“How long ago did she pass away?”
“Three years.”
His voice, tinged with sadness, penetrated down to Kennedy’s bones. She’d witnessed patients passing away numerous times in the ER, but this one hurt the most. Hearing Maverick so defeated hurt. He obviously still had unresolved feelings. “Did you ever think about going back to veterinary school? There’s no reason why you couldn’t, right?”
“There’re reasons,” he said, leaving her to wonder what they were. “You want the last one?” He pointed his chin toward the spicy tuna.
“No, thanks. The rest is all yours.”
He ate the last piece of sushi while she gazed out the kitchen window. Dark now, there was nothing to see, but she kept looking nonetheless. One of the puppies whimpered, pulling her attention toward the living room. “Is that Pinky?” she asked hopefully.
“Sounds like it. Why don’t you go have a seat on the couch and I’ll grab a bottle for you to give to her.”
“Okay.” She practically skipped into the other room, grateful to Pinky for breaking the silence in the kitchen and for being hungry while Kennedy was still there.
Maverick put the tiny little thing in her arms and then handed her a bottle. Pinky immediately took to it. “She’s so cute,” Kennedy cooed, unable to take her eyes off the soft, sweet animal.
“You’re a natural with her.”
“Was that another compliment, cowboy?”
“Just stating a fact.”
“Good to know. If you start giving me compliments all the time, I really won’t know what to do with you.”
Except kiss. She’d like to kiss him until the cows came home. That was a ranch saying, wasn’t it? And kissing him meant no talking, only feeling, and boy had she felt a lot of pleasure when they’d kissed.
She noticed out of the corner of her eye, however, that his attention was on his phone, not on her at all, like she’d hoped it would be.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“My mom just texted that George is loose somewhere.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It could be. George likes to wander and always comes back, but with the hoedown happening, he may get frightened or frighten someone. Hunter’s in town, so he asked if I could track George down and return him to his stall before anyone’s the wiser.”
“I’m fine here with Rumi if you want to go.”
“Rumi?”
“Is it okay if I name her that? Rumi was a famous thirteenth-century poet. He’s a favorite of mine, and I think it’s a great name for a pet. Not that this little angel is mine. You can change her name after I leave.”
“You like Rumi?”
“More like love.” One of Rumi’s quotes hit her just then. She knew Maverick would appreciate it. “‘Silence is the language of god…’”
“‘All else is poor translation,’” he finished for her.
Her jaw dropped. “No way.”
“I know Rumi quite well.”
This time, their staring contest wasn’t about who could beat whom. It was about realizing a magnificent piece of treasure you never knew existed had been right under your nose this whole time.
Rumi’s lyrical poetry was breathtaking and beautiful and spoke of celebrating union. This newfound piece of Maverick made her want to test the glittering waters further… “‘In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems.’”
“‘You dance inside my chest where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art,’” he finished once again.
The room spun. He’d just blown her mind, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Who was this man? And who was she for suddenly thinking him the sexiest man alive?
He quickly stood. “When she’s done eating, go ahead and put her back with the others. I won’t be too long.”
Kennedy simply nodded before focusing back on Rumi. She didn’t lift her head until she heard the front door shut.
Talk about an epic surprise. If Maverick threw one more pleasant unknown at her, she might have to rearrange her entire view of him, and that wouldn’t do. Because once she did that, her only reason for getting under his skin would be to make him change his view of her in return. And she’d prided herself on not caring what he thought of her.
Rumi finished her bottle and Kennedy petted her and held her close before gently placing her back in the laundry basket. She wondered if Maverick planned to keep all the puppies. Certainly Jenna would want one. But were the rest spoken for? Would Maverick give the others away to local families?
She moseyed back into the kitchen to rinse out the bottle and get a drink of water. If it weren’t pitch-black outside, she’d walk back to the inn by herself. Not that she was afraid of the dark—just the creatures that might be lurking unseen. Like bats. Or spiders. Or snakes. She’d seen many patients in the ER because of animal bites and preferred not to join their ranks.
The takeout containers were still on the counter, so she cleaned up their dinner mess and put their glasses in the dishwasher. Hoisting herself up onto the counter, she sat with a clear view out the window over the sink. She’d see Maverick’s truck lights coming down the drive any minute, she supposed.
She stretched her arms and her fingertips accidentally touched his passport. She contemplated the small book for a few seconds before picking it up to check out his picture. Underneath it, she discovered, was a second passport, and her pulse sped up. Same blue cover. Same binding. She knew it was an invasion of privacy to look at either one of them, but she couldn’t stop herself. The first passport was Maverick’s. Of course he took a good picture. The second passport belonged to Nicole Morisette. She was pretty with dark hair and a full mouth.
An ache filled Kennedy’s chest. Both passports were filled with stamps. Venezuela. Argentina. Greece. Their pages matched. Pages that told a story only the two of them knew. Secrets and memories and shared adventures.
Kennedy had never been out of the country. She’d barely been out of the state.
A tiny piece of paper slipped from Nicole’s passport. Don’t unfold it. Don’t unfold it. She unfolded it. The words were written in Maverick’s writing, she guessed, the penmanship more masculine than feminine.
It was her favorite Rumi poem.
I want to see you.
Know your voice.
Recognize you when you
first come ’round the corner.
Sense your scent when I come
into a room you’ve just left.
Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.
Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.
I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
“more.”
She closed her eyes and silently recited the poem from memory. When had Maverick given this to Nicole? Had she whispered “more”?
A flash of light behind her eyelids had her opening her eyes. Maverick was back.
And because she’d never get the chance to do it in reality… “More,” she said softly to the empty room.
Chapter Thirteen
Four days until the wedding
Maverick pulled up to his house, the headlights flashing across the kitchen window and catching Kennedy’s glossy blond head. It looked like she was sitting atop the counter before the vision of her vanished.
Tonight hadn’t gone at all how he’d planned. After Cole had dropped off dinner and stuck around long enough for a quick conversation about the puppies, Maverick had been about to sit down and eat when he’d caught sight of Kennedy walking toward his house. She had on a plum-colored sundress and sneakers and
was a prettier sight than any one person had a right to be. He’d watched her until his view of her disappeared, then he’d waited a beat for her to knock…only she never did.
When he found her snooping, he’d almost laughed out loud. She kept him on his toes, that was for sure, and his need for isolation dimmed considerably when she was near. How could it not when she always invited an interesting war of words?
And then he’d done the unthinkable.
He’d kissed her.
And liked it.
Her lips made a man think impure thoughts. Made a man want to stray from his convictions. Kennedy Martin, with her smart, sexy mouth; intelligent eyes; and perceptive mind wore him down.
Holding her close had been heaven. She’d fitted inside his arms like she’d been made to be there. And she smelled amazing, obliterating the scent of horses and hay and pine trees and narrowing it down to her. Only her.
He’d caught himself, though, before the kiss went beyond the point of no return. Kennedy wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman. She was dinners and movie nights and reading poetry on the porch.
This Saturday marked the three-year anniversary of Nicole’s death. It also marked what would have been her thirtieth birthday. The day she’d entered the world, she’d left it, a sick joke he hated to dwell on. Before she passed, she’d asked him to finish their travel list before that milestone birthday, and he hated that he was a little late in delivering. Obligations to his family and the ranch had warred with his promise to Nicole, but better late than never. He was a man of his word, and this trip was long overdue. He had to stay focused on that.
Before he could turn off the truck’s engine, Kennedy bounded out the front door and hopped into his passenger seat. “Mind driving me back to the inn now?” she asked, slightly out of breath.
Earlier, he couldn’t wait for her to go, and now it seemed she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“Sure. Everything okay?” He had a sneaking suspicion she had mischief on her mind again.
“Everything’s fine. I’m just tired, and the bathtub in my room is calling my name. Did you find George okay?”
Great. Now he was picturing her in the bathtub. Water sluicing over her small shoulders and pert breasts as the faucet filled the tub. His jeans grew tight behind his zipper.
This visceral reaction to her had to stop.
He stepped on the gas pedal a little too roughly. “Sorry,” he said, grateful it took less than two minutes to drive to the inn. Then, “Yes, George is back where he belongs.”
They stayed quiet after that, and as quickly as she’d jumped into his truck, she jumped out when he came to a stop. “Thanks!” She caught the car door just before it shut all the way and added, “For everything. It was a fun night.”
“You’re welcome.”
“There’s one more thing. I accidentally on purpose looked at your passport. And Nicole’s. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I’m sorry.”
Appreciation overtook the flash of anger that tensed his jaw. She owned up to her mistakes and believed in honesty. The deed done, he could hold it against her or move on, and forgiveness left him feeling a lot lighter as he nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”
She gave him a small smile and nod in return before beelining it to the inn.
Once she’d safely entered the inn, he put the truck in drive. Sharing a meal with her in his kitchen had been enjoyable, even with all her questions. She’d gotten him to open up more in the past three days than he had in the past year. Partly because he didn’t want to let her win their battle of wills.
But another part of it was her. She was easy to talk to.
And now that he knew she loved Rumi, he felt a kinship he hadn’t felt with anyone else. Not even Nicole. She’d loved when he whispered poetry to her, but she didn’t feel it deeply enough to be moved to distraction or remember the verses. Nicole was more practical. Even about love. After her diagnosis, they’d loved each other deeply, but she’d held a piece of herself back. The piece, she told him, she wanted him to have from the woman he fell in love with next.
Next.
That was a tricky word he tried not to overthink because he couldn’t predict next.
He’d certainly never imagined seeing Kennedy again.
Or thought he’d lose Nicole when he had. Life held no certainties. He’d learned that more than once.
He walked into his house and found Barley and her puppies sound asleep and his kitchen clean, the baby bottle and nipple drying separately on a paper towel beside the sink, the passports exactly as he remembered leaving them.
Kennedy not only spoke her mind and invited conversation, she had class. She was gracious. In college they’d been so competitive with their schoolwork, they’d never taken the time to learn anything personal about each other. With age came maturity, though, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like this new version of their friendship. If you could even call it that. “Kennedy Martin” and “friend” still didn’t exactly go together.
You were friendly enough to kiss each other.
That she initiated the contact was the reason why—he wasn’t sure he would have followed through on the urge. It was one more thing he liked about her. She was no shrinking violet.
Needing to get his mind off the beautiful and fascinating doctor, he grabbed his laptop and sat on the couch to do some work. His family had no idea he had a meeting with a friend interested in investing in his nontoxic pesticide. During his travels with Nicole, they’d met a winemaker in Italy. Marco and his wife owned a vineyard, and they’d hit it off on their visit there. So much so that Marco had kept in touch over the years.
Maverick had been thinking about mass-producing his pesticide as a means to add further financial stability to the ranch, and Marco wanted in. The older man saw potential; he just needed documentation.
Maverick opened the business proposal he’d been working on for the past several months. The numbers were there. The action points. If this happened, Maverick could hire help for the ranch and build a small processing plant, then take a step back. Knowing the ranch and inn would not only survive, but thrive without him twenty-four seven meant he could go back to veterinary school.
He worked late into the night putting the finishing touches on the project, and then before he could change his mind, he emailed it to Marco. This would give the man plenty of time to go over the proposal before Maverick arrived. And take the weight off Maverick’s shoulders sooner rather than later.
Falling asleep took all of two minutes, an image of Kennedy standing in the middle of bright green grass in bare feet and a sundress, a mischievous smile on her face, sending him off to dreamland. If he thought he had even a chance of keeping his mind off the beautiful and compelling woman, he was sorely mistaken.
…
The next morning, some sixth sense told Maverick to check on the trees. He hadn’t observed them carefully enough during the past two visits with Kennedy as his sidekick. She had a way of hijacking his attention. Whether silent or talking nonstop or staring at him, it didn’t matter what she did—if she was near, he couldn’t fully concentrate.
And he had to be sure the trees were in good condition before he left town.
He drove the electric utility vehicle through the far edge of the farm as the sun rose over the mountains. The smell of the salty air and views of the ocean popping in and out between the hills made this location unique. Their ranch held the distinction of being close enough to the coastline to swim in the Pacific and ten minutes later stand in a forest of pine trees. The ocean breeze carried away the dust and grime found on most ranches and left behind bright surfaces and shining scenery.
This morning though… “Damn it.”
He parked and took a closer look at the trees. Several of them had dead, diseased, or damaged branches. Others oozed sap from multiple holes, a s
ure sign of insect damage.
“Damn it,” he repeated. The last thing he needed was an insect problem this late in the growth cycle and with only days until his scheduled flight out of the country.
If fault lay with his pesticide, he was screwed.
Crawling on all fours, he dug into the soil with his bare hands, checked the irrigation lines, looked for bacteria or fungi under the tree bark.
It took until noon, but with help from Hunter, their cousin Miles, Uncle Tim, and their groundskeeper, Jerry, they inspected every single tree with a careful eye. Maverick lifted his cowboy hat and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration.
“You’re right,” Hunter said. “The problem is isolated to the southeast corner only.”
“With no clear explanation as to why,” he grumbled. What made that area vulnerable when it hadn’t been before? Why the hell today and not a month ago when he would have had plenty of time to figure it out? He may have learned quite a bit about trees over the past three years, but he wasn’t an arborist, and right now he wished his dad hadn’t let go of their tree manager, albeit for financial reasons.
Pressure built in Maverick’s shoulder blades. They probably wouldn’t figure out what caused the problem, but at least they’d caught it before any permanent damage had been done.
“Jerry’s coming back with a small crew,” Hunter said. “I’ll stay with Uncle Tim and Miles and we’ll prune the affected trees so you can do what you need to do.”
“Be sure everyone uses rubbing alcohol between cuts to disinfect the tools.”
“We will.”
“I’ll owe you a beer later.” Maverick put his hat back on his head.
“You’ll owe me at least two,” Hunter said around a smile. “And a cheeseburger.”
Maverick patted his brother on the back and left to do what he needed to do: spend the afternoon in his greenhouse shed doing quality control on his tree food and then double-checking the delivery system hub. The small slice of solitude where he worked on creating his special mixture normally kept his mind sharp. Focused.
The Wedding Crasher and the Cowboy Page 14
