Claiming the Maverick's Heart Read online

  “Well, good morning, Bill. And you too, Maggie.” Macy stepped onto the sidewalk and had to bite her lip at the astonishment on their faces as their eyes lit on her. Better watch out, Maggie, or a horsefly might fly into that open mouth. She struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Er … ah, good morning, Macy.” Sheriff Weir was the first to respond; his eyes darted quickly from the tall man in front of him and back to Macy herself. “It’s a surprise to see you … here … now.”

  Perfect set-up. “Now, Bill, why wouldn’t I be here? This is still our one and only post office, isn’t it? Don’t I usually stop in and get the ranch’s mail on Saturdays?” She managed a light laugh. Piece of cake, so far. Maybe I should take up acting. “What’s wrong, Maggie? You look a little pale. Your arthritis isn’t acting up again, is it?”

  “Hello, Macy.”

  He speaks. Macy didn’t miss a beat on the outside, but inside was another story. A deep caving in at her very core began at the familiar sound of the deep-toned voice. Nails dug instinctively into the palms of hands that itched to land a hard slap across the face turning toward her. Keep it together. You can do this. And she did—barely. Those Cartwright green eyes lit on her, and the years were gone in a puff of smoke. It might have been yesterday instead of ten years ago when they’d last spoken … on the night before they were to be married. The night he had told her he loved her and she was his world. The night before she’d buried her too-trusting heart away for good.

  “Oh my! Look who’s back in town. How are you, Trace? Wow, it’s been a while. I bet your family’s excited. How long are you planning to visit?” Here’s your hat; there’s the door.

  She’d obviously caught him off guard. The surprise lighting his eyes gave Macy immense pleasure. Score one for me. He needed to be brought to his knees. It was time he knew he wasn’t a big deal in her estimation … not any longer. Just a tiny blip on the edge of the radar.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Macy. However, I’m not visiting. I’ve come home for good.”

  His gaze steadied on her; the waves of jade threatened to drown her in their depths if she didn’t grasp reality and save herself.

  Macy had to keep speaking. If she allowed his gaze to control her brain, she would be in big trouble. “Really? That’ll be a change for a big rodeo star like you. Hope you don’t get too bored. Anyway, I have a schedule to keep.” Her gaze swung to the other man and woman still standing in stunned silence as they witnessed the meeting. “It was good seeing you, Maggie … Bill. You too, Trace. Bye now!”

  Macy managed to keep the smile on her face as she breezed through the door of the post office, collected her mail from the box, and then swept right out the exit door and down the other sidewalk. She didn’t have to look up to know that more than one set of eyes was on her as she got back into the truck. She backed out carefully and headed down the highway. Only one pair of those eyes mattered in the whole scenario.

  “And this is me, leaving you without a backward glance. So enjoy the view.” Macy bit out the words into the empty space of the truck’s cab. She kept her eyes forward and did not allow them a peek in the mirror. Way to go, girl! She slapped her palm on the steering wheel as she drove. She had faced the six-foot-three, green-eyed demon and won. How easy had that been? How many times had she played out that moment in her mind, and now it had finally happened. Her head was still high, and there was nothing more to dread. Soon those in town and even across the county would hear how she had met Trace Cartwright head on, and nothing had happened—no hysterics, no shouted recriminations … just civility. Nothing more to dread.

  Except, as the miles slipped away, so did the euphoria. The adrenaline high crumbled at the same time her stomach threatened to rise in her throat. Macy pulled the truck to the side of the road. She didn’t cut the engine, but she gripped the wheel tighter and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead forward onto the top of the steering wheel. Her breath came in deep gulps, and it wasn’t long before the dam burst. Tears burned as they flowed from eyes that hadn’t cried in a very long time. Sobs rose from deep within, and before long her body shook with them.

  This is me, being over you. The devilish gleam in the green eyes of the imaginary cowboy in the other seat silently mocked her.

  “Thought you might’ve got lost in town. I was about to send out a posse.” The short, stocky, older man with the handlebar mustache greeted her as she stepped from the truck. Jeb Smith pushed back the oversized cowboy hat on his head and watched Macy gather her groceries from the cab. He hit the off button on his cell phone and dropped it inside his shirt pocket, then ambled forward to lift two boards from the bed of the pickup. “You okay?”

  Macy stopped midstride on her way to the house and turned back to level a long look in the man’s direction. Slowly, she shook her head. Not him, too. “News travels at lightning speed around here, doesn’t it? Who told you?”

  “Clairee called. Said she heard it from Melvin Sikes who got a call from Sheriff Weir’s wife who had it on good authority—”

  “Enough already!” Macy halted his words as she headed toward the house again. “It is not a big deal. Yes, Trace Cartwright is back—and everyone else in this town needs to get a life and leave mine alone,” she growled. “I’ll be back as soon as I put these things away. Then maybe we can concentrate on work instead of my personal business. That stallion’s stall is a good place to start.” The screen door slammed none too gently behind her.

  Macy strode through the living room, and then crossed the dining area into the kitchen beyond. She paused to place the grapes and watermelon in the bottom crispers of the refrigerator. Grabbing her daily work boots from the mudroom shelf, she moved down the hallway, then took the stairs two at a time up to her bedroom. Kicking off The lovely pair of Tony Lamas she’d worn into town, she replaced them with her regular boots. The well-worn leather favorites were on their third resoling. They fit her like a glove and had carried her many a mile over the years. She supposed they were like a cowboy version of a security blanket—a part of her past that she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  Macy moved into her bathroom and stopped in front of the sink. She turned on the faucet, then withdrew a washcloth from the wall rack and held it under the cool water. She drew and released a deep breath.

  Her reflection caught her attention. She took inventory. A telltale redness lingered around her blue eyes. What little makeup she’d used that morning was gone. Copious waves of tears had drenched her light application of mascara. What hadn’t washed away, she’d obliterated with the sleeve of her blue-plaid work shirt. She pressed the damp washcloth against her face. Her hands still shook, and she took several more deep breaths, slowly regaining control. For all her bravado in town, the meltdown had left her feeling much like a deflated helium balloon.

  Strangely though, she also felt lighter. An invisible weight had lifted from her shoulders. Not all the baggage was gone, but there was a definite shift. Was it possible—was she finally on the road to being done with Trace Cartwright? No—she was done with him. Then why didn’t she feel happy? She’d been happy until an hour ago, right? The answer to that didn’t come as swiftly as she’d hoped. I am happy, darn it! She punctuated that point by tossing the washcloth forcefully into the hamper.

  As much as Macy wanted to believe she was free of him, a nagging feeling remained deep in the pit of her stomach. One would think the years would have lessened his appeal. Wrong. She could still be in trouble where that man was concerned.

  Maturity had replaced the innate cockiness of youth with a solid self-assurance, evident in his steady gaze and in every line of the man he had grown into. Macy hadn’t missed the subtle changes, either. The grooves beside his mouth had deepened, only making them more irresistible. Crinkle lines marked those eyes she’d avoided as much as possible lest they see how much his presence rattled her. Even so, she’d noticed a small scar above his right eyebrow, its paler color barely visible against a deeply tanned forehead. A
memento from his bronc-busting days? Maybe a horse’s kick had knocked some sense into his thick skull and sent him back home? But who cared? He was back…where he had no right to be. Not in the little world she’d glued together after his sudden departure.

  “I’ve come home for good.” His words had rocked right into her core. Home hadn’t kept him here before, and she doubted it would keep him here for long this time. Or maybe it was just you who couldn’t keep him. The familiar thought reared its ugly head again. It wasn’t like she hadn’t lain awake many a long night over the years, trying to figure out what had gone wrong and why he’d left her behind. For a long time, she’d believed it was her fault, that she’d been woefully inadequate—not good enough … not smart enough … not pretty enough … not womanly enough—to keep him with her. Her self-esteem had been below zero for quite some time.

  Those thoughts had almost wrecked her emotionally and physically. Until one morning, she’d looked into the mirror—just as she was doing now—and realized that maybe Trace Cartwright was the inadequate one. Maybe he didn’t have the capacity to feel or love anyone but himself. Maybe by showing his true colors and abandoning her, he’d saved her from a fate worse than death. And that’s when the new and improved Macy had risen from the ashes of the old. It hadn’t been an easy path, but she’d kept at it day after day until the road had smoothed and she felt no further need to look back. Macy Leanne Donovan had grown up and outgrown her biggest mistake.

  It had been easier to accomplish with him hundreds of miles away. Now he was back, and only a few miles separated them. No matter what, she was determined to stay strong. He would not get close enough to find any chinks in the armor around her heart.

  It would be that woman—the new Macy—who would be handing out her own pitying glances for the maverick cowboy who’d lost out on the one good woman he could never deserve again!

  Chapter 2

  Macy was in the tack room of the barn repairing a bridle when the sound of a big rig pulling into the space outside the double barn doors caught her attention. Jeb stepped to the door.

  “Umm, you might want me to handle this one. You go on with what you’re doing, boss lady.” Jeb’s rhetoric was often cryptic, but this time he surprised her. There was something different about his offer to handle the incoming customer. What was up? She placed the bridle on top of the workbench and moved to stand inside the doorway of the barn, her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, interest lighting her eyes.

  The answer came as swiftly as the sudden pounding of the blood flowing through her body when her gaze narrowed on the red-and-black truck backing a stock trailer toward the barn’s opening. There was no missing the Cartwright brand, emblazoned on the sides of both the vehicle and the fifth-wheel. The driver set the brakes, and Jeb stepped up to the door of the rig, ready to unlatch it.

  “Hold it right there, Jeb.” Macy’s voice cracked across the space and stilled the man’s hand on the latch. He threw a questioning look in her direction.

  A tall figure slid out of the driver’s side door. His easy stride brought him to the end of the long trailer; one gloved hand went out to rest on the rung of an open side window, while the fingers of the other caught casually on a belt loop at his waist. A slow smile spread across his face. The stance had probably worked its magic on many buckle bunnies around the rodeo arenas, but Trace Cartwright was in the wrong place and with the wrong female this time.

  “What are you doing here? Did you take a wrong turn?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and planting her legs slightly apart in a battle-ready stance.

  “Hello again,” he replied, his eyes partially shaded by the black Stetson pulled low on his forehead. “I’m delivering a couple of horses.”

  “Whose horses?”

  “Friends of Annie’s. They seemed to think you’d agreed to board and train these two for pleasure riding. Is that not correct?”

  “He means the McWhorters. That’s the name on the books,” Jeb interjected, still waiting to take his cue from Macy. When she didn’t immediately respond, he threw his glance toward Trace, extending a hand. “How you doing, Trace? It’s good to see you, son. Welcome back.”

  The cowboy responded with a full-blown grin that, even at the distance she was from him, sent its remembered thrill across her flesh. Danger.

  “I’m doing fine, Jeb. It’s good to see you, too. How’s Clairee?”

  “She’s doing well. She’ll expect you to come by and see her soon.”

  “I’ll be sure—”

  “Why are you delivering the horses for them? Surely you have other things to do with your vacation.” Her tone was far from a warm greeting. She wasn’t about to stand around while he and Jeb went down memory lane. He needed to be gone from her sight and her ranch.

  Trace’s attention swung back to her, and she almost wished she hadn’t spoken up … but it was too late for that. Her raised chin did nothing to deflect the strange light in those emerald-green eyes.

  “I’ve known the McWhorters since childhood. Annie asked me to help them out with their horse delivery since they don’t have a double-stall trailer. Just being neighborly.”

  “Being neighborly is something done between neighbors … people who actually live here. You haven’t done that in a while now.”

  “If there’s a problem with the horses being here—perhaps too much work for you?—I can take them back to—” He didn’t get to finish.

  “My business is none of yours.” Abruptly, she realized she was allowing personal feelings to cloud her business judgment, and that was not something she had ever done before. But he was intruding. He shouldn’t be anywhere close to her business. She cleared her throat and finished with more control in her tone. “We have no problem. Jeb will get them unloaded, and you can be on your way.”

  Trace straightened and moved to the back of the trailer. He threw the latch and swung the doors open. “You seem bent on hastening my departure, not only from here but from Cartwright’s Crossing as well. As I said earlier, I’m not leaving town. I’m home to stay … for good.” He backed the first animal out and onto the ground. Jeb caught the halter and led the horse past her, into the recesses of the barn. Trace followed shortly thereafter with the second mare. As he drew even with Macy, he stopped. “Or don’t you believe me when I say that?”

  She didn’t waver in her gaze or her stance. As much as his nearness impacted every nerve in her body, she was not about to forget what he was capable of. “An old adage comes to mind … something about leopards and spots. But it’s no concern of mine what you do.”

  “Look, Macy. I knew when I came back here that some things might be difficult where you and I are concerned. It’s obvious we need to clear the air between us. You live here, and I live here now. It’s too small a space to think our paths won’t keep crossing. Don’t you think it’d be helpful if we could at least be civil to each other?”

  “There’s no air to clear,” she responded. “If you’re referring to that ridiculous teenage crush we had, that was over and done with years ago. We grew up. Well, I know I did,” she amended, then continued despite his narrowing gaze and the movement that worked along his jawline at her thinly veiled jab. “I have a business to run and a busy life.”

  “Is that why you never married? Your life’s too busy for it?”

  Blue fire snapped a warning as she straightened her stance and dropped her arms to her sides. Hands instantly curled into balls. “That’s my personal business, and it’s not open to discussion with you … ever.”

  “That’s too bad. I hoped we could be friends again. Maybe start over fresh. Guess I hoped wrong.”

  “Guess you did. Tell your family hello for me.” She didn’t look back once, the entire time it took her to walk from the barn to the house.

  Twenty minutes later, Trace was back on the road and headed toward Eagle’s Peak Ranch, the Cartwright family home. He should have known better than to volunteer to take those horses ov
er to Macy’s place. He should have known better about a lot of things where she was concerned, but apparently, he didn’t. Maybe he was a masochist. When he’d decided to come back to Cartwright’s Crossing, he’d known it wouldn’t be easy, although most of it had gone smoother than he’d expected. With the exception of his brother and Macy, of course. The locals were obviously curious, but they’d been ready to welcome him home. It was better than he deserved.

  Macy. Long, almost waist-length, black hair that gleamed like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, eyes the color of the sky reflected off the waters of the Frio River, and a temper that had obviously sharpened over the years to a lethal edge when unleashed in his direction—she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Correction: most beautiful woman. She was definitely not the teenager he remembered, but his visceral response to her hadn’t changed. Neither had his heart. He had not counted on how easily he’d succumb at the mere sound of her voice.

  If he’d had any doubt that he still had feelings for Macy Donovan, she had put them to rest the minute she’d spoken behind him at the post office. When he turned and looked into those unforgettable eyes, he’d realized with the speed of white-hot lightning that his heart was looking back at him. It had never left her, even if the rest of his body had moved on years ago. Talk about a punch to the gut! That’s why nothing and no one else had ever stirred anything within him over his years on the circuit.

  He had underestimated some things. Most immediately, the feelings that had flamed back to life when he and Macy locked gazes. Kind of like being launched off the back of a mad, bucking horse and knowing the ground was coming at him. At the post office, the kicker had come when his reappearance hadn’t fazed her one bit. She’d easily relegated him to just another Saturday morning pleasantry, passing on the sidewalk. Another acquaintance among many. And the reception he’d received today, delivering the horses—if his hide wasn’t so tough, he’d have suffered frostbite. If only he could be as immune to her as she was to him. Right. He almost laughed. There was no immunity to this woman. She might have been able to move past what he’d done, but how did he get past it?