Colton Cowboy Jeopardy (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

“Stay back!” He froze. “Toss it to me.”

He obeyed and the square of leather landed close to her feet. “Do you need some cash? Help yourself.”

She glared at him, dark eyebrows snapping together. “I don’t need your money.”

Great, now he’d insulted the woman holding the weapon. What else was

he supposed to think? Who would bring a baby out here if they could afford better options?

He took a visual inventory while she flipped through his wallet. Her dark hair was pulled up high in a messy knot, a testament to the heat, he figured. She wore a dress in sunset hues that hugged her lavish curves, the soft fabric flowing over her body. Her face looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She wasn’t a woman he would’ve forgotten if they had met before.

“How about you put the stick down and take care of the baby? Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Boy.” Her gaze darted between his identification to his face a time or two. “Jarvis Colton? This says you live here in town.”

“Yes.”

Her brow pleated over her straight nose. “I’ve never heard of you.”

Why would she? No one had heard of Jarvis or his siblings. They’d never run in the same social circles as their wealthier cousins.

“If you’re really one of the Coltons, why are you all the way out here riding fences?”

The judgment was loud and clear as her gaze skated over him. “It’s my job. If we don’t keep up with the maintenance, the cattle tend to wander off.” Did she need to see the dirt under his fingernails or the calluses on his palms? He struggled to keep his cool. This woman was frightened. Though the tone was similar, she wasn’t his sister, lecturing him on giving up his “silly cowboy quest.”

No, this woman made him feel like stepping up, the proverbial hero riding to the rescue on a white stallion to protect her from the world.

The outrageous fantasy rocked him. First, the horse with him today was Duke, an average, hardworking chestnut gelding. Plus, Jarvis wasn’t built for that kind of heroism. The only family he needed or wanted were his brother and sister. He took a step closer, despite his certainty that she would knock his head off if given the chance.

“I’m no threat,” he promised. “Why not get him settled down and then we can talk. I can keep watch for you.”

She opened her mouth just as the baby’s cry changed, going from that high-pitched squeal to a wet gulp. She immediately dropped the stick and his wallet to tend to the child.

Jarvis picked up the discarded items, pocketing his wallet and leaning her stick against the open door of the small cabin. He hovered in the doorway, to keep watch and prevent scaring her further.

Her touch calmed the baby straightaway and the maternal, soothing croons lifted faded memories to the top of his mind. It had been years since he’d thought about his mother’s warm voice and gentle hands. The soup and crackers and comic books she’d brought to him when he had a cold or sore throat.

“Your son?” he asked unnecessarily.

“Yes.” She angled away from him, and a moment later the only sound in the cabin was the baby’s muted suckling.

Jarvis studied every inch of the cabin, keeping his gaze well away from the nursing mother. It was so intimate and strange and he was intruding, an interloper of the worst kind. Leaving wasn’t an option, though it was clear she’d rather he disappear. She and her son were vulnerable out here. He couldn’t walk away without doing something.

“You know my name,” he said. “Will you tell me yours?”

“Mia,” she said. “This is Silas. He just turned two months old.”

She shot him a cool glance over her shoulder and he remembered where he’d seen her. Magazines, catalogs and the stunning swimsuit editions. The first time he’d seen her in one of those, she’d posed near a rocky outcropping with her hair loose around her shoulders and her showstopping curves showcased in a coral bikini. Water swirled around her knees and beaded on that marvelously smooth skin. His gaze skimmed over her body, filling in details he remembered. Was the tattoo on her left hip real or had it been added in postproduction for that last commercial she’d done?

Mia Graves. Local girl turned modeling superstar. Why was she out here in the middle of nowhere? Her father, Norton Graves, was a high-profile investment banker. Anyone doing business in the region had passing knowledge of the man. “You’re Norton’s daughter.”

“I am.”

Whoa. He jerked his thoughts back into line. “Do you need me to call—”

“No.” The baby whimpered at her sharp tone and she twisted slowly side to side, patting him gently, murmuring apologies. “I don’t need anything,” she insisted. “Not from you or him, or anyone else.” There was steel underscoring her words. “Some privacy here is all I need.”

“You can’t stay here.” He should’ve phrased that better, but this wasn’t any kind of place for a mother and infant.