Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
MAVERICK
Ihold the phone to my ear, pacing a little way from the cabin. Still close enough to protect—but far enough to give Mia the space and time she needs.
“Did I do okay?” Jack asks.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Never shopped for that stuff before. Had to ask for help.”
I chuckle, imagining the gruff, ex-military cowboy awkwardly casing the crafts section at the grocery store for Mia’s gift.
Mia’s gift.
What the hell am I doing? But the woman needs something to do with her hands. And maybe I need to give her back a piece of herself. No matter how small.
It’s what I’d want.
A nauseating flutter grips my stomach. Dust, blood, the roar of the crowd. Fifteen hundred pounds of muscle coming down hard, pressing me into the grit of the arena. More than tendons wrecked, muscles smashed. A whole life shattered. Another me now relegated to shadow.
“Mav? You still there?”
Stop thinking, Holt. Stop feeling.
“Yeah.”
“Like I said. You let me know when you’re ready for a break, and I’ll take over. Pretty damn quiet here since the debrief.”
I joined the meeting on my phone. Learned more than I care to think about.
“That Edwin guy’s a piece of work…”
I grunt. Already courtesy called the Ranch, demanding Mia’s return. Said the matter could be resolved without the courts … if we turn her back over. But Grayson won’t budge.
I don’t want to think about what this could cost.
“Makes you wonder who she needs saving from.”
He laughs, tense and forced. “You just said the quiet part out loud.”
Not my place. Probably. But maybe I don’t care.
“Grayson won’t cave to that kind of shit.”
“Figured as much,” I say, “but he probably should. Don’t like the thought of Lone Star Security going up against music moguls over all of this.”
“You mean, over one pretty lady.”
I exhale. “One asset.”
He chuckles. Deep voices rumble in the background, and Jack says something. “Got to go.”
I shouldn’t have asked him to get the gift. Now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
But it’s worth every risk—the fear of looking unprofessional. The threat of rumors about the girl. When I enter the cabin, I find her on the couch, singing and hooking fuzzy strips of fiber into a small circle.
I cock my head, taking in the scene. The beauty frowns with concentration, graceful fingers flying. No longer performing. No longer playing a part. It puts an ache behind my ribs.
Lavender and blueberry waft toward me from the big ceramic mug beside her. The tisane’s fragrance twists and twirls with her perfume—all plums, roses, and need.
Twenty-one. Too young for a thirty-five-year-old retired bull rider. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. Mine’s already in the rearview.
“Thought it would be harder. That I wouldn’t remember how, but my fingers knew.” She looks up, a fragile smile greeting me. “For the life of me, I can’t figure something out, though.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, hanging my hat on the hook by the door and stabbing my fingers through the hair plastered to my forehead. Still hotter than hell out there.
“How you found the time to get this?”
I shrug. “Colleague owed me a favor.”
Her lips press into a firm line, eyes going misty. “And how … you knew?”
“You needed something in your hands. Something sturdy. Something grounding. Then, while researching your case, I came across an old Good Morning USA clip.”
Her mint eyes dance over my face, soft, intentional, like a caress.
“No matter how you come across, Maverick, you actually do care.”
I shift uneasily. Words almost stumble out, but I won’t let them. She doesn’t need an asshole. And she doesn’t need a liar. Instead, I say, “Yes, I do care … about you.”
Her eyes drop to her hands, her face darkening. “Makes me wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“How different things could be if I were just a woman, and you were just a man—not my bodyguard?”
My chest tightens, a sharp ache lodging behind my ribs.
“Stuff like that. What-ifs will make you mighty crazy.”
She sets the yarn and crochet hook in her lap. “What-ifs are the only thing that keep me going.”
“I don’t get it,” I confess, stepping closer and eyeing the spot next to her on the couch. Can’t go there. Won’t let myself. “You’ve got everything people dream of,” I murmur. “And it still isn’t enough?”
“What I have, I never wanted.”
Questions snake through my mind. But only one matters. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
She pats the spot next to her. “I won’t bite, and—”
“I know. I know. I’m off duty,” I say impatiently, taking the seat opposite her in front of the hearth. “Only I’m not, Mia.”
“What you are is no fun at all,” she says decidedly, corners of her mouth drawing down until I’m pretty sure she’s pouting.
Never had a woman accuse me of this before. Not since the injury stole my dream.
“Not here for fun. Here to protect.”
Her face goes imperious. “Then, you might as well make yourself useful. How about refilling the kettle and heating more water for me? My tea could use a refresh.”
I give her a warning glare, not amused by the sudden shift into servitude. “Anything else, Princess?”
Her face goes mischievous again, and I brace for more temptation. “Just honey. Lots of honey.”
Fuck. She has to go there. My fists ball, and I mutter under my breath. Last complication I need—wanting my asset. One so high-profile, there’s no way I’ll avoid scrutiny.
When I place two steaming mugs on the table, she pats the spot next to her on the couch again. “Remember when I said I wanted a human to talk to?”
I nod.
Sarcasm threads her laugh. “Guess I’ll have to make do with you.”
“Let me guess,” I grumble.
“Off duty,” she says—with a look that tells me exactly why that’s a problem.