Lost Rider(6)

I give Ms. Marybeth Perkins a smile when I meet her eyes, her weathered face giving me a winkled smile in return. My eyes float over the room, looking at the stoic familiar faces, before I start to move my gaze back to the pastor.

And that’s when I see it.

Or rather, him.

It takes every ounce of control not to react, but my heart pulls tight before it takes off in a quick gallop that could give my horse, Maize, a run for her money.

Standing in the back of the room, black Stetson pulled low on his head, shadowing his face from view. His black dress shirt nestling snugly against his muscular build, the pearl white buttons standing out against the darkness. My eyes trail down his trim torso to the round silver belt buckle shining bright against his tucked-in black shirt and pants. The tight black Wranglers hugging his narrow hips . . . and good grief, I snap my eyes back to his face when I realize that I’ve subconsciously been staring at his crotch.

I don’t need to see those emerald green eyes to know that the face shadowed from view belongs to the only man I’ve ever craved more than Nanny Jo’s famous chicken and dumplings. I would recognize him in a pitch-black room.

Well, I’ll be damned.

Maverick Davis has finally come home.





3


LEIGHTON


“Fire Away” by Chris Stapleton



Ten Years Ago

“Leighton Elizabeth James! I won’t wait a second longer for you to get out of that dadgum bathroom. It’s time to pull up your britches and open the door.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for all this, Quinn.” I look over at the mirror again and pull at my top, vainly willing it to meet the waistband of my cutoffs. The plaid shirt that usually looks mighty respectful now makes me feel like a floozy, thanks to Quinn. I dress for comfort on a normal day, but I also hide the body that looks more like a boy’s than a growing girl.

Somehow, Quinn’s managed to make it look like I actually have some cleavage, not much, but it’s a lot more than I normally have on display. She’s tamed my overly frizzy hair into sleek and silky curls, something I will never be able to figure out how to do on my own. The makeup she so skillfully applied makes me look a lot older than sixteen. I never wear makeup. so anything more than some mascara is drastic. I look so far from the awkward teen that I hardly recognize myself.

“Come on, Leigh! You know I went through a lot of trouble to get my brothers to let us come tonight. If you’re closed off in the bathroom all night it’s just gonna prove them right.”

“Gosh darnit,” I huff and turn to open the bathroom door. Quinn almost falls into the bathroom, her arms flailing around like a windmill trying to catch her balance before she falls ass over elbows into me. I quickly hook my arms to catch her before she hits the ground.

“Jesus Jones, Leigh, you could have hollered out a little warnin’ that I should stop resting my tail on the door you’ve been refusing to open for the past half hour.”

“Sorry, Q,” I say with a laugh, giving her a shove. “At least I caught ya.”

She mumbles something under her breath and turns to face me. Regardless of the fact that I know she would never judge me, I still fidget with the shirt and pull down at the shorts that feel like they’re being eaten by my butt cheeks.

Quinn lets out a low whistle through her teeth. “You look hot, Leigh!”

“Yeah, I don’t, but thanks.”

Her green eyes narrow and I know what’s coming. Quinn hates it when I put myself down and isn’t afraid to throw a whole lot of sass when I get started.

“Seriously? You’re gonna stand here, in front of me, and feed me that pile of horse shit?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t dress like this, Q. You know this. I feel like I’m naked.”

“Well, you aren’t,” she snaps and smacks my hand when I try to untie the knot she’s made in my shirt so I can tuck it into my shorts.

My whole stomach is bare. The tails of my shirt pulled up and tied right under my very unimpressive boobs. I look at her top, the tight red material of her halter covering her chest—the much more impressive chest than mine. She’s got a jean vest on over it, making it so that she’s pretty much covered. Well, except that she’s wearing the same ridiculously short jean cutoffs that I am.

I turn and point to my ass, the one thing I know I got lucky with, then down my leg as I huff in exasperation at Quinn when she rolls her eyes.

“You look great, Leigh.” She ignores my protests and rolls the long sleeves of the shirt up to my elbows, straightens the knot under my chest, and reaches down to hike up my shorts.

“Dangit, Q. I already feel like I’ve got a massive camel toe. They don’t need to be inside my vagina.”