Beau: Mavericks of Montana Creek — Book Two

by Hayes, Somer

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this question, but that didn’t make it any less aggravating. It was my normal. I couldn’t compare it to anything because I’d never known anything else. So how to answer?

  “It’s fine.”

  She laughed like I’d made the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “When my Aunt Nancy told me you were buying the clinic she worked at, I told her I just had to meet you.” She batted her eyelashes again.

  “Yeah, your Aunt Nancy has been telling me I needed to take you out for a while now.”

  “I’ve always been her favorite,” she informed me and flipped her hair. “You ready for a shot?”

  I looked at my watch. It had been exactly four minutes. “No. I’m still good.”

  “Joe, two more,” she yelled in the general direction of the bartender.

  I broke the cardinal rule of dating and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I found Nancy’s name and sent her an emoji of a middle finger.

  An hour later, I gave up all semblance of pretending to try with this girl and peeled her away from the bar. She clung to me as I led her back to the Jeep and put her in the front seat. She babbled and laughed at her own jokes until I finally made it back to her apartment complex. I thought about dropping her off but my manners once again got the best of me, and I got out to help her to her door.

  Breathing through my nose, I tried to stay calm while I waited for her to dig through her bag filled with girly stuff and find her keys. The second she had the door open, I gave her a sharp wave.

  “Thanks for the… evening. Bye.”

  She reached out and grabbed my shirt using it to draw herself closer to me. “Don’t you want to come in?”

  I looked down at the mess of a human, her glassy eyes rimmed with smeared makeup and didn’t find even one shred of desire.

  “Not tonight. Take care, Kim.”

  “Wait.” Her eyes looked more focused now. “Didn’t you have a good time? Are you going to see me again?”

  I sighed. “I think you and I are very different people, and you should focus on finding someone with interests more in line with your own.”

  I saw a flash of hurt, then indignation. She wasn’t used to her offers of sex being turned down.

  “Fine. Go. But you’re going to regret missing out on thisss…” she told me and gestured at herself.

  “I’ll live,” I replied and turned on my heel, done with politeness for the night.

  I walked away from her angry sputtering and back to the Jeep, slamming the door so hard the entire vehicle rocked. My ears were still ringing from the music in the bar, the lingering scent of smoke, and Kim’s perfume clung to me. My patience evaporated. Suddenly all those shots seemed like a great idea. Just not there. Or with her.

  I drove back downtown, but this time I bypassed Lucky’s and pulled in in front of Murphy’s Pub. I didn’t care if I had to endure another batch of his gravy-covered nachos. I wanted a stiff drink, and all I had at home was beer.

  I pushed the worn door open and stepped into low lights, stale cigar smoke, and old country music playing softly in the background. A couple of TVs hung on the walls and showed rugby games with the volume silenced.

  Compared to Lucky’s, this place was paradise. Why didn’t I come here more often?

  “Beau,” called Murphy. “Back again so soon? Those nachos hooked you, didn’t they?” He gave me a toothy grin and nodded with a knowing look.

  “Hey, Murph. Can I get a bourbon on the rocks?”

  “Rough night?”

  “Just a night,” I replied and took a seat in the middle of the bar where I had a view of one of the TVs. I gazed at it without really seeing it while he poured my drink. I picked it up the second he sat it in front of me and took a swig.

  Burns so good.

  I took another drink and enjoyed the feeling of warmth pooling in my belly. I considered my night. Did Nancy really think Kim and I would be a good match? Did I come off as so shallow? Or just pathetic and lonely?

  I took another drink. Cursed. Drank.

  Was there more? Or should another body be enough?

  I thought of my parents. They’d always seemed so happy. Regardless of circumstances and mundane disagreements, I’d always felt their deep love for each other. That love had shown itself most clearly during my mother’s illness and the depth of my father’s current and pervasive mourning.

  And then there was Tripp, one of the most unfeeling people I’d ever known, and yet, since he’d met Hannah, he’d changed. He had become lighter somehow. Almost like he was happy. After his string of meaningless relationships with women, I knew there was something different about Hannah.

  I’d long been accused of being the most sensitive of the Maverick boys, the one most like our mother. I was introspective and analytical to a fault.

  At that moment, I hated those traits. I didn’t want to feel this longing. I didn’t want to think anymore or wonder what was wrong with me or why I was feeling so unsatisfied with life. I was sick of myself for feeling this way and tired of my own brain.

  I wanted to stop feeling for a moment, and so I did the only thing I knew would work.

  I ordered another drink.

  13

  Grace

  “What in the name of all that is holy is a wiener eating contest?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at my grandmother’s tone. I’d had much the same reaction. “I asked Etta the same question. Apparently, it’s a contest to see who can eat the most hot dogs in a set amount of time.”

  “Good gracious, why?”

  “I don’t know. Good old-fashioned Midwestern fun?” I guessed.

  “I feel scandalized just thinking of it.”

  “Aside from the wieners, what do you think?”

  She was quiet for several minutes, and I knew she was combing back through everything I’d sent her trying to see the bigger picture.

  “I think you’re wasting your time on small, frivolous events.”

  “I agree completely, but those were what the board got so stuck on. I had to include at least some of them.”

  “Hmm,” she replied.

  I could picture her at her computer, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her mouth turned down in disapproval. My heart twisted. I missed her.

  “It’s a solid plan. It’ll take longer than you’d like because of all the wasted time on the local fundraisers that will only make a small profit if you’re lucky. But the rest should sell. Any board member with half a brain and an ounce of common sense would accept this.”

  I let out a pent-up breath. It was as close to a compliment as I would get from her, and I was eager to accept it.

  “Fantastic. I’ll call an emergency meeting to discuss the details and—”

  “Grace,” she interrupted.

  “What?”

  “You must realize this is not their fulltime job as it is yours. This is likely not the only board or community engagement they’re a part of. If you continue to call special meetings, they will burn out and resign.”

  “But…”

  “I’ve seen it time and again. Just because the symphony is your priority does not mean it’s theirs. Keep your normal schedule and make sure you are over-prepared for each meeting.”

  “This is so aggravating.”

  She chuckled. “It will be a testament of your patience, no doubt.”

  “I hate it here, Grandma.” I didn’t know if I meant it or not, but I was feeling pouty and alone, and I let the words tumble out for my own satisfaction.

  “You haven’t been there long enough to decide how you feel about it, dear.”

  I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes. Always practical and logical, my grandmother was not the person to go to when you were throwing a pity party for one.

  But still, I supposed she was right.

  “What’s your board like?” she asked.

  I pursed my lips and thought about the dozen people who sat on my current boa
rd, then I compared them to Manchester’s, and all the other many boards I’d dealt with through my years on the business end of the symphony.

  “Typical. Old. Boring. Resistant to change.”

  Her smoky laugh filled my ear. “So, you have twelve of me?”

  I returned her laughter. “Exactly. Except for the one I was telling you about, Beau Maverick. I have no idea why he’s on the board because it’s clear he doesn’t care about the symphony, yet he’s made it his mission to make my job as difficult as possible.”

  “Oh, dear. You do have your work cut out for you.”

  “Right?” I screeched.

  “Regardless. It’s still work, and you are more than capable.”

  Any fight I had in me left at that moment. She was right, of course. I had a job to do regardless of my board. Though irritated, I felt like I had adjusted the plan to something everyone could live with, and I was anxious to get started.

  I sighed into the phone. “All right, Grandma. I’m going to head to bed now.”

  “Isn’t it just eight o’clock there?”

  “Yes, thank you for pointing out that I have no life or friends here.”

  “Really, Grace, you should get out more. Maybe you’ll meet a nice man.”

  I had been hoping for this nice man to make his arrival since I was twelve years old. “I doubt that. And besides, I won’t be here long enough to make it worthwhile.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Don’t jinx me. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”

  “All right. Go get your many hours of beauty rest.”

  “Night.” I hung up the phone and looked around. My little rental was already spotless so that I couldn’t burn any more of this pent-up energy with cleaning. I could turn on the TV, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus. I stood with no purpose. I needed to find a hobby. I wandered around the small living area until I could no longer stand being in the space. I slipped my shoes on, grabbed my keys, and headed out for a walk.

  There was just enough of a chill in the air to warrant a jacket, and I wrapped it tightly around myself as I shuffled along the sidewalk. I had no real destination in mind but wound my way down the path most familiar to me which eventually led to the theater.

  I stood outside the building gazing at the old signage and fading paint. It was no wonder attendance had been declining. There was nothing beautiful or inviting about the place. It looked worn out and sad.

  I pulled the keys from my pocket and let myself in. The musty smell of an old, underutilized building infiltrated my nose. I moved through the space taking in all the details I’d been too busy to notice before now. She’d been a beauty, once. Built in the gilded style of the 1920s, the place had great bones. Unfortunately, the 1980s had also happened, and now all the seats and carpet were a mauve set against the dark green color they’d painted the original woodwork.

  Criminal.

  I’d already had an inspection ordered and was relieved to know the structure was sound, so all funds raised could go directly into cosmetics. I had some thoughts as to how I’d like it to look, but, of course, I would need the board’s approval before we could decide. Plus, I still needed to find someone who could make me some renderings. I found people had an easier time making decisions if I could show them pretty pictures.

  I wondered if Beau knew any architects in town who would be willing to help me out in the name of charity.

  The thought of Beau Maverick brought an odd mixture of feeling to my middle. I thought I detected frustration, but there was also a touch of something else, too. It almost felt like excitement.

  But that couldn’t be right. He was the most aggravating man I’d ever met. Even when I tried to offer him an olive branch, he’d proven himself difficult.

  And yet, some part of me looked forward to the banter even if I did find it annoying. He was certainly the most interesting person I’d found to interact with in Great Falls. So maybe that’s all it was. I didn’t like Beau. I was just bored.

  Satisfied with that answer, I continued my tour taking mental notes and picturing what the space could look like once restored. Imagining the beauty, the music, the joy this space would someday host again made me feel lighter.

  One by one, I clicked the lights off and then locked the doors behind me. I took my time walking home enjoying the feeling of the cool air and happier thoughts. I turned to head down the main street that served as Great Falls’ downtown and smiled at the old-fashioned street lights casting their glow onto a mostly empty street.

  I thought of Manchester and its bustling city core. It seemed there was always light, life, and noise there. Here, I could hear the wind rustling the trees, and the stars seemed to shine brighter than the streetlights. As far as nightlife went, well… there didn’t seem to be any.

  At almost the same moment I had the thought, a door near me burst open and a giant of a man came spilling out. I let out a surprised yelp, and his head swiveled in my direction.

  “Beau?” I asked, surprise evident in my voice.

  He took two steps closer and squinted down at me. “Orchestra girl.”

  I pursed my lips. “Grace.”

  A slow grin claimed his face. “Hi, Grace.”

  “How drunk are you?”

  “Pfsh.” He waved me off. “I don’t get drunk. I’m too manly for the alcohol to infiltrate my system and stuff.”

  I leaned forward and made a show of sniffing him. “Or maybe it’s that you spilled more on yourself than got in your mouth.”

  He looked down at his wet shirt. “That’s Murphy’s fault.”

  “A man who pours drinks for a living spilled one all over you?”

  “Well, he was trying to shove a buffalo wing dipped in peanut butter in my mouth, and I swatted it away. The drink was in the way, and now it’s on my shirt.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

  “It’s not funny,” he grumbled and brushed at the wet spot on his shirt.

  “It is,” I told him.

  He looked up at me with a crooked grin, dimple in cheek. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

  I straightened. “I laugh.”

  “At what? Old people falling and children getting hurt?”

  “You really think I’m so cold?”

  He shrugged. “I call it as I see it, lady.”

  Ouch.

  I knew I was Type A, bossy, and driven. I could live with those. Cold, though, hurt my feelings.

  “Oh, stop,” he said. “I’m just messing with you.”

  I sniffed. “Well. See ya.”

  He gave me a little salute and then shoved his hand in his front pocket and pulled his car keys out.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He barely acknowledged me. “Going home.”

  “You’re not driving there,” I told him.

  “Course I am,” he replied, and as if on cue, stumbled.

  I snatched the keys from his hand. “Don’t be dumb.”

  “Hey,” he said, but without conviction.

  “You’re going to kill someone. Get in the car.”

  He mimicked me sarcastically but did what I said.

  “Buckle up,” I commanded before climbing in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition.

  “Do you even know how to drive? City girl probably just took cabs everywhere.” He turned and squinted his eyes at me. “Or did you have a driver?”

  I gave him a look that I hoped dripped with disdain. “Manchester isn’t that big of a city, and I don’t come from that wealthy a family.” I put my seat belt on.

  “But you seem so…” He waved his hand in my direction. “Prissy.”

  I had just begun to back out, but I put my foot on the brake. Hard. He lunged forward with an ‘oomph.’

  “I am not prissy.”

  He laughed. He actually laughed at me.

  “Maybe that’s the wrong word. Uptight? Buttoned-up? Conservative?”<
br />
  “Oh, I don’t know. Driven? Dedicated? A hard worker?” I shot back.

  “Easy now. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

  “You didn’t,” I lied, then reversed out of the stall and threw it into drive.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “How do you know where I live?”

  I turned my head slowly to look at him. “Because I was literally just there a few hours ago.”

  “Ohhh yeahhh,” he said and laughed. “You clomped around in your little heels.” Then he laughed harder. “You thought I didn’t know Chip is fat!”

  “I don’t like sober Beau Maverick,” I informed him. “But I really don’t like the drunk version.”

  He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “I’m almost never drunk. This is weird.”

  The breeze picked up and blew at us sideways. I caught the distinct scent of women’s perfume, and my gut clenched. Beau smelled like a woman. He’d been with a woman tonight. Why did I hate the thought of that? Where was she now? Shouldn’t she be the one taking him home?

  Or had he already had his fun with her and left her alone to finish drinking by herself at Murphy’s Pub?

  I found myself getting unreasonably angry at him. It was none of my business what he did, but what kind of asshole takes a woman out and then leaves to get wasted by himself?

  A Maverick, I decided.

  I spared a glance in his direction. He had laid his head back against the headrest, and his eyes were closed. I hated that my first thought was how strikingly handsome he was. His deep-set blue eyes were separated by a straight nose, and his jaw was strong and square. The streetlamps cast a blond tone to his light brown hair that was just long enough to touch the collar of his shirt. He could stand to get it cut, I thought to myself before I remembered I was mad at him.

  I forced my eyes back to the road and made a point of ignoring him. I navigated my way toward his mansion and parked in the street in front of it. If he realized the car had stopped, he didn’t show it.