Maverick (The Family Simon 3)

Chapter One

The small town of Fisherman’s Landing wasn’t exactly what Maverick Simon envisioned when he’d decided to crash at his brother’s place, but that was a good thing. Off the beaten track and halfway between nowhere and the rest of the U-S-of-A, it was perfect for a guy looking to disappear for a few weeks.

Or, as he inhaled the unique scent of the best damn clam chowder he’d ever had, maybe a few months.

Tucked into the corner booth of A Charmed Life, a small family run diner in the heart of Fisherman’s Landing, Maverick was able to eat in peace and so far no one had paid him much attention. He was cool with that. Being a Simon wasn’t always easy, and at one time or another, any one of them had been ripe pickings for the gossip rags.

As of late that particular Simon had been Maverick. Thanks to a nasty breakup with Elle Mason—Hollywood’s flavor of the month—and the damn woman’s need to tweet everything about their relationship (or according to her, their lack thereof) the press had been particularly aggressive. If he never saw his face online or in a magazine again, he’d die a happy man.

As if the endless photos of him and Elle hadn’t been bad enough (did anyone really care that he liked an everything bagel with cream cheese? Or that he visited Starbucks only on the weekends?). Waking up to find pictures of his naked butt splashed all over the Internet had just about done him in.

Sure the exposure (pun intended) had been rampant and that pissed him off, but what pissed him off even more, were the endless jabs from his buddies and family. The Simons could be a ruthless bunch and in this instance, they’d been like rabid dogs. Hell, he’d even come home from the recording studio one day to find the damn pictures plastered all over his house.

Maverick knew what his ass looked like—he’d lived with it for thirty-one years—he didn’t need a reminder on the fridge or the toilet or his damn bed.

He’d had enough and his brother Cooper had offered him safe haven. And even though safe haven was out in the middle of nowhere, he’d accepted without a second thought.

He’d arrived in town exactly four days earlier, along with a February Nor’easter that had buffeted the coast for nearly forty-eight hours. The roads had finally been cleared of snow, and, more than a little sick of his own company, he’d ventured out.

“Would you like another bowl of chowder?”

The waitress—Jessie, according to her nametag—gazed down at him with a smile. Her voice had warmth and an accent he couldn’t quite place. With snow-white hair pulled back into a ponytail, delicate features, and a sparkle in her eyes, she was a pretty lady. Maverick was going to take a guess that the woman had been one hell of a looker back in the day.

He leaned back and shook his head. “I’m good, but I’ll take a coffee if that’s all right.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a wink, taking a step back. She paused, a soft frown on her face. “You’re new to town, right?”

He nodded.

“You staying for a while, or just passing through?”

“Not sure, though the clam chowder might convince me to hang around longer than I’d first thought.”

“I’ve heard that more than once,” she replied with a chuckle. “Whereabouts are you laying your head?”

Some folks might be put off by the waitress’s direct questions, but Maverick just smiled and shrugged. He knew small towns were tightknit and from what he could tell, A Charmed Life was the only happening place in Fisherman’s Landing. Well, except for the lone bar at the end of the main drag, but that was only open Thursdays to Sundays.

“My brother’s got a place outside of town.”

“On the water?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a bit of a mess right now. He’s in the middle of renovating and it’s going to be a long haul.”

“Ah. The old McLaren estate.”

Maverick didn’t see the need to answer because in fact, the woman seemed to know every bit of his business. Except for his name and he was hoping to keep that one on the down low. His brother Cooper had been staying out here, pretty much incognito, off and on for the last five years and damned if Maverick was going to blow his cover.

She tucked her note pad into the front pocket of her faded white apron. “You have the look of a west coast boy.”

Damn. She was good. “I’ve spent the last ten years in California.”

“I figured as much. Just a warning, this place, this town, has a habit of making permanent residents of the, ‘just passing through folks’. I should know. Nearly thirty years ago, I was one of them.”

“Really,” Maverick answered. “What made you take up roots?”

“What else,” she said with a giggle. “A man.”

Maverick’s smile widened. “I appreciate the warning, but I’m only here to relax and recharge the batteries.”

“Uh huh,” Jessie replied.

“It’s the truth,” he said.

“Those were my words too.” She winked.

Jessie turned away just as the door to the place opened up, letting in a gust of wind and swirling snow that caught the sunlight, making diamonds in the air. A little boy, who looked to be about ten, shuffled into the diner and headed toward the counter. He was bundled in full-on winter gear and so was his companion, and after a nudge from the adult, he climbed onto a stool.

Maverick watched the kid tug off his knitted hat letting loose a riot of chestnut curls. He folded his hands in front of him and sat there, as still and silent as a mouse. Huh. None of the Simon boys had ever been that well behaved.

/> “Guess school’s still closed?” he asked Jessie as she filled his mug with coffee. Maverick leaned back in the booth, eyes still on the boy.

“Oh, yes. Along with the storm, there was some kind of problem with pipes bursting and the school won’t be open until tomorrow.”

Jessie handed Maverick his bill. He grabbed it and reached for his wallet. “Can you recommend a local mechanic? One who can work on a sled? My brother’s got an old skidoo but it’s not running. I thought I might get it going for him and take it out for a ride.”

“Sure.” Jessie took his twenty and handed him his change. “Charlie Samuels can fix you up.”

“Great,” Maverick said with a grin. “Where can I find the shop? I’ll stop in on my way back.”

“You can talk to Charlie yourself.” The waitress pointed to the young man at the counter beside the little boy who was now digging into a plate of fries.