Lost Rider(44)

I hadn’t moved for so long after I heard his truck fire up that my back instantly protests and my feet scream after finally getting comfortable after a long day. I make quick work of cleaning up our coffee mugs and the rest of my mess, wiping down the table before throwing the rag in the basketful of used linens I had ready to take home and launder before Monday. Ignoring the emotions raging through my body. So much conflict. Sadness, regret, and a whole lot of deep-seated anger. All of them swirling around, making it impossible for me to tell which one is strongest.

I can’t even think about what Maverick said tonight; instead I keep my mind focused on closing everything out properly, checking that the front door is still locked before grabbing the till out of the register. I had planned on working through the books and readying a deposit for Monday morning before I opened up, but after Maverick’s appearance and talk, my mind is not capable of handling anything more than the drive home. I lock the till up in the safe in my office with a sigh, knowing that this means I’ll have to come in and handle it tomorrow while we’re closed or it will just mean more work on Monday.

With my purse over my shoulder, I take one more pass around the kitchen to make sure all the fridges are shut tight and the ovens are off, and grab the laundry basket from the doorway between the kitchen and the main room. My eyes go directly for the lonely cowboy hat, still resting against the table where I left it.

I should leave it. I should just walk out the doorway and pretend that I didn’t know it was there and let Jana deal with it Monday when she opens. Instead, my feet carry me to the table, and my hand wraps around the crown before I place it with reverence onto the top of my head instead of on top of the soiled laundry inside the basket.

I shouldn’t care about getting it dirty, but damn if I don’t.

Juggling the basket, I walk out the back door before locking it and head to my Jeep, refusing to acknowledge the warm feeling traveling down my body from where the hat rests. I can smell him, just as strong as if he were right before me. Having a piece of him near me does nothing but amp up the very big part of me that wishes I had all of him.

Damn, I’m really in big trouble.



“What are you doing?”

I jump, the rocking chair I had been sitting in jolting under my sudden movement. I have to squint my eyes to see through the darkness that I just realized had settled around me. When I sat down earlier I had been so upset and confused over what Maverick’s talk had made me feel. I couldn’t understand why, even through the anger I felt, all I wanted to do was rush to him and force him to make sense of it all.

With his hands. And his mouth. And other things.

“God, Q! You scared the shit out of me.” I wheeze, clutching my chest.

“I reckoned as much, since you almost took the chair down jumping like a baby.”

Still breathing deeply, my heart rate racing wildly, I reach up and give her my middle finger.

“Yeah, yeah . . . I get that enough from the guys at the shop. You’re gonna have to try harder if you really want me to feel like you really mean it.”

“What are you doing lurking in the shadows, anyway? Did you walk over here?”

She laughs, the sound a feminine, deep, husky rumble, her normal voice hoarse like she’s got a cold. It’s the kind of voice that would make a 1-900 operator millions. “Well,” she starts, breaking me out of my thoughts again, “I drove, which you should have seen, being that I forgot I had my brights on and the damn things were shooting right in your face before I realized you were sitting here in the dark. If that wasn’t a big enough clue, I had been calling your name since I jumped out of the truck again—something you should have heard.”

“Oh,” I mumble sheepishly.

“Yeah, oh.”

She knocks my knees as she pushes past me to sit in the chair next to mine. I close my eyes when I realize my mistake, her gasp echoing through the still night air around us. She’s standing in front of the rocker paired with mine, the dirty-laundry-filled basket sitting on the table between us, but that’s not what causes her reaction.

It’s the lone hat sitting on the chair that has caught her attention.

“What is that doin’ here?”

“What is what doin’ here?” I hedge, looking up to see her staring at the hat like it’s a snake about to strike.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Leighton Elizabeth James. I’d know that hat anywhere. Especially since it’s the only hat that has ever, in almost fifteen years, sat on top of my brother’s head.”

My heart jumps and I jerk my head toward the hat in question. Seeing it in a whole new light now. I knew it looked familiar.