Page 23 of The Maverick of the Mountain
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Just wanted to check in on you.”
I pant, hand over my heart as I take a few jagged breaths, the surge of adrenaline still coursing through me as I slowly find my smile.
“It’s okay. I didn’t think you’d be able to sneak up on me like that.”
His hand feels warm and comforting on my neck. Heat radiates down my spine and around my chest.
He glances at the card. “Snooping?”
The heat rises to my cheeks. “A little.” I wave the postcard in front of me. “Your grandpa seems like an interesting man.” I slide it back into the bookcase and then look back at Maverick. His hand is still on my neck, and I’m still loving the weight and feel of it.
He nods. “He was.” His fingers move gently, absently along my neck as he glances at the bookcase. “The most interesting man I’ve ever known.”
He lets out a deep sigh a few moments later, removing his hand. “Did you find my note?”
I swallow, turning to him. “Oh, no. I just woke up.”
“I left some breakfast for you in the oven. Should’ve kept it warm and out of reach of Hank,” he adds, smiling back at me as he heads to the kitchen.
I follow him, feeling each thud from his steps. “Where’s Hank, anyway?”
Maverick groans. “He’s off with his lady friend.”
I snort. “Lady friend?”
Maverick shakes his head, grabbing the handle for the oven and wrenching it open. “Yup.”
I smile, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I watch Maverick. “I’m sure he’s being a gentleman. You’ve raised him well.”
Maverick turns to me, holding something small wrapped in foil. But when he hands it over, I realize it’s not small at all. It’s hefty and barely fits in my hands.
“Let’s hope,” Maverick says. “But it will be just us on our hike today. That should hold you over until we get back, although I’ll bring some more snacks.”
“I think it should hold me over for the week. What is it?” I’d turn it over to inspect it, but I’m afraid I might sprain my wrist.
“Breakfast sandwich. Bacon, egg, sausage, cheese. A hashbrown or two. The good stuff.”
So this is what mountain men eat to get that size.
“Thanks.” And I mean it. Maverick’s been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and generous. He didn’t have to do any of the stuff he’s done for me.
“How about we get your car taken care of first? You’ll be wanting your equipment, I’m sure.”
“Sounds good. Might have to call a tow truck, though. That mud was thick.”
Maverick closes the gap between us, his scent twisting around my senses. His voice shifts lower, a rougher edge to it. “I’ll make quick work of it.”
Or at least, that’s what I think he says.
I’m finding it hard to concentrate yet again.
The man wasn’t lyingwhen he said he’d make quick work of it. Maverick walked around my car a few times, inspecting it, and then, without a single word, save a few grunts, he slid against the trunk until he could grip the bumper, lifted it effortlessly out ofthe mud, and then rotated it until the tires hovered over solid ground and let it drop gently.
And now he’s staring at me, brushing his hands off in front of him as though he just heaved a couple of dusty boxes into an attic.
My heart is hammering, and I didn’t even do anything! He’s not even breathing heavily. He’s unreal.
“That should do it.”
