Page 12 of The Maverick of the Mountain
“I’m sorry,” Maverick blurts, setting my foot back down. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I blink, sighing as the acute pain subsides. “It’s more tender than I thought, I guess. It’s been one of those days. But this is helping me so much. I feel like I’m at a spa.”
Maverick eases up, turning his attention back to my foot. He’s been gentle the entire time, but now he’s really being delicate with me, and it sends a fluttering sensation through my chest.
He laughs to himself, shaking his head.
I peer down at him curiously. “What?”
“Just thought you were kinda right with that spa comment. You’ve got the mud mask and everything.”
I snort, touching my face. It feels rough and soft and mushy, the mud in various states of hardness. I should probably care more about the mess I’m in, but I don’t want to ruin this good thing I have going on. Besides, if I looked insane, Maverick would tell me, right? He’d be gentle about it.Here’s a warm washcloth for your face, sweetheart.I’m getting chills, thinking about it. “I guess you’re right. You know, you could charge a pretty penny for this kind of treatment.”
“Mountain Mud…” he mutters. “Just need to teach Hank how to give a proper massage, and I think we’ll be in business.”
“You’ll have customers flocking here.”
But then I have a strange thought and an even stranger feeling. I know we’re only joking, but the idea of Maverick rubbing other women’s feet sends a jab of jealousy through me. Whoa. I really need to calm down. And eat. I’m still starving, so that’s why I’m all over the place, thinking crazy thoughts about Maverick. Hunger, exhaustion, and stress—it’s the wicked combo.
“I’ll have to shut down my woodshop.”
“Well, maybe wait until the money starts flowing. You’ll have to tell me what I owe you after this.”
Maverick’s holding the washcloth above the basin, letting it drip. The silence between us hangs longer than I expect.
“Only thing I want is for you not to go out on that mountain alone again.” His voice turns dark. Shadows on his face. “You don’t know what kind of danger you can walk into.” He looks at me seriously but then relaxes, smiling. “Chipmunks can get a little wily.”
I laugh as he begins working on my foot again. I’m pretty sure both feet are clean, but he’s being thorough. I don’t mind.
“That’s what started this whole thing. They ambushed me on a trail.”
“You met the Chipmunk Crew?”
“Have they terrorized you, too?”
Maverick nods. “We’ve got a truce. I make sure they’ve got a feeder full of nuts and seeds, and they leave me and Hank alone when we’re wandering through their territory.”
Territory? Theyarea gang.
“Which reminds me,” Maverick says, leaning back as he scratches his head. “I think I forgot this week’s supply.”
I snort. “So I can blame you for this one.”
Maverick smiles, and it sends a jolt through my core—the way it stands out from beneath his thick beard and reaches his kind eyes, a deep brown. Warm and inviting, like I’m looking into a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
“I’ll shoulder the blame. So now we’re about even.”
“About?”
“I need you to promise me not to explore the mountain on your own. At least, stick to the well-worn trails during the daytime. Deal?”
I shake my head.
“Oh?”
I slip my feet out of the warm basin. Maverick’s gaze dips momentarily, and I swear I hear him groan.
“I want you to show me around. I’m sure you know some of the best places to photograph, given you’re a real-life mountain man.”
