Chapter Nine

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.