“Can I play, Uncle Ryder? Please? Please?”
Ryder cast a guilty look our way, but Cheyenne surprised me, crouching down to Cason’s level. “You can throw for me, little man. I’m not that good anyway.”
That a was a total lie. She’d held her own against Ryder—a feat in and of itself. Only one who could beat him was me.
Cason lit up, a bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Really?”
She glanced over at me. “You okay with him throwin’ afew rounds?”
Well, if I wasn’t attracted to her before, I sure as hell was now. Kids and animals were my weakness. I wouldn’t even try to lie and say otherwise. Something about them being so small and essentially helpless made the protective side of me come out. Someone who did well with both…well, damn.
I nodded to her, giving her a thumbs up.
“Aw, come on,” Cash grumbled quietly beside me. Cash had the patience of Job when it came to kids—mainly because he was one at heart—but if there was one thing he didn’t do well with accommodating, it was a game of horseshoes.
I elbowed him in the ribs, pegging him with a vicious stare as I shook my head once. He could deal for one game. He glanced between me and Cheyenne, who was teaching Cason how to hold the horseshoe.
That shit-eating grin lit up his hazel eyes, making them more green than gold. “You likin’ the view?” One of his eyebrows quirked up.
I rolled my eyes, but failed to bite back the smile that came to my lips.
“Mmm, that’s what I thought. Girl’s somethin’ else. You better snatch her up before someone else does.”
I gave him a hard look that I hoped said,I’m working on it.
Chapter twenty-three
Come Home To You
Cheyenne
Living with Maverick waseasy. Astonishingly easy. Especially considering that we couldn’t communicate.Correction—talk. We communicated easily enough even if he refused to text and make things easier. But we made it work. He was an expressive person despite his quiet nature. His eyes told a lot. They were easy to read.
I’d feared it would be hard to live with him and learn about him, but if I’d learned anything from Maverick, it was that actions spoke louder than words.
Maverick was meticulous, a complete and total perfectionist. He thrived off order and routine and familiarity. He was the type of person who could do the same thing every single day and be perfectly content. I still couldn’t figure out how he didn’t get bored. But I guess that’s why he had his hobbies. If he wasn’t working horses, mending fences or moving cattle, he was doingsomething.Working on the truck in his garage, fixing things in the barn, strumming on his old guitar on the back porch, fishing out by the pond, whittling. If it needed the use of his hands he was doing it.
Including…pleasing me. Apparently, his love language was touch, and fuck if he wasn’t excellent at it. We hadn’t slept together. Not yet, but I knew, just knew, he was going to wreck me when we did. It was always the quiet ones who surprised you the most. And in my short time with Maverick, I’d learned he was full of surprises.
But his favorite hobby of all, it seemed, was to cook. And my God, was he a damn good one. I’d been all across the U.S. growing up. I’d eaten lots of amazing food, but sweet baby Jesus, the boy could cook. If he didn’t already have a job, I’d urge him to go to culinary school or start up a restaurant or something.
I sat on the countertop of the center island in the kitchen, sneaking fingerfuls of homemade chocolate cake batter when he wasn’t looking, singing a George Strait song on the station that played through the speakers. Another thing I’d learned—he wasn’t a fan of newer country music. Anything mid 2000’s and later that I tried to play earned a scowl or a headshake. He liked the songs I grew up on, the ones my daddy used to listen to.
He popped the cake pans into the oven, his back turned to me, his muscles bunching and rippling beneath his impeccably ironed black shirt with every movement. I snuck another lick of leftover cake batter just as he turned around.
A scowl formed on his brutally handsome face, his scarred eyebrow quirking up.
“Oh, come on!” I cried. “This is the best part!” I swiped another fingerful for emphasis and took my time licking it off. Hisgaze darkened, desire brewing like storm clouds in his eyes as he watched me. His lips quirked up into a wry grin even as he shook his head and pointed at the bowl.
No more.
“Um, speak for yourself,” I scoffed. “I’ll eat all the cake batter I want, thank you very much. It’s delicious, by the way.”
Maverick’s lips pulled up further, a full-fledged smile lighting up his face. Butterflies danced against my ribcage at the sight. Goddamn, he was gorgeous.
“You know, if I didn’t have physical proof that you were real, I’d think you were fictional.”
His face scrunched up, a question burning in his gaze.
