Page 22 of Waiting for the Rancher
“You and Pa made a good team,” Maverick said.
“We sure did.” Mrs. Oakley’s eyes filled with a wistfulness Hazel had seen there before whenever Mr. Oakley was mentioned. Hazel had always admired the couple’s marriage. Their love for each other had been so evident, especially in the way Mr. Oakley had treated his wife. His every interaction with her had been sweet and kind and considerate, as if she were more important than anything or anyone else in his life.
With that kind of love given freely and so generously day after day, what woman could resist loving that man passionately in return? Just as Mrs. Oakley had done.
She tired easily, and Hazel and Maverick didn’t stay much longer before heading out into the spacious sitting area of the large cabin.
Sofas covered in colorful pillows and blankets were positioned in front of a central fireplace that was blazing and crackling with welcome heat. Glowing candles on the large log mantel added to the warmth.
Hazel had always loved the wide-open room with several bedrooms as well as the kitchen on the main floor and a loft above. She’d spent many a night giggling with Clementine and Clarabelle in the loft during sleepovers when they’d all been younger.
Now only Clarabelle joined her and Maverick in front of the hearth while Clementine took over the care of Mrs. Oakley. For a while, the three of them reminisced about the past, until finally Clarabelle yawned and stood, excusing herself with the need to go to bed.
After Clarabelle closed the door of her room behind her, Hazel expected Maverick to suggest that they go to bed too, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. And with him sitting only a foot away on the same sofa, Hazel wasn’t ready for her time with Maverick to end, even though her eyes were growing heavy.
As usual, Maverick was full of stories about everyone and everything, always animated and easy to talk to. Even though he was much too handsome sitting on the sofa nearby, she somehow managed to keep her thoughts in line, which came from years of practice.
“Do you remember that time when Sterling and me snuck up on the roof and climbed in through the loft window?” His voice held a note of contentedness, and his eyes were alight. He was sprawled out, his legs stretched out in front of himself and his arms draped over the back of the sofa.
“You snuck in on us more than one time.” She loved seeing him this way, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
His grin widened. “We were good at getting in without you hearing us.”
“We just pretended not to hear you because we felt sorry for you.”
He lifted his hand near her head and tugged on her braid. “That’s not true.”
“It is true.”
“What about the night we put toads in the bed? I suppose you heard us and just waited to start screaming until we were outside?” He hadn’t removed his hand from her hair. Instead, he gently fidgeted with the plait.
“Maybe we didn’t hear you that time. But we usually did.”
He skimmed his fingers down her braid a little ways and then back up, still not letting go.
She couldn’t read into his action. It didn’t mean anything. Even so, her heartbeat pattered faster.
“Those were good times.” His tone turned nostalgic, and he was staring into the fire, his expression growing pensive. All the while, he grazed her braid, probably not even realizing he was doing it.
She could guess why his mood was shifting... because he was thinking about Sterling and the friendship they’d shared. The two had always been so close with so many adventures and so many common interests.
“I’m sorry, Maverick.” She leaned toward him and patted his knee. “I know the rift with Sterling is hard.”
He didn’t respond except to drop his other hand—the one that wasn’t fingering her braid—on top of hers at his knee. He patted hers once, twice, then left it there.
She started to pull her hand away, but he grasped it more firmly, as though trying to communicate that he needed her comfort and understanding. That’s all it was—her being available for him when he needed her.
“He’ll eventually accept what happened,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean he’ll ever forgive me.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. With his hands now wreaking havoc in two places, how would she be able to concentrate enough to communicate?
Maybe if she blocked out his face, she’d be able to ignore his touch better. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “He’s stubborn, but he’s rational.”
“But he’s hurt real bad. And hurt can make a man sore for a long time.”
“Sterling’s too stubborn to let it keep him down for too long.” She couldn’t control the yawn that escaped.
“I oughta let you get to bed.” His voice was soft, apologetic.
