Page 5 of Want You Back (Second Chance Ranch #1)
Chapter 5
Colt
Now
Every time I entered Aunt Georgia’s diner, memories smacked into me, one after another, from the first sniff onward. The place smelled like hot fries, sizzling meat, and the barest hint of the pine cleaner she’d used on the scarred floors for decades. My aunt herself was around less and less these days, leaving the running of the kitchen to various younger folks in need of the work. However, she’d been around this afternoon, enough to notice a suspicious customer and call it in.
I hadn’t been surprised by the call or the suspect.
“He’s been at it almost two hours now,” Aunt Georgia greeted me in low tones. Her lone patron at the back of the diner, playing one of the ancient arcade games, didn’t bother swiveling at the jingle of the door or the sound of our voices. The lack of business wasn’t that unusual. Lovelorn had her diner, a taco place, and a donut shop, which was strictly breakfast only, and all three struggled to stay afloat. There was talk of a chain fast food place going in out by the new biofuel plant, but that would likely only make life harder on the small businesses in town. Aunt Georgia finished wiping down an already immaculate booth. “Says he’s not hungry.”
“He’ll eat.” I was more aware than most of the limits of my intuition, but Maverick Lovelorn did hangry like few others. His stiff body language and the way he was rattling that machine said he’d needed to eat hours prior.
“I’ll put in for two of the burger special baskets.” Aunt Georgia bustled off to the kitchen. I should have subbed a salad for the fries, but some grease might help the knot in my gut that had arrived with Maverick hours earlier.
“Level twelve still get you?” I sidled up next to Maverick at the machine. In time, we’d played every game in here, but we always did have a fondness for alien warfare. The games were older now, like us, creaky and prone to breaking down. Lord knew I’d spent enough evenings with a screwdriver, changing out parts, keeping Aunt Georgia’s collection going and trying not to think about my long-gone best friend.
“Colt?” Maverick let out a slow groan as he turned to face me. “Did Georgia call you?”
“Nah.” I waved a hand, not about to rat my informant out. “Coming off duty. Willow’s at a friend’s house till after supper, so I’m killing time.”
“Willow?” He squinted, mouth curving in something that might have been distaste.
“My daughter.” I let all the pride of the last thirteen years fill my voice, making it clear I wasn’t seeking his opinion on the matter. “My whole world since Betsey passed.”
“I would imagine so.” Maverick offered a tight nod, voice thick. He’d never confess to keeping up with town news, but I doubted my being a widower was news to him.
Nevertheless, it wasn’t a topic I was prepared to discuss further, so I pointed at the game. “Scoot over. Let me show you how it’s done.”
“Still think you’re better than me?” He shook his head with a ghost of a smile. He’d always had a fifty pound chip on those slim shoulders of his.
“No one’s better than you, Mav.” I fell into our old banter, easy as a fry slipping through ketchup. “But I can whoop your ass and level twelve both.”
“You’re on.” Maverick moved so I could access the other controller, but I’d underestimated the amount of space our adult bodies took up. As young teens, there had been room to spare with our bony joints and string bean bodies, but as forty loomed large, our shoulders rubbed and we kept bumping elbows.
In addition to sounding different with the faster speech and traces of California here and there in his voice, he smelled different. Expensive, some sort of body product brand we likely couldn’t get out here in the sticks. Also different was my awareness of him. A million years ago, he’d been Mav, my best friend, and things had been so much simpler before everything changed.
“Food’s ready.” Aunt Georgia came up behind us to set the red plastic baskets on a nearby table.
“You ordered me food?” Mav’s tone turned suspicious as he narrowed his eyes.
“When did you eat last?” I demanded, sitting at the table, trusting he’d follow. “And don’t count coffee.”
“A while.” Defeated, he sank onto the metal chair opposite me. He took a healthy bite of the burger, swallowed. “Thank you.”
“You always did do hangry something awful.” I shook my head, unwelcome fondness seeping into my tone.
“I wasn’t hangry.”
“No?” I shot him a pointed look. “Just an asshole all the time these days?”
He blew out a harsh breath. “I don’t wanna fight.”
“Then don’t.” I helped myself to a fry, forcing my irritation back down to a manageable level. “What are you doing in town anyway? Figured you and Faith would be reviewing offers by now.”
“The will fucked us over.” He gestured with one hand. “The will and associated trust require us to stay a year before we sell.”
“A whole year?” I whistled. I wasn’t going to let on that I was damn relieved. At least this way, the town had time to prepare for the inevitable. “In Lovelorn? Damn, that’s gotta be harsh for a jetsetter like you Hollywood types.”
“I’m not Hollywood.” Maverick pursed his lips, and I had no business remembering how full they were.
“That reality show of yours begs to differ,” I countered to avoid more lip-related thoughts.
“You watched?” A slow smile crept across his face. He always did have an appetite for attention.
“Nah.” I wasn’t lying. “Willow likes remodeling shows, so she might have had it on a time or two, but she likes house flips more than your hotel renovation deal.”
In his years away from Lovelorn, Maverick had apparently built himself something of a reputation, taking struggling independent hotels and turning them profitable. Someone with a camera had the bright idea of following his efforts, and the result had been a minor success of a show. My aunt and Willow, and undoubtedly other Lovelorn residents, had followed along, but I had largely avoided that siren pull.
“And so the low ratings agree.” Maverick gave another dismissive flick of his wrist before stabbing a french fry in a puddle of ketchup. “Show got canceled, in case you didn’t hear that.”
I had. I’d also heard that his marriage to the producer blew up in a very public way, but I wasn’t about to admit to following gossip.
“You at loose ends?” I drawled instead. “Sounds like you’ve got a ranch to run.”
Maverick opened his mouth as if to snap at me, closed it, and swallowed hard. “I don’t know the first thing about running a ranch, Colt.”
His honesty hit me square in the chest and zapped my urge to agree. Mav was hurting, as evidenced by the deep brackets around his eyes and that sinful mouth of his.
“Luckily, you’ve got Gray.” I nodded firmly despite knowing there were limitations on what a foreperson could accomplish without a decent owner. “He’ll do right by you.”
“He’s always seemed like a good guy.” Maverick paused for his last bite of burger. “No idea why he stayed on after his dad passed away.”
“The ranch is bigger than Melvin Lovelorn.” I wasn’t about to betray confidences, but Gray was something of a drinking buddy these days, and his loyalty was to the ranch, not Maverick’s cantankerous father. “I know it’s hard to believe. But it’s true.”
“Nah. Dad was the ranch. His name is on the gate. His name is on the town.” The set to Maverick’s jaw said he wasn’t about to be dissuaded from this opinion.
“Guess you’ll have to ask Gray why he stayed then, but he’s a damn good foreman. Turned down a chance to run a huge operation in Texas a few years back.” I offered that tidbit precisely so Maverick would value Gray and trust him to do his job. “Who knows, if the year goes well, maybe you could be a long-distance owner. Keep it going?—”
“A year, Colt. I’m giving it a year.” Mav pushed his empty basket away. “Sooner if we can get out of the damn will. That ranch isn’t for me. Never was.”
He was wrong, of course, but I doubted I’d been the one to change his mind. Maverick Lovelorn likely wasn’t sticking around to find out either, which was something I needed to keep in mind. He wasn’t for me. Never had been.