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

by Tori Kayson

  “Logan!” he yelled. Surely the kid couldn’t have gone too far.

  Summer’s labored breath came in anxious spurts. Her fingernails clawed into his upper arm.

  He stopped, covered her cold-as-ice hand with his. “It’ll be all right, Summer. We’ll find him. Go back inside and get the rest of the family to help us search. And turn on the flood lights. That’ll help.”

  Stubbornness thinned her lips. But then she nodded, her jaw tight. A lump slid down her smooth throat.

  “Good girl. We’ll find him.” He squeezed her hand, and then turned back. Scanned the now inky black vicinity.

  Her boots clipped back up the stairs rapid-fire. The screen door squeaked and slapped shut. Lights illuminated the yard. There. A hundred percent better.

  “Logan!” he yelled and waited.

  Only night sounds. Grasshoppers chirped. His brother’s dogs barked from inside their nearby house. Cattle lowed. Nothing that sounded remotely like a toddler’s cry came back to him.

  He covered the property closest to the house fairly fast, but so much more ground to search. The barn, the lake—

  Son of a deuce! Logan, not the lake, please!

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and high pitched voices punctuated the night sounds. He rounded back to let his family know where he’d already checked.

  “Let’s split up,” he ordered, out of breath already. White hot pain erupted through his gut like the finale of a fireworks display. “Mama, you and Slade take the barn. Make sure you check the four-wheeler. Kierra, run to Fargo’s and get him out here. Summer—”

  Her frightened blue eyes landed on his. What he wouldn’t do to frame her face with his palms, to plant a kiss on her forehead and tell her that everything would be all right. But he couldn’t promise that. He’d seen all the ugly in the world. Proof that things didn’t always work out how one hoped. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her dwell on that.

  “We’ll find him.” The best he could offer.

  She blinked. A single drop of fear cascaded over her cheek, forcing him into action.

  “Summer, stay on the porch. Logan might show back up at the house, and we don’t want him alone,” he said.

  “But, I need to be out searching, doing…” Desperation slid across her face just before a swash of blonde hair curtained her face.

  “All right.” He relented. Did he really have a choice? Especially when she looked up, her eyes sparkling with hope.

  Mav took hold of her hand. “Come with me.”

  He didn’t want her alone. That was it, right? Didn’t have time to dwell on why he wanted her by his side, warming her icy palm in his, or how the grateful look on her face caused all his protective instincts to rise up. He refused to revisit her distaste for law enforcement officers. “Mama, you stay on the porch. Slade, you’ve got the barn.”

  When everybody bolted for the directions he’d assigned, a worried hustle in their steps, he heard a whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Save it for when we find the little guy.” He led her toward the parking area. After Logan’s escapade on the mule, he gathered the youngster liked to drive.

  “Sure.” She swiped at her cheek. Her entire torso seemed to be trembling. Fear? Surely wasn’t cold out here.

  He ached to wrap his arms around her, to share his warmth, but settled for giving her arm a brisk rub. “For the record, I enjoy spending time with your son. I wouldn’t have volunteered to keep an eye on him if I didn’t want to, and I never feel ‘stuck.’”

  Unless one counted the fact that he was holed up here on the ranch without a case to work. But since Summer and Logan visited frequently, he really hadn’t even given it another thought.

  She flashed a tender smile his way before cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling, “Logan!”

  They made it to the makeshift parking lot. Good thing all the ranch guests were in town because that meant fewer vehicles to check. He unclipped his cell phone and activated the torch app, illuminating the interior of his sister’s jeep. No kid in there.

  Mav hustled to the next vehicle, his mother’s car, and scanned the interior. Vacant, so he continued on, Summer’s boots nipping at his heels. She stumbled and her fingertips latched around his belt.

  He sucked in a breath. His pulse stuttered. Limbs stiffened at her soft touch. Keep your focus where it belongs, Kester, on finding her son. Not on how good her hands feel around your waist, or how wonderful they’d be clinging to your neck—

  A flicker, something out of the ordinary, just beyond his peripheral vision snagged his attention.

  His truck? Should’ve thought of that first.

  Mav squinted through the darkness, caught the slightest of movements in the supposed-to-be-empty cab. He snatched Summer’s hand again. “Come on. Looks like we found him.”

  “We did?” She practically skipped to keep up with his lengthy strides.

  They neared his truck. A tiny head bobbed while hands jerked the steering wheel back and forth in the darkened cab, confirming his suspicions.

  “Oh!” Summer squealed, delight overtaking the worry in that one word.

  He chuckled. That would probably change soon.

  She released his hand and sped around him to reach the truck first. One yank, but the door didn’t respond. “Oh no.”

  The kid had locked himself in?

  “No worries.” Maverick hit the button on the key fob.

  With the unlock beep, the kid knew he was in trouble. He jerked toward the window and the mock steering stilled.

  Summer yanked the door open and tugged the mischievous youngster from the cab. Logan flashed his best wounded puppy dog look at his mother.

  This miniature cowboy was going to put him back in the hospital or kill him.

  Whichever came first.

  ****

  Summer’s heart puddled right there in the gravel driveway, but she couldn’t let Logan get away with this. She cradled him against her chest for a few seconds and then set him down on the ground. She crouched until they were face to face, her fingers curled around his shoulders.

  “You are in big trouble, young man,” she said, digging up her sternest mommy voice.

  “Twuble?” As if that sweet voice wasn’t enough to break down her firm parenting skills, she braced herself for the flash of doe eyes over chubby cheeks. Sure enough. Her son wielded an arsenal of powerful weapons that played on her weakness with hundred percent accuracy and zero misses.

  “Yes. Because you took off without asking permission.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Maverick’s whispered words tickled the skin near her ear. But that didn’t bother her nearly as much as her traitorous pulse, rocketing to jet speed as the intoxicating blend of leather and woods and spice settled over her.

  She’d already warned herself not to get too attached to this gun-toting, badge-wearing cowboy. But how was she to resist him when he did such sweet things? Like inviting her for relaxing coffee breaks on the porch. Sketching her and her boy, capturing Logan’s charm and love for adventure on a single page. Or rescuing her son from sure-death experiences, even with a chest full of broken ribs.

  And now he was standing up for the little mischief maker?

  She glared at the part-time cowboy crouching behind her.

  His response? A wickedly handsome grin as he held his palms face up. Some help he was.

  “You’re not helping matters here,” she murmured.

  “Just sayin. No harm done. All’s well—”

  “It could have been worse.” So much worse. If Maverick hadn’t acted so fast—

  A hand tugged at her arm. “Mommy?”

  So now it was back to Mommy again? She blinked and turned her focus back on her son, hearing Maverick’s boots scuffle in the gravel as he stretched to his six-foot plus height. Everything about this man kept her senses on high alert, every nerve taut as a rubber band set to launch. “Yes?”


  “It’s dawk.” Logan’s brow worried. His head swiveled in a panoramic sweep as if he just now noticed.

  “I know it is. But somehow you still managed to find your way to Maverick’s truck.” And lock himself in. What if he’d fallen asleep? It could’ve been hours before they found him.

  They? Maverick found him. The full weight of the truth hit her. She cringed.

  “That means you are a good tracker.” Maverick’s praise reached deep. Soothed her beaten-down spirit. Relaxed and calmed her stiff muscles as well as a massage, something she hadn’t indulged in since the divorce. Maybe that’s all she needed to loosen the tight muscles, to erase the seemingly permanent image of the rugged law enforcement officer from her thoughts. Could it be that something so simple as a massage would do the trick?

  “Twacker?” Logan studied Maverick’s face.

  She took that opportunity to straighten her weak knees.

  Maverick picked up her son with one arm. As if the man didn’t have a chest full of broken ribs. “Yes. You saw my truck earlier and you found your way back in the dark. That’s good tracking.” Maverick’s forehead furrowed, and a new level of sternness darkened his features and came through in his voice. “But next time, ask first, so your mother knows where you are. Then, I will be happy to show you the inside of my truck. All right, cowboy?”

  “All wight.” Logan nodded. Cheeks scrunched and giant crocodile tears rimmed his eyes. He stretched out tiny arms toward her. “I wanna go home, Mommy.”

  Maverick twitched. His muscles flexed as his arm tightened around her son, but he nodded.

  Home. Where it was just her and her little boy against the world. She sighed. “Yeah. We can go home now, honey.” She held out her hands, but Maverick shook his head.

  Loose gravel crunched under Maverick’s boots as he headed toward her car and buckled Logan in the car seat.

  Through the open door, Mav leaned in to whisper something in Logan’s ear. Grazed Logan’s cheek with a gentle brush of his fingertips then the man stuck his hat on Logan’s head. Like with a flick of the switch, Logan’s expression brightened.

  The wounded marshal backed away and closed the door, swiveled toward her. Without his usual covering, the soft glow from the moon exposed his expression, naked. Vulnerable. Longing. A deep, hungry longing.

  Did he want children? A family?

  She studied the hollows and curves of his face, but instantly, he shut down. Shifted back to marshal mode. Unreadable, like a mask he put on every day for work.

  Exactly why she vowed never to marry another man in law enforcement.

  “Looks like you have one tired cowboy on your hands.” Mav guided her around to the driver’s side of the car, his grip gentle, kind. He opened the door, and once again, his masculine scent settled around her. Comforting. Safe and dangerous at the same time.

  A sudden craving took over her fingers, to reach up and graze the whiskers stubbling his cheek. She couldn’t control it any more than she could keep from brushing a hand through her son’s nutmeg hair when she kissed Logan goodnight. She framed the marshal’s firm jaw. Balanced on the tips of her boots and planted a light kiss on his cheek. Just a thank you peck. Of appreciation.

  When the deed was done, her boots found firm ground again, but not so her heart. It still cranked out an uneven rhythm. She cleared her throat, somehow managed to get her voice to work. “Thank you, Maverick. For rescuing my son. Again.”

  Coward that she was, Summer slid into the seat and mashed the accelerator. Halfway down the lane, she let out a breath and glanced in the rear view mirror.

  Big mistake.

  Maverick stood rooted in the same spot, staring after her car. Wide shoulders. Lean hips. Six foot plus of his rugged frame oozed confidence, strength. Minus his Stetson. The one he gave her son.

  She licked her lips. She could resist the confidence. The sweet and kind? Not so much.

  Her insides still buzzed with the charge from touching the cowboy. She jerked her gaze away from the mirror and swiped fingertips across her lips. But that didn’t stop the tingle.

  Desire for more than a thank you peck flooded her. For Mav’s arms to hold her tight. For his mouth to deepen the kiss and take her places she’d never been. To make it into something lasting, something with a future. For him to—

  “I wike Mav.” Logan’s sweet voice startled her.

  Summer turned onto the highway, headed toward their apartment. “Uh, I like him, too.”

  “I wanna come back tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow, honey. We need to catch up on some things at home.” Not next week or the following week, either, if she could help it.

  Maverick could only be a friend. Nothing more. Summer had no room in her life for another law enforcement officer, no desire to attach herself to another man whose job was more important to him than her or Logan. None whatsoever.

  Uncertainty pricked. And guilt. Had she judged him unfairly?

  “All right. But I wanna see Mav.” Logan whined with as much determination as a tuckered out two and a half year old could muster.

  “I know, honey.” Honestly, she did, too. But she refused to give in.

  At a red light, she spared a glance at her son. Long black lashes fluttered over creamy cherubic cheeks. His head bobbed and jerked, finally dipping forward until his chin rested on his chest. He surrendered the battle to stay awake, the oversized hat hiding his face entirely.

  Poor little guy. The image of Maverick’s fingers brushing Logan’s cheek burned in her brain. And then that look on the marshal’s face when he turned around…like he adored her son and felt terrible for making Logan cry. As if Logan actually meant something to him.

  Something cracked, shifted, and dropped away from her heart.

  Not good. The light turned green, and she stomped on the accelerator.

  No. Best for both of them if she steered clear of Kester Ranch for the next few weeks. At least until Maverick was healthy enough to return to Dallas and his job. But how? Not like she could renege on her previously committed events. She wouldn’t do that to Kierra or Rebekah. After she tucked Logan in tonight, she’d check to see how many upcoming events were scheduled at the ranch. If she was lucky, none.

  But if she wasn’t?

  Her son’s heart would break. And that, she wouldn’t allow.

  7

  Maverick steered the lawn mower out of the barn, settling the borrowed hat firmly on his head and lifting his face to the late autumn breeze.

  During yesterday’s medical exam, the doctor had cleared him for low-to-mild activity. Sitting on a tractor didn’t get any more mild, did it? He was fairly sure the doctor wouldn’t approve of the outdoor lawn chores he planned to do after mowing, but he hadn’t asked for permission. Why take a chance the doc would disapprove? He kinda liked Logan’s philosophy.

  Besides, mowing the lawn definitely wouldn’t be any more strenuous than keeping up with Logan. Mav chuckled, the afternoon sun warming his cheeks as he circled the house. Grass clippings shot out the side, the fresh tang of cut grass lifting his spirits.

  Summer hadn’t been to the ranch in over a week. He missed the little dude, but he missed the youngster’s mama even more. Why hadn’t they come by? Was it because the ranch didn’t require her photography services? Something told him it was more than that.

  When he was satisfied with the appearance of the lawn and appropriately stiff from working muscles he hadn’t used in a while, he stowed the tools back in the barn and made his way into the kitchen. His mother stood in front of the stove with her back to him, twirling a wooden spoon inside a pan.

  “Lawn’s done for another week. Or two.” He opened the fridge and poured tea in a couple glasses. Took a long slug from one.

  “Thanks for mowing, Mav. I appreciate it, and I know Slade will, too.” She twisted over a shoulder, smiling. “But you know your younger brother. He’s going to think you’re trying to mooch his allowance.”

  “Nah. Just needed so
mething to do.” All this sitting was driving him crazy. If only he could convince his boss to let him work some cases from here—

  “Tough to have a little down time, eh?” His mother conked the wooden spoon against the side of the pan a couple times, and then turned around and backed her rump against the counter. “Just like your daddy. Always needing to stay busy. Never could sit still longer than a handful of minutes at a time.”

  Smiling, he sank down in a chair at the table, set both tea glasses on the surface and sent an invitation with a flick of his head. “I could say the same for you.”

  “You’re right, but I enjoy what I’m doing, so it’s all good.” Chuckling, she joined him at the table, stretching her legs out so that her stockinged feet rested on another chair, and moaned. “But, oh, this does feel good.”

  “For about ten minutes.”

  “Yeah. I can see how it would get to you.” She shot him a grin. “But I must confess that I love having you home again. Even all beat up and grumbly about it.”

  “Yeah. I kinda like being home myself.” Which surprised him.

  “Oh?” His mother’s eyebrows lifted over the glass of tea she held to her lips.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” But didn’t he already entertain thoughts of staying on at the ranch, working alongside his brother? Not that the idea appealed too much, but hey. It was worth a shot if doing so meant convincing Summer that he was a man worthy of her trust.

  His cell phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, glanced at the caller ID. His boss. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

  He grabbed the cup, nudged the screen door open with his boot, and connected the call as he stepped outside on the back deck. “Kester.”

  “How’s it going?” His boss’s voice boomed through the phone.

  Maverick held it out a bit from his ear and set the glass on the rail, leaning a hip against the wood. “Doc says I’m good.”

  “Good enough to come back to work?”

  “Not that good. But I can—”

  “How many more weeks?”

  “Nothing definitive. Sometime in November was all I got.”