Page 82 of The Mountain Echoes
I guess the tables have turned since I’m the one who is jealous now.
CHAPTER 19
aria
The day’s worn me thin.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in the company of cowboys and ranchers.
The rest of the world may have progressed when it comes to women’s rights, but a lot of these men still think that it’s perfectly okay to call a woman alittle ladyand talk about women’sudders.
I’ve been asked (several times) when I’m putting Longhorn up for sale, as they eye Maverick like a side of beef and tell me there are plenty of other fish in the sea—just in case I’m interested in something that isn’t Kincaid FarmsorMaverick Kincaid.
The crowd’s smaller now, late afternoon sun streaking across the fairgrounds in ribbons of gold. Dust hangs in the air, stirred up by boots and hooves.
Somewhere, someone’s playing an old fiddle tune, and the tired rhythm of a two-step filters out over the speakers.
I’m ready to go home.
I’m about to ask Maverick if we can head out—already regretting that I rode with him instead of driving myself—when Celine’s friends descend on meagain, like vultures circling roadkill.
Mean girls sometimes just never leave high school.
“So, I hear you and Hudson are…reconnecting?” Sloane says, like we’re best friends.
I eye her with barely concealed irritation.
Delaney lets out a giggle that sounds like it was trained at an all-girls prep school in Manhattan. “Iloveyour outfit. You know those jeans are so last season.”
I look at my Levi’s. The joke’s on them. These are about a decade old.
“It’s cute. The wholereturn to your rootsvibe. So rustic,” Sloane announces as if she’s being magnanimous.
I’m about to turn to leave ‘cause I refuse to dignify their comments with a response when a hand slides around my waist and squeezes.
Maverick tips his hat with his free hand, charm sliding into his smile like a blade sheathed in velvet.
“Ladies,” he drawls loud enough to make the surrounding ranchers perk up with interest.
“Oh, Mav,” Delaney all but purrs. “We were just catching up with Aria.”
“I hear that you mentioned something about me being Celine Delgado-Williams’ man?”
Both women go pale.
I shake my head, my eyes flicking upwards. Damn it! Maverick wants a scene, and I’m sonottherefor it.
“Which is absurd since Celineismarried, yeah?” Maverick continues, all smiles.
He’s doing it loud enough that there are now people who have an ear to our little group.
Sloane clears her throat. “I don’t know where you could’ve heard that.”
Maverick pulls me into him like we’re athing.
He’s probably doing it for two reasons: one to let everyone know that if I sell Longhorn it’s to him ‘cause we’re fucking,obviously; and second, that he’s with me, a single woman, and he’s not fucking Celine, a married woman.
I don’t like either reason, but I also don’t want to enhance this little scene by pushing him away. My choices are to stand here and smile, pretend wearetogether, or be stiff and silent, letting peoplewonderif Maverick and I are an item. The formeris a bridge too far for me; the latter is acceptable,barely. I go with it.
