Page 68 of Maverick
She walks into the kitchen and scampers toward me, wrapping her arms around mine and stretching up to kiss me on the cheek. Her cheek is damp with sweat, and I like it. “Who doesn’t like cheese?”
“Some people don’t.”
“I think in those cases, usually the cheese doesn’t like them.”
“Well, not everybody likes it in the particular way that you do.”
“And you noticed.”
“Yeah,” I say. I’m tempted to downplay it, but it gets stuck in my throat.
“I’m going to go change. Because you look too nice for me to be in sweaty breeches.”
She vanishes, and I stand there, chest sore for a moment before I get to packing up the basket. Before I choose a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and get everything ready to go.
By the time I finish up, she comes down the stairs. She’s wearing a flowy, lilac dress that skims her curves, the fabric ethereal, flowing with her every movement. She’s like an angel, and God knows I don’t deserve angels in my immediate vicinity.
My chest feels so tight I can barely breathe around it.
“Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To one of my favorite spots.”
I drive her out to the barn, and then I get my horse out, which I haven’t even really introduced her to yet. “This is Jake,” I say. The black gelding with the blaze down his nose is spirited. Always has been. But I know she’ll appreciate that. She smiles and presses her hand against Jake’s nose, then rests her forehead against his for a moment. I feel it in myself. The way that she quiets this animal. The way that she greets him with all his wildness. It’s basically what she’s done with me.
I push that thought to the side.
I’m in a strange, introspective mood. Maybe because I decided to lie to keep her with me. Maybe because it’s making me do these things for her, to keep her happy, to justify my decision.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m hungry. Because there were so many years where there was no one with me. Where nobody touched me. Where I didn’t let myself be touched. And now I’m drunk on it. An addict craving my next fix every single day.
This is my failure, I suppose. This is where I don’t succeed at not being my mother.
Because I want this directly injected into my veins. I don’t want to turn away from it. Even if it’s bad for me. Even if it’s bad for her.
“We’re going to ride him up the mountain.”
“Together?”
She looks baffled and delighted by this.
“Yeah. Some guys might give you a ride on the back of their motorcycle. I figure I’ll put you up here on my horse.”
“Do you know why I love it?” she asks as I pull her up and she scoots in behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Why?”
“Because I’m always too experienced to ride with anyone else.”
“And you like it for that reason?”
“Yeah. I don’t have to be the one who knows everything. I don’t have to be the one in charge. I don’t have to be the best.” She rests her cheek against my shoulder blades. “I can just be with you.”
Her words make my chest clench so tight I can barely breathe. “Come on,” I say through gritted teeth.
I urge Jake up the trail, and she clings to me as we take off at a fast pace. Because she is experienced, I know I don’t have to take it easy. And I don’t. We go flying up the trail, and then I turn a sharp left and carry us through the fields.
