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

  ROPING

  THE MARSHAL

  Kester Ranch Cowboys series

  Book 2

  Tori Kayson

  Roping the Marshal

  Copyright © 2016 by Tori Kayson

  Published by Grace Legacy Publishing LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any way without written permission from Tori Kayson or Grace Legacy Publishing, except for including brief quotations in reviews along with proper acknowledgement.

  eBook editions may not be copied, resold or given away. Please purchase your own copy. If you enjoyed this book, please share the title with your friends and family, not the actual eBook.

  Contact information: ToriKayson@Gmail.com

  Cover art by: Vikncharlie on Fiverr

  Publishing History:

  First Grace Legacy Publishing Edition 2016

  Paperback Edition ISBN: 978-0-9967922-3-3

  Electronic Edition ISBN: 978-0-9967922-2-6

  Follow Tori on Twitter

  Chat with Tori on Facebook

  ToriKayson.com

  ToriKayson@gmail.com

  Sign up for Tori’s newsletter

  Dedication

  To my son, John. A long, long time ago, you were my Logan. How did we survive those years? lol. Love you!

  To my real life hero, Ernie. My heart belonged to you from the first day we met. You are my forever love!

  To a treasured friend and supremely talented writer, Tanya Hanson. Mega thanks for the time you invested reading Roping the Marshal, your insightful comments, and your sweet friendship. I hope one day our paths cross more than just online. xo

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Preview of Roping the Daddy

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  1

  “This is not how I expected to spend my weekend.” Maverick Kester lowered himself into the Adirondack chair facing the pool.

  “I bet.” Fargo nodded, cradling baby Shiloah against his chest. “Or the next six weeks.”

  Shiloah punched miniature arms through the air. Smiling, Fargo made some clucking noises and kissed the top of her head. Before she could belt out her displeasure, he slid a bottle into her mouth.

  Fatherhood came as natural to his brother as ranching. Maverick tamped down the envy that slithered into his gut. For years, Fargo had blamed himself for his first wife’s death, so he deserved every ounce of happiness. It had been a long time coming.

  “Six weeks of torture. Don’t remind me.” As soon as the callous words slipped from his mouth, Mav wanted to drag them back. He had no right to complain.

  He was alive. That was more than he could say for his partner, Sam.

  Mav blew out a breath. Tossed his hat on the square patio table and lifted his face for the warm Texas sun to kiss his cheeks.

  Some days —like today— wearing a Deputy US Marshal badge stunk worse than mucking a horse stall.

  Mav rolled his neck, grimacing at the screaming muscles and stiff joints. He stared at the pool where azure sparkles glinted in the late afternoon sun.

  “Come on now. Living on the ranch isn’t all that bad. It could be worse. Much worse.” Fargo’s words held a little bite and a lot of pride. Soft sucking noises came from the contented bundle in Fargo’s lap.

  If only life could be so peaceful, so pure.

  “I know,” he said, scrubbing his jaw to hide the twitch that started after the accident.

  “I’m sorry about Sam, Mav.” Fargo draped a towel over his shoulder and repositioned Shiloah against his chest, tapping out the rhythm of a country song on her back. He stretched long legs out on the deck, his boots worn and rugged in contrast to Maverick’s new ones.

  He’d had to get new ones. His others had been coated in blood.

  “Yeah. Me too.” Maverick took a long slug of sweet tea to chase down the heavy emotion clogging his throat. The doctor had said it would take six weeks for his fractured ribs to heal. How much longer would it take the other brokenness to heal, the parts the doctors would never see? Not on any x-ray anyway.

  “But I’m glad you’re here. Even if you’re not,” Fargo said. A loud burp shattered the silence lingering from his brother’s comment. Two dogs lifted their heads.

  “Whoa! I know where she gets that from,” Maverick teased, grateful for the interruption.

  “Good girl,” Fargo cooed and stood, practically shoved the squirming infant into Maverick’s chest. “Your turn, Uncle Mav.”

  “What?” he sputtered, searching for an excuse. Any excuse.

  He handled weapons, handcuffs and thugs. Not something so precious or fragile. What if he dropped her?

  Tiny eyelashes batted. Gold specks twinkled from sweet green eyes and then…

  She smiled, and his insides got all soft and mushy.

  “You don’t play fair, do you?” Chuckling, he nestled the little one in the crook of his arm and resumed feeding her.

  “About as fair as her mama. One smile from Darby and I was a goner,” Fargo agreed and tilted his hat low over his face. Probably hoped for a few extra winks.

  A foot tapped his arm until Shiloah’s eyelids drooped. Soon, she surrendered to sleep, formula dribbling from her lips.

  He set the forgotten bottle on the table. Movement off to his left snagged his attention. An older model compact snaked up the driveway. Gravel dust flumed from behind like an angry gray cloud.

  He nudged Fargo’s boot with the tip of his own. “Hey. You expecting company?”

  Fargo snorted and scooted up in the chair. “Not me, but the ranch is busier than a Dallas hotel now. Hope you didn’t think you would escape civilization by coming here.”

  Maverick grinned at the displeasure tightening his brother’s jaw. “Don’t be disrespecting Kierra’s new business. Appears she’s making a go of it and doing quite well.” Their sister’s idea of generating extra income by converting the ranch into a destination spot for special events paid off in a big way, actually. The special events income alone covered the huge balloon payment that loomed over their family after their father’s sudden death.

  Fargo scoffed. “Too well. There isn’t a moment’s peace anymore.”

  Peace? Escape? As if he could ever escape the chaos of his thoughts. The heaviness of Sam’s body pinning him in the mangled car. The constant yammering in his head that it was his fault—

  He checked his phone. No messages or text from work. Any day now they’d catch—

  “That’s Summer and her son, Logan. Summer’s the photographer for tonight’s wedding.” Fargo craned his neck to identify the car.

  Maverick slid the phone back in his pocket. Shiloah startled, but never lifted an eyelid. “A wedding. Huh. That explains why Mom and Kierra shooed me o
ut of the kitchen. Barely got a hug or a hello from either of them.”

  “Yeah. Mom’s been cooking and baking like crazy for a couple weeks now.”

  A car door slammed. He glanced over a shoulder.

  A gentle breeze tipped up the hem of the woman’s dress to flutter around her legs. Honey colored hair fell halfway down her back in sleek waves. Her arms disappeared, and within seconds, a young boy materialized. As soon as the toddler hit the ground, his chubby legs raced toward the house. Love and tenderness radiated from the woman’s smooth golden face as she watched the boy until he disappeared inside the house. Then she angled back to reach inside the car again.

  “What did you say her name was?” He couldn’t tear his gaze away if he tried. So, he didn’t try.

  “Summer,” Fargo said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his tone. “But that little guy? He’s a tornado. Summer pays Slade to babysit, but when that tiger’s around, we all keep a close eye on him.”

  “What is he? Two? Three? How bad can he be?” Maverick scoffed, a tight invisible bond holding his gaze hostage to the gorgeous woman.

  A camera case hung over a shoulder. She flashed a look in their direction as she hustled toward the front door. She flicked golden strands of hair behind an ear and cherry red lips curved in a glorious smile.

  Six weeks at the ranch might not be so bad if this woman came around often.

  “…almost three.” Fargo mumbled something, but Maverick only caught the tail end.

  “Three what?” Maybe this was a dream. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Dream or not, this angelic vision was most definitely a welcome change from the nightmares that plagued him since the accident. His eyelids jerked up at Fargo’s chuckle.

  “The boy, Logan. Not the mom.” His brother’s amusement irritated him.

  Maverick glared at his brother.

  “Just sayin. The boy’s cute, but he’s a wild one with a nose for mischief.”

  He snorted. “How much mischief can a three year old get into?”

  Fargo rolled his eyes. “You just wait.”

  The back screen door squeaked open. Leather soles slapped across the deck and tromped down the stairs. Logan, the three-year-old terror, headed their way.

  “Uncle Far! Uncle Far!” A hand landed on Fargo’s shoulder. Two pudgy legs stuck out of a pair of outgrown denim shorts, and the kid’s feet sported the smallest boots Maverick had ever seen. Coffee warm eyes, almost the size of the biscuits he’d eaten for breakfast, shot him a shy glance. The kid was adorable! Fargo didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “What’s up, bud?” Fargo ruffled the boy’s hair, and loose, baby-fine strands stuck up even more.

  “Who’s dat?” A miniature finger pointed at Maverick, but the boy’s gaze landed somewhere behind him.

  What did the kid see? Maverick angled a glance over a shoulder.

  Ah. The boy’s mother. Holding the screen door open. Keeping an eagle eye on her son.

  Summer made eye contact with Fargo and nodded, smiling. All too quickly, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Well, that was just too bad. He kinda enjoyed that view. Just as well, though, since the kid had to come with a daddy, right?

  Fargo’s voice drew him back to the mischief finder. “Logan, this is my brother, Maverick Kester. Maverick, Logan Kyleson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Logan.” He reached over the sleeping baby to shake the kid’s hand.

  “Tank you.” The boy had good manners. But his smile dissolved. His forehead scrunched and he pinched his nostrils. “Ewww! What stinks?”

  Fargo chuckled. “Uh, that would be my daughter. Mav, I need to head back to the house to change her diaper. Will you be all right?” Fargo scooped Shiloah from Maverick’s arms and flicked his head toward the boy. A sharp warning tugged Fargo’s eyebrows together.

  “Just like every other day on the job.” Maverick just didn’t get Fargo’s concern. Why all the fuss? If he could keep a witness safe from violent thugs intending to do them harm until their day in court, he could surely keep an eye on this tiny dude. “We’ll hang out for a little while, won’t we, Logan?”

  Logan wagged his head, a picture of pure innocence.

  “See?” Piece of cake. Babysitting Logan would seem like a party compared to long boring evenings hunkered down in a safe house.

  “Okay, then.” Fargo left the pool area, bent over, crooning to his baby girl. The canine duo cast wide circles around Fargo as they headed toward their house.

  Maverick waved a hand through the air to dispel the lingering stink of Shiloah’s diaper. “So, Logan…” He angled back to the boy, but the spot next to Fargo’s chair was empty. Where’d he go?

  A soft footstep. A muffled giggle. A splash.

  A splash? Maverick’s head whipped toward the pool. Just in time to see a head bob from the water, then an arm.

  Son of a deuce! Pain ripped through his abdomen as he hauled himself out of the chair.

  One giant step. Two.

  The kid was already in the middle of the pool, head under water, arms floating out to the side.

  Maverick dived. Braced for the frigid blast of water. Battled the pain that arced through his entire torso and shot up his spine. He snagged the top of the toddler’s britches and dragged him to the surface. They broke through into glorious air, but the boy’s eyes stayed shuttered.

  “Stay with me, Little Guy.” Pulse thundering, Maverick looped an arm around the toddler’s torso, hauled the kid out of the pool and patted his back.

  Water trickled from the child’s throat. But one eyelid cracked open, then the other. Brown orbs skittered to Maverick before squeezing closed again.

  The kid might’ve gotten away with it. Might’ve. If not for the rounding of his mouth or the puffed out cheeks, truth that he was faking. Did the boy crave attention? Or was this a rebellious act because his mama told him no swimming?

  Maybe Fargo was right. This kid was a recipe for disaster.

  Maverick would never survive six weeks at the ranch. Let alone feel any measure of peace. Especially with the kid’s oversized eyes, deep and rich as the espresso he loved, but as dangerous and worrisome as his last assignment.

  ****

  Summer raced across the lawn and skidded to a stop next to Logan’s rescuer. Her bare knees slammed into the rigid concrete, but the bloody scrapes were nothing compared to the beating her heart was taking.

  “Is he all right?” Please. Please. Let her baby be all right. He had to be. He was all the joy in her world.

  Silver eyes tinged with pain angled to meet hers. The cowboy winked, his expression twinkling with more than a bit of the devil.

  Huh? Her baby could be dead, and the man dared to flirt?

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe your boy will be fine. But it wouldn’t hurt for the paramedics to check him out. They might even suggest a ride to the hospital in the ambulance.” His serious tone belied the teasing curve to his lips and the fractional softening of his jaw when he looked back at Logan.

  One masculine well-shaped hand rested on Logan’s shoulder; the other pressed his own abdomen, his breathing labored. From rescuing her son?

  Logan flashed his trademark mischievous grin. His whole face scrunched with the effort of keeping quiet.

  She bit back a cry of relief. She’d save the cry for later tonight, alone in her room.

  Just like always.

  Meanwhile, there was a lesson to be taught here, and a willing cowboy to help her. How often did that happen?

  Wade usually lavished attention on his own daughter since he only got her every other weekend. She didn’t mind. He might want more from their relationship, but she wasn’t ready to move past friendship and casual dates. And, Lord knew, her ex never volunteered in that department.

  Not that she’d welcome his…help.

  Summer nodded, signaling her intention to play along. Her rebellious heart twitched at the friendliness glowing from the man’s face. She ignored the
stutter, attributing it to the frantic rush to get to her son. “Yes. And the doctor will probably have to give him a shot or two or three. He might even have to spend the night in the hospital—”

  Logan’s lashes fluttered open. His arms thrashed, but Summer double checked that his rescuer kept him in place with what appeared to be a gentle grip on his shoulder. Yeah. No pressure.

  “If you haven’t already, you should call 9-1-1. Let’s get him inside.” The cowboy inhaled, sharp and painful sounding, as he scooped up her boy. When he reached his full height, the man towered over her, cradling her son in massive arms. Chlorine-scented water dripped from his short honey blond hair and slicked off those thigh-hugging jeans to puddle on the concrete.

  She couldn’t blame worry for her heart’s stumble this time.

  “But, mister, I’m all wight.” Logan thumped his rescuer’s shoulder several times.

  The cowboy reared his head back, his expression an amusing blend of shock and mischief. “You’re all right?”

  “Oh, thank heaven!” She palmed her chest, playing along.

  “You don’t think you need to go to the hospital?” the cowboy asked, that deep country singer’s voice doing all sorts of delicious things to her insides.

  Her baby’s head wagged back and forth, horror etched on his face.

  “Well, that’s great news.” Clear silver eyes met hers. “What do you think, mama? Does he look all right to you?”

  She slicked a hand over her son’s wet hair, taking in the smooth chubby cheeks, the precious wide-eyed gaze. “He looks more than all right. He looks perfect.”

  The man chuckled and looked at her as if she was a bit crazy.

  Maybe she was. Sure, her son tended to be a bit mischievous, but that just made him unique, special, fun. At least, during those times when she didn’t fear for his life. Or hers.

  “All right, then, kid. Your mama says no trip to the hospital...this time.” His amused gaze slid to her and then back to her son still wedged in the crook of his arm. “But let’s get you inside and into some dry clothes.” He scooped a phone off the table and attached it to his belt, then planted a hat on his wet head.