Chapter 14
maverick
Harold Beattie, the president of McCrae Bank I’ll pretend I didn’t notice. And now you want me to back off?”
“She’s not her father.”
He raises a bushy white brow. “You’re the one who’s been on my ass for months telling me Longhorn was a risk, that I should start pushing for a sale.”
“She’s determined. She deserves a chance.”
He levels me with a stare that screams, ‘Are you serious?’
His eyes narrow suddenly. “You’re not usually in the business of charity, Mav. You ballin’ her, is this what it’s about?”
Now, if I didn’t need Harold fucking Beattie I’d hammer his face for that comment. But you can’t survive in business in a small town if you go around beating up on influential people like those who own banks.
“Wait a few months.”
He groans. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“You think she can pull this off?”
I shrug.
Harold’s face breaks into a smile. “You’re giving her enough rope to hang herself with.”
I don’t confirm or deny his statement. “She’s gonna probably go for the Gunnison Auction. And she’ll have hay soon enough, and by fall apples as well.”
Harold exhales and drums his fingers on the desk. “You offering collateral? Or just your good name?”
“Harold, don’t be a blowhard about this. I know how often you cut a rancher slack, do the same for her.”
He looks sheepish. “It’s not just you who wants that place sold, Mav. I got Hudson and Celine up my ass.”
My jaw clenches. I guessed they’d come to him already. They want to push Aria into a corner, pretty much like I wanted to do.
Then why are you here asking for grace for her?
It’s a fair question—and one that probably deserves a bottle of whiskey and a long night to answer. So, I ignore it.
“If she fails, I’ll make sure the bank doesn’t take a loss.”
“’Cause you’ll buy the place.”
“’Cause I’ll buy the place,” I agree.
He considers that for a long beat, then gives a grunt that sounds like a reluctant agreement.
“She’s got ninety days, Mav. Don’t ask me for more.”
I stand, place my hat on my head, and tip it at him. “Appreciate it, Harold.”
As I walk out of the bank, past the old-timers arguing over whose grandson is going to make state finals in wrestling, I feel good about what I just did.
I’m giving Aria a fair chance, that’s all anyone can ask for.
It’s probably going to bite me in the ass, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
I go to Wild Coffee across the street from the bank on Main to get a cup and maybe one of those delicious croissants Gina bakes.
She came to Wildflower Canyon a couple of years ago from Dallas, where she was a pastry chef at some high-falutin’ place. She lost her husband in Iraq and wanted a quiet place to raise her daughter.
I knew her through a restaurateur friend in Dallas, so I ended up investing in the coffee shop slash bakery, and like Blackwood Prime, it’s a damn good investment.
I sit at the window, sipping coffee, when I see Aria park Rami’s truck right outside the bank.
I had picked up from the grapevine that she’d made an appointment with Harold for this afternoon, which was why I ambushed him before that.
Except for the first day, I haven’t seen her in a dress, I note.
She’s got an odd combination of fancy blouses going with worn jeans and boots. My guess, she’s wearing stuff from when she used to live here—some of it fits and some doesn’t.
At least she has a proper jacket for the weather, so that’s a small mercy.
I drink two coffees while I wait for her, and when she comes out. I get to her before she gets to her truck.
“Coffee?” I offer, leaning casually against the driver’s door, preventing her from opening it.
She’s taken aback, and her eyes look confused for a moment, a very tiny moment. “What?”
I ask slowly, maybe a little smugly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No,” she replies quickly, like she just found her bearings.
I like it that I’ve shaken her up a bit. This woman is making me perverse.
“I was walking by,” I lie smoothly, nodding across the street. “Saw you. Thought you might need something warm.”
“I—”
“How about coffee, my treat, and a conversation, yours?”
“Look, I’m not ready to sell and—”
“Won’t even bring it up.” I lay my hat on my chest. “Hand to God!”
That makes her lips twitch.
“Do you even go to church?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shoots me an almost amused look. “When does that happen?”
“Weddings and funerals.”
That makes her actually smile, but she folds her lips into a frown faster than a spooked Tate at the sound of a rattler.
“Okay. You can buy me a cup of coffee,” she relents.
I wave my hand toward Wild Coffee. She walks with me.
“How did your meeting at the bank go?” I ask casually.
“Better than I thought it would. Thank you.”
She’s so polite that it’s unnerving and annoying.
We sit at the window, next to one another, and Gina brings us two lattes. This is my fourth cup of coffee of the day. At this rate, I’m going to be vibrating like a fence post in a windstorm.
“How did you know I had a meeting at the bank?” She asks as she blows into her coffee.
“Saw you come out of there…plus, small town.”
“Right,” she mutters, her voice flat. “I forgot how quickly gossip travels here.”
“Faster than a jackrabbit with its tail on fire,” I agree.
That makes her chuckle.
I’m on a roll, making this woman relax with me.
She stares out of the window. I watch her. I see the weight she’s carrying, the exhaustion she’s pretending she’s not feeling. A lot has happened to her in a span of a few days.
“How are things at Longhorn?”
“I’m figurin’ it all out, slow and steady. But I don’t have the luxury of slow and steady—and I sure as hell don’t have the money to go fast.”
I’m surprised at her candor.
“Can I help?” I ask.
She gives me a measured look. “Can you?”
I grin. “May I help?”
She laughs this time. Her face transforms.
Fuck me! But she’s something else when her eyes light up. I feel it in my cock. I’m a man of forty, I’m way past the days when I get aroused in the company of a woman because I can smell her perfume.
“How can you help?” She takes a sip of her coffee.
“I can buy some land and—”
“Maverick,” she cuts me off. “I thought we decided you wouldn’t bring that up.”
“Not buy Longhorn. Just…buy some land.”
She glowers. “That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.” I shift so I’m facing her, locking her eyes to mine. “I’ll buy a section—pay you a fair price. You get capital. I’ll lease it back to you. Hell, we can draw up a contract that lets you buy it back in five years, same rate. No bullshit.”
She stares at me with those dark eyes, wary and sharp as a scalpel. “Why would you want to do that?”
“’Cause you deserve a chance to make it.”
Until I say the words to her, I don’t realize how much I mean them.
I respect her for wanting to keep the ranch, to make it work, to bring it back to its glory.
I like a woman with a spine, with courage, one who can look at the storm that’s coming and still roll up her sleeves and put one step in front of the other.
“You want a hand up,” I argue when she doesn’t say anything. “Not a handout. I’m offering the former.”
She gives me a long, assessing look. “Thirty acres. On the south ridge. You buy it for fair market value. We put it in writing that I have the right to repurchase it within five years—same price, adjusted for inflation.”
My eyes linger on her, enjoying her. “So, I don’t get paid a dime for my efforts?”
She rolls her eyes before shooting me a pointed look. “And you don’t touch it in the meantime. No development, no subleasing, no fencing it off for anything other than grazing. Ranch use only.”
I smile. “Alright, you’ve twisted my arm.”
Her lips twitch again. I feel like I won something.
“Excellent,” she replies, her tone lighter than I’ve ever heard it. “But if I so much as hear you’re planting roses or some shit for a wedding venue, I’ll burn it to the damn ground myself.”
I raise a hand, palm out. “I swear to treat it like I’d treat my own land, Aria. And I fuckin’ hate weddings.”
So, when we get married, we’re gonna elope.
I am stunned at the reckless thought that runs through my mind.
What the fuck?
I barely know this woman.
She drains her cup and bites her lower lip. She’s not being provocative or trying to seduce me, but she’s doing both, without making an effort.
Yeah, I have regressed to being a fuckin’ teenager with a boner because the girl he has a crush on is looking at him!
“I can’t sell without Celine agreeing to it,” she says pensively. “And…I know she wants to sell…but I doubt she’ll agree to put the money from the sale back into the ranch.”
“Let me handle Celine.”
Her eyes darken, her lips press into a tight line. “I don’t care how good you are in bed, Maverick, she’s not going to give up a hundred grand ‘cause of it.”
“I’m not sleeping with her,” I bite the words out because she’s pissing me off with her accusations. “I told you, I don’t share.”
Aria gives me a dry, disbelieving look. “I’ll talk to Celine and see how it goes and reach out to you. Thank you for offering your help.”
She’s back to being polite. I fucking hate it.
She pushes up from the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“I’ve given you no reason to distrust me.”
“Or any to trust you.” She tilts her chin in acknowledgement. “Again, thank you. I appreciate it.”
I watch her walk out, her braid swinging provokingly.
That’s one tough woman. Sharp-tongued, suspicious, proud—and still, somehow, elegant in the way she holds herself even when she’s unraveling.
She’s a hell of a woman.
And damn me, I’m attracted to her.
I want her.
Even if she is prickly as hell.
Hell, especially because she is prickly as hell.