Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
MAVERICK
“There’s only one bed.” She says it like it matters. Like I can’t handle the rougher side of life.
“That’s right, Princess.”
“Princess? Why do you call me that?”
Is she really asking me this? The list off the top of my head is enough to fill a novel. I appraise her perfectly manicured pink nails, long buttery locks, soft green eyes, thick, fake lashes, and face slathered in makeup, the corners of my mouth twitching.
Instead of speaking, I search the cabin for extra blankets and pillows. Wouldn’t be the first night I spent on the ground. I’ve crashed here since arriving in town for the job, still not set on a place to call my own.
She gasps. “Wait, you can’t sleep on the floor.”
“Can and will.”
“But why?”
I stop, folding my arms tightly over my chest. “‘Cause you won’t.”
“Sleep on the floor? Never!”
I grunt, vindicated. The blankets hit the floor unceremoniously, followed by the pillows. Good enough for me.
“But…”
I lift an eyebrow.
She shakes her head.
“Want a drink?” I ask—already regretting the question. Her pink glitter eyeshadow screams party girl.
I head to the kitchen, checking the cupboards. Stacked shot glasses and tequila greet me. I close the door quickly, but she’s already noticed.
“Tequila shots?” she asks.
Great, the last thing she needs.
I frown.
Her face falls. “Joking, actually. What I really want is tea.”
“Seriously?”
She nods. “Got any chamomile floating around up there?”
I snort, turning my back and rifling through a stash of loose-leaf teas in various metal containers. “No chamomile. But there’s apple caramel, lavender blueberry—”
“Lavender blueberry,” she cuts in, then yawns.
I fill the kettle with water and place it on the stove.
“Tired?”
I don’t know why I ask. It’s not like I want to have a conversation. But I can’t deny something about this woman—about what happened earlier at the stadium—that makes me feel a connection.
“Exhausted,” she says, snagging a blanket from the floor and wrapping it around her shoulders. Great, now it’s going to smell like her—all floral and mouthwatering.
“Should I turn the a/c down?” I ask.
Mia shakes her head, though goosebumps line her forearms. Pulling a stool up to the kitchen bar, she rests her elbows on the counter. “Not like I get shot at every day … thankfully. Guess the adrenaline got to me or something.”
Adrenaline used to be what I lived for.
Now, it’s just a means to an end—income.
“Don’t let me keep you from a drink,” she says.
I shrug. “On the clock.”
“True,” she says, cocking her head. “But if anyone deserves a stiff one tonight, it’s you.”
I nod my agreement, then pull a second mug from the cabinet. Two teas, it is.
When I turn back, she’s gripping her phone. Reading something. Face ashen in the faint glow from the screen.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She startles. It tells me everything I need to know. “Just Edwin texting. Again.”
“And?”
She shakes her head. “Not worth the time to explain it.”
My gaze drills into her, noticing tells, subtle changes in her expression. “He just… He just won’t understand that I need some time to think—alone.”
“You’re not asking too much,” I remind.
She shrugs.
“Tell it to the gray suits. They want their commissions, their cuts. Can’t accept the gravy train shutting down for a few days.”
I shift, put my hands on my hips. “They’re gonna have to.”
She chuckles, like I’ve said something funny.
“You’re the star, after all.”
Mia twists her hands together atop the table. Like she needs to do something with them. Her heel thuds softly against the rung of the stool, her eyes staring at the walls until she’s a million miles away.
“Star,” she murmurs. “Such a loaded word.”
I can’t help but sneak a second glance at her. Still nervous, movements fast and stilted as a hummingbird, but her face is more relaxed, more authentic, the performer momentarily gone.
“Honey?” I ask, lifting the amber jar.
She startles, mossy eyes darting to my face. “That another nickname?”
Then, her eyes drop to the sweetener. She giggles. “A little.”
I push the mugs across the counter, taking the stool across from her. Body rigid, eyes in constant line of sight of the door and windows just in case.
“Thought for sure you were a party girl.” It slips out.
“Me, a party girl?” She giggles as if I’ve said something funny.
I nod slowly, waiting for her to speak. Silence never fails to coax something out of her.
“Oh, you mean because of the celebrity status?” She shakes her head. “Edwin would never let me do any of that.” She surveys the room, shoulders drooping. “Any of this, either.”
I want to ask her more, to find out what’s going on with those vultures. The way they circled her, the way they stared. Like she’s their meal ticket or something. But it’s not my place. Instead, I stare ahead, hands wrapped around the warm ceramic mug.
“Josie was adorbs. Did you see how excited she got?” Mia says into her mug, blowing on the steaming liquid.
I let the silence do the talking.
“She knew all my songs by heart. And the dances. It was really, really cute.”
“Cute? Not sure Grayson thought so.”
She straightens, side-eyeing me. “So, I’m not the only one who got that impression?”
I nod.
“He’s right, you know.” Her voice trails off.
“Right?”
“About keeping Josie away from that life, that world. She should have better role models than me.”
“Maybe.” I know how she feels. Too many boys look up to bull riders, too.
“Fame … isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“You can say that again.”
Her forehead knits, curiosity flashing.
I’ve said enough already. Maybe too much. “Tea okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Crickets and katydids hum outside. A lone owl hoots, eerie and hollow.
Mia’s face cracks into a grin. “Oh, did you hear that? I love owls.”
Something tightens low in my chest.
“Can we go outside? Do you think the stars are visible?”
Her question floors me. There’s only one answer. I remind myself I’m dealing with a city girl.
I shrug, grab my mug, and head for the door. Mia follows with a swish of soft skirts and fruity perfume.
She stands on the last porch step, gripping the railing and looking up. “Wow! This is amazing.”
I shrug, tilting my head heavenward. Don’t know about amazing. It’s every night out here.
She hugs herself, eyes delighting at the glittering swatch of diamond overhead. “So, how’d you become a bodyguard?”
“Plans changed.” I don’t want to get into it. Get into the injury that gutted my life and my career.
Mia laughs, shaking her head.
“What?”
“Questioning you makes me feel like I’m a CIA agent or something. Do I need to waterboard you to get a straight answer?”
I shrug. “Not much of a talker.”
“You should tell me to sit down before major revelations like that. Last thing I want is to faint from shock.”
I step forward, scanning the ground for what I need. Dipping low, I snag a perfectly smooth pebble, pale gray in the full moon’s light, oblong and more flat than long. Unceremoniously, I pocket it.
“Don’t tell me you’re a rockhound.”
She’s funny, I’ll give her that.
“Or,” she says, tapping her finger against her lip. “Maybe you like skipping rocks across the river?”
I survey the vast expanse of valley surrounding the cabin, eyes searching the trees for movement, signs of anything out of place. Law enforcement may have taken a man into custody tonight, but that doesn’t mean I’m off duty.
“Wait, is there even a river around here for skipping?” Our eyes meet, electricity sizzling for one moment before I look away.
Nope, Holt. Not now. Not ever.
“I could spend hours out here,” she says, eyes drooping.
I fight the urge to ask if she’s sure about that. The less talking we do, the better. Need to keep things impersonal, professional.
The curvy blonde’s arms lift in a stretch indulgent enough for a cat. “But this night sky’s putting me to sleep.”
As it should.
She turns back toward the house, blanket pulled more tightly around her, and I watch the graceful dance of her skirt as she heads inside, and I follow. At the window by the front door, I pause, setting the flat rock on the sill just in case. A peace offering to Owl.