Chapter 8

Over the course of the day, Hazel was too busy to think much more about the changes that seemed to be happening with Maverick. She had only a few moments to spare when she wasn't focused on getting the horses into stalls and out of the storm, or working with Tiny and the new foal. Even in those quiet breaks, she forced herself not to drag back out the interactions she'd had with Maverick over the past week and analyze each one.

She could admit she was afraid that dwelling on him too much would only stir up her longings all the more, just as it had done in the past. There had been many times over the years when she'd misinterpreted something he'd said or done, believing it to mean he was starting to like her only to have him ignore her for weeks after that.

After too many disappointments to count, she'd learned her lesson. Never assume Maverick meant anything beyond friendship. He was simply a friendly and nice fellow to every woman he met. And she'd never be anyone special to him, other than his best friend's sister.

By late afternoon, thankfully, the cattle were herded to safety in the pasture closest to the foothills where the tall lodgepole pines and other shrubs provided some covering for them. Maverick and the handful of ranch hands who worked for High C Ranch had separated out the cows and calves, driving them near the outbuildings for even more protection.

With at least another foot of snow having fallen throughout the day and the wind causing drifts, Hazel wasn't surprised when Alonzo didn't come after her. She hadn't expected him to be able to make it—had hoped he wouldn't try. Besides, she figured he'd be busy trying to help Sterling in any way he could. Although she was anxious to know how everyone was doing back home and whether they'd been able to save the cattle, all she could do was pray.

When darkness fell, Clarabelle was the one to finally pull her inside and convince her to stay the night in a real bed and not the barn. Hazel was too tired to resist, and let the young woman help her change into warm, dry clothing and then pamper her with a warm meal of soup and biscuits. With the snow having mostly stopped, it hadn't been long before Maverick joined them at the table, satisfied that he'd done everything he could for the livestock.

They lingered over the meal. Then afterward, Hazel went into Mrs. Oakley's bedroom to update her on the new foal and assure her that all the horses were well taken care of during the storm.

A short while later, Maverick, in fresh and dry clothing, pulled up a chair at his mother's bedside. Mrs. Oakley sat among the mounds of pillows, her robust body now frail and wasting away. Her once blond-red hair had turned gray, and her cheeks were sunken. But she beamed at them both, her thin face radiating peace.

"Your pa taught you well, Mav," she said as Maverick finished telling her about all the work they'd done to protect the livestock. "I have no doubt the ranch will prosper under your leadership, especially with Hazel's help."

In his chair beside the bed, Maverick was resting his elbows on his knees while he gently held his ma's hand in his. He gazed at her tenderly. "I don't know what I'd do without Hazel."

Mrs. Oakley nodded. "You're a good team."

Hazel, in the chair beside Maverick, smiled at Mrs. Oakley but couldn't keep from wondering if the dear woman had the wrong idea about her and Maverick being a couple. Hazel opened her mouth to clarify but then decided that if the assumption made Mrs. Oakley happy, then that's all that mattered.

"You and Pa made a good team," Maverick said.

"We sure did." Mrs. Oakley's eyes filled with a wistfulness Hazel had seen there before whenever Mr. Oakley was mentioned. Hazel had always admired the couple's marriage. Their love for each other had been so evident, especially in the way Mr. Oakley had treated his wife. His every interaction with her had been sweet and kind and considerate, as if she were more important than anything or anyone else in his life.

With that kind of love given freely and so generously day after day, what woman could resist loving that man passionately in return? Just as Mrs. Oakley had done.

She tired easily, and Hazel and Maverick didn't stay much longer before heading out into the spacious sitting area of the large cabin.

Sofas covered in colorful pillows and blankets were positioned in front of a central fireplace that was blazing and crackling with welcome heat. Glowing candles on the large log mantel added to the warmth.

Hazel had always loved the wide-open room with several bedrooms as well as the kitchen on the main floor and a loft above. She'd spent many a night giggling with Clementine and Clarabelle in the loft during sleepovers when they'd all been younger.

Now only Clarabelle joined her and Maverick in front of the hearth while Clementine took over the care of Mrs. Oakley. For a while, the three of them reminisced about the past, until finally Clarabelle yawned and stood, excusing herself with the need to go to bed.

After Clarabelle closed the door of her room behind her, Hazel expected Maverick to suggest that they go to bed too, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry. And with him sitting only a foot away on the same sofa, Hazel wasn't ready for her time with Maverick to end, even though her eyes were growing heavy.

As usual, Maverick was full of stories about everyone and everything, always animated and easy to talk to. Even though he was much too handsome sitting on the sofa nearby, she somehow managed to keep her thoughts in line, which came from years of practice.

"Do you remember that time when Sterling and me snuck up on the roof and climbed in through the loft window?" His voice held a note of contentedness, and his eyes were alight. He was sprawled out, his legs stretched out in front of himself and his arms draped over the back of the sofa.

"You snuck in on us more than one time." She loved seeing him this way, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

His grin widened. "We were good at getting in without you hearing us."

"We just pretended not to hear you because we felt sorry for you."

He lifted his hand near her head and tugged on her braid. "That's not true."

"It is true."

"What about the night we put toads in the bed? I suppose you heard us and just waited to start screaming until we were outside?" He hadn't removed his hand from her hair. Instead, he gently fidgeted with the plait.

"Maybe we didn't hear you that time. But we usually did."

He skimmed his fingers down her braid a little ways and then back up, still not letting go.

She couldn't read into his action. It didn't mean anything. Even so, her heartbeat pattered faster.

"Those were good times." His tone turned nostalgic, and he was staring into the fire, his expression growing pensive. All the while, he grazed her braid, probably not even realizing he was doing it.

She could guess why his mood was shifting... because he was thinking about Sterling and the friendship they'd shared. The two had always been so close with so many adventures and so many common interests.

"I'm sorry, Maverick." She leaned toward him and patted his knee. "I know the rift with Sterling is hard."

He didn't respond except to drop his other hand—the one that wasn't fingering her braid—on top of hers at his knee. He patted hers once, twice, then left it there.

She started to pull her hand away, but he grasped it more firmly, as though trying to communicate that he needed her comfort and understanding. That's all it was—her being available for him when he needed her.

"He'll eventually accept what happened," she said.

"That doesn't mean he'll ever forgive me." He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. With his hands now wreaking havoc in two places, how would she be able to concentrate enough to communicate?

Maybe if she blocked out his face, she'd be able to ignore his touch better. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "He's stubborn, but he's rational."

"But he's hurt real bad. And hurt can make a man sore for a long time."

"Sterling's too stubborn to let it keep him down for too long." She couldn't control the yawn that escaped.

"I oughta let you get to bed." His voice was soft, apologetic.

"I'm fine." Her eyes were growing heavy. After all, she hadn't slept much the previous night and had been on her feet all day.

"Here." Maverick shifted on the sofa toward her.

Her eyes flew open to find him drawing her in to his side and draping his arm across her shoulders. As he situated himself, he kept hold of her hand upon his knee and then let his other hand caress first her shoulder and then her upper arm before letting it dangle.

She wasn't sure what to do or how to react, so she held herself stiffly.

"Relax," he whispered near her ear. "You don't always have to be so strong, you know."

Was that what he thought? That she was trying to be strong? She almost snorted. Little did he know how weak she truly was, especially with the way her body was reacting to being against his.

Even so, she couldn't say anything, couldn't admit just how much he affected her. So she made herself sink against him, her shoulder and arm fitting into his side so well that she felt as though she were made to be there.

What was he thinking? Was he feeling the same way?

Surely he wouldn't have initiated the contact and pulled her close if he wasn't interested in having a different kind of relationship with her. After all this time, what if she could stop fighting against her attraction to him and see what developed?

Maybe he was finally ready for more. Maybe this was just the beginning of something new between them. Maybe he wanted to get closer.

He was silent for long moments, staring ahead at the flames in the fireplace. "I oughta go over and try to talk to him."

She released an inward sigh. Maverick wasn't thinking about her and how nice she felt beside him. No, he was still distracted by his thoughts of Sterling. He probably wasn't even really noticing her presence.

She leaned her head back. She had to keep her perspective in place and remember Maverick was a womanizer through and through. If he was leading her on, it was because that's the way he was and not because he really meant anything by it.

For now, though, she closed her eyes, intending to just enjoy being with him, tucked into his side and spending time with him.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she awoke with a start, her eyes opening to darkness. Only a low glow remained from the fire, which had burned down to embers.

Even though her mind was hazy with sleep, her body quickly attuned to the fact that she was still on the sofa and curled into the warmth of Maverick's body.

He was leaning back with his head resting against the edge of the sofa, one leg stretched out on the cushions and one down. Somehow she'd ended up lying beside him, partially on top of him, her head resting on his chest with his arm sprawled across her.

Mortification rushed through her, and her body flushed at so indecent a predicament. She was practically sleeping with Maverick. How had this happened?

She lifted her head just slightly, enough that she could see he was resting peacefully. His eyes were closed, his expression relaxed, his breathing even. No doubt he'd been as exhausted as she'd been, and they'd simply drifted to sleep as they'd been sitting and talking.

There was nothing to worry about. She'd extricate herself carefully and make her way up to the loft where Clarabelle had told her she could sleep.

As Hazel started to lift her hand, she halted as further embarrassment swept through her. Somehow her hand had slipped under his shirt and was now pressed against his bare abdomen.

She cringed and prayed her wandering hand hadn't made its move while Maverick had been awake, that her wayward desires had only surfaced after he'd fallen asleep.

Her fingers were splayed over his stomach. And oh my, it was some stomach. Not that she had much experience in feeling stomachs. She had none, actually. But there was no disguising the fact that Maverick had a rock-solid abdomen—one worthy of a prize for best manly stomach in the West.

A manly stomach she had no business groping.

She started to inch her hand out from underneath his shirt.

But at her slight movement, he shifted and drew her into him more securely, her head tucked under his chin. His arm tightened, almost as if he didn't want her to leave him.

She held herself motionless.

He released a sleepy breath, then he bent and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

Her pulse halted abruptly. Was she dreaming? Or were his lips really touching her head near her temple?

The pressure ended a moment later, but he didn't move his mouth away. Instead, the warmth of his steady breathing bathed her temple, making the moment all too real.

Maverick was kissing her—or at least kissing her head. And holding her tight.

And she still had her hand up his shirt.

She closed her eyes and fought against all the strange desires that were rolling through her. She wanted him to kiss her again. Even if just on her head. She wanted to stay in his arms. She wanted to lie next to him. She wanted the freedom to touch his beautiful body.

But those were the kinds of privileges reserved for a man and wife. And Maverick couldn't even see her as a woman half the time, much less think about her as a potential wife.

She had to put an end to the closeness.

Even if she woke him up, she had to get up and go to the bed in the loft.

Taking a breath of resolve, she slipped her hand out from underneath his shirt and then started to push herself up.

She made it only halfway when both of his arms came around her, and he pulled her down on top of him, this time fully.