and thought provoking words. From a wounded cowboy who’d finally come to grips with a lonely life.

  A life that wasn’t much different from hers.

  §

  What was that noise?

  Darby punched the clock by the side of the bed. She tugged the pillow over her head, her lips curving with the memory of last night.

  After Fargo discovered her reading his poetry, he’d walked her home, all stiff and silent. When he clomped up on the porch behind her, she’d surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and latching onto his lips. That kiss loosened his lips. Oh yeah!

  She’d practically melted into a puddle on the porch floor. The satisfied sigh that gurgled from her throat only encouraged him. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue exploring every cranny before his lips blazed a trail of fire to her neck. His hands ignited sparks as they caressed her arms all the way up to graze her nape and thread through her hair, his ragged breaths and strangled moan—

  No. No! What was that blaring noise? Blast!

  Her eyelids flipped up. Sunbeams streamed through the edges around the curtains. Her cell phone danced on the nightstand, pulsating with a picture of her father.

  Double blast!

  She snaked an arm out from underneath the down comforter and snatched the phone off the table. “I’m on vacation, remember?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She scooted up in bed and braced her back against the headboard. This conversation might require her to be more fully awake. She shoved some hair away from her face. “Brewster Oil employees with my length of service are allowed three weeks of vacation a year, and I’ve never taken one until now. What’s going on that I would have to cut my trip short?”

  “Do you have a contract for the Kester ranch?”

  “Vacation, remember?”

  “Have you even discussed a contract with them?” Her father’s words came out firm. Unyielding. More of a demand than a question.

  Her silence was telling. She knew that, but she couldn’t force useless words from her throat. He wouldn’t want to hear anything but what he wanted to hear. Not what she wanted to say.

  “If you hold out any hope for that VP position, I’ll expect you back in the office this afternoon, Darby.”

  Darby held the phone out from her ear and glared at her father’s face until it disappeared from the screen. She flung the phone across the room, cringing when it nicked the wall.

  Her chest heaved with all the things she’d left unsaid. Almost three decades of futile attempts to win his attention, to hear a “Great job, Darby,” to feel a father’s proud embrace.

  Her palm slicked away a hot trail of tears from her cheek. She scrubbed palms across her face, mad at herself for this display of weakness.

  Why, Dad? Why should I come back? Just to chase down a rabbit trail that never leads to a meaningful relationship with you? What if I’m giving up on a love of a lifetime? Trading it for a VP position that only means more travel, more schmoozing with people who only look at me with dollar signs in their eyes?

  Was Fargo a chance for a love of a lifetime?

  She shoved the comforter off her legs, swung them over the mattress, and padded into the bathroom.

  There was only one way to find out.

  §

  “What? You’re leaving today?” As much as he tried, Fargo couldn’t camouflage the disappointment, the shock from his voice.

  He nudged the brim of his hat up to squint at Darby, his grip tightening around the wrench until his knuckles threatened to shatter.

  But it was nothing compared to the vice that squeezed his heart, twisting and turning and compressing the life out of it.

  The same sun that beat down on him, pounding him until his skin resembled beef jerky, danced along her nutmeg colored hair like tiny sunbursts. But her expression wasn’t sunny at all. Her lips, normally curved and full of life, quivered, and her dimples, absent. She pushed a curl back behind an ear and shuttered her eyes, nodding.

  His jaw clenched. A stab of regret pierced his heart, but this was all his own doing. He should never have allowed her to get close. And Jayce? Jayce would ask a ton of questions for which he had no answers. He gritted his teeth, gave his head a little shake. What had he been thinking?

  Obviously, he hadn’t. It was time to change that. He refocused his attention on loading the four-wheeler.

  Three nights with hardly any sleep and now this news? He’d welcome the torture of repairing acres of fence. Maybe tonight he could slither between the sheets without a care, his mind and muscles too exhausted to ponder all sorts of ridiculous things. Like how it would feel for her to be curled against his side, her silky hair tickling his bare chest or chin. Or to wake up with her arm wrapped around his waist, her smile sleepy and welcoming, her lips open and ready.

  Lord have mercy! What was he doing to himself?

  He flung the wrench at the toolbox and missed. He didn’t care.

  Darby bent over and scooped it up.

  He pivoted to head back into the barn for a roll of wire. But honestly, it was more to get away from her. To allow his wounded heart a chance to recover, to harden back into that solid block of ice that suited him just fine until Darby waltzed onto the ranch with her
fancy boots and sunny smile.

  “Fargo, wait!” Leather soles tapped the hard ground behind him. She scurried to keep up with his urgent pace.

  Just inside the barn, the relief from the already blazing sun felt nice, but he didn’t dwell on it. Her fingers curled around his arm and tugged him to a stop.

  So much for a minute alone. But he really hadn’t expected her to wait outside for him. Didn’t expect her to wait for him, period.

  “I’m sorry, Fargo.”

  He glared at her hand, wishing he could hide the telltale tic that pulsed from his neck. The one that revealed how much he cared for her and didn’t want her to leave. Ever.

  “If I don’t go back today, I’ll lose my job,” she said, her words as soft as her fingers. Her espresso eyes shimmered with moisture.

  Stretched almost to his breaking point, he considered jerking her into his arms and confessing his feelings.

  But, she let go. Her hand fluttered in the air then landed on a hay bale. She plucked a blade and twirled it between her fingers, staring outside the barn opening, her face dappled in equal measure of sun and shade.

  Angry splotches covered her face. She’d been crying. Because she was leaving or because of her conversation with her father?

  He steeled his spine against the urge to comfort, to hold, to whisper that everything would be all right. How could he tell her that when he didn’t know if his world would ever be right without her in it?

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” Even as the words left his mouth, he suspected what her answer would be. But he held his breath, just in case she chose him and Jayce, the ranch.

  Her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

  “Just as well we figured this out now.” He snatched his hat and plunged fingers through sweat-dampened hair, then smashed it back on his head. Clenching his jaw, he scooped up the roll of wire and stalked back outside to the four-wheeler to root around in his toolbox, checking supplies. Anything to keep his hands busy, his mind preoccupied with something besides that beautiful sad face, those full lips that he knew firsthand were sweet and welcoming.

  Nails. He could use more nails. He swiveled and headed back to the barn.

  She rerouted, spinning to follow him.

  Blast!

  “No. It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” she said, the words so hushed he wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly…or if he just wished too hard.

  His legs stopped cooperating at the barn entrance. He pivoted and waited for her to catch up. “What did you say?”

  She halted a few feet away, her pretty boots kicking up dust. “But it’s what I know, Fargo. It’s what I’m good at. Just like this—” Her arm waved through the air in a panoramic sweep of the barn’s exterior. Her gaze roamed the property before honing in on him again, her heart bleeding through her eyes. She continued, her voice gentle, “—is what you live to do.”

  She had him there. He wouldn’t know what to do if ranching wasn’t an option. He thrived on feeling the land under his boots. He couldn’t imagine not stepping outside every morning with a mug of coffee in his hand, the sun warming his face as he soaked in the distant lowing of cattle, the impatient snorts of Majesty, the sweet scent of freshly gathered hay or mowed grass.

  “Besides that, my boss is also my father.” Her face begged him to understand.

  He understood wanting to please a parent. He did. That’s why he couldn’t give her what she wanted. What her dad wanted. “Is he giving you grief about the oil drilling rig?”

  He expected a “yes” or a simple nod. Her silence churned his insides.

  “Your job, the one you’re so anxious to get back to, doesn’t make you happy,” he said, more to himself than to her. But maybe he wanted her to acknowledge that.

  Surprise arched her dark eyebrows. Then they bunched together as if considering his statement.

  “No,” she finally admitted.

  “Have you considered doing something different? Something that will make you happy?” Like motherhood? That was probably pushing it. How about just switching jobs?

  Her only response was a slight lump that bobbed along her creamy throat.

  He couldn’t read her. Was she even open to the idea? “Your dad seems to upset you with every phone call. Isn’t it time you changed the dynamics? Like stop jumping to do his will all the time?” He had to know if he ever stood a chance with her. If they stood a chance.

  “That’s not fair, Fargo!” Her voice picked up volume while her face blazed anger. “You’re still honoring your father, and he isn’t even here anymore.”

  He recoiled, the ugly truth hurling him backwards. Why she wouldn’t refuse her father. Why she wouldn’t consider leaving her job. He should have known all along. Should have suspected. “This is a ploy, isn’t it?”

  “A ploy?” Her head tilted to the side, regarding him. Silky wisps curled against her shoulder.

  He aimed his face toward his house, away from her. Shielded himself from the longing that stirred his limbs, even now, in his anger, his hurt. “This whole experience.” This time he waved an arm through the air and licked parched lips.

  “Getting close to me, my family, my son!” He practically spit out the last two words. “Cozying up over water gun fights, helping my mom in the kitchen, baking pies and washing dishes, helping Jayce with his homework, playing board games over coffee. And the kisses! Making me believe in love a—” He gulped down the huge lump that clogged his throat and scraped a palm across his jaw, his eyes burning. “It was all part of your plan, wasn’t it? To get me to agree to the oil rig.” He put the words out there, but the real enormity was just sinking in. She’d played him. Played his entire family.

  She jerked back, horror stamped all over her face. “No!”

  “And all for what? A contract. A stinkin’ piece of paper. One that I’ll never agree to sign!” He arched his shoulders back, steeled his spine, and locked arms across his chest. As if doing so could shield his already mortally wounded heart. But at least it kept him from reaching for her.

  From begging her not to go.

  Her head swung back and forth in disbelief. Her chin quivered. A fat tear spilled over onto a smooth cheek, then another. She brushed them away with a palm. “I haven’t even mentioned the rig, Fargo. Not since you explained how you felt about it. Forget about it. It doesn’t matter.” A tremor shook her deflated shoulders.

  He wanted her to say that he mattered. That his son mattered.

  But she didn’t. She just turned around, her head drooping, her boots plodding with every step. It would take her forever to reach the big house.

  He didn’t say anything. Just watched her walk away, the sun scorching through his cotton shirt.

  Let her leave. She wasn’t meant for him, wasn’t suited for ranch life. He’d known that from the beginning.

  So why did he feel as if his world would never be right again? As if he would never be whole?

  ~ CHAPTER 19 ~

  The number for her office floor flickered above the elevator doors. Darby adjusted her hair and pushed back her shoulders. She could do this!

  Her stiletto heels clicked against the tile floor and echoed against the walls as she marched to her office. She’d stopped by the condo to change from her ranch duds into something more professional, but she rarely dug these expensive shoes out of the closet. Why today?

  She slowed her pace and glanced down at the cherry-colored deathtraps. Because they looked nothing like the turquoise-tipped boots, a painful reminder of the cowboy she’d left behind. She blew out a breath and resumed her march down the wide hall.

  “Hey, Darby,” Phyllis said, balancing a stack of files against her chest. “Thought you were still on vacation.”

  “My plans changed.” Darby kept her brisk pace, not stopping to chat. The heavy traffic during an almost two-hour drive back from the ranch and the quick stop at her condo had done little to cool her temper.

  She couldn’t figure out who she was
angrier with—her father or the arrogant rancher.

  Her chest lifted then deflated. That wasn’t true. She was angry with both of them. Her father, for demanding that she report back to work. And Fargo, for accusing her of something so awful.

  But Fargo’s words had hit their mark, wounded her soul-deep. He was dead wrong about plotting to get the contract, but he was right about one thing.

  She’d allowed her father to influence her decisions, to manipulate her life entirely too long. She wasn’t a kid anymore, longing for a parent’s affection.

  It was time she made a change. But what?

  She pushed open the door to her office and mashed her purse into a desk drawer. She slipped her laptop off her shoulder and booted it up.

  Come see me when you get in. Her father’s scrawled note stuck to her phone.

  Great. Just what she needed. A chat with her father when she was all wound up.

  She took a deep breath. He signs your paycheck. Until you’re ready to give that up, you need to suck it up.

  §

  Pink and purple hues feathered the sky when Fargo drove the four-wheeler under the makeshift garage. He hoisted his leg over the machine and pocketed the key, moaning as he stretched out the kinks. Every inch of his body ached.

  He shouldn’t have any problem falling asleep tonight.

  His gaze swung to where Darby’s car had been parked when he left that morning. It was gone.

  Disappointment crashed over him like a rogue wave, almost knocking him off balance. His fingers clenched around the toolbox. He forced unsteady legs to slog to the barn.

  So, she’d chosen her job over them. That ugly truth reared up to kick him in the gut.

  “Hey, Dad. I thought you were never going to make it home,” Jayce said, gripping a bucket.

  “Yeah. I kinda thought the same thing.” But he’d planned it that way. Had hoped that his screaming muscles would override a too-active imagination and that he could actually sleep tonight.