Claiming the Maverick's Heart

by Holt,Debra

  Macy the girl had been a lot easier to figure out than Macy the grown woman. All he knew was that she wanted nothing to do with him. She’d left no doubt there. He should walk away and leave her be. Really, he should. He’d done it before. And look how that turned out. Not so good.

  “Hey, Trace! Are you planning to come down from your mountain anytime soon? Or maybe you intend to be a hermit the rest of your life?” His sister’s voice echoed from the ground floor of the house up to the second floor where he was working. “You can’t hide out up here forever.”

  He sighed. He wasn’t hiding exactly, but he was definitely determined to not be bothered. “Guess you didn’t see the keep-out-unless-invited sign at the front gate?”

  “Guess not,” she responded easily. “Besides, I know you couldn’t possibly mean that to include your favorite sister. Where are you? Are you going to come down here, or do I need to climb on these not-too-secure-looking steps to come find you?”

  He didn’t reply, but he did move to where she could see him.

  “Wow—when I said mountain man, I was kidding. Or are you going for the sexy, scruffy look or—”

  “Did you come here for a reason or simply to irritate me?” Trace cut her off. He wasn’t in the mood for company and hadn’t been into town or over to the family ranch in days. Instead, he’d stayed here, working out his anger in a physical way with hammer and nails from early morning until well after dark, toiling alongside the work crews. On one hand, he was making progress on the house. On the other, his frustration level hadn’t improved much.

  He kept hoping the physical labor would help him sleep at night, but dreams still came and caused him to toss and turn. Dreams of Macy. He’d replayed every conversation they had ever shared, before he left town and since his return. Overshadowing it all was the kiss that had happened right before she walked away from him the night of the wedding reception. Nothing made sense to him. So he’d come to his hilltop and thrown himself into manual labor. In the quiet, he had also done a lot of talking to the Man upstairs. What was he doing wrong? He’d come home. He was doing his best to make amends. Why wouldn’t Macy give him … give them … another chance?

  Annie’s touch brought him back to the present. “Do I have to have a reason to come check on my brother? Maybe if you’d answer your cell phone once in a while, I wouldn’t have to leave so many voice mails and then drive out here and disturb your exile.”

  “Exile?” He stomped over to the ice chest and lifted out a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps. Already, the June days were climbing into the upper nineties and flirting with triple digits. Sweat had soaked through the gray T-shirt he wore, and it clung to him. “I come and go as I please when I please. That’s not exile. Thought you were supposed to be back in Dallas by now.”

  “If you were around,” she pointed out, taking the bottle of water he offered her from the chest, “you’d know that I’ve accepted Doc Walter’s offer of going into practice with him. He’s planning on retiring next year.”

  A smile crossed his face at the news. “If I wasn’t so sweaty, I’d hug you, little sister. I thought you wanted life in the big city. What happened?”

  “Things change. People change. You should understand that better than most. Cartwright’s Crossing is a pretty good place to be from, but it’s an even better one to come home to. Especially compared to the rat race of the city. I took the position in the city because that’s what my dear ex-fiancé thought was the right thing to do … to be in the right place … with the right people, etc.”

  “Guess I know what you mean about this town and coming home.” His eyes darkened as he stepped over to stand in front of the large window that looked over the valley below. “You and I both left here looking for something out there”—he nodded toward the distant hills—“we thought would be so much better. Yet here we are, back where we started, because we found out it’s where we should have been all along. What we really wanted was within our grasp the whole time.”

  “That’s getting pretty deep, but I do understand what you’re saying. Are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?”

  “No elephants around here.”

  “Macy. You remember her, don’t you? The woman you love?”

  Trace swung his gaze over to Annie. “That subject is off limits. At her request.”

  “You men are so obtuse. It’s amazing you manage to get through an entire day without a female telling you what to do, how to do it, and where to do it.”

  “Drop it, Annie. I’m not going to talk about it. You can leave now if that’s the reason you’re here.”

  “I’m here to say goodbye to you and to let you know my news about moving back,” she replied. “I also must say I think it’s very adult the way the two of you have decided to put distance between yourselves and yet manage to live in the same county. I’m glad you’re doing okay, since Macy is getting on with her life just fine, too.” She delivered the last statement with a nonchalant toss of her hair.

  Trace didn’t quite buy it. He didn’t want to bite the thinly disguised hook Annie was dangling before him, yet he was hungry for news … any news where Macy was involved. If that made him pathetic, so be it. “Good for her—glad to hear it.”

  “Of course, everyone is betting on the exact day that Junior Ross is going to put a certain diamond ring he bought three days ago at Tarleton’s Jewelry on a very important finger of hers. I’m betting it’ll be her birthday—which, if you remember, is coming up in two weeks. It could be sooner, I suppose—they’ve been out almost every night.”

  A lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach. Junior Ross was going to propose? What would Macy say? Did she love the man? He wouldn’t even answer that thought. He shrugged.

  “Good for them.”

  “Oh, good grief. Wake up before it’s too late, you lunkhead! You’ve always been hardheaded, but I think one of those broncs must’ve stomped it in a time or two!” She planted herself in front of him, blocking everything else from view. “Talk to her, Trace—before it’s too late. You still love her, and I know she loves you.”

  That brought his attention fully around. “How do you know how she feels? Did she tell you?”

  “Not in so many words. But I know that the feelings are still there—call it female intuition.”

  “Your intuition is way off on this one, Annie. Face it—happy endings are only in those books you females like to read. It’s her life … her choice to make.”

  “Okay, be stubborn. But think about this—how are you going to feel as you sit in that church and watch Macy walk down the aisle to another man? Think you’ll be able to dance at her wedding? Throw rice as she and Mike head off on their honeymoon? If you love her, you won’t let it happen. And that starts by cleaning yourself up, getting down off this mountain into the land of the living again, and fighting for her.

  “Did you think it would be easy to come back here and face her? Did you expect her to forget all the pain and humiliation you caused when you dumped her? Did you think she’d welcome you back, and you could start up right where you left off? That she’d have any trust for you right off the bat? Because if you did think any of those things, then you are dumber than I thought—and she should dump your sorry hide.”

  “She doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say, Annie. She won’t listen. Every time we start to talk about it, one or both of us ends up mad and walks away before we can finish.”

  “She’s hurt, Trace. She gave you her heart, and then you stomped on it. She’s protecting herself. Words aren’t going to get through on their own. You have to show her. Show her you’ve changed and you mean what you say. Show her she can trust you again.”

  Show her. That was easier said than done. Why had he listened to Annie? Because you’re a man in love, and nothing you do is supposed to make any sense. Another pearl of sisterly wisdom. Trace ran a finger around the collar of his shirt again. It felt too tight and constricting. His palm
s were sweaty, even with the air-conditioning on high in the truck. He couldn’t recall ever being this nervous before in his life. Then again, nothing this important had ever ridden on the outcome of what he was about to do. If he paused again to think it over, he would turn around and go back to his hilltop. But he was done second guessing himself, so Trace headed in the direction his heart led him … toward Macy’s ranch.

  For the umpteenth time, he told himself he had to be a real glutton for punishment. It wasn’t like he could expect to be met with open arms … far from it. He could easily see her meeting him with a loaded shotgun before he cleared the cab of his truck. He didn’t even know what he would say if he actually got far enough to face her and say anything. He knew what was in his heart and mind, but saying it was another matter. However, doing nothing was no longer an option. If Junior Ross was planning a proposal, time was running out. Pulling into the yard, Trace shut off the engine and reached for the bouquet of flowers lying next to him.

  Taking a deep breath, he got out and walked toward the house, holding the flowers in front of him almost like a shield. A lot of good they’d do if she met him with buckshot. He’d almost rather face the meanest bronc in the world than the woman he was about to greet.

  Macy had just stepped into the kitchen from the back porch, intent on checking the small chicken breast she had placed under the broiler earlier. The sound of knocking at the front door surprised her, and she changed direction toward the living room. Now who? It seemed like a steady stream of interruptions had taken up most of her day between deliveries of feed and new clients delivering their horses. In fact, she’d last eaten an egg sandwich earlier that morning and skipped lunch altogether, not that she had much of an appetite since the scene with Trace more than a week before anyway. Keeping the man out of her thoughts seemed to be getting tougher instead of easier as the time went by.

  Another round of knocking came as she crossed through the dining room into the hallway and walked to the front door. Whoever was at her door was certainly insistent. When she looked through the peephole, all she saw were yellow flowers … a lot of them. Mike? He had stepped up his interest of late; he’d either made a point to see her or he’d called her each day. But it wasn’t like him to pop in without a call first.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror, she wished she had on something other than denim shorts with slightly fraying hems and a sky-blue tank top. Her shoes were someplace in the living room. She’d piled her hair on top of her head with a couple of barrettes earlier when the heat had gotten too much on the patio where she had been transplanting pink and red geraniums into larger pots. Oh well. It wasn’t going to get any better than it was. Fixing a smile on her face, she threw back the door. Her words froze on the tip of her tongue.

  It wasn’t Mike Ross. It was Trace. Nerves went to full alert throughout her body, heedless of how hard she was trying to control them. She had told herself she was pleased that Trace had taken her words to heart and left her alone. But now—face to face with him and that smile of his and the warm gaze sliding over her— Macy realized she’d still been fooling herself. More than that, she was shocked at the sudden urge she felt to launch herself into the man’s arms—it was a good thing they were full of flowers. Her grip tightened on the doorknob as she tried to maintain her grasp on sanity.

  “Hello.” His voice rippled through her body, making it hum, much like a tuning fork.

  “Hello.”

  “I saw these in the florist’s window and thought of you. That’s the only explanation I have for being here.” He offered her the large bouquet of yellow and white daisies in floral paper.

  There had to be a couple of dozen flowers at least. Her favorites. Trace had remembered, and it went straight to her heart. She reached for them.

  “Thanks … thank you,” Macy managed to say. “They’re really beautiful.” They simply stood looking at each other, both adrift on an uncharted sea of uncertainty.

  “I guess I—” Trace began to speak, and then a frown creased his brow. “Is something burning?”

  “Oh no!” Macy pivoted and ran toward the kitchen. As she moved through the dining room, a thin layer of smoke drifted in the air and the loud squawking of the smoke detector began. Trace passed her at the kitchen door. He quickly opened the oven door, grabbed pot holders from the counter, and drew out the pan with the smoldering chicken … now almost charcoal. He deposited it into the sink and ran tap water over the bits of flame that still flickered in the pan. Reaching above the sink, he unlatched the window and raised it to allow the smoke to clear from the room. Macy opened the back door to help the process along.

  “Hope you weren’t counting on that for dinner,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a wry smile as he looked down at the remains.

  Macy, still clutching the flowers, tried to stifle the embarrassment she felt. She could cook a decent meal when she put her mind to it, but Trace was probably thinking how inept she was in the kitchen. Walking over to the sink, careful to keep a distance between the two of them, she reached underneath and came up with a vase.

  “I was about to take it out of the oven when you rang the doorbell. That old stove is cantankerous on its best day and needs to be replaced. I thought I was keeping an eye on it.” She finished filling the container with water before she turned to look at him. “What are you doing here, Trace? And what’s the deal with the flowers?” And why do you have to look so good? The blue T-shirt hugging his torso and his tight jeans had certainly upped the temperature of the room. The scent of his cologne knotted her stomach in the most pleasant of ways … and she tried hard to ignore it.

  “I should have thought of something a lot more flowery … sorry, no pun intended.” He grinned and the knot in her stomach grew larger. “Words have never been my strong suit, especially when it comes to you. But I saw those and I thought they might make you happy. And if they made you happy, then you might not hate me near as much. And if that happened, then maybe it might take only ten or twenty years for you to talk to me again, instead of thirty or forty.”

  The half grin on his face belied the serious light in his eyes but together, they were a combination that made it harder for her to concentrate. “Are you making a joke?”

  The grin left, and only the serious remained. “There isn’t anything remotely funny about any of this, Macy. I said I wasn’t good with words, especially when it comes to something as important as this. I tried to stay away like you wanted, to leave you alone. Guess I didn’t figure on how hard that might be when everywhere I turn in this county there’s some memory associated with you or with our past. Just like those flowers. Every time I picked you up for a date, I brought you a bouquet … because it made you smile, and your smile lit the world for me. It still does.”

  “Right.” She bit out the word. “Too bad it didn’t light your world as bright as those arena lights at the rodeo.” There was no smile on her face. Her heart ached too much for that to happen.

  She should be happy … it was evident that her remark hit its target. What are you doing? Macy unwrapped the flowers and plopped them in the vase. Then she placed the bouquet at the center of the kitchen table and bunched the paper in her hands to give herself something further to do.

  “Look, Trace.” She spoke, summoning up as much courage as she could. “I don’t want to argue over this. Neither you nor I intend to leave this town, so we need to deal with it and get on with our lives.”

  “That’s easy to say, but it doesn’t seem so easy to do in reality. Maybe that’s because we skirt around the issue but we never lay it to rest. That’s probably my fault.”

  His words surprised her. “How is it your fault?”

  Trace didn’t answer right away. He removed his hat, running the other hand through the longish waves of hair on the top of his head, clearly gathering thoughts. When he did finally speak, Macy could see his effort as he searched for the right words. “I said my leaving here and leaving you w
as a huge mistake; one I didn’t realize until it was too late. It’s what I haven’t said to you that’s a big part of our problem. It’s probably what I should have said right off the bat. I know I’ve said it since in my mind and in my heart a hundred times if not more.”

  Macy sank onto a chair at the kitchen table, unsure how much longer her suddenly shaky legs would support her. Those emotions she’d long denied were surfacing again. Tension filled the moment and she clasped her hands in front of her on the tabletop, her eyes on them as she tried to prepare herself for whatever was coming. Trace maintained his stance, leaning against the cabinet, his fingers absently running the rim of his hat.

  “I’m sorry, Macy. I wish there was another word that carried more weight, but there isn’t. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I broke your heart and destroyed your faith in me. I’m sorry I let you down after all the plans and promises we made. My only excuse is no excuse at all. I was a weak, immature fool of a boy. I thought I could have it all … you, the rodeo, the spotlight … everything. Except I never really thought about what you wanted in all of that. And bottom line is, I never admitted that I was afraid.”

  Startled, her eyes went to his at that statement. “You’ve never been afraid of anything as long as I’ve known you. What could possibly make you feel that way?”

  “What I felt for you made me afraid. The fact you put me up on this mile-high pedestal also made me afraid. I had a dream to ride broncs, make a name and a fortune on my own, one not associated with my family. Then I looked into your eyes one day and took a long, hard fall. I wanted to be everything you saw in me. And then one day, another cold, hard fact hit me head on. I realized I could fail—fail at it all. The more that sank in, the more I knew I couldn’t stand failing … in your eyes more than anything else. I had to leave. It was my only chance to prove my worth to my family and to you … and to myself. It was a coward’s way out, I know. A real man wouldn’t have done that. I should have stayed or at least gone and spoken to you in person about my feelings. But I didn’t.”