CHAPTER 79
maverick
Alow blanket of mist hovered over the lake, thin and rolling with the cool morning air.
The clouds overhead were thick as they caught the sunrise, creating a moody haze that I reveled in.
What light managed to break through spread across the rippling surface in soft streaks of dull gold and rosy pink.
Duke trotted ahead of me along the shoreline, his paws splashing in the shallow water.
Every now and then, he paused to sniff at who knew what.
His snout and paws were wet and covered in sand.
So much for the groomer’s trip yesterday.
But his tail was wagging so fast that I had to step back a bit to avoid being smacked with it continuously.
The cool air seeped through my light jacket, but I didn’t mind the cold.
I thrived in it. It helped clear my head before the day started.
The lake was alive in a different way at this hour.
Ripples along the surface were a telltale sign of fish searching for something to eat, while birds dipped in where they could.
It was peaceful and soft, quiet and energizing.
Duke looked back at me as if asking for permission. He may have been psycho, but at least he listened well.
“Go on,” I said. The words were barely out of my mouth before he bounded ahead, splashing through the water. Hands in my pockets, I trailed after him, letting him take the lead.
The picture Roxy sent me of Carson with his little about me board and his first day of school had me laughing my ass off. It was more of a mug shot than a school picture.
“That poor kid,” I said loud enough to be heard. My phone was set up on a dashboard arm, the speaker on, as I drove through the backroads of farm country. It was just me, long grass, and the occasional herd of cows. So thrilling. “He looked miserable!”
“I’m telling you, Mav,” Roxy replied, “that boy would be happy completely alone for the rest of his life.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I assured her.
“I know.” She sighed heavily. “I’m just worried he won’t make any friends, you know?”
I did know. We had this conversation often.
“Carson’s just an introvert,” I said. “He’s happy on his own. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I know, I know. I just want him to make one friend this year. Just one Maverick. Just one. No one should be all alone in life.”
“He’ll get there, Roxy.” At least, I hoped he would. “You can’t force that kind of thing. It won’t go well.”
“Yeah, but I can express all my motherly worries to you,” she retorted.
“Always.”
“Did you decide if you’re taking the barn job today?”
“Yeah,” I said, recognizing her need to distract from her worries about Carson.
Roxy was doing her best not to be an overbearing mom—not to be one of those helicopter moms—but she quietly obsessed over every little detail of his life.
And that was where I came in. I was the sounding board for her stress, so she didn’t put it on him.
“I figured I could go out, give it a once-over, and then say we can’t do the job. ”
“What if we can do the job?” she countered. From the tone in her voice, I knew she was hoping I’d take the job, like somehow this would make up for all the unpaid accounts we had accumulated. “I’m just asking that you don’t walk into this expecting to turn them down.”
“I will give it an honest assessment,” I promised her. And then still tell them no anyway.
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Not a chance. You have the day off. You’re not allowed to do shit,” I told her. I slowed down and eased into the turn as the road turned to the dirt drive leading to the farm. “Go do… Roxy things.”
“I don’t know what that looks like,” she admitted.
“Well, look at that. You have a whole day to figure it out,” I said as I passed under the arch of trees. “I’ve got to go, Rox. I’ll update you tomorrow about the barn and everything else with my business because it’s my business, but I can’t run it without you.”
“Damn straight you can’t. Bye!” She hung up before I could.
I bypassed the main house to head toward the barn.
Though I did slow down to peek at it—to assess the house’s condition as if that would tell me what to expect when I got to the barn.
The house looked nice, so there was hope that the barn was too.
The dirt road wound around the side of the house and back across the large plot of land to where the barn sat in the middle of everything. As I parked and got out, I studied it.
From the outside, it had seen better days. The red paint was faded and dulled with age and rust. Wide patches of bare wood showed through, stripped down by sun, rain, and wind. A few boards along the sides were warped, but overall, it wasn’t bad. With a little TLC, it’d be good to go.
Well, as long as the inside held up as well.
I pulled open the big sliding door and wandered inside.
The contrast was immediate. The interior was in surprisingly good shape.
It was dry and sturdy. The beams overhead were thick and well-set.
The wood had darkened with old age, but there were no visible signs of weakening.
Dust floated lazily in the light spiraling through the high windows, illuminating a space that had been maintained better than the outside.
A few boards needed replacing, and some of the hinges appeared rusted. They’d need replacing, too.
Every repair I noted was minor, which was a good thing.
I heard a car door shut outside the barn and footsteps on the gravel. I glanced at my watch to check the time. A little late, but not horrible.
“I’m so sorry,” a voice—a very familiar voice—said. I turned as he strode through the open door and stopped when his gaze collided with mine.
Harley Lowell.
Oh, how the universe had a sense of humor.
For a second, we just stared at one another—the kind of pause that comes when your mind recognizes someone before it fully catches up with reality.
He looked… different. It wasn’t drastic, and it wasn’t like he was unrecognizable. It was in the little things about him.
A full beard framed his jaw, well-kept but thick enough to offer a new kind of ruggedness to his soft features.
His hair was a little longer than he used to keep it, and it was pushed back from his face.
Flyaways curled slightly off his neck and splayed across his forehead.
Wire glasses sat on his nose, and a black and white flannel jacket wrapped around his broad shoulders.
The flannel surprised me. It was completely unlike anything I’d ever seen him wear.
It wasn’t a fancy, tailored choice. Neither were the faded jeans and work boots he wore.
The biggest change, however, was a little harder to pinpoint than that. It was the way he carried himself—shoulders sloped and posture relaxed. That change was subtle, something only someone who knew him would notice.
And he still looked good. Damn good, if I was being honest. Time had been more than kind to him.
It had matured him in a way that erased the perfect golden boy and replaced him with someone a little messy and sexy around the edges.
Those same blue eyes widened slightly as his gaze raked over me the same way mine did over him.
“Hello, Harley.”