Her Cowboy Lawman. Pamela Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ her eyes, he suddenly wished he were in his twenties again. Now he’d be cradle-robbing—and he wasn’t about to do that. Not now. Not ever.

      “No problem.”

      But as they stood together, she flung her hair over her shoulder and the wind caught it and blew it around her face, and he realized she could be a serious distraction.

      But it was an election year and small-town constituents had old-school values. They would frown on him dating a younger woman, especially a single mom. And that meant he’d have to keep things purely professional.

      “How does this weekend sound?”

      She looked up at him and heard her say, “Perfect,” but saw on her face that she thought it was anything but, and he knew how she felt, but for a whole other reason.

Chapter Three

      There were times you did things for your kid that you didn’t really want to do. At least, that’s what Lauren thought as she drove toward Bren’s house later that week. She supposed she should be grateful Kyle wouldn’t be climbing aboard a half-crazed animal today. He would just be learning some of the basics, Bren had explained.

      Lauren glanced at her son. He had the same look on his face as he did staring at a pile of birthday presents: eyes wide, shoulders taut, upper body leaning forward, the freckles on his face standing out like specks of dirt. She loved those freckles even though he got them from his dad. The rest of her son—hair, eyes, jaw—that was all her.

      “Are we there yet?” he asked, completely oblivious to her study.

      She almost laughed. “Looks like it.”

      When she slowed down for Bren’s driveway, he rested a hand on the door frame, peering at Bren’s ranch house with anticipation in his eyes. She took in his home, too.

      Nice place.

      Being town sheriff must pay well. Of course, it was nothing compared to her brother’s ostentatious, obnoxiously huge, over-the-top mansion, but this was nice and in many ways more her style. Dark brown paint covered a single-story home that had a cute porch across the front and wide dormers poking out of the A-frame roofline. It was in the heart of town, other homes and corrals off in the distance making her think this was some sort of equestrian subdivision. All the homes in the area were evenly spaced apart, but while those homes featured white fencing, Bren’s was made out of some sort of metal piping that looked sturdy enough to house elephants. There were trucks parked out front, and standing outside near the front of them, Bren and a group of men. He waved as Lauren wedged herself into a parking spot.

      Kyle shot out of his seat before she put her compact car in Park.

      “Hey!”

      But he was gone, his door slamming shut, Kyle going up to Bren and the men gathered there. She saw him laugh and pat Kyle’s head before pointing him somewhere. Her son waved and ran off, presumably to the back of the house and to the barn that she’d spotted out back.

      Here goes.

      She slipped out, smiling and shielding her eyes from the sun. “Should I follow him around?”

      In answer, Bren beckoned her over, continuing his conversation with the three older cowboys. “Lauren, this is Andrew, Jim and George. They’re part of my campaign committee.”

      Only then did she notice one of the trucks was black with a gold sheriff’s star on the side. Bren rested a hand on the hood, the black shirt he wore sporting the same image.

      “Guys, Lauren’s new to the area,” he said.

      “Nice to meet you,” said Andrew and Jim, smiling. Andrew was much older than Bren, his shoulders stooped, his blue eyes still bright. Jim seemed nearer in age. The two of them said, “Welcome,” at almost the same time.

      “Thanks.”

      George hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and then he turned to Bren, and there was something about the look on his face that Lauren didn’t like. Sort of a “well, well, well...what have we here?” He was older, too, but that didn’t stop him from winking at Bren just before saying, “Now I see why you agreed to help the son.”

      She drew up sharply. Bren frowned. “Her kid’s why I’m helping. Get your mind out of the gutter, George.”

      The man guffawed and Lauren sure hoped he was better at raising money than he was at handling social situations.

      “I can just drop Kyle off if you want,” Lauren told Bren.

      He shook his head. “No, don’t do that.”

      She’d planned to leave, but something about the look in George’s eyes made her want to stay, even though a part of her, like, really super-duper wanted to escape.

      “The boys are all around back, if you want to join them.”

      “Thanks.” She smiled at the men. “Nice meeting you.”

      Not you, she telegraphed to George, but he was too busy making faces at Bren. Old fool.

      She walked off with her head held high, turning her attention to the boys surrounding her son. They stood in front of a barn that matched the house and they were like cloned images of each other. They all wore jeans and Western shirts—some solid, some stripped—and cowboy hats that were either black or tan. They all wore leather belts, too, some with sparkling new buckles, others without, and dusty old cowboy boots. Most were older than her son, but they seemed welcoming even as they stared at her curiously.

      Yes, I’m the overprotective mom, she silently told them.

      “Sorry about that,” Brennan said, coming to stand beside her.

      “It’s okay,” she said over the sound of trucks starting up out front. “How’s the campaign going, by the way?”

      “Pretty good,” he said. “Of course, you never know.” He set off toward the barn. She hung back. “Gather around, boys.” Bren motioned with a hand for the kids to join him inside the barn. “Last week we were working on finding our center. Anyone want to tell Kyle what that is?”

      From town sheriff to bull-riding instructor. He handled the transition well.

      One of the kids, a young teenager clearly going through puberty judging by the acne on his face, stepped forward. “It’s when you’re the middle and the bull spins around you.” The kid made bucking movements with his hand. “Or beneath you while you stay perfectly center.”

      Bren smiled at the boy and Lauren noticed that he had a great smile. The kind that lit up his eyes and made the corners of them wrinkle and sparked the gold.

      “That’s right.” That smile landed on her son and she found herself leaning against the back of the house. “Kyle, you need to work on that a little more. I noticed at the rodeo the other day that you came out of the chutes leaning forward. Anyone want to tell Kyle why you don’t do that?”

      Another kid raised his hand. “Because once the bull starts moving, it’s hard to get back to center.”

      “Exactly.”

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