Focus, Leigh. Today you need to stay focused on Quinn and Clay. And hopefully, if he does show up, Maverick won’t make an already hard day for them even worse.
“He’s not comin’, Leigh. Why would he?” Quinn whispers brokenly, her soft voice breaking through my thoughts, drawing my eyes from the crowd as I scan her tear-streaked cheeks. She’s looking toward the front of the church, but she knows me well enough to guess what I was just doing. I don’t say anything, allowing my eyes to drift up to meet Clay’s gaze. His handsome face looks as if it’s carved in stone, the anger clear as day in his stormy eyes. His sister’s hushed words obviously not missed and, if I had to guess, just amped up his already simmering anger at his missing brother to a full boil.
“Maybe he’s just stuck in traffic?” I hedge, knowing damn well he’s not, not if he really was an hour away, like he told Quinn earlier. An hour would put him already off the interstate, and everyone knows there isn’t a lick of traffic to be found between here and there. Unless he got stuck in some rouge cattle escape, there’s just no way.
Clay lets out a gruff sound deep in his throat. “Doubt that, sugar.”
“He’ll be here,” I whisper again in Quinn’s ear, praying that I’m right, but honestly I have no idea if he will be.
The old Maverick, the one I grew up crushing hard on my whole life, wouldn’t have let his siblings down. But the new Maverick, the one that left so easily, well . . . I’m really not sure what he’s capable of. I’ve seen him a handful of times over the years when the rodeo would come to Cedar Park, just outside of Austin, and the very few times I joined Clay and Quinn, even from a distance I could tell that he’s changed.
His smiles no longer came easily. His laughter didn’t ring out over a crowded room. If I had to guess, he escaped what he thought was the prison of a small town life only to find himself locked away in one of his own solitude.
I turn my attention to the front of the church once more and will my mind to clear when I hear the pastor start to talk. My eyes gloss over the deep mahogany stand directly in front of where he’s standing. The one that holds the silver urn on display. Pastor John’s voice carries over the room as he delivers his message about a long life lived and a forever promised with our Father. I keep my arm around Quinn, her soft sobs breaking my heart as he continues to speak.
I hear someone crying behind me, pulling my eyes from Pastor John as I look around the room again. I’m shocked that so many people are here. Knowing that everyone around here most likely had to close up their stores or halt their already busy day of farming to be here. In my case, to close my bakery, the PieHole, down for the day.
To pay our respects to Buford Davis.
The hard as nails father that ruled his house with an iron fist.
The one man that everyone in this room, at one time, would have been happy to see gone. Myself included.
Regardless of the fact that Buford Davis was a hard—at times, nearly impossible—man to love, Clay and Quinn did, albeit in their own way, and his loss is one that’s hit them to the core. They didn’t have a conventional relationship with their father, but it didn’t matter to them that mutual love was something that they didn’t find until the recent years. He was disliked for so long that I honestly thought that it would just be us, the family, but I should have known that just like Clay and Quinn, Pine Oak has a forgiving heart and Buford had been working hard to make up for all the wrongs he had done throughout his lifetime here when he passed.
He was a man who commanded respect, if nothing else, being that his ranch kept a fair share of the townfolks employed, not to mention the fact that the Davis family owned the only auto detail shop for a fifty-mile radius. The Davis family is the family in Pine Oak, and even though Buford had come a long way in earning back the town’s regard, I would best my last slice of hot apple pie that the majority of the people in this church are here for Clay and Quinn.
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.”