Betting On The Maverick. Cindy Kirk
her mom had passed, it was as if she’d taken any drive he’d possessed with her. Of course, most of that lethargy could be due to the alcohol.
“We need to get back,” Brad said abruptly.
“We haven’t finished our talk.”
“If you’re not interested in making out, there’s nothing keeping us here.”
“Is everything about sex with you?”
He paused, considered. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Not sure how to respond to such a comment, Margot said nothing, merely returned to her horse and mounted. “Forget a compromise. Once we get back to the house, I want you to pack up your stuff and go back to the Shooting Star. Once my dad returns, we can sort out what he owes.”
“Good try.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He mounted the roan with an ease that spoke of long years in the saddle. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but this is my home now. Legally.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I have to leave?”
That would happen when hell froze over, she thought to herself.
“Absolutely not.” He gave her a little wink. “I want you to stay.”
“You do?”
“How else are we ever going to become, ah, intimately acquainted, if you’re living somewhere else?”
* * *
The invitation to accompany Brad to his parents’ house for dinner that evening surprised her. She was ready to say no when she realized that this might be an opportunity. As she’d had no luck in convincing Brad to move out, perhaps she could get his parents on her side and they could convince him.
Margot dressed carefully for the dinner though she knew she’d probably have been properly attired in jeans and a nice shirt. But this wasn’t neighbors getting together for a barbecue; this was a business meeting of sorts. With this fact in mind, she’d pulled out a pair of black pants and topped them with a green sweater. Instead of cowboy boots, she pulled on a pair of shiny heeled ones. She even took a little extra time with her makeup.
Though she was most happy in jeans, she had just enough of her girlie mother in her to enjoy dressing up occasionally.
Her fingers moved to the horseshoe necklace around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother when she was ten and had participated in her first big rodeo. Though many of the girls were older, she’d been excited to get second place.
Her father had been less than impressed. It was the first, but certainly not the last, time she’d heard his “second place is the first loser” speech.
Margot’s fingers tightened around the horseshoe. Her mother’s faith in her ability had never faltered and Margot was determined not to disappoint her now. She would find her father, bring him home and get the deed to the ranch back, one way or the other.
She gave Vivian a scrub on the top of her head. “You’ll have the whole house to yourself tonight, Vivi. Relax and enjoy.”
Suddenly cognizant of the time, Margot rushed out of the bedroom and slammed into Brad.
“Whoa, there, filly.” His strong hands steadied her.
She inhaled sharply and breathed in the intoxicating scent of his cologne. As her gaze took in his dark pants and gray shirt, she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d done a little dressing up. “We’re going to be late.”
The second the words slipped past her lips she wished she could pull them back. “We’re” made it sound too much like they were a couple, which they weren’t, not at all.
“Plenty of time,” Brad said easily, his appreciative gaze studying her from head to toe. “You look nice.”
He sniffed the air. “Smell good, too. Did you put on that flowery perfume for me? I definitely approve.”
“Why you—” For a second Margot was tempted to rush back in her room and wash off the scent she’d impulsively sprayed on after her shower. But that would only make her look like a gauche sixteen-year-old. And she hadn’t been that for an awfully long time. So instead she laughed and patted his cheek. “Oh, you poor deluded man.”
Margot wondered whether they should drive separately just in case his parents convinced him to turn over the house to her. Though the chance of that happening was a long shot, it could happen.
She felt him study her as she slipped past him and headed down the steps. He caught up with her at the door, reaching around her so quickly she had no choice but to let him open it for her.
“I have no idea what’s on the menu tonight,” he told her, then pinned her with those amazing green eyes. “Unless you’re talking about something other than—”
“Forget it.”
When they reached his truck, she paused, then heaved a resigned sigh and opened the door. Even knowing the man as little as she did, the odds that she could persuade him to stay at his parents’ home tonight were slim to none.
“Let’s get back to the point I was making. The menu.”
“No worries.” She settled into the leather seat, fastened the belt. “I’m not particular.”
“I wasn’t speaking about food.” Brad turned over the engine and cast a sideways glance in her direction. “You didn’t accept my invitation for dinner because you wanted to see my parents or because you wanted to spend time with me.”
“Give the guy a bubblegum cigar.”
“Seriously, something is going on in that devious mind of yours. I want to know what it is.”
Margot simply smiled and reached forward. “Mind if I change the station?”
Before he had a chance to respond she’d already changed it to a classic country station. As Merle started wailing about love gone wrong, she poised herself for Brad’s next volley.
Vivian ran along the truck barking her displeasure at being left behind. When Brad turned onto the gravel road in the direction of town, Vivian stopped running but continued to bark.
In the cab of the truck the subtle spicy scent of Brad’s cologne mingled with her perfume. A watchful waiting filled the air.
Instead of being disturbed by it, Margot felt a thrill of exhilaration. The same feeling she got before she entered the ring on Storm and started the race around the barrels.
“I’m on to you, Red,” he said after about a mile.
Now this was interesting. She lifted a brow. “Really?”
“My parents aren’t going to side with you,” he told her. “Trust me. If that’s why you came, you’ll be heading home tonight disappointed.”
The Crawford home on the Shooting Star property was beautiful, a two-story white clapboard on a double lot. As it was early October, the grass in the yard surrounding the house with its wraparound porch had already gone dormant. Someone, likely Brad’s mother, Laura, had put up an autumn display that included stalks of corn, colorful gourds and a huge pumpkin.
Though Margot couldn’t recall ever being inside the house, she remembered attending several outdoor barbecues when she was young.
Margot had always been envious of the Crawford family with their six kids. Brad’s youngest sister Natalie was three years older than Margot, so they’d run in different social circles. But she knew Natalie and liked her quite a bit.
“Will