I watch his eyes heat and that storm brew once again within them as he clenches his jaw. My eyes desperately want to move to the corner of his jaw to see if the same flex would be visible that he always used to get when he would clench, but I force them to stay trained on his face.
“Bullshit, Leighton. You knew I wouldn’t stay away when Quinn wanted me here.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh, the nerves he has flowing through my body firing so rapidly I feel light-headed. “Yeah? What about when he got sick the first time and she asked you to come home? What about the second, third, or even the last time? Where were you then, Maverick? Seems to me that I hit the nail on the head. Don’t use your sister as an excuse. So what? You’re home now—are we supposed to kiss your fuckin’ buckles and throw out the red carpet? Famous rodeo star Maverick Davis is back, so time to bow down? News flash, bucko, while you weren’t here I’ve been making sure to ease some of the pain for them, and tonight is about them since we all figured you would continue the coward’s way and stay gone.”
He grows tense with each word I all but shout in his face, but he remains silent.
“You want your pie?!” I yell, my voice coming out more like a high-pitched screech. My ears roar as my heart picks up speed with my anger and I feel like I can actually hear the blood rushing through my veins. “You want your blasted pie?” I knock him in the gut with my shoulder hard enough to make him shuffle back a step as I push past him and walk over to the fridge that’s closest to my office. The one that I keep all my special pies in. Wrenching the door open, I grab the closest cookie dough creation before slamming the door back.
When I turn back around, he’s still standing in the same spot, but instead of that raging anger, all I see is shock. Yeah, soak it in because I’m not the same little weak girl you used to know. My boots hit the floor loudly with each hard step I take back toward him, relaxing my face to offer him my most insincere smile.
“You want your pie, Mav?” I ask again, this time hiding my anger behind a sticky-sweet voice and a little smile.
He doesn’t speak, and honestly, I’m not sure I’m capable of giving him a word in anyway. Without a second thought, I bring my arm back before I swing it forward and slap the whole pie into his face.
“There’s your goddamn pie, you good-for-nothing jackass!”
Turning on my heels, I take huge gulps of air before bringing both hands up and slamming them on the door. It swings open and I step into the main room with my head down as I inspect the amount of ice cream splatter that is now peppering my arms and torso. Apparently I wasn’t thinking the whole pie-in-the-face thing all the way through or I would have realized I would probably end up wearing a good bit of it too.
With a sigh, I look up, ready to search for a clean towel to clean myself up when I notice the silence around me.
Oh, well . . . shit.
Every single person in the room is looking my way. All of the conversations in the whole room have completely stopped. I chance a look in Quinn and Clay’s direction and feel a blush heat my cheeks when I see them both fighting a losing battle with their laughter.
The second Quinn’s head tips back and her throaty laugh rings out in the silence, it breaks the shock keeping the rest of the room silent, and before I know it, everyone is joining in.
I drop my head, letting out a rushed exhale, feeling the adrenaline leaving my body. My hands shake when I reach out to grab one of the clean rags from under the register, and as I wipe at my shirt and arms, I do my best to keep my blush from growing.
“That’s one way to knock a layer of stubborn off that boy’s head,” I hear Marybeth Perkins call out, her cackle following her outburst. “Wonder who the pup is now!” she oddly adds. My God, that woman is crazy as it comes.
“You forgot the plates,” Jana giggles and walks past me into the kitchen.
Looking back over at Quinn, seeing her laughing even harder now, calms my racing heart. Seeing her like that makes my humiliation worth it. If she’s laughing, she won’t be crying. Bending over again, I reach behind the stack of rags, move a few things around before reaching my goal.
“Oh, hell, little girl,” I hear Angus Todd bellow when the glass jar hits the counter.
“You first, old man,” I call, pointing in his direction with a smirk.
He grumbles and puts on a good show for the crowded room, but still stands from his seat. He stomps toward me, adjusting his suspenders and patting his rounded belly. “Give it here, wild one, and let me show you how it’s done.”
“Let’s see if you’re singing the same tune when I’m the one standing at the end of the night and you have to call Sheriff Holden to come cart your tail back home.”