He loved his mother, but man, he could do without the commentary.
His father had died tragically in a car crash when he and Cooper were small, and though his mother had a heart of gold, she was the kind of woman who didn’t mince words. She had no filter and said whatever the hell was on her mind without thinking.
There was a reason she’d married and divorced three times. He smiled, thinking about her. It had been a while since he’d seen her—Beau and Betty’s wedding, if he remembered correctly. He should call her.
Maverick grabbed up his guitar and began to play a few chords, humming along with a melody that had been inside his head for the past few days. The notes fell out of him and as he dug in, his chord progression became meatier. The notes were all minor, and kind of sad, but he was digging it. His fingers flew over the strings, and just like it had so many times in the past, his mind and body opened up to the music and he began to write.
He got the bulk of the melody down and once the structure was good, he brought out his notepad and jotted down ideas—emotions and thoughts—and that familiar knot of excitement punched him in the gut. He knew that he was on to something.
It felt damn good to break through the creative drought that had plagued him for months, and when he finally set his guitar down, the shadows were longer and he realized he’d worked through lunch and most of the afternoon.
He checked his phone and smiled when he spied a response from Charlie.
Still thinking.
Huh. At least she hadn’t shot him down, but still….
“Times up, darlin’,” he said, and then headed back to the house. He took a quick shower, pulled on a black turtleneck, jeans and his boots, and after locking the door behind him, strode to his truck. He was feeling good about things and had no problem forcing the issue.
He got to Fisherman’s Landing around four-thirty and headed to A Charmed Life, smiling when he walked inside and spied his new favorite waitress, Jessie. He grabbed a stool at the counter and accepted a cup of coffee.
“You’re still here,” Jessie said, wiping away some crumbs.
“Still here.”
“Everything’s good then?”
“Yep,” he answered with a grin. “Things are looking up.”
“That’s good to hear. Any particular reason?”
Maverick took a sip of coffee. He wasn’t sure what it was about the woman—maybe she reminded him of his mother—but he felt comfortable with her. As if they’d known each other a lot longer than the small time he’d spent in Fisherman’s Landing.
“Maybe,” he replied, trying to hide a smile but not wholly successful.
“Maybe is good,” she said, nodding to a couple as they walked in. “Can I get you anything?” she said, returning her gaze to Maverick.
“Do you guys do takeout?”
“You bet.”
“How about that clam chowder, and what else do you recommend?”
“The haddock is fresh and our fries are to die for.”
“Great, I’ll take three orders.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Three?”
“If that’s all right.”
She wrote his order down. “It’s all right by me sugar. I’ll put this in and we’ll have your order ready before you know it.”
In fact it took less time than he needed to finish another cup of coffee and by ten minutes to five, he was in his truck and headed to Charlie’s garage. When he pulled into the parking lot, a customer was just leaving and Jason Davis walked over to his truck.
Maverick was still unclear on their relationship—it was obviously more than just employer and employee—and judging from the look in the man’s eyes, he had something on his mind other than hello.
“Rick,” Davis said, hunching his shoulders against the cold. “Good to see you again.”
Maverick lifted his chin. “Hey. Charlie inside?”
Davis took a few moments to answer. “She is.” Davis paused, nostrils flaring. “You’ve been to Charmed Life.”
“I have.”
“You planning on sharing some of that?”
“I am.”
“I figured. Not sure if she’s in the mood to share dinner or not. Guess you’ll have to take your chances.”
“I’m hoping she’s up for it.”
Davis cleared his throat and fished the keys to his truck from his pocket. “Charlie’s not as strong as she wants everyone to believe. I just want you to know that.”
Davis backed away. The warning had been issued and Maverick had to respect the guy for looking out for his friend.
“Thanks,” Maverick said, with a nod. He parked his vehicle and went inside. Connor was sitting behind the front desk, an iPad in hand and so engrossed in a game that he didn’t look up when Maverick entered the shop.
He didn’t want to startle the boy and was about to head into the back area when the door flew open and the sexiest woman to ever wear a pair of grease-stained coveralls, sailed through.
“Okay, Connor, we need to head to the grocery store before we go home or its breakfast for supper again.”
Charlie froze when she saw him and Maverick offered a smile. “I can save you a trip.”
“Excuse me?”
“To the grocery store.”
“And just how could you manage to do that?” She pushed back a long strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear, and smudged her cheek with grease while doing so.
“I’ve got hot chowder, haddock and fries in my truck.”
Connor slid off his chair and came to stand beside his sister, and once again Maverick was struck by how similar they looked. The kid could easily pass as her son, and he wondered who they got their looks from—their mother or their father.
“I was kind of hoping to have dinner with you.” His mother had always told him he’d been blessed with a boatload of charm and he was hoping that Charlie wasn’t immune to it.
“Were you now?”
“I was. I even have wine.”
“Wow, you went all out.”
“I tried.”
“I don’t drink during the week.” A soft smile played around the corners of her mouth.
“I can’t promise that I won’t try to change that.”
Charlie tossed a rag onto the front desk and glanced down at her brother. “Should we let Rick come to our house for dinner?”
The boy was silent though he turned away from his sister and looked straight at Maverick. For the first time he got the full effect of those eyes and a shiver rolled over him. It was like peering into an old soul, an old soul who’d seen a lot. To get that from the eyes of a ten year old was sobering.
“What do you say, Connor?” he asked gently. “Do you mind if I join you and your sister? I got a lot of those fries that you like and a side of gravy too.”
The little boy didn’t say a word, but he didn’t break eye contact either. For whatever reason that made Maverick feel good. Connor gave a small nod and moved past his sister to where his blue coat hung from the rack.
“Wow,” Charlie murmured, eyes moving back to Maverick. “You’ve snagged an invite and we don’t give those out all that often.” She pointed to the door. “You can follow us home.”
Five minutes later Maverick pulled into the driveway behind Charlie’s truck. Their house was quaint, a grey and white cottage style home that was picture perfect for coastal Maine. With a porch that was deep and ran the length of the house, the place looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Charlie and Connor lived on the edge of town, in the opposite direction from where his brother’s place was, but she was on the water just the same and the angry Atlantic rolled across the horizon. Drifting snow curled over the beach and met the surging water head on. It was both beautiful and desolate.
He grabbed the food and followed Charlie up the front steps into the house. Again, the place looked well lived in, but also well cared for. The worn wooden floorboards were polished to a dark sheen, and w
ere a perfect foil to the light pewter walls and white trim.
The kitchen was large and the fridge—he whistled in appreciation—was an antique.
“I know. It belonged to my grandfather and still works, if you can believe it.”
Maverick ran his fingers over the appliance. “How old?”
“Fifties I think.” She looked a little unsure. “I need to wash the grease away, you can set the food over there and I’ll get to it in a minute.”
Maverick slipped out of his jacket and she took it from him. “No problem. I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” She turned to Connor. “We have to wash our hands before dinner.” She ushered him out of the room and Maverick searched through the cupboards until he found the plates and cutlery. He set the table and placed the haddock and fries in the middle, putting the takeout containers of soup on each plate.
Connor appeared and sat in the chair near the window, his pale eyes on Maverick, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He’d set his iPad on the table and Rick nodded toward it.
“What game are you playing?”
Connor didn’t answer. In fact, he looked out the window and didn’t look back Maverick’s way until his sister entered the kitchen.
His sister. Damn, she made his gut clench and his senses spike to life. She’d changed into a pair of grey tights and a cream colored shirt that fell to mid thigh. Her face was scrubbed clean—not a speck of makeup—and her hair hung down her back in silky waves, just the way he liked.
Hell, he liked everything about this woman.
“Smells great,” she said, sitting down and leaving him to sit between the siblings. They ate their meal and talked about nothing important—the weather, the Boston Bruins (okay this girl was awesome, a hockey fan to boot) and the upcoming sled run.
“What’s that all about?” he asked, tossing the takeout containers into the garbage while she wiped down the kitchen table. Connor was listening, or maybe he wasn’t—Maverick was having a hard time figuring the kid out.
She leaned against the counter a few inches from him, those eyes contemplative as she gazed up at him. She was above average in height for a woman—Maverick pegged her at about five foot eight—but he clocked in at six-three, so he still had several inches on her.
“It’s an annual run held between our town and a few of the other coastal towns. It started about ten years ago after a wicked blizzard and we all had to band together and run supplies from town to town. The only way to get around was on skidoos, and a year later we just sort of did a sled run in remembrance and then it became a thing.”
“Explain this thing.”
“This year it starts in Fisherman’s Landing. All businesses are closed and we host a pancake breakfast at the community center. Folks from the other towns will be here and then we ride to the next one for lunch, then onto the last town who’ll host the fish fry and party. I think they’ve booked a band or something.”
He inched toward her. “And do you take part in this thing?”
“I do.” She glanced at her brother. “I haven’t done the run in a couple years, but I’m hoping that Connor will want to go this year. I think he’s nearly there…” She paused. “Connor, time for pajamas and if you hurry and brush your teeth, you can watch TV for half an hour or so before bed.”
Maverick watched the kid slide off his chair and grab his iPad before heading off to do his sister’s bidding.
“You’re probably wondering why he is the way he is.”
Maverick wasn’t sure what to say and decided that honesty was the only way to go. “He seems like a real quiet kid and this might sound kind of weird and I don’t want to offend you, but does he talk? I can see he understands you but I don’t think I’ve heard him speak.”
She kicked at the floor with her foot. “He used to talk a lot,” she said softly. “It used to annoy the hell out of me. He was a chatterbox. Now I’m lucky if I can get one or two sentences out of him a day. He’s kind of retreated into himself and he’s slowly getting better but…it’s a long story.”
“Maybe you’ll tell me sometime.”
She glanced up at him and it took everything inside Maverick not to bend forward and plant a kiss on that delectable mouth.
“Are you a musician?” she asked.
Surprised at the change in conversation, he nodded and answered without thinking. “Yeah, I am.”
“Would you consider letting me bring Connor out for maybe a lesson? Or at least spend some time with him to see if it’s something he’s interested in?”
He found himself nodding, loving the smile that was slowly breaking open on her face. “I think I can find some time for that, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” she asked, that smoky voice of hers making his blood boil.
“You take me on the sled run this weekend.”
“Anyone can go on the sled run, Rick. It’s not like an invite thing.”
“Good. It’s a date.”
She laughed, that full-on belly laugh that he was learning to love. “So now we’re dating.”
“Looks like.” Before she could slip away, he tipped his head, his hand sliding up her jaw until he buried his long fingers in the hair at her nape. Maverick slid his mouth over hers, groaning into her when she opened up and took him in. He kissed her slowly, enjoying her soft lips, the smell of her hair, and the feel of her heat against him.
When he finally came up for air, he had to take a step back because, man, his dick was already saying hello and there was no way that was happening tonight. He wanted to take this slow.
I want to know her.
Maybe that should have been the first sign that he was travelling down a road he’d not been on before. But Maverick ignored the thought. Instead he focused on the light blue eyes before him, and he swept away a long piece of hair from her forehead.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“The name’s Rick.”
“I got that,” she said with a soft smile. “Rick, the man with no last name.”
“I’ve got one.”
“I assumed as much.”
“Simon.”
Her face scrunched up. “Excuse me?”
“My last name is Simon.”
He waited for any sign of recognition, but there was nothing.
“Okay. Simon. It’s a good name.”
“My family’s crazy.”
Her eyes slid from his and whatever spell they had was broken. “Let’s not talk about families. I don’t do that real well.” She pushed away from the counter and nodded at the unopened bottle of wine. “Guess we didn’t get to the wine.”
He was being dismissed, but Maverick was okay with that. He felt as if he’d glimpsed a small slice of Charlie’s life and it intrigued him even more. And he’d shared his name with her. Of course she still had no idea who he was, but surprisingly, he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know everything.
It was just going to take a bit of time, and call him crazy, but Maverick was starting to think that a month in Fisherman’s Landing wasn’t going to be nearly long enough.
“Bring Connor by Friday after school. I’ll see what I can do with him on the piano.”
She followed him to the front door, her hand reaching for his when he would have pushed the door open.
“Thank you, Rick Simon.”
He bent toward her and brushed his mouth across hers once more, loving how she shivered against him when he blew hot air onto her neck. “You can thank me Friday night.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” she quipped and he stepped out into the cold New England air and headed for his truck.
“You do that,” he replied with a smile.
It was a smile that didn’t leave his face the whole way home.
Chapter Twelve
Trying to leave the garage early on a Friday was next to impossible, but Davis insisted on doing the last oil change of the day and Charlie was able to swing by St. Vincent, her brother’s schoo
l, scoop up Connor and rush home for a quick shower.
Deciding not to make a big deal of it, she pulled on jeans, a baby sweater and her Doc’s. Rick had already seen the merchandise so to speak and it’s not as if she had a closet full of seductive clothes anyway. She blew out her hair, brushed it until it shone, and touched up her eyes with a bit of dark grey liner and neutral shadow. She grabbed the tube of mascara to complete the look and then ran some gloss over her lips.
She made a face when she glanced at her nails. They were once again chipped and the red polish from last weekend was long gone. There was nothing she could do about it now, and really, she’d already spent way too much time on her looks.
At ten minutes after five she pulled into the driveway of the old McLaren house. The days were stretching out a bit longer and the sun left an eerie glow over the top of the house. She’d always loved this place—the estate was on several acres of prime frontage—and she’d been glad to hear someone had bought it years earlier.
Though Rick’s brother hadn’t done much, other than the basics and the addition of the new outbuilding.
She wondered about the guy. From what little gossip she’d heard in town, he was a reclusive man who rarely visited his home here and when he did, he never ventured into town. He had anything he needed delivered and no one had even caught a glimpse of him.
She smiled, getting out of her truck, and wondered if he was as hot as his brother, Rick. She was still smiling when she climbed the porch and knocked on the door, but after a few moments no one answered and she decided to head to the outbuilding.
“Come on, Connor. This way.”
They trudged through the snow, the path well worn, and when they rounded the house, she saw a soft glow falling from the windows of the outbuilding. As they got closer the door swung open and the man who’d haunted her dreams all week leaned against the doorframe.
Charlie’s heart skipped a beat and she didn’t even try to keep the big ass grin off her face. Holy hell, but he looked good. He was dressed for the country, in faded jeans, boots and a plain white T-shirt underneath blue plaid flannel. His hair was mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it more than a few times, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved since she’d seen him on Wednesday.
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