Clayton, her oldest brother, is six years older than we are and has always been the overprotective brother--even toward me. He's the rock in both of our lives and has been for years. He always looked after me like I was family, but when my parents passed away right after I graduated from high school, leaving me with a ranch I couldn't and didn't want to run by myself, Clay stepped in. He knew I was in over my head, drowning in grief and responsibility, and made sure I kept my head above water. Since our property backed up to the Davis ranch, he bought the land, no questions asked, and allowed me to keep living in my family home, something I will forever be grateful for.
With Quinn and Clay, I've felt like I wasn't alone in the world because they loved me enough to fill the void my parents left behind.
And then . . . there's Maverick.
I haven't seen the middle Davis since that ill-fated night before he left town. A night that has plagued me ever since. It's hard to forget the pain of the past when the memories still shine bright. He might be long gone, but his shadow will never leave this town.
Quinn sniffles again, bringing my mind back to the present. I shift in my seat again, checking quickly to make sure the skirt on my black dress hasn't ridden up with all my squirming around, before I turn my head slightly and let my eyes wander around the packed church.
Again.
I have to fight with myself not to think about the missing Davis boy, but as my eyes roam, I know exactly what I'm looking for. Or, I should say, who.
Focus, Leigh. Today you need to stay focused on Quinn and Clay. And hopefully, if he does show up, Maverick won't make an already hard day for them even worse.
"He's not comin', Leigh. Why would he?" Quinn whispers brokenly, her soft voice breaking through my thoughts, drawing my eyes from the crowd as I scan her tear-streaked cheeks. She's looking toward the front of the church, but she knows me well enough to guess what I was just doing. I don't say anything, allowing my eyes to drift up to meet Clay's gaze. His handsome face looks as if it's carved in stone, the anger clear as day in his stormy eyes. His sister's hushed words obviously not missed and, if I had to guess, just amped up his already simmering anger at his missing brother to a full boil.
"Maybe he's just stuck in traffic?" I hedge, knowing damn well he's not, not if he really was an hour away, like he told Quinn earlier. An hour would put him already off the interstate, and everyone knows there isn't a lick of traffic to be found between here and there. Unless he got stuck in some rouge cattle escape, there's just no way.
Clay lets out a gruff sound deep in his throat. "Doubt that, sugar."
"He'll be here," I whisper again in Quinn's ear, praying that I'm right, but honestly I have no idea if he will be.
The old Maverick, the one I grew up crushing hard on my whole life, wouldn't have let his siblings down. But the new Maverick, the one that left so easily, well . . . I'm really not sure what he's capable of. I've seen him a handful of times over the years when the rodeo would come to Cedar Park, just outside of Austin, and the very few times I joined Clay and Quinn, even from a distance I could tell that he's changed.
His smiles no longer came easily. His laughter didn't ring out over a crowded room. If I had to guess, he escaped what he thought was the prison of a small town life only to find himself locked away in one of his own solitude.
I turn my attention to the front of the church once more and will my mind to clear when I hear the pastor start to talk. My eyes gloss over the deep mahogany stand directly in front of where he's standing. The one that holds the silver urn on display. Pastor John's voice carries over the room as he delivers his message about a long life lived and a forever promised with our Father. I keep my arm around Quinn, her soft sobs breaking my heart as he continues to speak.
I hear someone crying behind me, pulling my eyes from Pastor John as I look around the room again. I'm shocked that so many people are here. Knowing that everyone around here most likely had to close up their stores or halt their already busy day of farming to be here. In my case, to close my bakery, the PieHole, down for the day.
To pay our respects to Buford Davis.
The hard as nails father that ruled his house with an iron fist.
The one man that everyone in this room, at one time, would have been happy to see gone. Myself included.
Regardless of the fact that Buford Davis was a hard--at times, nearly impossible--man to love, Clay and Quinn did, albeit in their own way, and his loss is one that's hit them to the core. They didn't have a conventional relationship with their father, but it didn't matter to them that mutual love was something that they didn't find until the recent years. He was disliked for so long that I honestly thought that it would just be us, the family, but I should have known that just like Clay and Quinn, Pine Oak has a forgiving heart and Buford had been working hard to make up for all the wrongs he had done throughout his lifetime here when he passed.
He was a man who commanded respect, if nothing else, being that his ranch kept a fair share of the townfolks employed, not to mention the fact that the Davis family owned the only auto detail shop for a fifty-mile radius. The Davis family is the family in Pine Oak, and even though Buford had come a long way in earning back the town's regard, I would best my last slice of hot apple pie that the majority of the people in this church are here for Clay and Quinn.
I give Ms. Marybeth Perkins a smile when I meet her eyes, her weathered face giving me a winkled smile in return. My eyes float over the room, looking at the stoic familiar faces, before I start to move my gaze back to the pastor.
And that's when I see it.
Or rather, him.
It takes every ounce of control not to react, but my heart pulls tight before it takes off in a quick gallop that could give my horse, Maize, a run for her money.
Standing in the back of the room, black Stetson pulled low on his head, shadowing his face from view. His black dress shirt nestling snugly against his muscular build, the pearl white buttons standing out against the darkness. My eyes trail down his trim torso to the round silver belt buckle shining bright against his tucked-in black shirt and pants. The tight black Wranglers hugging his narrow hips . . . and good grief, I snap my eyes back to his face when I realize that I've subconsciously been staring at his crotch.
I don't need to see those emerald green eyes to know that the face shadowed from view belongs to the only man I've ever craved more than Nanny Jo's famous chicken and dumplings. I would recognize him in a pitch-black room.
Well, I'll be damned.
Maverick Davis has finally come home.
3
LEIGHTON
"Fire Away" by Chris Stapleton
Ten Years Ago
"Leighton Elizabeth James! I won't wait a second longer for you to get out of that dadgum bathroom. It's time to pull up your britches and open the door."
"I'm not sure I'm ready for all this, Quinn." I look over at the mirror again and pull at my top, vainly willing it to meet the waistband of my cutoffs. The plaid shirt that usually looks mighty respectful now makes me feel like a floozy, thanks to Quinn. I dress for comfort on a normal day, but I also hide the body that looks more like a boy's than a growing girl.
Somehow, Quinn's managed to make it look like I actually have some cleavage, not much, but it's a lot more than I normally have on display. She's tamed my overly frizzy hair into sleek and silky curls, something I will never be able to figure out how to do on my own. The makeup she so skillfully applied makes me look a lot older than sixteen. I never wear makeup. so anything more than some mascara is drastic. I look so far from the awkward teen that I hardly recognize myself.
"Come on, Leigh! You know I went through a lot of trouble to get my brothers to let us come tonight. If you're closed off in the bathroom all night it's just gonna prove them right."
"Gosh darnit," I huff and turn to open the bathroom door. Quinn almost falls into the bathroom, her arms flailing around like a windmill trying to catch her balance before she falls
ass over elbows into me. I quickly hook my arms to catch her before she hits the ground.
"Jesus Jones, Leigh, you could have hollered out a little warnin' that I should stop resting my tail on the door you've been refusing to open for the past half hour."
"Sorry, Q," I say with a laugh, giving her a shove. "At least I caught ya."
She mumbles something under her breath and turns to face me. Regardless of the fact that I know she would never judge me, I still fidget with the shirt and pull down at the shorts that feel like they're being eaten by my butt cheeks.
Quinn lets out a low whistle through her teeth. "You look hot, Leigh!"
"Yeah, I don't, but thanks."
Her green eyes narrow and I know what's coming. Quinn hates it when I put myself down and isn't afraid to throw a whole lot of sass when I get started.
"Seriously? You're gonna stand here, in front of me, and feed me that pile of horse shit?"
"Uh, yeah. I don't dress like this, Q. You know this. I feel like I'm naked."
"Well, you aren't," she snaps and smacks my hand when I try to untie the knot she's made in my shirt so I can tuck it into my shorts.
My whole stomach is bare. The tails of my shirt pulled up and tied right under my very unimpressive boobs. I look at her top, the tight red material of her halter covering her chest--the much more impressive chest than mine. She's got a jean vest on over it, making it so that she's pretty much covered. Well, except that she's wearing the same ridiculously short jean cutoffs that I am.
I turn and point to my ass, the one thing I know I got lucky with, then down my leg as I huff in exasperation at Quinn when she rolls her eyes.
"You look great, Leigh." She ignores my protests and rolls the long sleeves of the shirt up to my elbows, straightens the knot under my chest, and reaches down to hike up my shorts.
"Dangit, Q. I already feel like I've got a massive camel toe. They don't need to be inside my vagina."
She laughs, bends, and hands me my red cowboy boots. "Here, these will look great with that shirt. Your purple boots would look better, but not with black-and-red plaid."
I pull my boots on, reluctantly, and hold my arms out for Quinn's inspection. She gives me a nod and bends to pull on her own brown boots. I stop myself from pulling at my shirt, again, and remind myself that every girl at the party will most likely be wearing less than I am, but that doesn't do a lick of good to ease the feeling that something bad is coming my way.
"So, tonight's the night?" Quinn asks, excitement about to bubble out of her.
"I guess so," I tell her, an ache in my stomach.
"How are you goin' to do it? I mean, I know the plan, but what are you goin' to say?"
"I reckon I'm just going to be honest with him."
"Yeah?"
"Dangit, Q, I don't know . . . I haven't thought that much about it. I've gone over it time and time again, but everything I can think of just sounds stupid. He's never even given me the impression that he sees me like that. Plus, I saw Mindy Anne yesterday at the dollar store and she said he was dating Krissy Thompson. I know I told you not to let me back out, but really . . . I'm okay with being the only sixteen-year-old we know that will die alone. And virginal." I don't mention the kiss. I haven't told anyone about the kiss. I'm not even sure I understand it, so I couldn't say that was his way of showing his interest. But God, it sure felt like it.
She gives a small sigh and wraps her arms around me. "A little dramatic, Leigh, don't ya think?"
"I'm terrified down to my bones, Q. Of course it's a little dramatic. All I've been thinkin' about is that I'm quite possibly going to make a huge fool out of myself tonight. I know you said you noticed him watchin' me the last few times we were down at the lake, but this is a huge step. I just know if I don't tell him now, he's goin' to leave town and who knows what will happen. If I let him leave without sayin' somethin', I just know I'll regret it."
She leans back, her hands staying planted on my shoulders, and gives me a soft smile. "It's a huge step, I know, and I'm here every step of the way. No matter what, at least you're going to try. Come on, let's get out of here, it's time to party."
Ready or not.
We both jog down the stairs, calling out to my mama that we're leaving, and rush out the front door before she can see our outfits, the screen door slamming against the house in our wake. Thankfully Daddy had been mending a fence back in the west end of our ranch, so he wasn't here. He's a lot harder to dodge than Mama. She had been working on her famous pies all day so I knew she wouldn't be coming out of the kitchen to check on us. Not with the county fair a day away.
Quinn jumps up into the cab of her truck and turns the key. The deep rumble of her exhaust echoes around us when the engine turns over. Placing one booted foot on the running board, I grab the "oh, shit" handle and pull myself up into the passenger seat. If it wasn't such a long walk through the woods separating our families' properties, we would have just walked, but I also know she's eager to show off her truck.
"Did you have to jack this thing up so high?" I huff when I settle in and buckle up.
"I was thinkin' about addin' another two inches, that way I could get those thirty-seven- inch trail grapplers I've had my eye on." She looks over at me before turning out of our driveway and onto the street. "What?"
"You know I don't understand a thing you say when you start talking truck, right?"
She shrugs and I laugh, the nerves letting loose a little. Ever since Quinn got her license last month, she's spent every second fixing up her 2001 Silverado; the first thing she did being to jack it up and add mud tires. I swear she would live in Davis Auto Works if she could. She's been begging me to let her mess around with my Jeep, but I'm perfectly fine without it being jacked up to high heaven, thank you very much.
We spend the rest of the ride over to her family's back pasture singing along to the radio and laughing as Quinn goes out of her way to hit every muddy patch she can find in the dirt road. It had rained the past two days, finally letting up for the bonfire tonight, which means that today Quinn's spent every second behind the wheel trying to turn her black truck brown. I don't even bother trying to see out of my window anymore, not with the good inch of mud coating it.
"I hope Jenny Fisher isn't here. I can't stand that uppity bitch," Quinn grumbles as she pulls her truck in line with her brother's, backing up so that their tailgates are all in line with each other. I laugh when I see Elliott Parker, one of her brother's friends, jump in front of the truck waving his arms like one of those airport workers directing flight traffic.
"Hey, El!" Quinn yells, shutting off the ignition, jumping down, and running over to give him a hug.
"Hey Quinn," he says, giving her a big bear hug. "Oh, howdy, Leighton," he says when I open the door and jump down. "Didn't believe Clay one bit when he told me he was finally gettin' his baby sister come to the bonfire. Hellfire, this is gonna be great. He's gonna shit a brick when he sees what you're wearin', Quinn."
She laughs, swatting him on his shoulder and giving him her best innocent smile. Predictably, Elliott blushes from the roots of his red hair all the way to his freckled chest. I'm not sure he ever wears a shirt, which is ridiculous since he spends the summer months burned to a crisp.
"Jesus Christ, Leighton," he grumbles and his eyes travel down my body. God, I knew this outfit was a mistake.
"Does she look good or what, El?"
He nods, his eyes on my legs. "Or what, for sure, sugar. Damn, Leigh, you've been holdin' out on me." He reaches his hand down and adjusts his crotch. "You've got how many years until you're eighteen?"
"Oh, gross, El!" Quinn laughs and smacks his arm, reaching over to grab my hand and pull me behind her as we walk to the back of her truck to pull the tailgate down.
"Two years, Leighton, you come find ol' Elliott in two years," he calls out after us, his laughter trailing off as he disappears into the woods that line the Davis's back pasture.
Quinn rolls her eyes. "God, he'
s such a pig. Ever since Jamie O'Neal broke up with him he's been like a bull in heat."
I laugh, but don't respond. Quinn jumps up and sits on her tailgate. Not wanting to look like an idiot, I just lean back and cross my arms over my chest and take in everything around us.
The bonfires that Clay has become notorious for have always been off-limits to us, but then again, we just recently turned sixteen, and Quinn decided it was high time we find out whether the rumors are to be believed. Since Clay graduated almost four years ago, a lot of the crowd is his age. The rest are friends of Maverick. They let some kids our age come, but for the most part, everyone is eighteen to twenty-two.
The Davis family owns almost two hundred acres, so it's easy to get away with these things. No one ever comes out this way since the entire east end of their property is mainly tree-lined, with the exception of this field. I know Clay comes out here with the tractor and clears it out just for the bonfires, and he personally cleared the trail for trucks to get back here himself. Then again, his father is usually passed out drunk by dinnertime anyway, so even if he knew about these things, he wouldn't do anything to shut them down.
I look around and see coolers scattered throughout the field, at least one every other truck or so. All the trucks are parked in a circle with the blazing fire in the center, tailgates down and people either sitting on them or in chairs closer to the fire.
Clay and Maverick's trucks are on either side of Quinn's, a spot they clearly left open just for her. Both tailgates down, but empty. I push off from where I had been resting and walk over to the cooler next to Clay's truck and grab two Bud Lights, handing one to Quinn before I pop the top on my own and take a huge swallow.
"Don't even think about it, Quinn."
I laugh to myself and bring the can back up to my lips, but end up wearing the swallow I had been about to take when the can is ripped from my hands and foam sprays all over my face. "Hey!" I yell and turn around.
"Hey to you too, sugar." Clay laughs and brings my stolen can to his lips, downing the whole thing in one go before crunching the can in his hand and throwing it over his shoulder into the bed of his truck. "Just because I said it was cool if y'all came doesn't mean I'm gonna let you two get drunk. No fuckin' way." He gives me a brief hug before moving to give his sister one, kissing her forehead on a laugh when she gives his gut a weak punch.