Maverick (The Family Simon 3)

“Hey,” he said stepping aside so she and Connor could file into the room. It was warm, courtesy of a fireplace she’d not noticed before, and she took her coat off and handed it to Rick.

“Hey yourself,” she replied softly, managing to get rid of the silly grin on her face. She really needed to work on keeping her shit together when she was around him.

His eyes held hers for several long moments and then he turned to Connor, who stood a few inches from them. Her brother was rubbing his fingers together—something he did when he was nervous—but before she could do anything about it, Rick bent down and held out his hands, palms up.

“Wanna give me your coat bud? We can go and fool around on the piano for as long as you want.”

Her heart squeezed at the flash of fear in Connor’s eyes. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t like attention and he sure as hell didn’t like direct contact.

“Or you can just sit there and play when you feel like it.” Rick’s voice was gentle and Charlie bit her lip, watching the two of them—the large, masculine guy next to her small, delicate brother.

“It’s your call,” Rick continued. “You don’t have to play the piano if you don’t want to. We can just eat pizza and play Xbox if that’s your thing.”

Long moments stretched thin and Charlie was about to scoop up her jacket and call it a day when Connor shrugged and took off his gloves and hat. He slipped out of his jacket, and after a small hesitation, handed everything over to Rick.

Charlie had to look away because it was that hard for her to watch—really hard—but in a good way. When was the last time she’d seen Connor react to anyone, other than Davis?

“I’ll just sit over here.” Charlie moved toward the sofa.

“There’s cold beer in the fridge if you want,” Rick said. “Corona. Thought we’d have a Mexican night.” He paused. “That’s if you like Mexican.”

She nodded. “We like Mexican.”

She settled on the edge of the sofa, absently fingering some papers that were there as she watched Connor. Her brother didn’t move and kept his eyes on the ground but when Rick sat in front of the keyboard and began playing a slow, beautiful melody, her brother’s head jerked up. Connor watched Rick for a long time and god help her, but Charlie was transfixed as well.

Rick wasn’t just good and he sure as hell was better than great. The guy had chops and feel and he made the keyboard sound as if it was a part of him. He looked so damn sexy sitting there, playing a soft, haunting tune, dressed like a lumberjack (with the shoulders to go with) and all that dark wavy hair and the five o’clock shadow.

Better watch it girlie, you might fall for this one.

Charlie pushed that thought away as quickly as it had come. No way was she going to ruin this moment thinking about something that hadn’t even happened yet. Or rather, thinking about something could never happen because she knew he wasn’t staying in Fisherman’s Landing.

“No one ever does,” she murmured to herself.

Connor moved to the keyboard, inches at a time, his expression rapt as he watched Rick play. When he stopped near the bench and Rick moved over, a big old knot clogged Charlie’s throat.

It took another five minutes before Connor committed himself to sitting next to Rick, and the sight of his slight shoulders, hunched over as he watched Rick’s fingers move, was one that Charlie would never forget.

Rick spoke quietly to her brother, his voice soothing, relaxing even, as he talked about the notes and what they meant. He mentioned things like minor chords and major chords—things that Charlie had no clue about—and he talked about ebb and flow. When he reached for Connor’s hand, Charlie froze, exhaling hard and fighting tears because, Jesus, her brother let Rick touch him.

She blew out a long breath and settled back into the sofa, turning away because she couldn’t bear to watch the beauty of what was unfolding. At least not right now, because right now it was painfully beautiful, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment by breaking down.

Charlie wasn’t sure how much time had passed, because she nearly jumped out of her skin when Rick sat beside her.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her with his knee.

She sat up, realizing that Connor was still…

“He’s still playing.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. He picked it up real quick. I taught him an easy piece and he’s practicing it something fierce.” They both watched the little hands attack the keys with a passion that Charlie had never seen before.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t know if he’d engage or not. It’s hard sometimes to know what will work with him. And it’s even harder to be disappointed over and over.”

Rick grabbed her chin, his fingers gentle, and forced her eyes back to his. “You’ll have to tell me about him. I’d like to know your brother’s story.” He paused and Charlie’s mouth went dry at the look in his eyes. “I’d like to know your story.”

Charlie wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, legs pressed against each other, eyes unmoving, but when Connor ripped into the piece yet again, with a fury no less, she glanced away.

“I didn’t get my Corona.” Geez, why did she suddenly sound like Marilyn Monroe? Granted, it was a version that smoked a pack a day, but still. She really needed to get some perspective. Rick was being nice to her because he was a good guy. But he was a good guy who was most likely looking to get laid again.