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

by Tori Kayson

  His boss’s frustrated snort bellowed from the phone, loud and clear as if they were in the same room.

  Maverick rubbed his whiskers and shifted to stare out at the property. His brother’s dogs barked and yipped next door, chasing one another and tumbling around in the grass.

  His boss wasn’t jovial or pleasant on the best of days, but with all available marshals in the district hunting down Olson, the guy had to be stressed. If only his boss would let Mav help.

  He could sift through files or trace computer data just as easily from the ranch. “But I’m more than happy to work from here—”

  “We got our first lead on where Olson is holed up.”

  Adrenaline rushed through Mav’s limbs, and he bolted away from the wood support, knocking the glass off balance. He snatched it before it went over the edge. “Where?”

  “As soon as the doctor clears you, we’ll talk.” Click.

  Maverick held out his cell phone and watched the screen go dark. That was it? That’s all he got?

  He huffed and slammed his palm against the deck rail, impatience replacing the adrenaline. His neurons fired with the need to return to work, but the pain still lancing his ribs sparked with a different warning. He rammed fingers through his hair and stomped back inside.

  “Bad news?” his mother asked.

  Bad? Yeah. That he wouldn’t be the one to throw the cuffs on Sam’s killer. But at least the team had something to work with now. “They have a lead on who killed Sam.”

  “That’s good.” His mother studied him. “So why the long face?”

  “Because I should be there. Working.”

  Her hand covered his on the table. “Son, that’s not an option right now. You know the complications if those ribs don’t heal properly.”

  “Internal bleeding. Possible lung collapse or other organ damage. Increased likelihood of pneumonia. Yeah. I know all about the complications.” That didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  “You could use a distraction.”

  Huh?

  “Something to take your mind off not working. What do you do for fun? You don’t always work, right?”

  Shame stabbed him in the chest. Seared like a blazing hot tip from a fireplace poker. He couldn’t inhale enough precious air to catch a decent breath. And the short huffs only caused more pain to jab his chest.

  “Maverick, are you all right?” His mother scooted back from the table and rushed to a cabinet. She pulled out a white bottle and shook some pills into her palm. “Ibuprofen.”

  “Thanks,” he wheezed, his eyes tearing from pain. When the bout finally subsided, he downed the tablets with some tea.

  His mother sat down, fluttering a hand over her chest. “You probably scared ten years off my life!”

  He planted an elbow on the table and dropped his forehead into his palm. “Sorry.”

  “So I guess you can see now how this wouldn’t be a good thing to happen while you were working.”

  “Yeah. Probably not.” Imagine the exact moment he collared Olson and slipped on the cuffs, then this happening. He surely wouldn’t want to risk the jerk’s escape because of lack of air in his lungs. “Hey. When did you get so wise?”

  The worry eased a bit with her smile. She swatted him on the arm. “Hey, buster. I’ve always been wise. Just took you a long time to figure it out.”

  Mav chuckled.

  “You never answered my question,” she prodded. Knowing his mother, she’d keep digging until he gave her an answer.

  “What do I do for fun?”

  “Yeah. That was the first.”

  He scrubbed his face, the bristly noise from his whiskers masking the discontentment gurgling from his gut. What did he do for fun? Even while guarding a witness, he pored over files tracking down clues or scoured the Internet to keep up with news. His mother wouldn’t consider that fun. For that matter, he didn’t either. But it beat watching the tube and made the long hours holed up more palatable. About the only activity he found pleasure in was sketching.

  “I see,” she said, her tone subdued and quiet. She spun the empty glass around in her hand. “I guess that’s my answer to the second question then.”

  “Yes. I admit. My job has a way of taking over my life.” There. He said it. Summer was right. He wasn’t any better than her ex-husband. His hand landed back on the table with a thud.

  And since he spent so much of his life tucked away in safe houses, how could he complain about recuperating on the ranch? Not only was he surrounded by family, but Summer and Logan’s visits gave him something to look forward to. Much more exciting than guarding a witness.

  Maybe a delicate change of subject was in order. The ranch hadn’t been overrun with visitors lately. “When’s your next event?”

  His mother cocked her head to the side, lips rounded at the corners. “Are you really asking me when Summer will be back?”

  Shoot the deuce! His mother wasn’t just wise. She could see into his brain. Maybe better to keep his mouth shut.

  “We have a few minor events lined up, but nothing that requires a photographer’s services just yet.” Chuckling, she stood and grabbed both empty glasses, her face transforming into stern mother look. “You have your work cut out for you if you’re looking to woo that one. For starters, you’ll have to come up with something to talk about besides work. Because that will never fly with her. And it shouldn’t.” With that, she stalked to the sink with the soiled glasses and then resumed stove duty.

  His mother was right. For too long, he’d allowed his job to consume his days. It was time for a change. But what?

  He reached for his sketch pad and flipped through the pages. Summer said they were good. Had even suggested that he enter them in the festival and offered to help. And she would be there. Hmmm…

  His fingers hesitated at the one of her and Logan. His gaze lingered, drinking in the sight, craving the sound of her laughter and Logan’s sweet jabber.

  Would it work? Would showing his sketches in the festival draw her and Logan back to the ranch?

  ****

  Summer squinted through half open eyelids. Sunlight streamed through the blind slats, way more than normal for this time of morning.

  She reached over to check the time on her phone. Eight o’clock? Bother! How could she have forgotten to set her alarm for the nine thirty photo shoot?

  Shoving the comforter off, she padded barefoot down the hall. Pajama bottoms scuffled the cool wood floor, the only noise in her apartment. Logan never let her sleep this late. What was up?

  “Morning—” Her voice echoed in the empty room.

  Watching television maybe? A single mother could only hope, right?

  Hope might be overrated. When she reached the opening at the end of the hall, a trail of half-eaten hot dogs littered the floor from the eating area into the great room and kitchen. Logan stood in front of the fridge, his toes soaking in a puddle of orange juice. Naked except for his training pants, gripping what had to be the last of the raw wieners, a you-caught-me look on his face as he chewed.

  Should she laugh or cry? Why worry if he’ll make it to adulthood when you might not survive single parenthood?

  He swallowed and said, “G’morning, Mama.”

  So it was back to mama again? “Good morning, my sweet boy.” Somehow she managed to propel her legs forward to plant a kiss on her son’s sticky hair. Orange juice? “Looks like you had breakfast already?”

  “Mmm hmm.” He nodded. “And so did Whiskers.” His chest puffed up with pride that he’d taken care of his kittie.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet, honey. Thank you.” Summer glanced at the cat dish. Kibble overflowed from the dish onto the tile floor, the plastic storage container with cat food half empty. Their feline family member was nowhere to be found. Probably hiding. Smart cat.

  Summer wasn’t above hiding herself.

  Alrighty. So Logan needed a bath before daycare which meant she would definitely be late to her photo shoot. Maybe
her client would be graceful and allow another half hour at least. If not, well…

  Coffee and a cursory clean up first. Then, a phone call to beg a delay.

  She tugged the fridge door open and reached for the creamer. “Well, let mommy get some coffee and then we’ll—”

  Something moved. Summer yelped and jerked backward. Banged her rump against the counter. Ow!

  Whiskers hopped down from the bottom shelf. Sharp front claws landed on Summer’s bare feet.

  Biting back a few choice words, her hand flopped against her chest. She could read the headlines. Woman suffers heart attack and dies when her cat jumps out of the fridge.

  Who would take care of her son? Her sister and brother-in-law? Her ex-husband? So not happening.

  Summer scooped the snow white kitty into her arms and gave her an apologetic nose snuggle.

  Whiskers didn’t even purr. Just stared back, solemn, one sapphire eye and one emerald eye looking at her as if to say, “How could you leave me alone with him, Mommy? He’s going to kill me!”

  “I can relate, little miss.” One more snuggle for good measure. Just to let the kitty know she’d try not to let that happen.

  “What, Mama?”

  “Nothing.” She’d grab a cup of coffee on the way to the shoot, and Logan could bathe while she put on her makeup. She set Whiskers on the floor and took Logan’s hand. The mess would be here when she got home. “Come on, little man. Let’s go pick out your clothes.”

  “Okay. But can we see Mav today?” He tilted his face up, begging for at least the hundredth time this week.

  Was she a terrible mother, not giving in to his demands? But how could she? Wasn’t their absence at the ranch, avoiding Maverick, best for both their sakes? Or just hers?

  The last image of the man, cradling Logan against his chest and then strapping her little guy into the car, popped into her head. Her heart tumbled to her toes and tingles popped up on her arms.

  Stop-her-heart handsome. Tender and patient with her son. But despite calling himself a cowboy, he still carried a weapon and wore a badge. With his own lips he admitted the job took over his life sometimes.

  Yeah, so she might be the world’s worst mama for refusing her son. But in the long run, staying away from the lawman wouldn’t hurt as much.

  Summer just needed to keep reminding herself of that.

  8

  Summer tiptoed into the dimly lit family room, cringing when a floorboard emitted an obnoxious squeak a few steps short of her goal. Collect a sleeping Logan and steer clear of the man—

  “It’s been ages since you were here. Avoiding me?” Maverick’s deep voice broke the silent space from somewhere behind her.

  She whipped around to stare at the man. All six feet plus stretched out in a chair facing the couch, his pencil hovering over a sketchpad. Her purse tumbled off her shoulder to the floor, but she managed to hang on to her precious camera bag. Heart sputtered, almost stopped altogether.

  No. Yes. Her jaw dropped, but she couldn’t squeeze either word out. It wouldn’t matter. A Deputy US Marshal would ferret out the truth.

  “I told Slade I’d watch over Logan when he fell asleep on the couch. Hope that was all right.”

  “Fine.” She let out a breath, set the camera bag on the floor, and sank into the opposite armchair. Far away from the reach of his enticing scent. Not far enough that she couldn’t decipher the challenge from the arched brows. The amusement in the tiny clefts peeking from underneath his whiskers. The soft lines around his mouth. The harnessed power that rippled under the chest-hugging shirt.

  A tremor rumbled through Summer’s torso, sparking a red-light warning. She refused to allow her gaze to trail his long muscular legs all the way to the boots. Didn’t want the reminder that he was indeed a cowboy by birth. Didn’t need another image forever imprinted on her brain to keep her awake at night.

  Shaking her head, Summer focused on the drawing. A sleeping Logan. His cherubic cheeks kissed by the lamp’s soft glow. A red superhero cape dangled from the couch.

  “Oh.” Her voice came out breathy, from more than just the picture. This man touched all the right chords in her spirit. “That’s fantastic.”

  “Think you might be a little biased?” Smiling, he handed her the sketchpad for a better look.

  “Maybe biased at your choice in subjects, but not on the quality of your artistic ability. Have you given any more thought to entering the festival?”

  “Actually, I have.” Tilting his head a bit, he studied her. As if her reaction meant something to him.

  As if she meant something to him.

  Summer discarded the warm fuzzy that burst to life in her belly. Mav was only here to recuperate. Don’t let him get under your skin!

  Logan snuffled and twisted sideways, burying his face against the couch. The cape dangled behind him just like in the sketch. And don’t allow your baby to become too attached!

  She ripped her gaze away from her son and back to the drawing. The lawman had undeniable talent. Couldn’t ignore it any more than she could overlook the way her pulse ratcheted up a notch every time he was anywhere near, the way her skin tingled with… anticipation. So not good. But his sketches…

  “Really?” Really, Summer? So much for avoiding him.

  “Yes. Is your offer to help still on the table?”

  No. Definitely. Not. “Sure. I’ll be glad to help, um, with the festival.” Could she help it if her voice came out gravelly and rough? Just the thought of spending hours helping the cowboy organize his sketches and plan how to decorate his table robbed her of her faculties. Like breathing. Normal speech.

  She needed air. She bolted off the chair, grabbed her purse and camera bag. Before she could force her traitorous legs to move to the couch, Maverick had already scooped up her sleepy boy. Even wrapped a blanket around Logan’s shoulders and stuck that oversized hat on his head.

  “I can get him.” Her complaint came out halfhearted. Besides the Kester family, when was the last time a man lent a hand with her son?

  Certainly not Wade, full time cowboy, part time date. Wade claimed he didn’t want to interfere. And, truthfully, she didn’t encourage him.

  So why did Maverick’s care feel so…natural?

  Refusing to dwell on it, she twisted the door handle and braced for a vigorous blast of late autumn air.

  “I know you can. But how about humoring me?” Amusement came through in the lawman’s deep voice. As if he knew the effect he had on her. How could he?

  Maybe because she stumbled over her own two feet? Even with Logan cradled against his chest, he steadied her with a hand to her elbow.

  “Thanks.” She tugged out of his grasp and made her way down the steps of her own accord, scrounging up every ounce of willpower to put some space between them.

  “My pleasure.” His voice oozed confidence. And, sheesh, the man carted around her son as if fractured ribs were a daily occurrence, a typical battle scar.

  The darkness wrapped around her. The night sounds of cattle lowing and a nearby owl’s hoots, comforting and welcoming. She loved Texas, especially Coldwater Ridge, where every person greeted her by name. So different from Florida where people barely spared a nod. Here, she’d found that people cared, most especially the Kesters, and she enjoyed the small town community vibe.

  Summer unlocked the car and bit back the argument when Maverick moved to the back door and strapped her son in the car seat. Without opening his eyes, Logan let out a huge sigh and his head bobbed.

  Maverick stepped back from the car and straightened, chuckling. That stopped with a wince and a hand to his chest. “Hard to imagine, but the cowboy’s out for the count.”

  “Yes. That’s a very rare occurrence.” Too rare. Her gaze dipped to the hand that dropped and slid into his pocket. “You’re never going to heal if you keep lifting him like that.”

  “Worried about me?” Was that amused challenge in his voice? His gaze took its sweet time traveling from her face
to the tips of her flats and then back up to meet hers. Scoping her out?

  How was she supposed to respond to that? Did he find her attractive or did the few extra pounds she’d carried around her hips since Logan’s birth appall him? The baby baggage, as Judd used to call it, derision lacing his tone and curdling his lips.

  Summer studied him. Even with moonbeams dancing off his hair and dappling his face, she identified only appreciation gleaming from his silver eyes and softening the hard edges around his mouth. A very kissable mouth.

  She blinked and gulped down the rusty sensation of attraction. But it fluttered down to her belly and ignited a kindling of longing. Wouldn’t hurt to put some distance between them. She checked to make sure the window was cracked open and moved around to the driver’s side, but his boots crunched the gravel behind her. So much for space. “You don’t seem to be worried. Maybe you don’t know the complications you can get from—”

  “Oh, trust me, I know.” His arm reached out to prevent her from opening the door. And he didn’t budge to open it either. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Summer turned around and found herself backed against the car, his arms stretched out on either side of her. “Uh—” Question? What question? How could she think with the crazy galloping of her pulse through her head? Sheesh, she could barely breathe, and even then, only inhaled the barest hints of man and woods. She closed her eyes against the torment going on between her heart and her head. This man was driving her crazy!

  “Summer?” His voice had dropped into the husky range, vibrating and warm, raising bumps up and down her arms. He nudged her chin up with a thumb.

  Her lids fluttered open. “Yes?”

  One of his hands found her waist and slid around her back to tug her close. So close she sensed the strength coming from his frame, heard the drumming of his heart underneath his thin shirt. Or was that hers?

  He inched toward her, his eyes burning like liquid pools of molten silver. His scent wrapped around her, as comforting as a hot bath on a cold winter’s evening, but not nearly as relaxing. No, his enticing blend of maleness stimulated, made her heart race and stutter. “Summer—”