Chapter 4

He was a wreck. He had been since he'd ridden away from Sterling's wedding.

Maverick slowed his gelding at the sight of Hazel in the horse corral, leading one of the new Oakley foals with the mama grazing a dozen feet away. All he wanted to do was go talk with Hazel and try to apologize, but her words from when she'd come in that morning hadn't stopped ringing in his head. I can do my job without having to interact with you. In fact, it would probably be best if we keep our distance.

All morning, he'd tried to stay out of her way, tried to keep his distance the way she wanted. He'd spent most of his time out in the south horse pasture with one of the ranch hands, examining the Clydesdale that had a lame foot.

After much prodding and poking, they'd discovered the horse had a foot abscess. Since the creature had been too lame to cross the distance to the barn, Maverick had used his knife to carve down through the hoof right then and there in the middle of the field. When he'd reached the soft sole and the abscess, he'd cut into it, and a thin spurt of pus had been followed by a steady trickle. He'd had to enlarge the drainage hole, and by the time he'd finished, the horse had been able to bear his weight on all feet.

Even so, they'd brought the Clydesdale back and now needed to soak the foot in a bucket of warm Epsom salts to not only clean the spot but to also keep the problem from reoccurring.

Now, as he led the creature toward the barn, he couldn't stop himself from watching Hazel as she interacted with the foal, petting and scratching its belly, ears, feet, and hind end. She was training it, getting it used to being handled, so that when it came time for haltering and tacking, it would be accustomed to the process.

Hazel straightened and arched her back, as though working out a kink. Her hair was tucked away under her battered black Stetson, and she was wearing her baggy duster coat.

As she took a step away from the foal, her gaze landed upon him and the Clydesdale trotting along behind him. She lifted a hand to wave, but then she must have remembered the conflict of the past weekend, and she quick-like brushed a loose strand of hair off her cheek instead.

Maverick's gut tightened in protest. Even though she'd only been there for half a day, he'd had enough of the strained interaction and tiptoeing around. He was gonna have to go over and have a good jawing about everything. That's all there was to it.

He tossed the Clydesdale's lead line to Ross, the cowhand riding with him. "Take him on in. I'll be there in a minute."

Without waiting for a reply, Maverick aimed his gelding toward Hazel and the corral. He could tell when she realized he was coming by the way she focused on the foal and began rubbing the creature again.

Even when he reached the corral, she kept her attention squarely on the foal and didn't glance his way. From the side, he got a view of her profile—her dainty pointed chin, the narrow stretch of her jaw, the delicate shape of her ear, the blond wisps of hair circling about her barren neck.

She looked so mature, so grown-up.

When had she stopped being that sweet little girl who'd followed Sterling and him around? It had been a while. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time she'd tagged along with them for anything.

He dismounted and leaned against the split rail post.

She still didn't look at him and instead scratched the foal behind both ears.

Was this her way of telling him she intended to follow through on her declaration earlier not to interact with him? Well, he didn't like it one bit. Especially not with her. Not when she'd always looked up to him.

"Blast it all, Hazel." He couldn't keep the irritation from edging his voice.

She paused and straightened, turning a wide-eyed gaze upon him. In the bright midday sunlight, the bronze of her eyes had turned from brown to gold. A bucketload of uncertainty was etched into her features.

"Is this what you're aiming to do? Punish me by ignoring me every time I come near?"

"No." The word came out hastily. "I mean, yes." Her lashes fell, and she bit her lip as her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink.

Had he ever seen her flushed before? If so, he couldn't remember it, and he would have remembered her looking like this... so sweet and fresh and... and what? Fascinating? Enticing?

As though realizing that her cheeks were turning color, she pressed her hands to them, then began to shed her duster, clearly trying to blame her condition on being hot rather than embarrassed.

He had half a mind to tease her like old times. But he stifled the banter, knowing he had to iron out the ruffles between them first.

She tossed her coat on the rail beside him, then stretched toward the foal. As she did so, her blouse and skirt hugged her figure—a very womanly figure with generous curves in all the right places.

Again, he paused to take in her profile, this time starting with her Stetson and making a trail from her perfect forehead, elegantly shaped cheeks and nose, pretty, pert lips, and down to her neckline and the swell of her bust showing. His gaze almost got stuck there, but he forced it to her slender ribs, to her waist, and then to her curved hips and backside.

When had Hazel turned into such a mighty fine-looking woman? Course, she'd been pretty at the wedding on Sunday. And she'd looked pretty plenty of other times.

But today, at this moment, there was something about her that was different. Something that blared all too loudly that she was off-limits, that she was someone he could never have, even if he wanted her. Which he didn't. Because, obviously, she was his best friend's little sister.

He and Sterling had long ago agreed they'd never cross a line and show interest in each other's younger sisters. It was part of the pact of honor and respect they'd developed. And it had been easy to abide by since their sisters had been far younger and treated them like older brothers.

He supposed he'd grown closer to Hazel over the past years that she'd been helping out with their horses. They both had the love of horses in common, and they'd worked together a lot, deciding upon the mares to breed and all that entailed. He'd also tried to be present for each of the foalings, even though Hazel was capable of handling it all by herself.

The plain truth was, he counted her as one of his closest friends. He'd already lost one friendship and didn't want to lose another.

With an inward sigh, Maverick gave himself a mental shake. He didn't want to do anything else to jeopardize his relationship with her, including taking notice of how womanly she was. The reason he was viewing her differently today was because she was acting differently by ignoring him instead of admiring him. That was all.

"C'mon now, Hazel. If you're gonna keep working here, you can't ignore me." He tried to focus on her face, but his gaze dropped again, this time to her slender arms, her dainty wrists, and her long fingers combing through the foal's mane.

She paused and glanced at him sideways, her eyes especially big and beautiful. "So if I ignore you, you'll fire me?"

At the worry in her expression, his immediate denial got stuck in his throat. Was she afraid, after everything that had happened, he wouldn't want her here? It wasn't true. He'd realized yesterday when she hadn't shown up just how much the ranch relied upon her for so many things.

"I'm sorry, Maverick." She straightened, and again her blouse hugged her body too tightly. "I don't want to lose my job. It's just that I promised Sterling I would come here and do my work and wouldn't talk to you any more than I have to."

So, Sterling hadn't wanted Hazel to come back, had tried to talk her out of it. The news shouldn't have surprised him. But it was harsh. And it told him all he needed to know—that Sterling really did hate him and probably wouldn't ever forgive him.

The despair he'd been trying to avoid shot through his chest with such force that he had to grip the rail tighter to keep from slamming his fist into something. He shifted his gaze to the Tenmile Range to the west just beyond their log home and the barns. The peaks rose with grandeur, the slopes still snow-covered in places.

He lived in the most beautiful place on earth, their river valley and their land surrounded on all sides by the wild mountains. He loved their ranch with a passion that none of his brothers had felt. And he loved the horses more than anyone else, except for maybe Hazel.

But after all that had happened with Sterling, Maverick had been ready to give it all up a dozen different times in order to go back and relive that day. In fact, he'd give it all up if he could have his friend back again. It meant nothing to him without the people he cared about.

"Maverick?" Hazel's voice was tentative.

He could sense what she was about to ask even before she formulated the words. And he wouldn't stop her. Even though he knew he deserved the punishment from Sterling, he wanted the chance to explain to someone all that had happened. Would Hazel listen? Or would she rush to judge him too?

She was quiet for a long moment, as if debating whether to bring up the painful subject. Finally she spoke in almost a whisper. "Why did you kiss Violet?"

He kept his focus on the rocky peaks, hoping to gain just a little bit of their strength. "It was a stupid, rash decision, one I'd do anything to change." After all, it hadn't saved Sterling any heartache. Maybe it had even made his pain worse.

"But why?" Hazel persisted. "Plenty of women fall right into your arms. So why choose her?"

Did plenty of women fall into his arms? He supposed some did. He was never without a partner at the local dances at Inman's Lodge. He always had women to flirt with after church services or at ice-skating and hockey games on Mill Pond. Whenever he went into town, he usually found one young gal or another to talk to. He supposed he could have picked one of them and settled down by now.

But none of them interested him all that much or for very long.

Hazel stood quietly beside the foal, waiting for his answer, her fingers absently stroking the creature's forelock.

His action was indefensible, but he had to say something. "Would you believe me if I told you I kissed her because I was trying to take the blame for it and keep Sterling from knowing about Violet's doubts?"

Hazel cocked her head, studying him as though trying to see deep inside to the truth. "I want to believe you, Maverick. I really do. But you have to know how far-fetched your excuse sounds."

He expelled a sigh of defeat. "I know."

She left the foal and approached the fence. She stopped and placed her hands on the post on either side of his. "Was Violet telling the truth? Did she initiate the kiss?"

He let himself meet Hazel's gaze—her unassuming, trusting, clear gaze. "Would you believe me if I told you yes?"

Again she studied him, and this time her eyes were soft, almost kind. "You've never lied to me before. Why would you start now?"

A lump pushed up into his throat. Heaven almighty, he liked Hazel. She was the sweetest gal he'd ever met. "Thank you." His reply came out low and laden with emotion.

She shifted her hands so that they were on top of his, and she squeezed.

The ache in his throat pulsed higher. He wasn't a man given to blubbering, but he could feel the heat forming at the back of his eyes. The past two days had been pure torture, and now to have someone outside his family who was giving him even half an ear and not passing judgment? That was more than he could take.

He bent over and rested his head on the rail.

She kept her hands upon his, and somehow that simple comfort told him everything he needed to know—that she still was his friend and would listen to everything he had to say.

"I was feeling real bad about my pa not being there," he said quietly, not caring about the anguish in his voice. "And real bad Ma was too sick to come and that Ryder and Tanner weren't there either."

Hazel squeezed his hands again. "I guessed that was bothering you."

"It was getting to me something awful. So I stepped outside for a minute, and that's when I saw Violet crying by the side of the house."

"I didn't realize she'd gone out."

"Me either. Course, I went right over to see if she was all right. And she started going on about how she didn't know if she loved Sterling enough to marry him."

Hazel sighed. "I should say I'm surprised, but she'd shared her reservations with me on a couple occasions over the spring."

Maverick lifted his head and straightened. "She had reservations right from the start when she turned down his proposal that first time."

Hazel's head was still tilted in that endearing way she had about her when she was trying to figure something out. "I suppose there was a part of her that cared for Sterling and wanted to marry him. But she wasn't as ready as Sterling."

"I should've listened better to her. But I was just thinking about Sterling and how upset he was gonna be when he realized Violet was outside crying. So I scooped her up and started back to the house."

This time Hazel nodded, as if she finally understood.

"She told me she might have feelings for someone else." He forced himself to finish telling the whole sordid tale. "I didn't realize who she was talking about until she started to kiss me."

Hazel's eyes flashed with something. Was it anger? "No matter how confused Violet was, she shouldn't have been kissing another man while she was engaged and about to be married."

"I know." Maverick didn't understand how Violet could be so hurtful to Sterling. "The only thing I could think was that she'd been looking for a way out of the marriage and it was the only thing left for her to do."

"She should have talked to Sterling."

"Maybe she tried. You know how persuasive Sterling can be when he wants something."

"True."

Maverick inhaled a deep breath, feeling suddenly lighter than he had since the wedding. "So you believe everything I've just told you?"

Hazel was still resting her hands on his. As if realizing it, she let go and stepped back. "I believe everything, Maverick. You were just trying to help Sterling by bringing Violet back up to the house. And maybe the kiss was her final desperate way to stop everything."

"Then you don't think I led her on?"

Hazel didn't respond right away. She gazed absently at the foal, a sturdy colt that was now nuzzling his mama, likely hungry after all the activity of the morning.

Maverick had been thinking through all his interactions with Violet over the past year and trying to figure out if he'd done anything to make her think he was interested in her. If he had, he hadn't meant to.

"In all honesty, Maverick," Hazel said, "you're a terrible flirt and sling around your smile and darlin's without any holding back."

"Darlin's?"

"You okay, darlin'?" She mimicked his tone. "You want some help, darlin'? 'Cause I got plenty of help to give you."

He fought back a grin at hearing her reflection of his flirtation. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

He quickly sobered. "I never meant to flirt with Violet."

Hazel shrugged. "Sometimes I don't think you can help yourself."

Most of the time he was just trying to be friendly, but what if women took it the wrong way? "Blast," he whispered. "Why didn't Sterling say something?"

"Maybe he didn't want to admit to himself that Violet didn't love him back the way he loved her?"

Was Hazel right? Her theories made more sense than anything else. "How'd you get so smart?"

"Certainly not from hanging around you and Sterling." Her sarcastic statement was tempered by a tender smile.

A smile of his own broke free. There was just something about Hazel that had the power to comfort him and make him feel better. He wasn't sure what it was, but she had a calming, soothing, level-headed way that had always held her—and everyone around her—in good stead.

A gust of cold wind swept into the corral and swirled the dust. She crossed her arms and rubbed at her shirt sleeves as if to bring them warmth. The motion only seemed to accentuate her bosom, showing more of her curvy form and her creamy skin where her blouse curved low.

Had she ever worn the blouse before? Because for the love of all that was holy, it revealed miles of skin that led to her defined collarbones and her slender neck. Was her skin as smooth as it appeared?

As though she'd caught him staring at her chest or sensed the direction of his wayward thoughts, she lifted a hand and splayed it across the bare flesh.

He jerked his attention away, released the railing, and pivoted so that he was peering at the barns. What was wrong with him? And what was he doing?

She didn't move, stood frozen with her hand over her chest as though she was too shocked by his ogling to react.

He raised a hand and pinched the back of his neck, the tension swiftly rising there. He had to say something to excuse himself and apologize for his lust. But what could he say that wouldn't make things more awkward?

"Reckon I better head into the barn and check on that Clydesdale."

"Okay."

He didn't move, couldn't make his feet carry him away the way he should.

She didn't budge from where she was still standing with her hand over her chest.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks for letting me explain myself, Hazel."

"I'm glad you did." Her voice was soft.

He wanted to say so much more—wanted to tell her he appreciated that she'd come back to work, that she'd taken the time to listen to his side of the issues, that she'd tried to understand all of the dynamics at play, that she hadn't laid all the blame squarely at his feet. He appreciated all of that and more.

But at the moment, he needed to put a safe distance between them and clear his head. Without another word, he turned and forced himself to walk away.