Roping the Marshal: A Sweet Contemporary Cowboy Romance (Kester Ranch Cowboys Book 2)

by Tori Kayson

  Maverick held his palms up.

  “Mav, please! He disappeared while I was brushing Thunder. I left him hooked in the barn.”

  Thunder was skittish about noises and had broken several lead lines. All this commotion from the wedding might frighten the horse.

  “All right.” He surrendered. “Where’s his stuff?”

  Slade was already backing away. “My room. A bag on the bed. Summer always keeps plenty of extra clothes and—” his brother’s hand waved in a circle directed at Logan’s midsection “—training pants.”

  He could see why. “Go. I got this.” He was a Deputy US Marshal. Changing an almost three-year-old’s wet clothes wouldn’t be near as much trouble as wrangling handcuffs on someone high on drugs. “But let Summer know first, so she doesn’t worry.”

  Slade didn’t need to be told twice. He turned, his gaze skimming the crowd, and then hustled toward the photographer.

  “Come on, cowboy. Let’s go get cleaned up.” Mav offered his hand.

  A hand slipped inside his, baby soft and tiny.

  A weird, unfamiliar sensation roared through his body with more power than a freight train barreling down the tracks. Maverick reared back, startled. He gulped, glanced down.

  Twin brown orbs stared up at him as if he hung the moon. As if he held all the answers to life’s problems.

  His world shifted and cracked, revealing a huge gap in the single life he’d chosen versus the full life he could have. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Tank you, mister.”

  He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome, and it’s Maverick. But you can call me Mav.” One syllable would make it easier on the kid.

  “Tank you, Mav.” A thousand-watt smile brightened the boy’s face, making him wish he had all the answers, that he was worthy to be someone the boy looked up to.

  Sam’s image, the one forever lodged in his memory, flashed through his brain. Heaven help him, but he wasn’t someone that Logan should imitate, not like the role model his dad had been for him his whole life. Mav witnessed the dark side of life, protected criminals willing to blow the whistle on their cohorts in crime more than he protected the people who deserved protection.

  As the bridal march cranked up, he scoured the crowd for Summer, caught her worried gaze. He nodded reassurance, then turned, the little hand still tucked tightly in his. “You’re welcome. Now how about if we go change these wet clothes?”

  Again.

  ****

  “You’re so welcome. Everything turned out beautifully. When the happy couple returns from their honeymoon, we’ll set up a time to view the proofs.” Summer waved good night to the bride’s parents and heaved a relieved sigh.

  She cast a furtive glance around the property, almost afraid that she’d find one more guest lurking about. But, no. The last of the wedding party had finally cleared out, leaving only Rebekah and Kierra carting dirty dishes and soiled linens back to the kitchen.

  She slid the camera back in the protective case and rolled her shoulders. Weariness sank all the way to the bone. Two hundred more clicks than her usual wedding quota, and she should know. She’d been counting them down until she could check on Logan.

  But since Slade hadn’t sounded any alarms lately, she could spare a few minutes to help her friends. She stacked dirty dishes on a tray.

  Rebekah’s hand landed on her forearm, her touch gentle and motherly. “We’ve got this, honey. Go check on your boy.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m glad to help.”

  “I know you are. But I also know you’re worried about Logan. Go. You’ll feel better after you check on him,” Rebekah said, and Kierra nodded agreement.

  “Okay, thanks.” Relief flooded Summer. She turned to go, tray in hand, but pivoted. “Oh, I bet you’re glad that Maverick is home.”

  Rebekah nodded, smiling as she tossed some silverware in a bucket. “Definitely. Although I wish it was long term. Who knows? Maybe…”

  “Right,” Kierra said, sarcasm drawling the one word into two distinct syllables. “Mom, you know Mav was made for his job. And he just can’t pick up and move anywhere.”

  With muscles like that? What was he, a construction foreman? Contractor? Fitness instructor? Definitely not in law enforcement. Life wouldn’t be that cruel, right? “What does he—?”

  Rebekah interrupted her with a motherly pat on her shoulder. “We can talk more later. Go home, Summer. I know you must be exhausted and you still have to get Logan into bed. Oh, and don’t forget about dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Usual time?”

  Rebekah nodded and plucked another soiled cloth from a table.

  “Sounds great. Good night.”

  Both ladies waved in response. She carted the tray to the deck and stopped to hoist the camera bag over a shoulder. Stifling a groan, she stretched the kinks out of her back. As soon as Logan fell asleep, she’d stand under a hot shower for a good thirty minutes and then crawl under the sheets.

  Summer found a bare spot on a counter and deposited the tray, breathing deep of freshly brewed coffee. Should she grab a cup to go? Nah. It was time to find her boy and head home.

  Soft country music tunes filtered in from the family room. The tips of her sandals barely made a sound as she crossed the wood-planked floor, circling around Logan’s matchbox cars and his water-logged boots.

  There he was. Sleeping on the couch, the bright red cape of his superhero pajama top draped across his back. Actually, Logan was on top of Maverick, little boy arms stretched out toward the man’s neck. Dark eyelashes closed over creamy cheeks, and a toy horse dangled from his grip. Her little angel.

  But what really clutched at her heart was the cowboy. He sprawled the entire length of the couch and beyond, long legs crossed at the ankles, boots hanging off the end. His Stetson covered his face, but both muscled arms wrapped around her baby, cradling Logan to his massive chest, as if to protect her little man.

  As if Logan was precious to him.

  Her breath stuttered. Her legs gelled into limp pasta.

  Slade’s snore, a loud snuffle from the recliner, startled her into action.

  What a perfect photo opp! Her bare knees landed on the cool hardwood near the couch, and she tugged the camera from the case. She clicked once, twice, five times before she noticed that Maverick’s hat had shifted away from his face and that his silver eyes were wide open, staring at her.

  “Hey,” she whispered. One last click then she tucked the camera back in the bag and scooted closer. Close enough to breathe in that sweet scent of freshly bathed baby. Slade had given Logan a bath? That was a first.

  The cowboy blinked and licked his lips. One arm pressed against the fabric of the couch. He lifted a fraction, but winced and dropped right back in the same position. “Hey. You’re done?”

  The music transitioned from fast moving to slow, the soft words to a love song drifting in the air. Shadows dappled Maverick’s face, the only light coming from a small table lamp in the far corner of the room. But she could still make out the strong line of his jaw, the cleft hidden in his chin. The massive chest stretched taut against the snow white shirt.

  Tingles spiked along her arms. The intimacy of the moment fluttered down to settle in her belly, sparking new dreams to blossom and expand into the lonely places of her being. Was this cowboy the man she’d been looking for since moving to Texas? Hard working, kind and gentle, a family man who would be a good daddy to Logan? She smiled. “Yeah. I’m done.”

  He made no further move to get up. Since she couldn’t really grab her son off the man’s chest, she sank into a side chair. The leather folds wrapped around her, soft and welcoming. She couldn’t contain the moan that escaped.

  “Long night?” His sympathetic gaze slid over her, warming her to the core.

  “Frightfully long. I hope he wasn’t a problem?” She nodded once at Logan and held her breath, a tiny sliver of hope resting on Maverick’s response. Would he burst her bubble or ca
use it to grow and flourish?

  ****

  “A problem?” Maverick scoffed. She didn’t know the half of it, but he wasn’t going to rat on the kid. The little dude just craved attention, particularly male, if the way he’d latched on to his neck after bath time was any indication. “Nah. My brother Fargo and I, now we were problems.” And some of his er…clients were problems with a capital P. “Don’t know how my mom or dad put up with us.” But they did, always with love and extra hugs to spare.

  Maybe that’s all Logan needed. Love and extra hugs. He gave the kid an extra squeeze to make up for the lack from his deadbeat father.

  Now, if he could just sit up. Logan’s added weight pinned him to the couch and his fractured ribs weren’t cooperating. He gritted his teeth and tried again, pressing his forearms to the couch and sliding, but barely budged. Sweat beaded his lip, and he kept pressure on his forearms until a tremor rippled up his torso.

  No worries. He could wait all night. Especially with the sweet baby smell. And now a feminine scent, a playful blend of violet and woods, drifted in the room.

  The next six weeks could be very interesting.

  “Thank you for helping out with him.” Her gaze wandered to his brother, asleep on the recliner, his mouth hanging open.

  “All three of us played cowboys and raced to see who had the fastest car.” He couldn’t let his younger brother hang. Slade had tried to corral the kid, but Logan had refused to leave his side after he’d changed his wet clothes.

  “I can see that.” The soft light in the room highlighted the freckles dotting her creamy cheeks. Her lips rounded in amusement as she gazed toward the rug studded with plastic horses guarding miniature cowboys and matchbox cars lined up to race. She flicked some stray strands of blonde hair behind an ear, doubt lingering in the tiny lines etching the purplish hollows above her cheeks. Or was it fatigue?

  “He’s a good kid,” he said. Just because she might need the reassurance. He shifted, and his hat dropped to shield his regard.

  Her head lifted to reveal startled blue eyes, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. That wasn’t good. A Deputy US Marshal was supposed to be observant, paid to notice the slightest nuances, emotions, anything out of the ordinary.

  Logan lifted a hand to rub his cheeks then whacked Maverick in the face, knocking his hat to the floor.

  So much for spying on the lady from under the wide brim.

  Summer laughed, a sound that reminded him of springtime and new life, setting all sorts of alarms to go off in his head.

  He’d been toying with the idea of asking her out, a way to pass the six weeks on the ranch. But this woman, the boy, they were long-term. Permanent material, definitely not casual. Women didn’t like coming in second place to his job, and he didn’t have the patience or the willingness to make them feel better about that. Best just to date a handful of times and then call it quits. That way he didn’t hear the complaints about cancelled dinners and Friday nights spent alone. At least, that had been his MO since Andrea.

  Logan squirmed on top of Mav’s chest and a tiny knee pierced his gut. He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain that blasted through his insides.

  “Something wrong?” Summer’s amusement transitioned into worry.

  He waited a beat, then two, long enough for the pain to subside. Blinked to refocus on her concerned gaze, the way she leaned into him as she handed him his hat, her fingers smooth and soft. He tossed the hat on the coffee table. “Nothing a little time won’t cure.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. Long honey blonde locks dangled to the side as she waited for him to elaborate.

  “A car accident.” He finally broke the silence. Not just any car accident, though. Someone had been out to get them. And now it was “all hands on deck” in the entire northern district since discovering the driver’s identity.

  “Ouch!”

  A few more choice words came to mind, but he didn’t voice them. “Yeah. Never saw the guy coming. Slammed into the passenger side.” Almost two tons of steel, speeding twenty miles over the limit, rammed right into his partner and longtime friend. A sigh quaked deep in his gut and trembled up his frame. “I ended up with a few busted ribs.”

  “Oh, that’s awful! So you’re home recuperating?”

  “Yeah.” He should be on the job, working the case, tracking down the driver of the hit and run, a cold-blooded killer, a thug from one of the gangs they’d just brought down, thanks to the testimony of their latest witness. But, he could still hear his boss’s voice booming through his cell phone as if the man was in the room, sitting next to him.

  “I don’t want to see you around here for six weeks, Kester, and not a day sooner. And I better not find out that you’re working the case remotely. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and Kester?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t come back until you’ve visited Doc Henderson.”

  Doc Henderson? The psychologist? Like—

  “Was anybody else hurt?” The feminine voice broke through the memory.

  “Yeah. My partner.” He gulped down the guilt that crawled up his throat and threatened to strangle him.

  “Your…partner?” She peered at him through slits, her fingertips hiding the creamy skin along her neck.

  “He…didn’t make it.”

  The expanding whites of her eyes could light up the dim room, and her hand reached up to cover her mouth.

  “We’ll find the guy that did it. Trust me.” His back teeth ground together, and his jaw tightened until he felt as if his entire head might snap away from his body.

  She leaned forward, her fingernails digging into the fabric of the chair. Her tongue slid across her lips. “What is it you do for a living, Maverick?”

  “I’m a Deputy US Marshal.”

  3

  A Deputy US Marshal!

  How had she not seen that one coming? She bolted off the chair, her legs wobbly and traitorous, her breath snagging in her lungs. She needed air.

  No, what she needed was to remove her son from Maverick’s law enforcement chest and get out of here! A tremor worked its way up from her toes, rocking her entire body with the shudder.

  Maverick was probably cut from the same mold as her ex-husband. Selfish and consumed with his almighty career. Hadn’t Kierra just admitted as much?

  Did his face light up with excitement every time a new case landed on his desk? Did adrenaline make him rush off to work before dawn and stay long after dark? Did the power that came with the badge turn him into a different person? Did the stress of living a double life and all the secrets make him forget who he was at the very core? Like when women flung themselves at him after he flashed his badge? Commitments and promises probably meant nothing to him.

  Yeah. Just like Judd.

  And she’d thought him a cowboy. A hero.

  Angry with herself, she bent over and plucked her son off Maverick’s chest. Ignored the pained oomph that sputtered from the man’s whiskered throat and the surprised look on his face. She twisted her sleeping boy until his downy soft cheek nestled against her neck, the superhero cape cascading over her bare arm. She turned around at the door.

  Maverick had followed her, his clean, spicy scent invading her space. He scratched his jaw, confusion darkening his face. “Did I—”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.” She backed up and tightened her grip on her baby. “Thanks again for helping with Logan. Would you mind telling Slade I’ll catch up with him later? We need to get home.” To a safe place for…her heart.

  “Sure. Anytime.” His short hair spiked up in all directions from sleeping on the couch. He reached around her to open the door. His chest grazed her bare arm.

  Tingles from his touch prickled and danced along her skin, traitorous and unbidden. Stop it. Just stop it. He’s not who you thought he was.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you around soon,” he said.

  Soon? Not if she could
help it.

  “Go home, Mama?” Logan’s sleepy voice tickled her neck.

  She nuzzled her lips against his silky hair. “Yes, sweetheart.” Home. A refuge, a place to hide until Maverick went back to wherever he came from.

  “Wanna stay. With Mav.” Even as Logan said the words, his lashes fluttered closed over baby smooth cheeks and his head flopped against her shoulder.

  Maverick reached around her to ruffle Logan’s hair.

  She bolted through the open door, cutting the connection between Maverick and Logan. When his arm dropped away, she glanced back.

  The dim light from the family room highlighted the marshal’s bulky frame in a golden glow. Steel gray eyes, cleared now of sleep. Nutmeg colored brows. A nice nose and firm jaw. Massive shoulders. Muscled arms strained against the soft cotton shirt, showing off rock hard abs. That was enough to make a gal drool. She didn’t dare look any further.

  Disappointment sluiced over her. This man had rescued her baby from a sure drowning. Kept an eye on the little mischief maker while she earned a living. Even cuddled with him while they slept.

  She could have really fallen for this guy. And she might have considered him even if he wasn’t a cowboy. But a Deputy US Marshal?

  Not a chance!

  She hustled down the porch stairs, putting some distance between them, concentrating on finding refuge in her car.

  “’Night, Summer.” His deep voice, husky from sleep and carrying the tiniest hint of longing, fluttered out into the night air to crawl into her head and mess with her thoughts.

  Blast the man! Why did he have to be a marshal? Why hadn’t he followed in his daddy’s and older brother’s boots and become a hardworking, kind-hearted ranching cowboy?

  Her sandals stomped across the dewy grass. The cool wetness tickling her feet did nothing to calm her nerves. She’d tuck Logan in at home, and then she’d dig out the cleaning supplies. A little cleaning therapy with a toothbrush and tile grout might torture her muscles enough where she might eventually sleep.