Tripp - Mavericks of Montana Creek Book One Page 6

  What would it be like to be loved by Tripp Maverick?

  12

  Hannah

  I woke the next morning feeling more rested than I had in ages. People who said money couldn’t buy happiness had never slept on a memory foam mattress. I yawned and stretched relishing the knowledge that I had a few extra moments to myself thanks to the fact I didn’t have to drive twenty minutes to start breakfast for the guys.

  I forced myself out of bed and padded into the bathroom, more excited than any adult should be to take a shower. I turned the knobs until all three shower heads were flowing, then stepped under the warm spray of water. Heaven.

  I ran through my schedule and the menus for the day in my mind while I lathered, rinsed, and repeated. Then I stepped out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom, wiping a mirror with a towel so I could check my reflection. Meh.

  For some reason, I felt like giving myself some effort that day and took the time to put on a little makeup. It definitely wasn’t because I was hoping to see Tripp.

  Then I threw on some clothes and went to the kitchen.

  One of the guys was already there fiddling with the industrial-size coffee maker. Jake, I thought his name was.

  “How do you work this thing?”

  “Here, let me,” I offered, and he stepped aside.

  “You staying here now?” he asked.

  “Yes, for a while,” I replied as I scooped coffee grounds into the filter.

  “Does that mean you’re taking the job full-time?” He rocked back on his heels and waggled his eyebrows. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “No, my bakery is still my priority.”

  “Damn. I think we’re all hoping you’ll change your mind. I haven’t eaten this well in my entire life.”

  “Well, I appreciate the compliment, but I’m a baker at heart.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it? We like to eat baked things, too.” He winked and grinned, a deep dimple dotting one cheek.

  “You like to eat, period.”

  “I can’t deny that,” he laughed. “Where’s your bakery?”

  “Downtown Great Falls. I’m right on the main strip in one of Maverick’s buildings.”

  “We were wondering how Tripp had managed to find you.”

  “Find me?” I asked and pulled bacon from the fridge. I liked to fry their eggs in the leftover grease.

  “Pretty thing like you doesn’t come around here too often. I mean, you saw our last cook.” He feigned a shiver.

  “Poor Marty,” I sighed.

  “And you can cook. Deadly combo right there.”

  “I think you’re giving me a little too much credit,” I told him over the sound of sizzling bacon.

  “No, ma’am, not at all.” He stepped closer. “You think I could come by your bakery sometime?”

  “Of course. I’m open nine to four to allow time to get back here and make dinner for you hungry monsters.”

  “Maybe I could bring you a coffee or something.”

  “Well, I sell coffee, so that’s not necessary.” His slow smile told me I’d missed his meaning. “Oh, you meant coffee.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Could I buy you a coffee sometime?”

  I felt my cheeks flush and looked back at the skillet to hide my embarrassment. Did I want anyone to buy me coffee right now? Unbidden, Tripp’s face came to my mind, and I thought that if I were going to have coffee with anyone, I’d want it to be him. No matter the unlikelihood of that ever happening.

  “That’s such a nice offer, Jake. It’s Jake, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But between working here and running my business, I don’t have a moment to myself. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’d be very good company right now.”

  He inclined his head, and the smile never left his face. “How about you just let me know when you change your mind. I’d be glad to buy you coffee any time.”

  I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He turned to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug, raised it in my direction, then went to the dining room.

  I finished the bacon, fried some eggs, and set about toasting four loaves of bread. One by one, denim-clad men in boots arrived and found seats at the long dining table. Tripp was one of the last to arrive.

  “Morning,” he called and flung a wave in my direction before joining the guys in the dining room. “Listen up, you knuckleheads. I’ve asked Hannah to stay here while she cooks for us to cut down on her travel time. She’ll be in Marty’s old room, and she’s graciously agreed to keep the kitchen open twenty-four hours. Help yourself to anything in there, but you’re not to bother her after the evening meal.” He looked around the room. “If I hear any of you give her trouble, you’ll have to answer to me. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded or grunted their agreement. Satisfied, Tripp took a seat near the head of the table.

  Somewhat stunned by the unexpected speech and eternally grateful for the way he allowed me to keep some dignity, it took me a moment to gather my wits and start breakfast. I gave myself a shake and took the first platter to the table.

  “Will you be joining us?” Tripp quietly asked when I placed a bowl of fruit near him.

  I glanced around at the hunched figures shoveling food into their mouths and shook my head. “I need to get back to the bakery.”

  “I can take you.”

  I’d forgotten until that moment that my Jeep was back at the store. “Sounds good. I can wait till you’re finished eating.”

  “Give me ten, and we’ll head out.”

  I tidied the kitchen, washed my hands, then went to my room for my purse and keys. By the time I made it back to Tripp, he was waiting for me with the box of donuts I needed to deliver to the police department. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I answered and tried to calm the butterflies fluttering around my insides. I followed him out to the truck noting his perfectly worn jeans and long, sure stride. I hopped into the cab of the truck and accepted the box of donuts from him.

  “Are you sure it’s not a problem to take me? I could always ask my friend Beth to come and get me,” I offered.

  “Nah. I’ve got to head into town for some business anyway. Might as well deliver you while I’m at it.”

  “Anything fun?”

  “None of this is fun.”

  I looked over at his strong profile, the way his eyes squinted against the morning sun and had to wonder, “Then why do you do it?” The Maverick family had more money than God. I would think Tripp could do whatever he wanted with his life.

  “Because it needs to be done,” was his reply.

  Simple, yet somehow profound. Clearly, he had a deep sense of responsibility to his family. I wanted to ask why he needed to step in for his father but didn’t have the guts.

  “How’s the new business model working out?” he asked.

  “So far so good. I’d like to get a few more commitments, but I’ll have to focus on that when I find more hours in the day.”

  “Let me know when you do. I could use a few of them.”

  “Deal.”

  “You’re a lucky girl to get to do what you want for a living. You know that, right?”

  What an odd thing to say. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “No question about it.”

  “What would you rather be doing?” I asked.

  He glanced over at me then back at the road before answering. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was ranch.”

  Studying him, I decided I’d never seen anyone who looked more like a rancher than he did. More often than not he was in worn jeans and boots with a flannel shirt and cowboy hat. His hands were those of a hard worker—calloused and scarred. His bulky muscles spoke to years of hard labor, and his eyes seemed to be in a permanent squint against the sun leaving creases at their edges. His strong jaw was covered with a day’s worth of stubble. He embodied Montana.

  “I’m sorry you’re not able to do what you love.” I thought I�
��d go crazy if I weren’t able to bake. It was the only constant I’d had in my life. My tried-and-true recipes never let me down, and the comfort of what they produced was invaluable to me.

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Most people don’t get to.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d taken on the burden of the family businesses to spare anyone else from having to do it. Maybe it was even why he continued to give me chances. Because he didn’t want other people to hate what they did for a living the way he did. Never did I think I’d be in a position to feel sorry for a Maverick, but at that moment, I did.

  He pulled into the alley behind the bakery, and there was a truck I didn’t recognize parked next to my Jeep.

  “That’s my maintenance guy,” Tripp answered my unasked question.

  We let ourselves in the back door, and a round man with gray hair wearing overalls was washing his hands in the sink. “All fixed,” he announced.

  “What a relief,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Only sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner,” he told me, then tipped his hat at Tripp and went out the door.

  I went to the fridge and was pleased to see it had done a good job of keeping the contents cool even without power, then to the front to flip on the lights and turn my sign to ‘open.’

  “You all set?” Tripp asked from the doorway.

  “Almost. Give me just a minute.” I went to my single cup coffee maker and brewed the stoutest blend I had. Then I filled a to-go box with a variety of cookies and went to Tripp.

  “These things always help me through tough days. I hope they’ll do the same for you,” I offered them, suddenly feeling shy.

  He accepted my gift, then without a word, leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my hairline, not quite my temple, then turned and left.

  My heart in my throat, I stood rooted in place. Tripp Maverick had just kissed me. A tiny, chaste, probably meaningless kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

  The jingle of the bell above the door pulled me from my reverie, and before I could turn around, a voice called out, “Hello, Banana.”

  Only one person in the world called me that, and it was someone I’d hoped never to see again.

  My father.

  I turned, immediately wary. “What are you doing here?”

  “Can’t a father stop by to check on his little girl?”

  “No, you lost that right a long time ago.” Bitterness tinged my voice and dripped from my words. I looked at the man I hadn’t seen since my twenty-first birthday, more than five years ago.

  Alcoholism and poor life choices had aged him prematurely. He was thin, hunched, his skin sallow, his hair thin.

  “What do you want?”

  “Heard you was doing real well for yourself. Own a business. Fell in with that Maverick family.”

  Bile rose in my throat when I realized why he was there. He wanted money. Of course. This man and his addictions had quite literally ruined my life. My mother had died from complications due to alcoholism when I was just a baby. My father, already a heavy drinker, doubled down to dull the pain and deal with raising a child on his own. However, his need for alcohol became stronger than his desire to raise a daughter, leaving us to live in squalor, funding his habits through petty theft and scams until I was old enough to work and provide an income, my attempt at deterring him from crime. It had taken me well into adulthood to realize I couldn’t fix his brand of broken.

  I’d begun saving, and it had taken me years. Finally, on my twenty-first birthday, I was ready. Moving away was my gift to myself. A new beginning. A fresh start. I could become whoever I wanted to be rather than the daughter of the town drunk.

  I’d gone to the bank to retrieve my precious cash. I still remembered the crushing blow of hearing the words that my balance was at zero. I’d known immediately. I’d been robbed by my own father.

  “How do you know about that?”

  He smiled, and I wanted to vomit. “Small town. Word gets around.”

  Indeed, it did. Through the years I’d hear someone had run into him, gotten into a bar fight with him, or had something stolen by him.

  I forced myself to remain guarded and aloof. Never again.

  “Yes, it’s true. Despite your best efforts, I’m building a life for myself.”

  “Your new life have room for dear old dad in it?”

  “No. And it never will. Please leave.”

  “How ‘bout a coffee and one of them rolls for the road?”

  “Are you seriously asking me for free food? You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I was disgusted, and I hoped he knew it.

  He had the audacity to laugh, and I could smell the stink of booze on his breath even from where I stood. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. See ya around, Banana.” With a wink, he was gone.

  I rushed to the door and flipped the lock. I was shaking. A combination of fear and rage threatened to choke me. I dug my fingers into my hair and sank to the floor. I couldn’t go through all that again, the dependency, the lies, the anger, the broken promises. I was a different person now. My life had changed. I was only beginning to see the fruits of my labor. I wouldn’t allow him to steal my future from me again.

  I wouldn’t.

  I moved through the rest of that day in a fog. I drove to make deliveries and couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there. I baked without conscious thought, muscle memory driving my movements. If I hadn’t set an alarm on my phone to remind me when it was time to go to the ranch, I would have forgotten to go.

  Shaking myself internally, I told myself everything would be okay. I was in a better place. He had no hold or power over me. It would be okay. I repeated that to myself like a mantra and grabbed my keys to head to the bunkhouse.

  I opened the door and was shocked to step into a downpour. I’d been too distracted to realize it had begun raining. I ran to the Jeep and turned the windshield wipers on their highest setting. Even so, the rain made it nearly impossible to see, and driving was slow.

  By the time I’d reached the arch, my nerves were shot. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, and each new clap of thunder made me jump.

  The downpour was heavy enough that tiny rivers were forming through the driveway of the Maverick house, which looked dark as I drove past. I found the trail and turned the Jeep to follow it to the bunkhouse, but before long, it had completely washed away, and I wasn’t sure I was on the right path anymore. The craggy hills and boulders looked foreign and frightening in the shocking blasts of lightning. Should I stop and wait it out? Should I turn around and try to make it back to the main house? I thought I was closer to the bunkhouse than the main house by then and so I trudged forward.

  I came to a valley that was steeper than I was comfortable driving through but seeing no other option, I crept forward. The water was rushing through, but I thought it still looked shallow enough to make it. Trying to hold steady, I drove in and immediately knew I’d made the wrong decision. The power of the rushing water grabbed my Jeep and rocked it. Terrified, I hit the gas hoping to gun it out of there, but my tires met slick mud and gained no traction. I was at the mercy of what was quickly becoming a raging river.

  I cried out as the power intensified and jarred the Jeep out of the rut it had become stuck in, pushing me sideways down the valley. It hit something hard, maybe a boulder or a downed tree, and lodged there. For a moment, I was thankful I’d stopped moving, but then water began pouring in under the door and swirling violently at my feet.

  13

  Tripp

  I stood looking out the windows at the bunkhouse at the deluge attacking my land, a feeling of unease increasing with each passing minute. Hannah wasn’t here, and she didn’t answer when I called the bakery, which made me fear she was out in the storm somewhere.

  I’d seen storms as bad as this before, but not many. We were sure to lose some of the livestock and have damage to property. Both were unfortunate and disheartening, but not the reason my gut
felt like it was in knots.

  Flash floods, landslides, getting disoriented and lost were real and deadly possibilities and something every hand on my staff had seen at least once in their careers. Hannah didn’t have the training or knowledge my men had nor the familiarity with the land. If she was out there, it could mean the difference between her life and death.

  The thought shot fear through me the likes of which I’d never felt before. Unable to remain still another minute, I grabbed my jacket and keys off the table.

  I was soaked to the bone the second I stepped outside. I ran to the truck through the rain that hit as hard as bullets. Unsure where to begin, I tried to follow the trail between the bunkhouse and the main house, but much of it had washed out. I made it back to the main house without finding her, and so I did the only thing I could. I turned around and went back to look again. This time, a little further to the east, I followed the direction of the running water. My wipers were moving at full speed, but I could still only see a few feet ahead of me at a time. If it hadn’t been for the blinding crack of lightning, I might never have spotted the Jeep lodged against a boulder getting punished by the rushing water.

  Heart in my throat, I sped toward the Jeep and prayed she was still in it and okay. Once I was as close as I could safely get, I jumped out of the truck and yelled her name. No movement. I waded into the water, shocked at the force of it. Fighting to stay upright, I struggled toward the Jeep. When I finally reached it, I pounded my fist on the window. “Hannah?”

  She was on the console, the highest point in the interior, knees curled into her chest. When she saw me, she clambered to the window, hands gripping the glass. “I can’t get the door open. The water is too strong.”

  “Roll down the window,” I yelled.

  “I tried, but the engine is flooded. There’s no power.” She looked terrified.

  “Just hang on, okay?” I started to make my way to the back to see if I could pull the hatch open.

  “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of there.” The Jeep had been lodged against a boulder, the passenger side flush with the rock, but it looked like it had hit it butt-end first because the hatch was crumpled on that side and there would be no opening it. That left me just one option.