Page 1 of Coming Home to Maverick

Chapter 1

Maverick dipped his hat lower against the hot Texas sun. A man’s hat could hide a lot of things, unfortunately not everything. His forearms flexed against the rough wood of the split-rail fence, as he stretched his fingers open and closed. His mind was so far away he hardly noticed Colton or the new horse in the small corral used for training horses. This new colt was fighting every effort to break him, and Maverick didn’t blame him one bit. He knew his thoughts were ridiculous, but he suddenly wanted that horse on the run, leaping over the fence and taking off across the pasture. Their new trainer was having a devil of a time with the Spawn of Satan, and Maverick wanted to see who would break first—Colton, the trainer, or Spawn, his horse. His bets were on Colton. The horse had passion, fire, and a strong will, exactly what Maverick needed in himself right now.

The tension in the horse’s flank, his flared nostrils, and the dance of trainer and horse were familiar, comforting. Maverick imagined himself out there, facing the whip, as he tried to distract himself from the shattering news of a just a few hours ago.

Their property, which stretched for miles in every direction, had always felt like a safe haven. He’d felt God in those hills countless times. But even the stark beauty of the rugged, rocky terrain and rolling green hills couldn’t protect him from the news that had sent him out riding the fence line, checking their bales of hay, inspecting the tractors in the back barn, and then finally here to the horse paddock. He’d tried to send some prayers up to Heaven on the way, but at least that afternoon, God was being strangely silent.

His phone rang. “Yeah.”

“Where are you?” Dylan’s gruff voice made him smile.

“You worried about me?”

“I’m more worried about the paperwork I gotta send to the accountant.”

Maverick didn’t believe that for a second. “Colton needed some support.”

The quiet on the line said more than any response could have. Maverick was hiding. They all knew it.

Maverick grunted. “And I needed some space.”

“So you heard.”

“How could I not hear when no one can stop talking about it?”

“You coming in for lunch?”

The whole family gathered for lunch every day. It was more like a late breakfast, but it was a family rule that they show up. And for the first time in a long time, Maverick wished he could avoid them, at least for a little while longer. The last time had been when they’d laid their father to rest in the family plot on the northwest corner of their property. His father had been his hero; he’d raised four boys into men, created a successful thriving ranch, and left the Dawson Ranch legacy to Maverick.

And now Maverick’s fiancée had returned after six years, with no explanation, no effort to reach out. She just showed back up in their hometown. And he found himself needing some solitude.

Spawn kicked up his back legs and leapt around the paddock, trying to rid himself of the newly placed saddle. Maverick envied the horse. When would it ever be acceptable for Maverick to kick up his heels and buck off whatever he didn’t want to deal with?

But he knew he’d best be heading back to the kitchen, or he’d suffer the wrath of Mama. And no one with any sense or brains messed with his mama. He grinned. They owed everything to the strength of that very short woman. “I’ll be there.”

He heard a grunt of approval or relief or something—who knew what Dylan’s grunts meant—and then he hung up the phone. His gaze traveled over the surrounding hills, the patchwork green and tan of the hay they put out every year to feed the livestock. In a couple months, they’d be bringing in the cows to sell at auction. They’d harvest their crops and nestle in for the winter months. The guys would start in on the rodeo circuit, Mama would participate in the local craft shows and fairs, and he’d take a break.

He hopped on the ATV, waved good luck to Colton, who was being controlled by the young horse, and then took the longest path back to the house.

He offered a prayer as he crested the ridge overlooking his family’s homestead. “Thank you Lord for all the goodness in our lives, for my brothers and my Mother.” He paused, expecting a rush of satisfaction. They’d built something special. The Dawson brothers were known for their cattle, their horses, and their rodeo championships. His father would be proud. They were all fine, honorable men. And according to Dad, that’s what mattered. “I don’t care what career you choose,” he used to say, “but be honest, hardworking, and competent at whatever it is.”

Except in Maverick’s case, Dad did care what he became. Maverick was the new head of the Dawson Ranch, the new head of the family, as prescribed in the will his father left. Only, Maverick felt like half the man his father had been. He turned the ATV back down the path. His other brothers were pulling up to the house. Time for lunch. He finished his prayer. “I should be grateful, and I am. Help me to show it today even though I’ve had some hard news.” He grit his teeth, knowing he should say the next words, but finding it difficult. “And please bless Bailey. She must have gone through an awful lot. Amen.”

A loud, musical horn echoed across the valley, and he shook his head. Nash. Sounded like his youngest brother was in high form. His Jeep spun out in the gravel at the start of the long drive, and then he slowed to a crawl as he approached the house. Maverick nodded to himself. Nash knew better than to throw dust all over Mama’s flowers. Mama was continually reminding them that someday they’d have grandkids running around the front yard and they’d all have to be careful.

Grandkids. Maverick had stopped counting how old his kids would have been if he and Bailey had actually been married. They could have had two by then. Or maybe they would have had a long honeymoon relationship with no children. He’d have liked that just as well.

“Stop,” he told himself again. Bailey’s return to Willow Creek had brought back emotions he thought he’d buried years ago. But pieces of his heart still longed for her and felt as raw as the day she left. Before he could shut out the memory, the view of the long aisle at the church filled his mind—the pews decorated with ribbons and flowers, the floor sprinkled with flower petals. Everyone they knew and loved smiling up at him, his mother’s eyes full of tears, and his father’s full of pride. He swallowed the lump in his throat before it could turn into anything that would make his eyes red when he walked into lunch with his family.

He drove down the side of the hill and parked his ATV in the garage, wiping off the trail dust and placing the keys on the hook. Then he went through the workroom, tidying the few items out of place. He brushed the dust off himself again, wiped his face, and ran a hand through his hair. His hat went on a hook—no hats at the dinner table. He was about to open the door into the house when his mama’s voice stopped him.

“We love you, son. We’ll support you in whatever you want to do.”

He turned to face her. Her hair was still damp from her shower, the soft curls framing her face. She stood near the entry into the house, watching him, seeing through his stoic front. Mama was a dear, but she had no notion of the private emotions of a man’s heart.

“What I want to do?”

Her eyes were kind with a hint of sorrow, and he hated that he was the cause. She handed him some napkins to bring in from the storage room and a bin for extra dishes.

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