Page 49 of Want You Back

“You don’t have to say anything. Just let me love you. And let me stay.” He took on the same determined expression as Willow attacking an obstacle, but Maverick staying was way more than a barrel in the arena. “I’m going to stay.”

“I can’t let you give up your California life.” Groaning, I thumped my head against the pillow. He was offering me the thing I’d wanted most at eighteen, but my almost-forty self knew better than to accept. The price was too high. “How the heck is you staying supposed to work anyway? Faith wants to sell. You hate the idea of being a rancher.”

“I don’t have all the answers.” Maverick shrugged as if this were an insignificant point. “But I want to find a way. For you. For Hannah. For Willow. I want to stay and make this work.”

“You listed everyone but yourself.” A harsh shudder raced through me, loosening the words stuck in my throat. “I love you too much to let you be miserable.”

“You love me.” Maverick beamed like I’d handed him a gift. “And I love you. Let me worry about making this work.”

He kissed me then, soft, like a signature on a contract, a promise he couldn’t possibly keep. And I, weak and only too human, let him. I had no clue and zero faith this would work out. For a moment, though, the fight left me. He loved me. I loved him. It wasn’t nearly that simple, but just for tonight, I wanted to pretend.

Now What?

“When life bucks you off, you get back on and ride harder.”

~ sign in the Lovelorn Bunkhouse

Chapter28

Maverick

Not surprisingly,I slept like crap after I told Colt Jennings I loved him and I was staying. Nothing like the biggest decision of my life to steal my slumber. Well, and Colt didn’t believe me. Oh, he’d kissed me and held me and pretended to sleep until he actually did, avoiding further conversation. Despite my telling him I’d figure it out, he didn’t actually trust me to do so.

I’d simply have to prove him wrong. Resolved, I padded from Colt’s bedroom at an early hour, dawn sweeping across the arid August skies. I left the sheriff to his very rare chance to sleep in and headed to the kitchen where?—

“Good morning.” Willow sat at the small kitchen table, a glass of juice in front of her, already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, solemn expression in place.

“Uh. Hi.” Never was I more glad that I’d pulled on my jeans from yesterday. My shirt was toast after the long day, so I’d helped myself to one of Colt’s many black T-shirts. Hopefully, Willow either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t care. “I was going to start coffee for your dad.”

“The machine is over there.” She pointed at the far counter closest to the stove.

“Thanks.” Not surprising for Colt, the coffee maker was a barebones model, nothing fancy, easy to set brewing with the nearby ground coffee. As I flipped the switch, I turned my attention back to Willow. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” She sounded so much like her father it was comical, right down to her sharp, thoughtful nod.

“Good.” I stepped to the fridge, finding a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, an assortment of kid-friendly snacks like string cheese and oranges, and not much else. “Do you like French toast?”

“I love it.” Willow graced me with the smallest of smiles. “I know how to make it too.”

“You want to help?” I pulled out the eggs, bread, and milk.

“I guess.” Willow stood up from her chair with a grimace. She was hurting more than she was letting on, but I knew her stoic father well. No way would she take well to me telling her to sit. “There’s sausage in the freezer.”

“Good call.” I retrieved the package of patty sausage from the freezer as Willow limped to fetch a large skillet. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

“Just a little banged up.” She waved a hand, exactly as I’d expected. “I’ll be fine.”

“You remind me of your dad.” I laughed, then sobered. “And your mom. She was tough.”

“You knew her?” Willow narrowed her gaze.

“Yeah, I went to school with her and your dad both.” I found a bowl to mix the eggs, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. “I remember her riding in the rodeo one year with her wrist in a cast.”

Willow darted into the living room to retrieve a framed photo of Betsey holding a tiny girl on a horse. She held it out so I could admire it.

“She used to ride with me in front of her. That’s her horse, Buttercup. My other grandma and grandpa took Buttercup to Arizona after Mom died. Dad had to beg them to leave Pepperjack for me. Mom picked him out just for me, trained him up. It’s not his fault I fell.”

“He’s a good horse,” I agreed. This was possibly the most I’d heard Willow talk at once, and I hoped like heck I wasn’t screwing it up. “Even good horses—and good people—make mistakes.”

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