Can't Stop Loving You (2 page)

M
aggie stepped out of the back room. Her shop, her lovely shop, was empty. Yet she still felt Brawley's presence. So masculine in this feminine space. So devastatingly handsome in his worn jeans and scuffed boots, that Stetson tipped low.

And lest she forget it—so dangerous. Brawley Odell had single-handedly ended her naïveté, her belief in knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings. At least when it came to
her
love life.

Now, by moving back to Maverick Junction, he threatened her dreams of a new life in the Big Apple. How many nights had she lain awake, praying for him to come home? To come back to her. But now? Fate was, indeed, a cruel mistress.

Her eighteen-year-old self had been putty in his hands. One touch, one kiss, and reason left her. She'd been totally defenseless when it came to him.

But she wasn't eighteen anymore. Once burned, twice learned. And, boy, had she learned. She had to hang tough. Could not give in.

Walking to the stereo system, she hit play and smiled when Luke Bryan's peppy new country song filled the room. Sauntering over to the love seat she'd painstakingly reupholstered in a beautiful floral pattern, she flopped down. Brawley had a way of leaving her feeling as though she'd just weathered a Texas tornado. When the door flew open and he'd thundered in, her heart had stuttered. The man did that to her. Always had, and she was deathly afraid he always would.

But that didn't mean she liked him. She didn't. Not anymore. They shared friends, and because of them she couldn't totally avoid him. But the less time spent near him, the better.

He'd hurt her and would again if she let him get a boot in the door. She wouldn't. Nope, when it came to that cowboy, she'd bolted and padlocked her heart—and thrown away the key.

At fourteen, she'd decided to marry him someday. And at fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen she stood by that decision. Five years. Long enough for her dreams of Brawley Odell to seriously settle into her heart and take up permanent residence. She'd figured by now they'd have three or four mini-thems tearing around their house. Yeah, she'd pictured the goofy, lovable dog, the white-picket fence. The whole shebang.

Big dreams.

Big heartbreak.

Now she was honest enough to admit she'd set herself up for it. But damn him, he'd helped her.

It had almost killed her when he'd headed off to Texas A&M and left her behind in Maverick Junction to finish high school. But that first semester, he'd burned up the road between college and home.

Then one Thursday morning he'd phoned to tell her to expect him the next evening; they needed to talk. Her mom and dad were in San Antonio on business and would be gone till Monday. She and Brawley would have the house to themselves.

She played hooky Friday and fixed dinner for them, set out candles, and wore her best dress. Her nails shone from a fresh manicure. When he slipped her engagement ring on her finger, she wanted everything to be perfect. This would be the night he proposed. They'd get married, and she'd live in College Station with him while he finished school.

What a fool.

He hadn't proposed.

The dinner sat uneaten; the candles burned to a nub.

Brawley hadn't stayed more than ten minutes. He hadn't even gone inside with her. His mouth set in the familiar tight line that said he'd made up his mind, he'd ended her fantasies.

There on the front porch, the sun riding low, he told her they needed to concentrate on their futures. He had eight years of school ahead of him, and he wanted her to go to the design school she'd talked about, not wait in Maverick Junction for him.

When he left, he kissed her on the forehead and wished her well. Remembering it now, Maggie's anger rose to the surface. Nothing she'd said could change his decision. They were finished, no longer a couple. Brawley Odell had spoken, and apparently his word was law. How had she missed this autocratic streak in him?

The rest of that night and the next day were a blur. Her world had shattered. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Sprawled on the sofa, she watched the sun set, then rise again. How could she face life without Brawley? She loved him. No. She hated him and would as long as she lived. If only…

And then, Cash Hardeman, friends with both her and Brawley for as long as she could remember, stopped by. Concerned, Brawley had asked him to check on her. Cash had cleared the table of last night's dinner, done the dishes, then held her while she cried.

Absolutely certain life could get no worse, a month later she'd faced the fact that it actually could.

Maggie shook herself and moved across the shop to tidy a display of evening bags. She glanced across the street and wondered if her customers would be back or if they were grilling Ollie about her and Brawley.

She'd been young and foolish because through everything, she'd told herself Brawley would be back. That she'd get a phone call from him telling her how much he missed her. That there'd be a knock on the front door and he'd be standing there, waiting to sweep her off her feet and make that dream of happily-ever-after come true.

Eventually, though, she'd admitted none of that would happen. Reflecting on her relationship with Brawley, she realized there'd never been any promises spoken. They'd all been in her mind. In her heart.

So she'd kicked the lout out of her heart. Had cleaned house and trashed those dreams. She'd moved on, made new plans, and started her own business. A business that now, thanks in large part to Annelise, Cash's wife, had grown beyond her wildest expectations.

Smiling, Maggie settled into one of the upholstered chairs.

Annelise Montjoy Hardeman, wealthy as the legendary King Midas, had worn one of her designs to a fund-raiser and then even more spectacular, Annelise had chosen Maggie to design a wedding gown for her big day, a day covered worldwide by every newspaper, magazine, and TV station. One thing led to another and now, in one short month, she'd show her fall line at a huge, honest-to-God New York City fashion show. They'd opted for an off-season showing rather than wait another half-year for September Fashion Week.

She pinched herself, still unable to believe it was all true.

The door opened and she started, sitting bolt upright.

Stella and her friend. Maggie sighed. Her customers were back, their eyes burning with unanswered questions and the excitement of having been part of the little drama here in her shop. Well, she thought, pushing up her sleeves, she didn't intend to feed the mill.

Retrieving the dress Stella had hung on the rack before she left, Maggie asked, “How'd this fit?”

And it was back to business as usual.

Maggie stopped by Ollie's at the end of the day to pick up a sweet tea for the ride home. While she waited at the counter, she called her grandfather to see if he wanted anything.

She didn't regret for a minute having left Maverick Junction to move in with her widowed grandpa in Lone Tree. It had been good for both of them. But she missed her folks, missed seeing them every day. She missed her friends. Still, this had been the right thing to do—and in under an hour she could be back with everybody.

“Hey, Pops,” she said when he answered. “What's up?”

“You comin' home soon?”

“I'm on my way. Before I leave town, I thought I'd check to see if you need anything.”

“Nope. Just you. Your mom called. We're meeting her and your dad at Bubba's Roadhouse for dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Why didn't she call me?”

“Guess you'd need to ask her that.”

Maggie sighed. After the morning she'd had, she wanted nothing more than to go home, climb into her pajamas, and veg out. Not gonna happen.

“If we plan to make it on time,” her grandfather continued, “you'd better get a move on.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

“All right. I'll need two minutes to change, then we can hit the road.” She hung up, and Ollie handed her the go-cup of tea. “Thanks, Ollie. Gotta run.”

When Ollie didn't remove his hand, she met his eyes.

“You need to tell him.”

Maggie's stomach fell. “I know.”

“Lots of people are in on the fact you're heading off to New York. It's not a secret anymore. Only a matter of time till somebody lets the horse out of the chute. If your grandpa finds out from one of them, it'll go down a whole lot harder.”

She nodded. “It's tough, though, you know? He'll be alone again.”

Ollie's dark eyes twinkled. “You might be surprised.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He swiped at the counter with a white bar cloth. “Just sayin'.”

“Do you know something I don't?”

He laughed. “At my age, I'd better. Seriously, though, you need to tell him. The sooner, the better.”

“I will.”

Hands on his hips, Stetson pushed back on his head, Brawley stood in the middle of his new home and took in the Tiffany blue walls, the girlie lights, the frou-frou. It had to go. All of it. It might have worked for Annie, then Sophie, but it sure as hell didn't work for him. One more night here and he'd have to have his testosterone levels checked 'cause they were bound to cry uncle and start jumping ship surrounded by all this female nonsense.

He'd slap something neutral on the walls. Bring in his leather sofa, a few pieces of his Native American pottery, a couple of the paintings he'd bought at the arts and craft fairs, and it would do.

He peeked into the bathroom and checked out the huge claw-foot tub. It might be fun to play in—and damned if Maggie's face and curvaceous body didn't jump into his brain—but he needed a shower. He worked too hard to be satisfied with baths. The plumbing in Dottie's hundred-year-old house was bound to be a nightmare, though. Not something he wanted to get into, especially since the small, second-story apartment was a temporary landing pad.

Maybe he could do something about a shower over at the clinic.

His stuff was in storage, ready to head to Maverick Junction as soon as he gave the word. He'd spent last week packing up and meeting with the movers. Damned if he knew whether or not he'd made the right decision, but it felt good, coming home after over a decade away.

Doc Gibson, the only vet within a fifty-mile radius, had finally called it quits, and Brawley had decided to take over his practice. He'd be glad to be back doing the work he'd trained for.

In Dallas he'd worked with pampered pets and their even more pampered owners, never really sure he was making much of a difference. Here he'd be working with ranchers and their livestock, working with the pets of people he knew and cared about.

And there was the rub. The double-edged sword. He'd know everybody who came in to see him. They'd know him. Gone was the anonymity he'd enjoyed. The freedom to come and go as he pleased. To do whatever the hell he wanted.

Despite the fact he'd turned thirty on his last birthday, he'd be back to answering to his parents. Back to the obligatory Sunday dinners with his family.

Back to being able to pick up the phone and get in touch with his best buds over a beer. He smiled. And that's exactly what he intended to do. Right now. Pulling his phone from his hip pocket, he hit Cash's number before he remembered his pal, now married, might not be free to come out and play. Ty had tied the knot, too, a month ago. They'd married cousins. Go figure.

Annie answered. “Hey, Brawley. How's my second-favorite cowboy?”

“Better now that I'm talking to you, beautiful. Is Cash around?”

“He'll be with you in a second. I've got him on a ladder in the closet arranging some purses for me.”

Brawley winced. “You think I can borrow him after he finishes? I'd like to meet him at the clinic. Get his take on a couple changes I'm considering.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “In fact, he's due for a little R-and-R time. Maybe when you're done, the two of you can stop at Bubba's and catch up.”

“Annie, darlin', you're as close to perfect as God ever made. Sure you don't want to swap out guys?”

Her laughter came quick and easy. “I love you, Brawley, but I think I'll stay with what I've got.”

“Hey, you makin' time with my girl?” Cash, Brawley's friend since first grade, came on the line.

“Figured she might have come to her senses by now,” Brawley said. “Never hurts to try.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. I've been known to deck men for a lot less.”

Brawley laughed. “Yeah, you have. Most of the time, though, I've had to step in and save your sorry ass.”

“In your dreams. So, what's up?”

The two met outside the veterinary clinic that had been Doc Gibson's for the last forty or fifty years. After unlocking the door, Brawley hit the light switch. Barking dogs and howling cats greeted them.

He moved into the side room and visited each one of the overnighters. Then he waved Cash back to where Doc had his office.

“I'd like to gut this whole area. Make a new, up-to-date office space, add some built-in bookcases, and bring the electrical wiring into this century.” He opened the door that led into a small, private, and very antiquated bath. “There's a storage closet next to this. Don't need it. Figure if we knock down the wall between, I might be able to add a shower. I'd like to be able to clean up here at the end of the day rather than go home to a bath.”

“You don't like the old claw-foot in Dottie's apartment?”

“I do—for lounging. Not for washing away a day's worth of work, though.”

“Annie and I had some good times in that—”

Brawley stuck his fingers in his ears. “Too much information, pal.”