by Tori Kayson
14
“Oh, and glad you’re back, Kester.”
Maverick’s fingers poised around the doorknob as he twisted around to look at his boss.
Kramer had already resumed his pose, bent over a mountain of papers on his desk. Reading glasses perched on the end of a too-long nose, the few gray wiry strands left on his head sticking straight up. A perpetual scowl firmly in place.
Yeah. His boss looked glad.
Maverick? Not so sure. Especially since learning he’d be working with St. Clare and not joining the hunt for Sam’s killer. Irritation prickled, but he ignored it. Wouldn’t pay to rile his boss. “Thanks.”
Mav closed the door, wincing at the rattle of the metal blinds banging against the glass window, and headed to the break room. Strong black coffee might help him sift through his own mountain of paperwork faster. Quell the anxiety popping in his gut like angry toads over working with a new partner.
He lifted the decanter and grimaced. Sludge might be more like it. Maybe he should wait until he hit the road and catch something a bit fresher.
“Hey, Kester. How’s it going?” A hand landed on his shoulder.
Truman. Maverick usually worked for him over the holidays. Nice guy with two kids under the age of five and another on the way. A boy Logan’s age…
Logan. Summer. He missed them something fierce. Gut wrenching loss after only a few hours. What would a few days, months, feel like?
Mav nodded toward his desk. “It’ll be better when I can get out of here.”
“Yeah. I hear ya. Who you working with?”
“St. Clare.”
Only a slight tic and head wag for a response. So the entire department was in on the fact that he wasn’t working his partner’s case.
He’d take that coffee after all. Clenching his jaw, Mav tugged out a paper cup and poured, then held up the decanter. “Want some?”
“What’s with the look? Didn’t you miss this?” Truman chuckled and poured a cup for himself.
Maverick scowled.
“Well, it’s great to have you back. Thought you might be going soft with all that time off.” Truman laughed at his own joke.
“Ha. Not hardly.” He was lucky the doctor had cleared him, what with all that lifting and chasing after a certain forty-pound munchkin. He braved a sip. Not even the bitter brew could chase down the regret that welled up in his throat.
“Yeah. I know. Fractured ribs are nothing to joke about. Sorry, man. Take it easy out there. I’d hate to see you back on medical leave. I was hoping you could cover for me over the holidays.”
Mav had worked every holiday since his first year on the job and accumulated plenty of vacation days. Maybe he’d go home this year. Spend a couple weeks at the ranch. That thought slid in without any prompting. “I’ll have to get back with you. But don’t count on it.”
“Sure.” Truman nodded. “And even if you can’t, my family and I appreciate all the times that you did.” The other man pivoted and headed down the opposite end of the hall.
Maverick’s boots clicked against the tile floor as he made his way back to the cubicle he shared with…St. Clare. He sank into the cold vinyl chair and booted up the computer. Leaned back, waiting and rocking, the obnoxious squeak from the chair as comforting and familiar as the stale scent of coffee that lingered over the office like a dense mist, always there, just out of reach.
Just out of reach.
Like Summer and Logan. Mav craved Summer’s smile, her sweet tinkle of laughter, the joy she brought to his day. Missed Logan’s mischievous grin, the simple trust, the chubby arms that lifted when he wanted to be held. Little fingers that tickled his neck when Logan snuggled against his chest. Yeah, Maverick missed them both like crazy, and he hadn’t been back to work a full day.
His email inbox finally opened, and he plowed through the stack requiring responses. Then, he moved over to study the current case notes to get up to speed. Three hours later, he shoved back his chair, scooped up his keys, and snatched his coat from the rack.
He texted St. Clare for his location and responded, “On my way.”
Adrenaline pumped through his body, adding a bit of fire to his steps. This is what he did. Protecting a judge and her family after she received death threats while presiding over a gang leader’s trial. The judge had two children, a six-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son.
As much as he might long to explore a relationship with Summer, he couldn’t change who he was, what he was, what he wasn’t.
One thing he was sure of. He wasn’t a full-time cowboy.
****
Summer elbowed the front door of her apartment open, a sack of groceries tucked against her chest. Mail and keys dangled from one hand, Logan’s hand firmly attached to the other.
Her son stumbled around her, shrugging out of his coat and flinging it on the couch. His superhero cape fluttered behind him as he raced down the hall.
The warmth from inside the apartment blasted her icy cheeks. The temperatures had plummeted over the last couple of days, and all week she’d been chilled, fighting off some kind of bug. No fever, though, so she’d kept her appointments. Twice today, she’d been tempted to call it off, but juggling schedules for the venue and the family she’d worked with had been a nightmare, so she pushed on.
Home. Finally. All she wanted to do tonight was eat and slide into a hot tub. Like that would happen. Summer nudged the front door closed with the heel of her boot.
From her perch on the back of the couch, Whiskers arched and flashed her a lazy “is it that time already?” look.
“Yeah. It is. Sorry we disturbed you, Whiskers, but you can’t hog all the quiet, you know.” What she wouldn’t give for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Or for a luxurious soak in the tub, long enough for the water to turn tepid. Or to read more than a couple pages of a book at a time. Did that make her a horrible mother because she was jealous of her cat?
“What, Mama?” A brown head poked around the wall, startling her as she made her way through the family room to the matchbox kitchen.
She tightened her hold around the sack of groceries. That’s all she needed. To spend a Saturday evening cleaning up a dozen eggs. “Just talking to Whiskers, honey.”
“Aw wight.” Logan disappeared in his bedroom.
Chuckling, she set the bag down on the counter and tossed the keys next to it. She skimmed the mail. Electric bill. Junk. Junk. Manila envelope? She held it up, her fingers trembling as the Dallas return address registered. Her heart jolted. Maverick?
While Whiskers curled around her ankles, she pulled a knife from the silverware drawer and slid it through the seal. Dumped the envelope upside down.
Sketches. One of the three of them, Maverick stretched out on the couch, with Logan sleeping on his chest, Summer kneeling just in front, snapping their picture. Cozy. Homey. But it struck her as odd because it didn’t look like the ranch’s family room. The furniture placement was all different.
She flicked to the next one. A solo of Logan when he hijacked the four-wheeler. Maverick had captured Logan’s excited determination perfectly. The bared teeth, the hands clenched around the steering wheel, the hunched back, the flowing cape…
Her hand went to her mouth, as if that could keep the pained gasp from wrenching out. Her forearms dropped to the counter to steady her jellified legs. The sketch fluttered to the cool surface. Her erratic breaths, Whiskers’s steady purr, the clock’s tick above the cabinets, the voice that kept screaming “cowboy!” and the other that whispered the “l” word blended into one jarring cymbal, crashing and banging until her palms blanketed her ears.
He’d only been gone a week. She’d only known him for six. Falling in love with someone in that short of time wasn’t possible, right?
She rummaged through her purse and dug out her phone. Punched in Kierra’s number. One ring. Two. Three.
“Hey, Summer. Everything okay?”
“Hey. Yes.” No.
“That
didn’t sound very convincing. Still fighting that bug? Or is it Logan again?”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” She didn’t. Not since David Empire in her freshman year of high school. As soon as the popular football quarterback walked in her math class, all six glorious feet of him and winked at her, her… She’d crushed on him for half the year. Until gossip trailed its way to her circle of friends. That he’d made it with every girl on the cheer squad and then some.
No, Summer didn’t believe love happened that way, nor did she want a relationship like that. Not then, and not now. She had a child to consider and rash decisions weren’t her bag. She thought things through for weeks, months even.
“Hmm. Does this question have anything to do with a handsome Kester?”
“He sent me a couple sketches. One of the three of us. Not sure where it’s from, though. And one of Logan—”
“I’ll be there in thirty. With pizza and sodas. So just put away those groceries.”
How did Kierra know that? Summer’s gaze jerked to the sack on the counter.
“You don’t—” Summer talked to dead air since Kierra had disconnected. She held the phone out, watching Kierra’s picture disappear from the screen. “—have to come. Just asking.” Summer finished the sentence, tossed the phone on the counter and reached down to scratch the feline’s neck. “All right. Guess no luxurious soak in the tub or any reading on the agenda tonight, Whiskers. But at least I don’t have to fix dinner.”
She breathed a sigh, grateful for a friend like Kierra, one willing to drop everything and spend an evening chatting. After she unpacked the groceries, Summer slipped into comfy sweat pants.
“Knock. Knock. I’m here.” Kierra yelled from the front door.
“Aunt Key!” Logan screamed, bolting out of his bedroom and bumping into Summer as she made her way down the hall. “Sowwy, Mommy.”
“That’s all right. You hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Chuckling, she followed her little guy, her nose leading her to the source of tomato and garlic and onions.
Kierra was already in the kitchen, pulling out paper plates from the cabinet.
“Mmmm. That smells divine. Here. Let me get that while you take off your coat.”
“Thanks. I was hoping you’d let me stick around.” Kierra shrugged out of her jacket.
“As if I’d turn you away.” Summer pulled a couple cans of diet soda and a juice from the fridge, then slid some wedges onto paper plates. “Logan, would you mind putting these on the table, please?” She handed him the first plate.
Kierra arched a brow then smiled like a proud mama as Logan performed the task without accident. “I’m impressed, big man.” She skimmed the top of Logan’s head as he passed, mussing his hair. “Good job.”
Logan gave Kierra an adoring smile, his eyes as warm as brewed coffee, and continued his task.
They made quick work of devouring the entire pie, and Summer tossed the soiled plates and cups in the trash.
“Logan, you’re such a big boy now. I bet you can get your jammies on without your mama’s help, can’t you?” Kierra asked.
Summer heated hot chocolate in the microwave. When the timer dinged, she set the mugs on the counter.
“Yes. I’m a big boy.” Logan nodded, his expression solemn, and started moving toward his bedroom.
Kierra snagged his arm. “Wait. Look what I brought.” She held out a bag.
Logan peered inside. His jaw dropped and his mouth formed a circle. “Superheroes!”
“Two of your favorites.” Kierra took the toys out of the bag and handed them to Logan, planting a kiss on his cheek before he could take off. “For my favorite boy.”
“Tank you, Aunt Key.” His legs wound up and raced for his bedroom.
“Don’t forget to put your jammies on.” Summer yelled, carrying the mugs into the family room.
“I will.”
Kierra chuckled. “Does that mean he’ll forget? Or that he will remember?”
“Who knows. But it bought us a few minutes of peace.” She handed Kierra the hot chocolate and sank onto the couch, letting the leather folds swallow her.
“Bribery works every time.” Kierra sounded smug.
“Better be careful, or he’ll be looking for something every time you come over.” Summer licked whipped cream from her upper lip.
“I don’t mind. He’s a sweetheart.” Kierra sipped, then said, “Better spill now. Before he comes back.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Seriously?” Kierra’s dark-eyed gaze pinned Summer even deeper into the couch. Her friend rolled her eyes.
“Okay. Yes. I was talking about your brother.” Summer surrendered, sighed.
“I knew it.” Kierra pumped a fist in the air.
“But you never answered my question.”
“Question?” Kierra’s dark brows bunched then a wince slipped from her mouth, the celebration fading. “Oh. Yeah. There was a time…” Her best friend’s voice dwindled. Her chin dipped to her chest, long raven black hair curtaining her face. She sighed, something heavy and mournful. When Kierra glanced back up, her gaze landed on the fireplace, eyes glassy with distant memories.
This guy must’ve worked her friend over good. Over the last couple of years, Kierra had only gone out with a handful of men, and never for more than a few dates. Summer waited for the story.
Kierra’s throat moved. She tucked her hair behind an ear and finally glanced at Summer, but only for a second. She lifted off the couch and stalked to the fireplace, standing with her back to Summer, her posture defeated, resigned. Finally, she cleared her throat and turned back around, arms folded across her chest. “His name was Hawk. Hawk Rowe.”
“You loved him.” Summer could see it in her friend’s eyes. The way Kierra’s fingertips swooped to cover her mouth, as if just saying the name brought back sweet memories. Memories that mingled with painful ones, obviously, since Hawk Rowe was nowhere around Coldwater Ridge.
Kierra nodded, another healthy sigh lifting her chest. “From the first day I met him. I’d been involved in the FFA club all along, but he joined during my sophomore year. He was fun to be around. Always joked while he helped me get my livestock ready for show. We dated a couple years in high school.” She pulled out the chain she always wore tucked inside her shirt and stared at the charm, a silver cowgirl boot with a gold spur.
“What happened?”
Pain flashed across Kierra’s face. She dropped the charm so that it disappeared back into her shirt and gave her upper arms a brisk rub, pulling into herself, and turned back around to face the fireplace. “He…we…neither one of us was ready for a long term commitment. We were much too young to be thinking of anything permanent. And our goals were too…different. Vastly.” Kierra’s voice came out muffled but she covered it up with a cough. She faced Summer, moisture rimming her cheeks. “Not so with you and Maverick.”
“How can you say that? He’s a Deputy—”
“So what if he’s not a bonafide cowboy?”
“You know how I feel about this, Kierra. Cowboys make time for their families—”
Kierra shook her dark head, her bottom lip trembling so slight Summer might have imagined it. “Not all of them, Summer. They’re not all faithful, and they don’t always plant deep roots. Just sayin. You could hook up with a cowboy that is just like your ex.” Conviction rang clear in Kierra’s voice. As if she spoke from personal experience.
Summer scoffed. “Not likely.”
Kierra patted her chest, her coal black eyes round. “Maverick may not be a rancher, but he’s one of the most genuine family men I know. When Daddy died, he took a couple weeks off and came home to help. With Mama and me so distraught, and Fargo thrusted into doing the work of two men, Maverick handled all the funeral arrangements. Not only that, but he worked on the ranch from before sunup to after sun set. Even offered to stay longer if Fargo needed him. He’s caring and unselfish, and he would neve
r, never, treat you and Logan like your ex did…does.”
Summer gulped from the fervor in Kierra’s tone. She gathered up the two sketches from the coffee table, fixed her attention on the one of all three of them.
Kierra leaned closer. Sucked in a breath. She tapped the paper, her voice squeaking with excitement. “That’s Mav’s apartment. In Dallas.”
Summer’s jaw went slack. Her lips rounded into a silent oh. “So that’s why I didn’t recognize the room.”
Kierra’s cheeks scrunched. She flashed a knowing smile, joy blossoming to sparkle from the depths of those dark eyes. “That’s how he sees you. One big happy family.”
Summer licked her lips, fear and excitement warring within.
She loved Maverick. Deep down, she knew that. But did she love him enough to compromise her cowboy goal? And what about moving? Could she leave Coldwater Ridge and the life she'd grown to love?
15
“Time to eat, Logan. Wash up, please.” Summer yelled down the hallway. Guilt stabbed that she didn’t spare the extra couple minutes to walk to her son’s room. Especially since he’d raced in there as soon as they arrived home and hadn’t come out yet. Upset with her.
This afternoon’s clients had stretched her emotions taut as a rubber band. Mercy. A photo session for the family’s annual Christmas card, she’d captured the perfect shot of dad looking on his brood of handsome triplets in their matching festive outfits, the adoration practically dripping from his face. But then, just when she was about to wrap up the shoot, she snagged a few playful ones with just mom and dad—the slanted teasing look, sexy and inviting and not-so-parent-ish, that they’d surely appreciate.
Those few extra shots meant Logan stayed at daycare later than usual. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in his room?
She sighed. Defeat and exhaustion welled up like rising floodwater as she plopped grilled cheese sandwiches on their plates. Chips cracked in her hand, but she mounded them on the plate anyway. Summer tossed the paper plates on the table and then stalked back into the kitchen. Her hand shook as she poured their drinks and juice sloshed onto the counter.
