Page 39 of The Maverick’s Legacy

Oscar wasn’t a kid anymore. But that didn’t stop him from stomping into the room that would eventually be his as soon as they reached the house. He probably would have slammed his door, but it wasn’t installed yet.

Jesse ran a hand over his face before he went into the living room to get started. He grabbed the broom and began sweeping up the remaining construction debris. He wanted to get the house done. Everything felt so unsettled at the moment—like their lives were on pause until they could get their own roof over their heads.

Jesse put the broom away and got out the paint cans. He felt like he and Oscar were struggling so much lately. It was another reason Jesse was determined to get the house done. They were surviving off Jesse’s job doing remote IT analytical work and the nest egg he’d saved over the years, but he was counting down the minutes until he could get back to ranching. He was restless for it. He wanted to get Oscar immersed into that life. It’d be good for him and give him an emotional outlet. It’d be good for Jesse too.

He needed to feel the open air again throughout his day instead of staring at numbers on a computer until his eyes crossed. If he could take the mental stress of getting the house done off his plate, then maybe he could work on fixing his fraying relationship with his son. He might also find a way to make things better between him and Carly so she’d never doubt him again.

The other day Grayson had brought up the idea of him and Jesse joining forces instead of having two separate ranches. Jesse liked the idea, especially as Grayson already had an established reputation in the industry. They’d have to discuss it more, but it was something to think about.

At the moment, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make any huge decisions about the future. Aside from the tension between him and Oscar, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d almost blown it with Carly.

As he looked over at the tiny kitchen, he couldn’t help but think how much MaryBeth would have hated it. One of the reasons they’d bought the house in Houston was because of the large kitchen, which was MaryBeth’s domain. Of course, she was perfectly happy living in the big city. She’d thrived on it, even if they were more in the suburbs.

I don’t want to have to drive thirty miles just to get laundry detergent, she’d argued during one of their fights after Jesse brought up moving back to the country one day. She’d never wanted this kind of life. It was such a difference from Carly, who’d deliberately sought out the same lifestyle he had.

No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t compare the two. It was unfair to both of them.

As Jesse opened the can of paint and stirred it with the wood stick, he thought back to his last date with Carly. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten everything so wrong. He thought it would be best to take things slow, to show her how committed he was. Instead, all he’d done was make her feel insecure about his intentions.

Though the end results of their conversation had been worth it. He could still feel the plumpness of her lip as he’d sucked it into his mouth. He could hear the moans she made, feel the way she arched against him.

Jesse dropped the stick into the can of paint and swore as it started to sink. He needed to stop thinking about those kisses before he embarrassed himself in front of his son. After rescuing the stick, he poured the paint into the awaiting pan. He grabbed a roller and started painting the wall, getting into a methodical rhythm as the drywall transformed into a creamy blue.

An hour later, he was starting to feel more relaxed as he worked off some tension, when he heard a crash in the other room. Jesse dropped the roller and ran to where Oscar was. Yellow paint had spilled all over the floor. Thankfully they hadn’t installed the carpet yet.

Oscar was pacing back and forth in the paint, leaving footprints everywhere he stepped, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept saying like a broken record.

“It’s okay,” Jesse replied, knowing that Oscar was stimming too much to calm down with mere words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Oscar repeated.

“Bud, it’s okay.” Jesse didn’t try to touch him. He wouldn’t unless Oscar started to hurt himself, which he used to do when he was younger. “Why don’t we take a break and get some dinner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Hey,” Jesse said as calmly as he could. “I need some fresh air after all the paint fumes, and I brought your favorite sandwich—ham and mayo, just the way you like it.”

Oscar’s frantic pacing started to slow.

“I even bought a bag of JenniLynn’s homemade cookies, but don’t tell her I took a few.”

“Cookies?” his son finally said. Jesse’s heart shattered at the broken expression on his face.

“Yeah, the chocolate-chip ones, which I know are your favorite. Come on. Let’s go eat.”

He started to walk slowly out of the room and was relieved when Oscar followed him. He’d trek paint throughout the house, but that was fine. It was all wood boards anyway. They’d be covered up.

The duo walked outside and headed toward the truck. Jesse opened the back of the truck and reached inside for the cooler he’d packed earlier. Oscar sat down on the gate. Jesse put the food between them and sat on the other side.

They ate in silence for several minutes, before Jesse broached the subject. “Was that about this weekend?”

“I… I guess,” Oscar replied, picking at a piece of bread.

“Talk to me,” Jesse encouraged.

“I’m tired of not having any friends and feeling like a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Jesse insisted.