Chayton's Tempest (8 page)

deteriorating health. “For stopping.”

“What do you want, Mr. Whitehall?”

“Did you really see her?”

Bracing his powerful legs on either side to keep his bike

steady, Maverick crossed his arms in front of his massive chest.

“I saw her.”
And she was beautiful from the second my eyes landed

on her.

“Is she…is she well?”

In his runny eyes, Maverick noticed the pain of a father

who lost a child. “As far as I can tell. She wasn’t exactly

welcoming to me.”

“And my grandson? I bet he is a wonderful child.” The

man glowed with pride as he said that.

“He’s no child; he’s twenty-one years old. But, he seems

to be. He’s working at the same bar as she is.” Maverick wished

he could see her and explain everything.

“You know, we disowned her. She even legally changed

her name. She must hate me,” he moaned.

Maverick picked up on the “me” as opposed to “us.” “I

have to get going; I’m going to try and set things right.”

One withered hand went up. “Wait, I have something

for her.” He shuffled back to his truck and pulled out a thick

letter that he handed over to Maverick. “Please give this to

her.”

Placing the letter in the saddlebag, Maverick nodded. “I

will.”

“What did he look like? What did she look like?” the old

man asked desperately.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was a man

who’d realized he’d erred grievously and wanted to find a way

to fix it. Maverick gave him a general description of how they

looked, leaving out the part of how Tempest made him lose his

breath.

Mitchell Whitehall nodded his thanks. “I was the

stupidest man on earth when I let her go. I hope you are a

smarter man than I was.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Mitchell.” Maverick put on his helmet,

zipped his vest up more, and started his engine.

The man waved until he couldn’t see the man or the

motorcycle anymore. Tears were sliding down his face as he

climbed into the cab of his truck. “Oh, Sarah, what have I done

to you?” Making sure there was no trace of his tears left,

Mitchell started his vehicle and drove back home to his waiting

wife.

Maverick pushed hard to get back to Albuquerque and

got a hotel room near where he’d been before. Hoisting his

saddlebags over one shoulder, he walked up to the second

floor and opened the door to his room.

He unpacked his sea bag and got the room to where he

felt semi-comfortable. He pulled off his leathers and took a cold

shower.

Exhausted, yet clean, he lay on the bed dressed only in

his boxers and allowed the air conditioning to cool him down.

“Now all I need is a plan of attack. I have no idea how I’m

going to get you to give me a chance, Tempest. No idea. But

I’m not leaving until I explain it to you.” Content with his

decision, Maverick nodded off to sleep.

His dreams weren’t pleasant. They were nothing but

Tempest in horrible situations; and each time she would look at

him and say, “This is all your fault! I’m in this because you

abandoned me!”

The next day, Maverick located where she lived by

looking up her name in the phone book and used a city map to

find her home. He rode past her house on his bike. It was a

small home, one level and a very typical Southwestern stucco–

style home.

The outside was painted a beige color. Large windows

were on the front, allowing for the maximum sunlight to come

in; although for the time, all the shades were drawn. He noticed

a stucco fence that seemed to encompass all of her backyard.

There was no grass on her lawn; instead, it was a desert

and rock garden, which made sense given water was so

precious. She had a few large cacti out in the front with

trenches dug around each plant, and a stone walkway led from

the sidewalk to the front door and around to the gate leading to

the backyard.

Maverick wanted to stop and go to the door. He wanted

a chance to meet the young man he’d not been allowed to

know. And he still wanted a chance to get to know the woman

who’d ensnared him from the first moment in the bar, the

woman who’d fascinated him before he knew who she truly

was and how their lives were intertwined.

As he drove around the block, Maverick tried to figure

out how to approach this. One; he’d just recently found out that

he was what he referred to as a deadbeat dad. Two; his son

hated him. Three; Tempest sure as hell wasn’t about to

welcome him with open arms. Four; all of his charm and

smooth lines were
not
going to be working on this woman.

So where does that leave me?
He drove off and pulled into

a shopping center. Parking his bike, Maverick entered one of

the many stores.
That leaves me at square one and no way to woo a

woman who hates my guts.

Walking past a display of flowers, he paused, then

shook his head and moved on. He didn’t know a damn thing

Tempest. Hell, he didn’t know all that much about her when

she was Sarah. If he forgot the fact they had a child together

and he’d left her to raise it alone, then perhaps the flowers

would work, but he knew enough about women to eighty-six

that idea.

Sitting down at an empty table outside, Maverick tipped

his head to feel the full blast of the sun’s rays on his face. For a

while he just sat there and people-watched families, couples,

and move in and out of the stores, laughing and talking with

one another.

It was when he started watching the small children in

strollers that he got choked up. He’d missed all of that of his

son’s life. He was a stranger to his own flesh and blood.

Standing abruptly, Maverick strode to his bike, totally

unconcerned with the amount of female gazes upon his easy

movement. He was just as focused as he was on missions.

Once properly attired, he left the parking lot and went

back to the beige house on a side street in Albuquerque, a

house that hopefully would let him find some answers and

peace to the guilt that had been ravaging him since Tempest

had told him.

Parking his motorcycle on the street, he took off his vest

and helmet before heading for the door. Stealing a brief

moment to gather himself, Maverick reached out with one

bronze hand and knocked.

Six

“Can I help you?” The question was asked with barely

contained civility.

Maverick looked down to see his son standing in front of

him. It was obvious he wasn’t pleased to see the man on the

outside of the door. “Can I speak to Tempest, please?” he asked

politely.

“No.” The answer was snapped out so quickly that

Maverick wasn’t even sure the young man had heard the entire

question.

Bristling a bit at the attitude, Maverick had to swallow to

not bark back. “I need to talk to her,” he insisted.

Dakota narrowed his black eyes at the man he’d just

come to realize was his father. For a long time he’d dreamed of

having a man who he could look up to. “Doesn’t matter, you

can’t. She’s not here.”

Maverick sighed. “Okay, but just to let you know, I’m

not going away.”

“Look, my mom needed you back then; we both did.

Not anymore. So feel free to go away and forget all about us.

That seems to be something you are damn good at.” Dakota

slammed the door in his face.

Maverick remained in front of the door for a moment

before turning around and walking back down the stone

walkway.
This is going to be an uphill battle all the way.
He

climbed on his bike and roared away without looking back.

At eight on that Friday night, Maverick walked in the

door to B’s Quarry
.
The place was full of people and loud

music. A live band was over on the stage rocking the house.

His dark eyes immediately moved to the bar and spotted

Tempest work with ease. Her body swayed in time with the

music but she never lost her focus on making drinks.

Tonight she wore a black halter top that cupped her

breasts fully. Her hair was clasped loosely at the back of her

neck. Even with the distance between them, he noticed the

sparkle of her earrings.

Sliding through the crowd, Maverick leaned on the bar

and waited to be helped.

“What can I get you,” the tone was distantly polite.

Tempest stood before him with a blue rag tossed over one

shoulder.

Immediately, Maverick scanned her body with his eyes.

Damn!
She wore a pair of skintight black pants that held

everything perfectly and left nothing, yet everything, to the

imagination. “I’ll have an Old Fashioned, please.”

She grabbed the glass and began to mix his drink.

Within moments, it was moving across the teakwood to his

hand. “There you go.”

Handing over his money, Maverick held her gaze as she

reached for the bills. All he could see in it was anger and

resentment. “Keep the change,” he announced.

“Thanks,” she murmured before she slipped away,

leaving him alone in the huge crowd.

Since the stool he was beside had become vacant, he

took it. Placing his black boots on the foot railing on the bar, he

began to nurse his drink. Maverick ignored the glares he

received from his offspring and instead chose to keep his gaze

upon Tempest.

Damn him! Damn him for being here and looking so
frickin
’

hot.
Tempest had to fight to keep her mind on her work.

Regardless of where she was or what she was doing, her eyes

always drifted back to the man sitting at the bar.

It was like he was the only one in the place; her gaze

skipped over everyone else and landed on him.
What does he

want? For that matter, why do I care?
He hadn’t flinched from her

gaze when she took his order, but she could tell he wanted

something.

I’m not feeling inclined to give him a damn thing.
Still, as she

worked, her mind taunted her with the way his red shirt

stretched tightly across his chest and over those impressive

biceps.

A hand waving at her took her back down the bar to a

man who was sitting next to Maverick. No, he was Mr.

Lonetree
. Or James. “Evening, Sparky,” Tempest said with a

smile. “Your usual?”

The man nodded as he placed a ten on the bar. “You

know it, darling.”

Tempest immediately went to work on his drink. As she

was pouring the ingredients from the blender into the glass,

she tilted her head at him. “So, how’re things?”