Page 51 of Maverick
You meet some of the greatest, most awful human beings you can imagine. There’s something magical about that. I can’t help but reflect on all those experiences like that as I get my boots on.
As I prepare to head down the stairs.
I tie my hair back into a low bun. The neat style is a reflexive response to this.
My barrel racer persona is so different. Bedazzled jeans and pink chaps. My hair loose and wild beneath a pink cowboy hat.
This neat version of myself is vintage Stella Lane. Very much the girl born to live in that expansive horse property in Sonoma.
She’s like a costume that I can still put on.
She feels wrong. She also feels like home.
That’s complicated.
I take a breath and go down the stairs. Just as he walks out of the kitchen into the living room, holding two mugs of coffee. He looks up at me, and I can see that I’ve successfully shocked him with my transformation.
“I told you I’m a dressage girly,” I say as I move down the stairs, my chin held high.
“Definitely not the style you were riding last night,” he says.
I snort as I take the coffee from his hand.
“No. That was a rough ride.”
He shakes his head.
I walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter, because I don’t know what else to do with myself. I take a long sip of my coffee.
He stands there with me, though he keeps a healthy amount of distance between us. It’s obvious to me that he doesn’t really know what to do with this, and I find that somewhat disconcerting, because he’s the one who’s at least done this kind of thing before. God knows I never have.
I find myself staring at the kitchen. Taking in the little details of him. The things that make him Maverick, the human man, and not just a fantasy. That bad boy persona is sexy as hell. And it’s tempting to put it back in that box. Because it’s comfortable. The man who ate me out on the floor makes for fantastic dream fodder.
The husband who lost his wife makes me feel something else. Something more. That’s something that I find challenging.
I didn’t really want to be challenged.
Again, I don’t really know who I am, so having to ponder who he is becomes a whole other issue entirely.
I caffeinate as quickly as possible because standing there thinking about that is uncomfortable.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m ready to go.”
“Good. He’s a little bit rusty, though I have had people working with him.”
“Is he Grand Prix level?”
“Yes. Though he has mixed success showing at that level.”
“Well, so do I.”
I laugh and then I walk out of the kitchen, and out the front door. It’s a beautiful morning. But I know it’s going to be a really hot day. That’s fine.
I grimace as I make my way down the front stairs and hesitate over which truck to get into.
“I’ll just give you a ride down,” he says.
“At some point, you’re going to have to fix the water in my cottage, or you’re going to end up with a permanent resident.” I can see him considering that.
