Maverick Read online

  “Can you work?”

  “Exactly what do you think I’m here for—a drink?”

  She caught the barest glimmer of a smile and went to find her apron.

  During the busiest time of the evening, she managed to go an entire fifteen minutes without thinking of Jack. In her mind, he was everywhere she turned. The workload was unusually light—a tribute to the beautiful evening outside. Sally left at eleven, delighted to have an early night. When the last of the patrons left just before two, Derek locked the door.

  Maggie collapsed on a bar stool, pulled off her hat, blew out a sigh of relief and shoved Jack Myles from her mind for the thousandth time. rinse water and set them on the counter to dry.

  “Missed it, didn’t you?”

  Derek plunged the last of the glasses into the He flashed her a quick glance.

  She smiled at him across the bar. “Yeah, I did.” “You okay?”

  Her smile wavered just the slightest bit before she forced it back. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.” He pushed a full shot glass across the counter. She looked at him in surprise. Derek never bought a drink for anyone. Ever. Her boss lifted a glass of his own. “Welcome home, Maggie Chambers.”

  Still surprised, she watched him down his shot and submerge the small glass into soapy water. Maggie lifted her own. Sniffed. And froze.

  Maggie-whiskey. . .

  Damn you, Maggie. You’re a drug. . .

  I came for you. . .

  Trust me, my Maggie. . .

  I love you. . .

  The memories flooded her. The last one was a knife.

  Get the hell out of here!

  Derek’s voice followed Jack’s. “Drink it, Maggie.” She barely heard him.

  Maggie shook her head, dropping the glass on the bar, hands over her mouth to keep back the sobs shaking her shoulders.

  “Hell,” Derek breathed. “I thought so. I’ll drive you home.” Maggie was already gone. Out the back door, around the corner to the street. Then her feet flew. She didn’t stop until she was safely inside the cabin. The enormity of the ache overwhelmed her then. Bent double, she collapsed on the floor, then leaned back against the crate. The sobs erupted from inside, each one opening a new hole in her heart.

  Life without Jack wasn’t life at all. So she had her name back. It was only a name. Everything she’d dreamed of for two years—all the promises she’d made herself—nothing but empty shells.

  Suddenly desperate for contact—any contact—with him, she grabbed up the envelope and tore it open. “Maggie.” The movement from her bedroom doorway registered simultaneously with his soft call. She sprang to her feet. He stepped around the only pile she hadn’t sorted and crossed to stand in front of her.

  “I—You s-startled me.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Me?” The sobs weren’t finished. The word came out in a mortifying little squeak. “You.” He took a step closer and she backed up. “Why didn’t you call me?” She sucked in a ragged breath and tried to stop shaking. “I’m not a loose end, Jack.”

  He chuckled. Moonlight spilled in from outside, but not enough to show her his face. “I’d have to agree with you on that one. I told you we weren’t finished, darlin’.” Just like every time before, his voice slid down inside her like a caress.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  She couldn’t name one obvious fact. About anything. Loose ends. Despite what he’d said, her brain raced. “Chuck took your car.” “Maggie.” He advanced, she retreated.

  “I know I’ll need to testify—”

  Another step forward. One more back. Right into the wall. “You’d know if you’d have read this—” He took the envelope from her fingers and pitched it. It sailed across the room to land on the couch.

  “Jack, I don’t—”

  “I’ve been crazy for two days, Maggie. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Jack—”

  “Shut up.”

  “No.” Suddenly her breath was calm. She straightened her shoulders. “I have to—”

  “No.” She took a hesitant step forward. Followed with a bolder one.

  “You won’t even listen?”

  “No.” All the trembling slid down her arms and ran right out her fingertips. “But I—”

  She took another step forward, into moonlight that didn’t rise high enough to light their faces. “I don’t care.” “That’s not true. I know you—”

  “Jack?” Another step.

  “What?”

  “Shut up.” She laid her hand on his chest, slid her fingers around behind him. Came back with his gun. “Predictable, Special Lieutenant,” she clucked. Leveling the weapon at him cooly, she tipped her head to one side. “Still feel the need to explain yourself?

  “I—damn it, Maggie—no,” he finished dejectedly.

  “Good.” Keeping the gun trained on him, she backed to the window on her left, pulling down the shade. “Maggie, I know you’re hurt—”

  She lifted the gun in warning and Jack subsided. Hurt? He didn’t know the half of it.

  She crossed to the other window. With that shade satisfactorily drawn, she flicked on a switch. A faint glow filled the far corner, barely enough to illuminate her profile as she crossed the room again and stood before him.

  Jack wished he could see her face—her eyes. Damn it all, if she tried to leave him again it would take more than a gun to keep him from following. “I know what you’re going to say.” Her voice was soft, but calm. She was close enough to touch—to smell—but he wanted her eyes. “You arrested Melissa to give me an out with Kevin.”

  He nodded. Maybe she understood, but she hadn’t forgiven him.

  “In the hotel, you were screaming at me because I was in danger.”

  If she knew all that, why was she holding a gun on him?

  “Did you ever once consider me?

  Everything he’d done had been for her. “Maggie—” He lifted his hands. “Shut up.”

  His hands dropped back to his side at her growl.

  “Did you ever once think about how I felt?”

  He moved restlessly. If she wouldn’t let him explain, what was the point?

  “You put yourself in deliberate, calculated danger—stepping in front of him that way. He could have shot you. He did shoot you.” Her voice trembled. Totally confused, he waited. The gun skimmed his chest, right above his heart. “Don’t you ever, ever do something that stupid again. Or I will shoot you. Understand?” She shifted and he caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

  “Maggie,” he whispered. “I never—”

  “Shut up,” she cried, and straightened her shoulders. She brushed away the solitary tear that escaped. “Don’t move,” she warned him. “And don’t even think about trying to stop me.”

  She reached for his hand. Pointed the gun at herself. And wrapped his fingers around the handle. Jack didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  “Order me to strip.”

  “Wh—?”

  “Paybacks.” Her whisper floated to him through the moonlight.

  A grin discharged the breath from his lungs.

  “Well. . . “

  ”Strip, darlin’. By all means, please—strip.”

  Maggie took a single step away from him and kicked out of her shoes. She lifted her t-shirt to bare her waist.

  Jack’s mouth went bone-dry. Maggie heard his sudden indrawn breath and smiled. She faced him boldly as her fingers reached for her waistband. “I don’t care.” The first button popped free. “I don’t.” Her fingers slid to the second button. “Not about your car.” Pop. “Not about Kevin.” Pop. Her jeans began to slide over her rear. She helped them along in the front with a single finger, saucily placed along one hipbone. “I don’t care about guns.” Her jeans pooled at her feet. She stepped out of them. “Or Austin.” Her t-shirt was over her head in a flash, catching on her cast. She teased it free and saw the gun tremble in his hand. Th
e t-shirt landed on her jeans. “I don’t even care about Melissa.”

  Maggie turned her back to him, bent to the floor and slithered out of her socks. Head still down, she risked a glance at him around one knee. If nothing else, she had his attention. And he hadn’t even noticed she’d peeked. That had to be good. She straightened, heart pounding. Hopeful. Terrified. “None of it matters,” she murmured softly.

  He was still watching her. There wasn’t enough light to see his eyes.

  Don’t think. It’s too late to back out now.

  She pulled in a deep breath. Held it. With two fingers, she unhooked her bra. Then she exhaled. Her bra floated to the pile accumulating on the floor. She tried to see his eyes. “Don’t you see?” she whispered. Her panties inched down her hips to her thighs, then fell to her ankles. She hooked them with one toe and stepped out of them, one step closer to him. “I trust you, Jack. I—I love you. I don’t intend to be a loose end you can tuck away. I want a life with you.”

  Her hands dropped to her side. Maggie waited.

  A single heartbeat.

  His arms swept around her. Her feet left the ground before the gun thudded to the couch. She cupped his face in her fingers and kissed him, long and hard and deep. Then she slid down his body, back to her feet and switched on another light, needing his eyes for the rest of what she had to say.

  “I’m home, Jack. But this isn’t home without you.” He nodded, fingers sliding over her face as if he’d memorize her. “I saw you—in the car, with him, with that gun—when I realized you were driving away. . . I saw the future. I didn’t want it. Not without you, Maggie. Not my job, my family, my life—not without you.” He buried his face in her shoulder.

  “I want to live here,” she whispered into his hair.

  “Whatever you want,” he groaned, then lifted his head to glance at the room. “Here?” She laughed, eyes sparkling. “No. There’s no room for children here.”

  “We’re going to have children?” His fingers swept up her side, skimming hips, waist then her breasts, but he didn’t look away from her eyes. “Hundreds.” Maggie burrowed into his chest and he cradled her head. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. “You were with me,” she whispered. “That’s when I knew I trusted you, whether my head believed it or not. My heart knew. Because you were there.”

  “You knew I’d find you.” She nodded. There was more she needed to tell him—more he needed to hear. But there was time. And currently more important things to do. More important things to talk about. Like his move to Colorado. She tipped her head back to see into his eyes, fingers frantically working the buttons on his shirt. “Can you do that?”

  His mouth descended over hers, demanding, intruding, filling her. Maggie moaned and caught his shoulders to stay upright.

  When she could breathe again, she asked again. “Can you?” She tugged his open shirt down his arms and reached for his belt.

  “What?” Jack brushed her hands away and stripped off his jeans. “Have children? I’ve never actually tried—”

  Maggie’s gaze riveted to the small bandage on his shoulder.

  He touched her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to meet his, shaking his head at the worry in her eyes. “Nearly healed. Are you finished talking?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  His hands continued to move and she forgot about his shoulder. “Answer what? I want kids as much as you do.” She squirmed impatiently. His answer was important. Very important. And in about ten seconds she wouldn’t give a solitary damn if he ever did answer. “Move here,” she moaned.

  He grinned into her eyes, amusement shining.

  He knows. What he does to you. . .that he can make you forget even your name. . . For the first time, the knowledge—his knowledge of her—didn’t bother her at all. His mouth played hers, teasing, pleading. “I’ll make you a deal, Maggie, darlin’.” She groaned. “More deals?”

  “You’ll like this one,” he soothed. “Grow your hair for me?”

  “As long as you want.” Her soft sigh spoke of joyful surrender.

  “Then we can live wherever you want, my Maggie. I’ll follow you anywhere. Find you always. My Maverick.”

  Excerpt: While You Were Dead

  Black Fire, Book I

  By CJ Snyder Prologue

  Twelve years ago

  Kat Jannsen didn’t cry the day they buried Maxwell Crayton.

  Plenty of others did. Mourners gathered four and five deep around the long, flag-draped coffin. Even more had packed the church, but Kat skipped the God part. She stayed back by a tree, feeling out of place, uninvited, unwelcome and wondering about the flag. Military? What other secrets had he kept? Kat couldn’t say why she’d come. Except she’d loved him, as she’d never loved another human being in her life. So much hope about to be buried in that coffin. So many dreams. So much despair left behind.

  His actual death shouldn’t have made a difference. He’d been missing for two months before he died. He’d tossed her away like a used Sunday paper three months before that. Now Kat shivered in the cold, sleeting rain. She gave her head a vicious shake, warding off the tears that threatened for the first time in days. She straightened her shoulders. You will not cry. She had no right to attend the family’s service, but she represented someone who did.

  Her gaze darted over the ring of mourners. They were folding the flag. In just moments she’d know. They’d give the flag to Miriam, the sister who’d raised him. Miriam. Kat’s baby’s one chance at a sane life. Anguish wrenched her heart. Sorrow for Max, sorrow for this baby she already loved too much to keep. Kat fought her tears so she could see the woman who held her future—her child’s very life—in her hands.

  The soldier stopped in front of an older woman and Kat frowned. Miriam was forty-three, fifteen years older than Max. This woman looked a decade older than that. Too old? No. She couldn’t be too old. Women had babies in their forties all the time. Bereavement might make her look older.

  An even older man supported Miriam, his arm strong and sturdy around her shoulders. Five others surrounded them, forming a protective half-circle around the couple. Two nephews, Max’d said. Nephews with wives, or at least girlfriends? Grown nephews? The woman turned her head in response to something her husband said and Kat caught her breath, nearly undone by the naked pain on the face that so closely resembled Max’s own. The resemblance was nearly as close as that between her own mother and herself.

  So this was Miriam. So much grief. She must have loved her brother very much. But Kat hadn’t expected her to be so old. She’d pictured a warm, loving younger couple. For just a moment, she sagged back against the tree.

  It’s never easy, Kat. Max’s words, and before that her mother’s. Words to live by. Why would she expect this to be any different?

  You don’t have a choice. Unless you damn your sweet baby before it even draws a breath. All true. No choices, no options, except to entrust her innocent child into the hands of fate. No. Better to trust Miriam.

  More movement at the graveside. Mourners began to greet Miriam and her husband. Time to go. Kat wouldn’t intrude today. But soon. There wasn’t much time. Chapter One

  Five Years Later Max Crayton eased his car over to the side of the road and shut off the engine. His hands were shaking. His heart pounded hard in his chest and loud in his ears. Too loud. Too hard. He focused on the Dairy Queen, on the trees waving gently in the sweet spring breeze. Home. After too many long years, it was over. He was finally free to pick up his life nearly where he’d left it.

  You can’t have Kat back. Regret stung, so sharp and strong he winced. He should go—just start the engine, drive to his sister’s house and get it over with. That’s what he was here to do. But he wasn’t ready. Arrival at Miriam’s heralded a new start. The first day of the rest of your life. His fist connected with the steering wheel. It just wasn’t that damn easy.

  Because arrival at Miriam’s also firmly closed the door on his past. That’s
why he was here, sitting above Bluff River Falls, Wyoming, watching life go on in the valley below. He’d survived the long years because the past was waiting for him. The ultimate reason for what he’d done. His life. Intact. Complete with Kat. Finishing the simple drive to Miriam’s would end that fantasy forever.

  He closed his eyes, fighting the inevitable moment when the door—that door to her—would latch so resolutely behind him. “Kat,” he whispered. “Ah, baby, I’d do it so differently....”

  Would he?

  Faster than a single heartbeat.

  Could he?

  No.

  He’d taken the only path he could. Kat was the most valuable thing he’d lost, but not the only thing. You knew it going in.

  “Not when I agreed,” he argued.

  Yeah, well, that ship sailed.

  Frowning now, he restarted his car. Miriam would help. His sister always had a knack for making him feel better. She’d mothered him when his elderly parents died. Miriam’s husband, Doug, died during his “absence” and he wondered how his sister was coping. Most importantly, how would she react to her “dead” baby brother?

  He wound through streets as familiar as his childhood, pulling to a stop once again, this time in front of her modest, yellow tri-level. For a long minute he sat, staring at the house, surprised by the pink Big Wheel parked defiantly in front of the porch. A neighbor’s kid, probably, as Miriam’s two boys were grown and gone now. Thirty seconds later, he sidestepped the trike, and stood in front of the door. He lifted his hand to knock, and let it fall back to his side.

  What would he say? “Hi, sis. Surprise! I’m not dead after all.” Would she understand that he still couldn’t discuss his manufactured death? Would she accept him back into her life? Forgive him? He lifted his hand again, but the door suddenly flew open, revealing an enchanting pixie of three or four. Perfect little teeth flashed as she grinned at him. “Hiya, Max.” He bit back a frown. She knew him? Long, blond braids swung as she turned her head. “Mommie, Max is home from Heaven.”

  Excerpt from SILVER STORM (Chronicles of the Taken – Book 2) By Michele Callahan