Maverick Page 3

  Being a Simon alone made him interesting to most of the women that he met, but this one here, she had no idea who he was. There was something refreshing about that.

  Damn straight, Maverick thought as he scrubbed at the foggy mirror in the bathroom, he was looking forward to figuring out what exactly it was that made Charlie Samuels tick.

  It’s why he’d invited her to his brother’s place to take a look at the rusted out Shelby Mustang in the barn. The idea had come to him, somewhere between the basket of chicken wings they’d devoured (he also liked a woman who had an appetite and wasn’t afraid to show it) and the jug of beer they’d ordered up.

  He glanced up at the clock set precariously on the shelf above the toilet. He had about twenty minutes until she was due to arrive and if he didn’t get a move on---

  It was just then that the doorbell sounded, and with a curse he tossed the towel aside and strode into his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the edge of his bed.

  “Give me a minute,” he shouted down the stairs.

  He pulled them on and the doorbell went off again. Maverick zipped up and snatched a faded blue Henley out of his suitcase. Barefoot, he made his way down the stairs and across the foyer. It took more than a few seconds—the house was large and had been built in an era when big meant everything.

  “Damn,” he muttered, tugging on the Henley sleeves as he yanked open the door. The darn thing was inside out.

  Cold air slammed against him and he gazed down at blue eyes that were not focused on him per say—they were glued to his naked chest. Bemused, he took a moment to take in the pink cheeks and smattering of freckles across a nose that was equally pink from the cold.

  “Sorry,” he said slowly. “I just got out of the shower.”

  Startled eyes shot up to his and damn if something inside him didn’t tighten. He hadn’t been wrong at all. There was a connection here. His heart began to beat a little faster.

  A strong connection.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie said, eyes dropping from his. “I’m early. I think. And I…well I wasn’t going to come but realized that I had no way of getting in touch with you.”

  Another gust of wind blew snow at him and Maverick took a step back, finally winning the war with his blasted shirt. He tugged it over his head and smiled. “I’ve got to find some clean socks and grab my boots. Come on in.”

  “I’ve got Connor with me if that’s all right,” she said in a rush, those clear eyes once more on him. “This was last minute and I couldn’t get hold of Mrs. Kratz and she’s the only person besides Davis who can watch him.”

  She was nervous and was already backing away, shaking her head slowly. “Maybe we should just do this another time. I can come back when it’s convenient.”

  Maverick noticed a shadow behind Charlie and he cranked his neck to the side so that he could get a good look at the boy who stood just behind her. Those same blue eyes stared up at him, but this time instead of moving away, they lingered. Something sparked inside their depths—something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it was there. And it was real.

  And it vanished almost as soon as it had come.

  The boy began to fidget, rubbing his fingers together as he leaned into Charlie. Maverick didn’t know much about kids, but he had a feeling there was something going on with this one and he figured he needed to go slow. The boy was nervous.

  “Hey it’s all good,” he said carefully, taking another step back and keeping his voice low. “Come on in. I just need a couple minutes to finish getting dressed and then we’ll head to the building out back.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Maverick turned and took the stairs two at a time, hurrying back to the bedroom he’d claimed as his own. After rooting through his suitcase for a clean pair of socks (he should just give in and unpack already), he tugged them on and slipped into his worn leather boots. He grabbed his North Face jacket from the chair where he’d tossed it the night before and headed back downstairs before Charlie changed her mind.

  And he would be right about that—her hand was on the door when he cleared the bottom step.

  “The building is out back which would be in the other direction.”

  She wore the same overly large coat that she’d sported the other day and even through all that material, he could see her shoulders were tense. Connor stood beside her, eyes on the floor and not making a sound though he still fidgeted with his fingers.

  “This probably isn’t a good idea,” Charlie said without turning back. “He doesn’t do well with new people.”

  He took a few steps until he was close enough and kept his voice neutral. “But we’ve already met.” He waited a second. “Charlie, let’s just go have a look at the Mustang. It would be a shame not to, considering the trip out. Connor will be fine, right bud?”

  The boy’s fingers froze when he heard his name and shot a glance up at Maverick. His cheeks were as pink as Charlie’s and he swiped at his nose before pushing an errant curl off of his forehead. The kid didn’t say a word but something changed and after a few moments, Charlie’s shoulders relaxed and she turned back.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s go Connor.”

  Maverick headed to the side door off the kitchen. “Don’t worry about your boots—as you can see the place is a bit of a work in progress.”

  That was an understatement. Cooper had been working on refinishing things in the house himself, but only when he had the time—and from what Maverick could see, his brother didn’t have much extra.

  The three of them headed outside and crossed over to the large outbuilding that was the only new structure on the entire estate. His brother Cooper had hired contractors to build it the previous summer. It had every modern convenience, including a kitchen, office, media room with leather sofas, big screen tv and a bar. A large heated garage that held the prized Shelby Cobra was just off the main room.

  He stood back and opened the door open for Charlie and Connor, following them inside before hitting the lights.

  “Wow,” Charlie murmured, looking around.

  “When he’s around, my brother spends most of his time out here.”

  “I see that.” Charlie’s brow furrowed. “What does your brother do?”

  Shit. He wasn’t going there. Maverick was the only person on the planet who knew that the reclusive Lee Holloway was in fact his brother, Cooper Simon.

  “Nothing much as far as I can tell,” he answered, smiling at the thought of Coop’s outrage if he heard that particular comment.

  Charlie tossed him a look and then shrugged. “So where’s the car?”

  Maverick pointed and started forward. “This way.”

  Charlie led Connor over to one of the leather sofas and the boy slid onto it in silence. “Stay here,” she said gently, reaching for his hat. The boy tensed and jerked his head back and Maverick looked the other way, but not before seeing pain flicker across Charlie’s face.

  She followed him into the garage and she gave a low whistle when she spied the car. “Wow. I’ve never laid eyes on one of these before, at least not outside of a magazine.”

  She doffed her jacket and Maverick’s eyes rolled over her jean-clad ass as she bent over and lifted the hood to peer inside. He was being a Neanderthal, but Jesus, he couldn’t help himself. Had he ever seen another woman fill out a pair of Levi’s the way Charlie did?

  He let his eyes settle once more. He didn’t think so.

  “It’s a ’67 Shelby Cobra,” she said excitedly. “The body needs some work but the engine doesn’t look too bad. I mean, I’d have to take a closer look but…” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly.

  Busted. He’d been caught staring at her butt like a teenager on his first date.

  “Has it run lately?” she asked dryly.

  He had no idea. “I don’t think so,” Maverick replied, moving closer and making a concerted effort to keep things above board, which meant eyes above the waist.
>
  At least for the moment.

  Charlie stepped back and walked around the side, opening the driver’s door so that she could peek inside. It protested with a loud creak. She winced and had a good look. “The leather’s rough. I’d definitely have the seats redone but the dashboard looks not too bad, especially considering the age.” She stood back and smiled. “It’s gorgeous though. Is he interested in restoring it?”

  Again. No clue. “I’m assuming he bought it for that reason.”

  He watched as she walked around the car, running her fingers over the paint, stopping here and there where there was obvious rust.

  “You love cars,” he said, more to himself than anything.

  “I do,” she replied, eyes inspecting every inch of the Mustang. “I love everything about them. The way they work, the dynamics involved. The design.”

  “I guess that’s why you like to fix them.”

  Her head shot up and for a moment those pale eyes darkened. A heart beat passed. “I fix them because I have to.”

  An evasive answer that just led to more questions. And Lord knows Maverick had a boatload of questions. He opened his mouth to ask one of them but was interrupted by a single piano note that rang out and filled the space around them.

  He glanced back to where they’d come from, knowing that Connor must have wandered over to Maverick’s keyboard. He’d set up some gear including the keyboard, guitar, and a mixer, when he’d first arrived, but hadn’t touched the damn things.

  “Connor,” Charlie whispered before rushing back.

  “Hey don’t worry about it,” Maverick offered and followed her back to the great room.

  Charlie stood just inside the room watching Connor as he hesitated and then hit another note. And then another. It wasn’t until Maverick came abreast of Charlie that he noticed a single tear making its way down her cheek.

  Puzzled, he glanced back to the little boy. “I don’t mind if your son plays with my stuff. If that’s what’s got you upset.”

  She sniffled and offered a small smile, though she too kept her gaze on the boy. “I’m not upset.” She turned to him then, her eyes full and shiny—that mouth trembling with emotion. “Far from it,” she murmured.

  Maverick’s breath caught and if this were another time or place, he’d take the plunge and plant one hell of a kiss on those lips.

  “And he’s not my son,” she whispered.

  “No?” Maverick asked carefully.

  “He’s my brother.”

  Charlie walked over to Connor but as soon as she did, his fingers fell away from the keys and he stood still as a statue. For several more moments there were no sounds. No words. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if any of them took a breath.

  “We should go,” Charlie said slowly.

  “Sure, I appreciate you coming out to take a look at the car. I’ll let you know if my brother wants to have the Mustang restored.”

  She didn’t answer and he got the idea that she’d moved on from the car. Her focus was on Connor.

  Maverick cleared his throat and walked them to the door, all the while his thoughts swirling in a hundred directions. He wondered why she was raising her brother. He wondered about the kid’s odd behavior. He wondered about that spark between them and what it could mean.

  But mainly he wondered what it was that would make a woman cry over a little boy who showed interest in a piano.

  Chapter Four

  “So?”

  Charlie lifted her head from the bench in front of her and glanced over at Davis. Wiping her hand across her cheek, she swore. Great. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to know she’d just smudged grease all over herself. Davis was installing a new water pump into Hank Crenshaw’s truck while she was rebuilding the carburetor.

  Davis was looking at her expectantly and Charlie turned back to the task at hand. It was nearing noon on Monday and she had two other jobs ahead of her before she could call it a day.

  “Just spit it out, Davis,” she muttered, jamming her finger good and swearing a blue streak when she caught sight of her torn nail. Damn, it had been the last good one. Not that it mattered. Her hands were in rough shape and with all the dirt and grease that coated them, the fact that they were dry and cracking shouldn’t really matter. But then again, who other than Charlie cared about the state of her hands?

  No one. Not one damn person.

  Mood suddenly foul, she frowned and continued tinkering with the carburetor.

  “You gonna spill or what?” Davis prompted.

  “Jesus,” she whispered under her breath. She knew what he was talking about but since there was nothing to tell, she shrugged and kept working.

  “About the Shelby I mean.”

  Yeah. Right. The Mustang. Davis wasn’t exactly smooth.

  “Needs some work,” she finally replied.

  “Huh,” Davis said. “He ask you to restore it?”

  “Nope.”

  She snuck a glance. Davis was surprised. She really needed to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. Wiping her hands down the front of her coveralls, she turned around and leaned back against the bench.

  “Look, Davis. He said he’d let me know if his brother wanted the car restored. I haven’t heard from him, so maybe his brother is fine with the Shelby the way it is. Not everyone who buys a classic car is prepared to spend the kind of money it takes to get it back to its original state.”

  She reached for a rag and then paused, looking at her hands again because really, what good would it do?

  “The thing is,” she continued. “Even if he does want work done on the Shelby, we don’t have time for the job. I fix cars that people use. That’s my bread and butter and last time I looked, we’re pretty much booked into next month. I’m not a body person and neither are you so the whole thing is stupid anyway. I don’t even know why I bothered to go out and take a look at it.”

  “You went out because that car is special and maybe you need to work on something for the love of it, not because you need to pay bills.”

  “That’s just it, Davis. I need to pay lots of bills including your wages and uh, the last time I looked, love doesn’t pay the bills. In fact love usually gets in the way.”

  “Since when did you become a grump?”

  “Since I became responsible for another human being.”

  Davis was silent for a few moments, but that didn’t mean the guy was giving up. “I think we could do it. Farm out the bodywork and I’d like to take a crack at the upholstery and interior in my spare time. As for the engine, no one knows cars better than you. Not even…” Davis halted, eyes softening a bit. “Not even your dad.”

  Charlie shifted her feet and exhaled, hating that the familiar slice of pain would never go away. “That’s not what this is about, Davis, and you know it.”

  Davis shoved his hands into the front pockets of his coveralls and leaned against the truck. “And what’s this about?”

  “Really? We’re going to play this game?”

  He shrugged but remained silent.

  “I don’t want or need you playing cupid. Nothing is gonna happen between Rick and me. Hell, I don’t even know his last name. In fact I don’t know anything about him. He could be a serial killer for all we know.”

  “I doubt it,” Davis said with a chuckle.

  “Doubt it all you want, but the truth is we know nothing about him, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Fine,” Davis replied, reaching for the water pump.

  “Fine,” she repeated, voice sharp. She paused. “Why don’t we talk about Ava and Seth?”

  Davis gave her a warning glance and she smiled, turning her attention back to the task at hand. That should shut him up.

  Five minutes went by as Charlie focused on the carburetor. Five minutes of nothing but the faint strains of some country song (she’d like to know who’d changed her classic rock channel to new country) talking about broken hearts, whiskey, and a flat tire. Deep stuff,
she thought wryly, swaying a bit because, well, the melody was kind of cool and the guy did have a great voice. A little rough around the edges, like it’d been soaked in that there whiskey he was singing about.

  “Bet he’d take you up on an invite to the Valentine’s dance at the community center Saturday night.”

  Sweet Jesus and Joseph and Mary and anyone else for that matter. Guess her five minutes were up.

  “Davis, since when do I have time to go dances?” She turned the carburetor over in her hands, eyes inspecting every inch of it. She was just about done.

  “You used to.”

  “Yeah, well, I used to do a lot of things.” She tried not to sound bitter, but even Charlie winced at the heaviness that colored her words.

  “That’s my point.”

  Oh. My. God. Now glaring at Davis, she set the carburetor down because, in fact, she wanted to throw it at him. And knowing that she was more than capable of doing just that if her temper got the better of her, Charlie stepped away from the bench. They were too busy for her only mechanic to be out with a head injury.

  “Why in hell would you think that I’d consider sleeping with a guy I just met?”

  Davis’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping with the guy.”

  “I know exactly what you’re getting at. Just because I haven’t had sex in like forever, doesn’t mean you have the right to offer me up like some goddamn prize to some random man who happens to be staying in town for a few weeks. Rick whoever-the-hell-he-is can get his rocks off with someone else.”

  Okay, now her cheeks were burning, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “I just mentioned a dance is all.”

  “A dance that I have no intention of attending.”

  “If it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, would you go?”

  “Nope.”

  “When’s the last time you had some fun anyway?”

  “What?” Now she was shooting daggers at her mechanic. He was treading just a little too close to home.

  “Fun? You remember what that word is, don’t you? It’s got three letters?” As if she couldn’t count, he held up three dirty, greasy digits.