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“Thanks,” Maverick replied. “I’ll do that.” He finished his coffee while scrolling through several text messages from Donovan James.
Haven’t heard from you. Hope all is well.
Okay it’s been three days, Rick. WTF?
Did you meet someone? Are you screwing some lucky woman’s brains out?
Okay. Not nice. I’m going to come out there if you don’t text me back soon. Wherever the hell you are.
Better yet I’ll tell Elle to track you down.
Donovan, a bona fide country music star, was his best friend and she also happened to be married to his cousin, Jack. She was tenacious, and like a dog with a bone, she didn’t give up when she was after something. And over the last few months, she’d been after him. She knew something was up. He couldn’t write worth shit. Couldn’t focus. Hell, he hadn’t played the piano or picked up his guitar in weeks.
Donovan was convinced he was having a midlife crisis at the age of thirty-one, but Maverick knew better. There was no rhyme or reason. Sometimes things got screwed up. Sometimes you just needed a break from life.
“Whatever,” he muttered, shoving his cell back into his pocket. He had time to figure things out. In fact out here in the middle of nowhere, he had nothing but time.
He left a twenty on the table and headed for the door, eyes on the kid at the counter but his companion was nowhere to be seen. Maverick glanced around with no luck.
“Hey,” he said to the boy. “You’re here with Charlie Samuels right?”
The kid froze, a forkful of French fries halfway between the plate and his mouth. Maverick waited but he didn’t budge.
“Bud?” Maverick tried again, watching him closely. The boy turned slightly, but wouldn’t meet Rick’s gaze, the fries still held in mid-air.
His skin was pale and his eyes were a shade of blue so light it was almost colorless. Fringed with thick dark lashes and a smattering of freckles across his nose, the boy looked delicate. Fragile even.
Maverick waited a few more moments, unsure of how to proceed and then the boy shoved the fries in his mouth. He continued to ignore Maverick and dug into his plate, swooshing the remaining fries around in the gravy.
Huh.
“Your dad, is he around?” Maverick tried again. The boy swirled his fries around faster and faster. If Maverick didn’t know better, he’d think the kid was agitated or shy or just…odd.
“Excuse me.”
The voice came from behind him, it wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either. Maverick glanced over his shoulder and was nailed by a pair of eyes, paler than the kid’s at the counter. Framed by dark, delicate eyebrows and the same thick lashes he’d just seen on the boy, they narrowed.
For a few seconds Maverick stared into those pale eyes, at a face that was interesting, dramatic, and unsettling. He saw things randomly, like flash cards being tossed in front of him.
A full mouth.
Long wisps of dark auburn hair poking from beneath a black knit hat.
High cheekbones.
A smudge of dirt on said, high cheekbones.
A small nose, with a slight upturn.
And those eyes. They were the most unusual shade he’d ever seen, like looking into glass that was frosted with the barest hint of blue.
What the hell? He felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. His heart sped up and he took step back from the counter, off kilter and not liking it one bit.
“I’m looking for Charlie Samuels,” he managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.
“You’re looking at Charlie.” She had a voice that was a little rough—the kind of voice a blues song would slide over and wrap itself in. She also had attitude, and from the looks of it, she wasn’t too keen on him.
That was okay. Maverick liked a challenge.
