Chapter 12
maverick
“Celine, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I step away from her as she corners me outside the restroom.
“But, Mav, I love you.”
Jesus Fuckin’ Christ!
“I’ve been in love with you since—”
I cut her off. I just don’t want to hear it ‘cause if I do, I may say some things that I’ll regret. “We’re friends; that’s all we’ve ever been, darlin’.”
She licks her lips, looks at me with baby blue eyes. There’s hurt and affection in them—and before Mac read that damn will, I’d believe what I saw, now I’m not sure. I’ve always thought she was harmless. Now….
“Only because I’m married,” she argues. “Hudson and I are getting divorced, I told you. We’re not even sharing a bedroom, Mav.”
“Look—”
“He’s sleeping with her,” she hisses. “She wants him. She can have him. I’m not even remotely interested in him.”
I narrow my eyes. “She?” I ask even though I know who she’s talking about.
Celine’s eyes widen. “You know who!”
I regard her with quiet consideration and then shake my head. “Your sister’s been here a minute, Celine. I doubt she’s sleeping with him.”
She gives me a wounded look. “I saw them—”
I wave a hand to silence her because I can tell she’s about to lie to me. “It doesn’t matter who he’s sleeping with. I am not sleeping with you.”
She smiles wanly and puts a hand on my chest. “That’s not what I want either, Mav…well, I do, but after. I want us to”—she lets out a long breath—"have a relationship. Build us.”
I take her hand, walk her out of the hallway, and into the piano room, which is now empty.
I move away from her and hold my hands palms out so she knows I don’t want her touching me.
So much for my plan to keep it copacetic!
“You deserve to be happy, Celine. I’m not the man who can make that happen.”
“You make me happy,” she insists. “I know I can make you happy.”
Her eyes shine with hope. She steps forward.
I step back.
It’s a sad dance, one I know well. Celine isn’t the first woman who’s wanted more than I’ve wanted to give.
I have not met a woman yet whom I want to commit myself to. When that happens, I’ll be all in, but until then, I’m not going to compromise, pretend I feel something I don’t.
I may play all the games I need to when it comes to business, but when it comes to relationships, I’m pretty simple. I have many friends, very few of them I consider family. Friends come and go. Family stays.
Celine is neither.
“Mav, please. Give us a chance.”
I don’t want to hurt her, but she’s not giving me a choice. “I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to pursue anything more than friendship, Celine. I never have.”
She puts a hand to her heart, stricken. “Mav, but…you’re always there for me. I know what you feel for me.”
“I’m not always there for you,” I correct her. “I make time when I can, when I’m able. Right now, you lost your father, so I’m being supportive.”
Regardless of what she’s purporting, I’m not Celine’s ‘three a.m., my car broke down, pick me up three hours away’ phone call. She has a husband for that.
“No.” She has a determined look on her face. “You love me. I can feel it.”
Well, this is awkward!
“I care about you as I care about all my friends.”
“Like Elena?” Her eyes flash with something ugly, something I’ve never seen before, or maybe I didn’t want to see it. I was so busy thinking she’s sweet and na?ve that....
“Elena is not up for discussion,” I warn softly, but she doesn’t notice, because if she did, she would’ve shut the fuck up.
“You said you never slept with Elena.” There’s hurt in her voice.
I don’t like to intentionally hurt anyone.
“I like my women soft. Classy. The kind who don’t confuse attitude for value.”
I sigh as I remember my harsh words to Aria. That was unprovoked and cruel. Those words seem so much worse in the light of what I learned today.
Rami didn’t hate his daughter for leaving; he was sorry for not asking her to come back. He was sorry for treating his daughter unfairly—not the one who’s making googly eyes at me, but the other one, the one I unfairly and wrongly called ‘unattractively masculine’.
Joy once told me that men often devolve into name-calling because they lack a moral high ground to stand on. I did that with Aria when I insinuated she was an angry little girl who wouldn’t know femininity if it slapped her in the face.
“Celine, who I sleep with and don’t is only my business and my partner’s,” I say softly, but with steel in my voice.
I’m fucking done here.
“Mav—”
“You have a nice rest of your day, Celine.”
I leave Longhorn Ranch and barely make it past the county road before my phone buzzes.
It’s one of my foremen. Water pressure’s dropped. The pump at the southern irrigation line is acting up again. I turn the truck around and head straight to the lower pasture.
Ranchers don’t get days off.
This isn’t a job—it’s a life where breakdowns happen in the middle of your dinner, where calves are born at two a.m., and weather forecasts dictate your sleep schedule.
The water pump’s been limping along since the start of the year. I’ve been meaning to replace the valve, but I just didn’t have the time. Now, it’s screaming for attention. Now, I gotta make time.
I still have an ugly taste in my mouth after the confrontation with Celine when I pull up.
I hop out, grab my tools from the bed of the truck, and kneel in the mud, sleeves rolled. The pipe’s old, the joint corroded, and I know I’ll be here a while.
While I work, I think about Aria and go over what I learned during the will reading. Recall how she walked away from Hudson, how Nadine and Earl made room for her.
Nadine and Earl were tough salt-of-the-earth people. If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t give you the time of day. They cared about Aria. I saw it in the way they held her hand, supported her.
I have a feeling I’ve pegged the older Delgado sister wrong because of Celine, who I’m now starting to believe is suffering from garden-variety sibling rivalry, which makes no sense.
Celine is technically married and lives a comfortable life, living off her family.
Aria has to work for a living and, from all accounts, seems to be single, though I actually don’t know. Maybe she has a boyfriend, a husband, or a harem back in California. Who the fuck knows?
Physically, there’s no contest between the two—Celine would win every pageant.
The only thing Celine could be jealous of is Aria’s poise, her elegance, her strength. There’s a calm about her. A ‘you have no power over me’ attitude.
When I get home a couple of hours later, Joy isn’t there. She texted me while I was battling with the pump to let me know she’s at the Barrel & Bridle.
Not wanting to be alone with my conflicting thoughts about the woman who’s taking up way too much real estate in my head, I take a shower and decide to join my sister for a greasy dinner.
The noise hits me like a gust of prairie wind as soon as I push through the door of Barrel & Bridle. Boots stomping, laughter sharp, and Willie Nelson on the jukebox playing through half-working speakers.
The bar smells like beer-soaked wood, deep fryer oil, and old leather—all layered with a faint haze of cigarette smoke that clings to the ceiling beams like ghosts too stubborn to leave.
No one uses their inside voices. Folks are here to be loud, to blow off steam, and to drink hard after working harder.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Joy remarks when I walk up to her and Elena.
They are at a table tucked between the pool table and a line of barstools where three ranch hands in Carhartt jackets are arguing about bull semen quality like it’s gospel.
I give Elena a quick hug before I sit next to my sister.
One of the ranch hands in a blue Carhartt jacket all but screams, “Straws from that high-dollar Angus bull out of Nebraska ain’t easy to come by, so knock it off, asshole.”
Joy grimaces. “You know, in New York, people talked about bitcoin. Here? They talk about....”
Elena smirks and tips her beer toward the men. “Around here, bull semen’s more valuable than bitcoin. And this investment can walk.”
A ranch hand, this one in a gray Carhartt jacket, turns and calls out, “What do you say, Mav? If you were buyin’, what would you go for?”
I lean back in my chair, think about it for a second. “Right now? I’d go with the Pine Ridge Blackcap line. Solid maternal traits, steady gains, and good on-feed efficiency. If you’re breeding for growth and longevity, that’s the direction I’d lean.”
“I told you.” The ranch hand tells his companion and gets back to his conversation and beer.
Joy rolls her eyes. “Solid maternal traits? What? He has his mother’s hips?”
“Squirt, cattle genetics is sexy as fuck when you’re a rancher.” I jostle her shoulder with mine.
“Only in ranch country can you overhear a debate on bull semen and know they’re dead serious,” Elena remarks, sipping her Wild Turkey. “Fertility rates are practically dinner conversation around a ranch table.”
“So, brother dearest, what are you doing here?” Joy asks.
“Yeah, Mav, you slummin’ it?” Elena teases.
“She’s the bitcoin snob.” I lift my chin toward Joy. “You know me, I’d rather have greasy wings and a cold beer over microgreens and chardonnay.”
“Good, because the aioli here is called ranch and comes in a crusty squeeze bottle.” Joy picks up a French fry and dips it into ketchup. “You know…I don’t need microgreens, but I wouldn’t mind a nice French chardonnay.”
“We know,” Elena groans. “She asks at the Barrel & Bridle if they have wine.”
“They said they have red or white.” Joy shudders. “It comes from a cardboard box.”
“The horror.” I mock and pick up her drink and sniff. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a gin and tonic.”
I frown. “They make cocktails here?”
“No.” Joy makes a face. “I had to order gin and tonic water separately and make it myself.”
I wave to get the attention of a server who strolls up to us and asks me in a bored tone what I’d like.
“You ladies want more to eat?”
They shake their head but ask for another round of drinks.