He looks up at me. “You think you’ll find a cure?”
“I don’t know.” I remember Dr. Smithfield’s words,Scientists hold the door open to all possibilities.
“So you’re a hero tree doctor.”
Looking down, I shake my head. “I wish.”
He rises to his feet, and I lift my chin to look up at him. So tall. He studies my face, then he lifts his hand and moves a piece of hair off my cheek.
It’s a tentative move, his finger barely making contact with my skin, and it makes me want to lean closer, rest my cheek against his palm, this man who was the boy I could always trust.
“Aunt Dolly says storms make trees take deeper roots.”
“She should know.”
We share a quiet moment. It’s not long, but it’s enough.
“What should I prepare for our hero tree doctor?” He takes a step away, gently teasing. “Spicy mushroom pizza?”
“Sure,” I nod, putting on my best determined face. “We’ll show those fungi who’s boss.”
“I’d like to show somebody who’s boss… initialsCH.”
I follow him into the kitchen. “Did I mention he’s a scratch golfer?”
“Figures.” He glances over his shoulder, giving me a disgusted face. “He probably wears quarter-zips and khakis.”
“How did you know?” I pretend to be shocked, but dissolve into laughter.
The fist in my chest has relaxed some, and while I’m still angry and afraid, I don’t feel alone—not that I ever was. Uncle Sawyer and Leon are working so hard, and I want to help them. I want to be a part of the solution.
Mav takes a cardboard box of mushrooms out of the refrigerator and hands it to me. “Give ‘em hell.”
I snort a laugh, but dicing fungi, no matter how harmless, does make me feel better. He switches on a speaker, and dance music filters around us.
He takes out a knife of his own and dices onions, olives, peppers, and being here beside him, listening to music, helping with dinner is comforting, homey.
It brings me back to the present and possibility, rather than worrying about future fears.
“Maverick Murphy…” I pause, placing the knife on my hip. “Do you make everyone feel better or just me?”
He glances over at me, giving me another one of his unreadable looks. The corner of his mouth lifts, and his eyes are less friendly, more tempting.
The small hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my heart beats faster. My stomach flutters lightly.
He places his knife on the counter, and his voice is low. “I only want you to feel good.”
Rising to his full height, he steps closer and my breath stills. My throat tightens… but he continues past me, opening the refrigerator door and taking out the shredded cheese.
“Gotta cheese the pizza.” He holds up a plastic container.
An exhale slips between my parted lips, and I feel so silly. “Of course.”
Shaking away my fantasies, I remind myself why I’m here.
6
MAVERICK
