“Has it run lately?” she asked dryly.
He had no idea. “I don’t think so,” Maverick replied, moving closer and making a concerted effort to keep things above board, which meant eyes above the waist.
>
At least for the moment.
Charlie stepped back and walked around the side, opening the driver’s door so that she could peek inside. It protested with a loud creak. She winced and had a good look. “The leather’s rough. I’d definitely have the seats redone but the dashboard looks not too bad, especially considering the age.” She stood back and smiled. “It’s gorgeous though. Is he interested in restoring it?”
Again. No clue. “I’m assuming he bought it for that reason.”
He watched as she walked around the car, running her fingers over the paint, stopping here and there where there was obvious rust.
“You love cars,” he said, more to himself than anything.
“I do,” she replied, eyes inspecting every inch of the Mustang. “I love everything about them. The way they work, the dynamics involved. The design.”
“I guess that’s why you like to fix them.”
Her head shot up and for a moment those pale eyes darkened. A heart beat passed. “I fix them because I have to.”
An evasive answer that just led to more questions. And Lord knows Maverick had a boatload of questions. He opened his mouth to ask one of them but was interrupted by a single piano note that rang out and filled the space around them.
He glanced back to where they’d come from, knowing that Connor must have wandered over to Maverick’s keyboard. He’d set up some gear including the keyboard, guitar, and a mixer, when he’d first arrived, but hadn’t touched the damn things.
“Connor,” Charlie whispered before rushing back.
“Hey don’t worry about it,” Maverick offered and followed her back to the great room.
Charlie stood just inside the room watching Connor as he hesitated and then hit another note. And then another. It wasn’t until Maverick came abreast of Charlie that he noticed a single tear making its way down her cheek.
Puzzled, he glanced back to the little boy. “I don’t mind if your son plays with my stuff. If that’s what’s got you upset.”
She sniffled and offered a small smile, though she too kept her gaze on the boy. “I’m not upset.” She turned to him then, her eyes full and shiny—that mouth trembling with emotion. “Far from it,” she murmured.
Maverick’s breath caught and if this were another time or place, he’d take the plunge and plant one hell of a kiss on those lips.
“And he’s not my son,” she whispered.
“No?” Maverick asked carefully.
“He’s my brother.”
Charlie walked over to Connor but as soon as she did, his fingers fell away from the keys and he stood still as a statue. For several more moments there were no sounds. No words. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if any of them took a breath.
“We should go,” Charlie said slowly.
“Sure, I appreciate you coming out to take a look at the car. I’ll let you know if my brother wants to have the Mustang restored.”
She didn’t answer and he got the idea that she’d moved on from the car. Her focus was on Connor.
Maverick cleared his throat and walked them to the door, all the while his thoughts swirling in a hundred directions. He wondered why she was raising her brother. He wondered about the kid’s odd behavior. He wondered about that spark between them and what it could mean.
But mainly he wondered what it was that would make a woman cry over a little boy who showed interest in a piano.
Chapter Four
“So?”