CHAPTER 7
Maverick
Saturday morning came too fast and too slow. I woke up thinking about his kiss. His hands. The way he'd said "tomorrow" like a promise and a threat all at once.
This was it. The last day of the three Clark had given me.
Tonight, the countdown would be over.
I sat up, running my hands through my hair. No more thinking in circles. No more overthinking.
Tonight, everything would change.
I got up and built the fire back up, then grabbed my laptop. I had work to finish before Clark expected me at nine.
I spent the next hour finishing the logo design I'd been working on. The client was a small restaurant in Austin and I'd been tweaking the details for days. As I made the final adjustments, my phone buzzed.
Client email: This is perfect! Exactly what we envisioned. You're incredibly talented - if you're ever in Austin, we'd love to work with you on more projects. When can we expect the final files?
I stared at the message. Austin. Another opportunity. Another place I could go.
Six months ago, I would have been thrilled. Would've already been planning the trip, figuring out how to extend a quick delivery into a longer stay.
Now? The thought of leaving here, leaving Clark, felt wrong. Impossible.
I typed back: Final files attached. Thanks for the kind words, but I'm settled in Colorado for the foreseeable future.
The words felt right. Settled. Here.
My phone buzzed again. Jake's name lit up the screen.
Jake: Dude, you never stay anywhere this long. Who are you and what did you do with my nomad friend?
Me: Maybe I found somewhere worth staying.
Jake: Shit, really? Well if you change your mind, my company just posted a design position in Denver. Good pay, benefits, the whole adult thing. Want me to send details?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Denver. Only a few hours from here. I could have both - a real job and... what? Weekend visits?
Me: Maybe keep an eye out for it. Just in case.
I sent it before I could think better of it, then immediately regretted it. Why had I said that? I didn't want to leave. I didn't want a backup plan.
Another buzz. Dad this time.
Dad: Your mother is worried. Please call home.
I stared at the text, guilt twisting in my stomach. I should call. Should explain. But not today. Today was about Clark, about us, about tonight.
I put my phone away and checked the time. 8:50.
Time to go.
***
At 8:55, I knocked on the door of the main house, dressed in layers and the warmest clothes I had. Which still wasn't much, but I'd done my best.
Clark opened the door, and I forgot what I'd been about to say.
He was in his work clothes—flannel, henley, boots—but somehow he looked even better than yesterday. Maybe it was the way his eyes swept over me, assessing, checking. Maybe it was the way his jaw tightened slightly when he noticed I was wearing his gloves.
Or maybe it was just him. Everything about him.
"Morning," I said, trying for casual and probably failing.
"Morning." His voice was rough, like he hadn't been awake long. "You eat?"
"Not yet."
That jaw tightened again. "Inside. I made breakfast."
Not a request. I went inside.
Bear greeted me immediately, tail wagging, and I dropped down to give him the attention he deserved while Clark moved around the kitchen. A few minutes later, he set a plate in front of me at the table—eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns—and sat down across from me with his own.
"Eat," he said.
I ate.
We didn't talk much during breakfast. The silence was comfortable but charged, like both of us were tuned into the other. I caught him watching me a few times, his eyes dark and intense, before he'd look away. And I definitely got caught staring at his hands more than once.
Those hands. Those strong, capable hands that had cupped my face and adjusted my collar and—
"Maverick."
I blinked, realizing he'd said my name. "Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you slept okay."
"Oh. Yeah. Fine." Lie. "The bed's really comfortable."
He studied me for a moment, like he knew I was lying but wasn't going to call me on it. "Good. You'll need your energy today. We've got work to do."
"I'm ready."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "We'll see."
Something about the way he said it—the challenge, the suggestion that he was going to test me—sent anticipation racing through me.
We finished breakfast in that same charged silence, then bundled up and headed outside.
***
The morning was beautiful. Clear sky, bright sun, everything covered in fresh snow that sparkled in the light. The kind of morning that would make an incredible photograph.
I pulled out my phone to take a picture and Clark stopped, watching me.
"What?" I asked, lowering the phone.
"Nothing. Just..." He shook his head. "You see beauty in everything, don't you?"
The observation caught me off guard. "Maybe? I don't know. I just like capturing moments."
"You're good at it." He started walking again, and I followed. "You should do more with it. Make it more than just a hobby."
"Maybe." The word came out quieter than I meant it to.
We walked in silence for a bit, Bear ranging ahead of us, until we reached the section of trees Clark wanted to work on.
"Okay," he said, stopping in front of a large pine. "See this branch?" He pointed to a dead limb about eight feet up. "That needs to come off. I'll show you how."
He pulled a folding saw from his pack and demonstrated—the angle, the technique, how to make the cut clean. Then he handed me the saw.
"Your turn. Next tree."
I found a similar dead branch on the neighboring tree and climbed up onto a low branch to reach it. Started sawing the way he'd shown me.
"Stop."
I froze at the command in his voice.
"You're too high. Come down."
"I can reach it from—"
"Maverick. Down. Now."
The tone left no room for argument. I climbed down, and he was there immediately, hands on my waist to steady me as my feet hit the ground.
"You don't climb without a spotter," he said, his voice firm but not angry. "I don't care how easy it looks. Understood?"
"I was fine—"
"Understood?" Firmer this time. Hands still on my waist, holding me in place.
My breath caught. "Yes. Understood."
"Good boy."
He said it so casually, like those two words hadn't just made me want to drop to my knees right there. Like he didn't notice the way I'd gone still, breath catching, entire focus narrowing to him.
But he noticed. I could see it in his eyes. The way they darkened. The way his fingers tightened slightly on my waist before he let go and stepped back.
"I'll boost you," he said, voice rougher now. "You cut. But you stay where I can catch you if you slip."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He boosted me up—hands firm and sure—and held me steady while I made the cut. The whole time I was so aware of his hands on me, his strength supporting me, the way he was completely focused on keeping me safe.
When I was done and he lowered me back down, I was breathing harder than the work warranted.
"Good," he said and there was approval in his voice that made me want to do it again just to hear that tone. "Next one."
We worked like that for the next hour. Him teaching, me learning.
Him showing me how to identify which branches needed to go, how to make clean cuts, how to work safely.
Every time I did something right, he'd praise me.
Every time I started to do something reckless, he'd stop me with a firm command.
And I was learning something about myself.
I liked this. Not just the work, but the structure. The way Clark took charge without apology. The way following his instructions felt natural instead of restrictive. The way earning his approval made me want to work harder, do better, be better.
The way 'good boy' made me feel like I'd won a prize I hadn't known I was competing for.
At one point, I got impatient and tried to reach a branch that was too far. Started to stretch for it without thinking, forgetting Clark's safety rules.
"Don't." One word. Sharp.
I stopped immediately, pulling back. My heart sank. I'd messed up.
He came up behind me, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "What did I tell you about climbing without a spotter?"
"To wait for you. To ask for help." My voice was small. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
"You forgot." His tone was disappointed, and that hurt worse than anger would have. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, firm but not unkind. "What happens when you forget safety rules?"
"I could get hurt."
"You could get hurt. And I need you safe, Maverick.
" He turned me to face him. "When we have our conversation tonight, that's one of the things we're going to discuss.
Rules. Consequences. What happens when you break them.
" His eyes held mine. "Because you will break them sometimes.
And I need to know you'll accept what comes after. "
I swallowed hard, understanding what he meant. "I would. I will."
"We'll see." But his hand gentled on my shoulder, almost a caress. "For now, let's focus on keeping you in one piece."
He guided me back to a safer position, showed me the right way to reach the branch, and stayed close the entire time. And somehow, that careful attention—the way he refused to let me be careless with myself—felt more intimate than anything we'd done yet.
We took a break around noon, sitting on a fallen log and drinking water from the thermoses he'd brought. I was tired—good tired, the kind that came from actual physical work—and my muscles were already telling me I'd feel this tomorrow.
"You did well today," Clark said and the praise made me ridiculously happy.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You listen. You follow instructions. You're careful when I tell you to be." He glanced at me. "That's not nothing."
"I want to do it right."
"I know. I can tell."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, just breathing in the cold air and enjoying the sun on our faces.
We worked for another hour after that—checking more trees, clearing smaller branches, Clark teaching me about the different varieties of pines and firs on the property.
The afternoon wore on, the sun tracking across the clear sky.
My muscles started to ache—the good kind of ache that came from honest work.
By the time we headed back to the main house, the sun was starting to sink lower, painting the snow golden. I was exhausted, my muscles aching in that good way that said I'd actually done something today. Built something. Contributed.
Clark sent me back to the cabin to shower and rest while he handled evening chores. "I'll bring dinner around six," he said. "And then we'll talk."
The way he said it—calm but weighted—sent anticipation racing through me.
***
That evening felt different. Charged. Final.
Clark brought dinner to the cabin—roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread—but this time when I asked if he was staying, he shook his head.
"Not tonight," he said. "Tonight you think. Really think. About what you want. What you're asking for."
"Clark—"
"I'll be back at nine." His eyes held mine, dark and serious. "And when I get here, you're going to give me your answer. Yes or no. No maybes.'"
The weight of it settled on my shoulders. Decision time.
"Okay," I said quietly.
He cupped my face briefly, thumb brushing my cheek. "Think with your head, Maverick. Not just your heart. Not just your body. Really think."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the most important decision of my life.
I ate dinner mechanically, barely tasting it. Paced the cabin. Stared at the fire.
But I already knew my answer. Had known it for days.
At nine o'clock exactly, there was a knock on the door.
I opened it to find Clark standing there, still in his work clothes, eyes serious and searching.
"Well?" he asked quietly.
I looked at him—this man who'd taken me in, cared for me, challenged me, shown me what it felt like to be truly seen.
"Yes," I said. "My answer is yes."
His eyes flashed—fierce, possessive, hungry. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then invite me in, baby. Tonight, everything changes."