Thankful he hadn’t checked any baggage, Brawley swung the strap of his carry-on over his shoulder and headed for outside. New York air, heavy with late spring heat, smog, and noise, hit him the second he stepped through the doors. And this was the world Maggie chose—just as he’d picked Dallas. Hadn’t he always missed Maverick Junction, though? The longing to return had grown every time he’d visited. Each time he and Maggie bumped into each other. Hailing a taxi, he told the driver to take him to Tiffany’s. Before he went to his hotel to change, he had some shopping to do. * * * An hour and a half later, arms folded over his chest, Brawley leaned against a tent pole. It had been almost a month since he’d seen Maggie, and this first sight was as sweet as honey drizzled over one of his mama’s warm, homemade biscuits. God, he’d missed this woman. Totally in her element, Maggie looked absolutely stunning in a black leather jacket and boots, slim pants, and a dark green and black top.
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