Maggie Box Set Read online

  The creek in question looks almost as big as a river to Maggie. It’s tumbling at a good clip down a rocky bed. The water is mesmerizing. Once she’d seen it, her eyes hadn’t strayed beyond it. Now she lifts her gaze and sees a ramshackle building. From this distance, she would have called it a shack instead of a cabin and wonders what the difference is.

  “Yeah. Is it yours?”

  “No. Our property ends just on the other side of the creek. See the fence?”

  She squints. “I do now.”

  “The cabin belongs to our crazy neighbor. Electrician by day and fence destroyer by night.”

  “What?”

  “He has a bad habit of taking the fence down so his cattle can get to our water. Water is life up here. Water rights are wealth. And, there’s a section down. Again.” Hank lifts a hand in greeting. “That’s him, watching us.”

  Maggie sees a short, wide man near a camo panel van with SIMON ELECTRIC painted in neon yellow block letters on the side with a phone number below it. What is it with camo vehicles in Wyoming? Wasn’t there one in the Bison Inn parking lot, when she was there with Chet? She sees it in her mind’s eye. No, it was an army-green truck. Close cousin to camo. It had belonged to the awful woman who slapped Chet.

  Chet. Ugh. She doesn’t want to keep remembering Chet. But how can she forget him? She was naked with him less than two days ago, and now he’s dead. Hank hasn’t brought up the murder, and she’s not about to, but she wonders if he knows about it. And, if he does, whether he remembers Maggie with him at the Occidental. God, she hopes not.

  Lily huffs and shifts, responsive to Maggie’s slightest signals, intentional or otherwise.

  The crazy neighbor either doesn’t see them or is ignoring Hank.

  “Whatever.” Hank lowers his hand. “This is our turnaround point. If we had time, I’d take you on the dime tour.” He points up into the rugged foothills. “Gene got his antelope up there last year.”

  “Thanks for the nickel tour anyway.”

  “No problem.”

  As they turn around, Maggie says, “Hopefully when we get back, I’ll have good news from the dealership.”

  “Sorry to tell you this, but I have signal out here. They haven’t called.”

  “It’s suddenly not so urgent that I get back.” She gazes into the foothills. They tug at her, call to her. She’s never been a mountain person, and Hank’s told her about the predators that roam up there. But the longing is stronger than her fear of them and the unknown.

  “I need to get back. Gotta get some work done before I have to knock off early.” Hank urges Wolf in front of Lily.

  Maggie has a bad feeling she knows why. “Oh? Something fun?” Her voice is brittle.

  “Um, dinner with Sheila.”

  “The Sunday school teachers again?”

  “No.”

  “My next guess is Mommy and Daddy, because I’ll bet she still lives at home.”

  He gives her the side-eye. “Half-right. Dinner with the parents and Sheila’s baby sister.”

  Half-right is twice as bad. If Sheila doesn’t live with her parents, that means Hank can shack up with her all he wants. Maggie can’t compete with a young, pretty woman who is sexually available. She’s just been fooling herself. Going riding with Hank isn’t stolen time. It’s just opening up the wound so there’s more surface area for the salt to sting when it’s poured on.

  “Yah, Lily.” Maggie squeezes the horse’s sides with her legs and presses gently with her heels. The mare is sluggish to respond, so Maggie repeats her command with firm intention. She needs to get away from this pain, and the quickest path back to Texas is on the back of the big black horse. Louise, excited, yips and snaps at Lily’s heels.

  “Hey, wait up,” Hank calls.

  Maggie whispers to Lily. “There are more cookies for you if you lose him.” She knows Wolf can catch them, but right now, she needs a Hank-free moment.

  The pregnant mare somehow finds a higher gear, and the wind in Maggie’s face gives her the sensation that it’s driving all her troubles into the distance behind her.

  But then Hank and Wolf surge ahead, and it just feels like blowback in her face.

  Thirteen

  When Maggie trots Lily into the stable yard ahead of Hank and Wolf an hour later, Gene, Andy, and Paco are emerging from the main house. Her stomach growls. They’d missed lunch.

  The clop-clop of the two horses’ hooves is loud on the road. Gene turns toward it, sees them, and waves.

  “Look at you and Lily.”

  Maggie asks Lily to stop. She does, but manages a few cheater steps toward her paddock. “Yee-haw.”

  “Missed you this morning,” he says to Hank. “Minivacation?”

  “Yeah, right. I took Maggie on a tour.” Hank sounds defensive.

  Lily makes eager throaty noises that vibrate Maggie’s legs.

  Maggie holds her back. “My truck’s not ready.”

  “There’s fence damage again, out near Simon’s place. I need to check on Mom, but I can make repairs after.”

  Gene shakes his head. “A buyer called. He’s coming in to look at the three-year-olds.”

  Paco says, “Andy and I can mend the fence.”

  “Thanks,” Gene and Hank say in unison.

  A truck pulls up, a Rhodes Rough Stock magnet on the door.

  “What’s he doing here?” Gene asks, to no one in particular.

  Patrick Rhodes unfolds his large body out the driver’s-side door. He reaches back in the truck and first grabs his hat and jams it on, then retrieves a tissue-wrapped bouquet. Sunflowers with giant nodding heads. He nods at the men and walks up, spurs jangling, to Maggie and Lily. Paco and Andy exchange a knowing glance and hotfoot it for the barn.

  Patrick touches his hat brim. “Maggie.”

  “Hello, Patrick.” Maggie glances at a glaring Hank.

  “I saw these in town. They reminded me of you.”

  Maggie points at his left hand. “What does your wife think of you buying flowers for other women?”

  “I’m a widower.”

  “And a motherfucker,” Hank mutters.

  Maggie relishes the awkward tension. Serves Hank right. “Thank you. My favorite.”

  “Can I hold your horse? Or break your descent?” He reaches toward Lily’s face.

  She backs up with a snort.

  “Shh, girl.” Maggie pats her neck.

  Hank growls. “Lily stands for dismount on her own.”

  Maggie screws up her lip. Just what she wants—an audience as she tries to figure out how to get off. She swings her right leg over as she stands in the left stirrup. Then childhood memory takes over. She levers her upper body and stomach against the saddle for balance and kicks her left leg backward out of the stirrup. Free of the saddle, she hops to the ground.

  Which is much farther down than she expects, and she keeps going, right onto her fanny in the dirt.

  No one laughs.

  Maggie winces. “For my encore, I’ll dive off headfirst.”

  Patrick offers his left hand, the flowers clutched in his right. “Happens to the best of us.”

  “Liar.” She takes his hand.

  He lifts her to her feet and then some. She ends up closer to him than she likes and he keeps hold of her hand. She feels the eyes of Hank and Gene, and wonders how much of Patrick’s help is to irritate them, and how much is to woo her.

  She takes the flowers and her hand, then steps back. “Your jacket is in my cabin. I can run get it for you.”

  Patrick bows slightly at the waist. “Let me take you to dinner at the Wagon Box Inn tonight. You can give it to me then.”

  Maggie doesn’t remember Patrick as this courtly from yesterday. She stares into the bouquet. Hank has a date. She has no particular interest in Patrick, but why shouldn’t she go? It’s a free meal. She missed lunch. In affirmation, her stomach growls. And it seems like a good way to piss Hank off. “A girl’s gotta eat. What time?”

  “S
ix?”

  Lily bumps Maggie with her nose.

  “Whoops. I need to take care of my horse. See you then.”

  Patrick goes to his truck and drives away, leaving a heavy silence behind.

  Maggie tilts her chin up. She leads Lily to the hitching post by the tack room.

  “Just be sure to wear your new jacket tonight,” Hank calls after her.

  She wants to make a dramatic exit, but she remembers Bess and turns. “Crap. I have to call the dealership.”

  Hank rides over and hands Maggie his phone. To Gene, he says, “I’ll meet you at the outdoor arena in half an hour.”

  “Fine.” Gene shoots Hank a meaningful look that Maggie doesn’t understand. Then he walks to his four-wheeler and drives off.

  Maggie pretends she isn’t mulling over the look. She hits the number for the Ford dealership in Hank’s Recents. Hank and Wolf join Lily at the hitching post.

  When Maggie connects with the service department, the Southern mechanic says, “It sure ’nough looks like someone took a blowtorch to your driveshaft. It must have been holding on by a thread. Who’d you piss off?”

  “The list of people I haven’t pissed off is shorter. Are you sure it was sabotaged?”

  “Well, I wasn’t there when it happened, obviously, but that’s my guess.”

  “Do you have a replacement?”

  “No, ma’am. We don’t stock parts on those old-model pickups. You have to hunt down stuff like that.”

  “I don’t care where from, or what it costs. I just need it as fast as possible.”

  “We’re closed for the rest of the weekend, but I can get on it first thing Monday.”

  All the ma’ams are starting to grate on Maggie. He doesn’t sound that much younger than her. But between him and Andy, she’s starting to take the hint. Next thing she knows, someone will call her Grandma. “Can I pay extra for someone to stay late and do it? So it can be shipped today?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, it’s just me left in here. We actually closed fifteen minutes ago, and I gotta go.”

  “First thing Monday, then?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After she thanks him, she hangs up and stomps in place double time for a few beats, shaking her fists. “They don’t have it. They won’t even start looking for one until Monday.”

  Wolf is already unsaddled and brushed out. Hank unbuckles Lily’s throat latch and removes her bridle. “Did I hear you say sabotage?”

  “That’s what the mechanic thinks. I don’t know.”

  “Shit. Do you know anyone who’d do that to you?”

  “Not in Wyoming.” Then she remembers the crazy chick who’d slapped Chet. Chet had said he’d seen his ex at the saloon. So she could have seen them together. Not appreciated it. Taken it out on Maggie’s truck. But with a blowtorch? It seems like a stretch. “At least, I don’t think so. Maybe a few in Texas.”

  “Wouldn’t necessarily have been here. Maybe someone wanted you to break down on the way here.”

  Gary? One of his exes? There was a Jenny last year. She’d shown up a few times at Gary’s when Maggie was with him. “Not out of the question.”

  Hank squeezes below his bottom lip. “I don’t like it.”

  The sabotage would bother her more if Maggie wasn’t most concerned about getting out of Wyoming. She paces in a tight figure eight, trying to come up with a solution that gets her on the road south today. Tomorrow at the latest. She doesn’t have one, and suddenly her eyes are hot. She’s screwed. Trapped in a front row seat to Hank’s relationship with Sheila.

  “I’ll check back into the hotel.”

  His voice is firm. “I want you here. It’s safer.” He disappears into the tack room.

  When he returns, Maggie says, “It’s not like it was a bomb. It’s just a part that fell out in the road. Even if it was sabotage, it wasn’t done to hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

  Hank’s voice is incredulous. “Someone took a blowtorch to your driveshaft. That’s not friendly, Maggie. Out here, you could break down where someone wouldn’t find you for days. Which I think could end real badly.”

  Hank has a point. Besides the sabotage, though—if that’s even a real thing—it’s going to cost an arm and a leg to get the part here. She’s not exactly cash rich. Which is ironic, since she inherited a ranch, a vintage Jaguar, a Warhol painting, and an extensive art collection from Gidget. But none of those jingle in her pocket. The money she’ll save on a hotel bill will go a long way toward fixing Bess.

  “If I have to stay here, then thank you.”

  “Think of it as a dude ranch vacation.” He grins at her with his damn dimples. She wants to poke them with a sharp stick. “Some people pay big bucks for a week at a place like this.”

  A week? She’ll flay herself alive if she has to spend that long suffering through the Hank-and-Sheila show. And that would just be more time for people to figure out she was the woman in Chet’s hotel room the night before his murder. Neither are things she wants any part of. Surely it won’t be that long. She can’t let it be. She needs to spend some time coming up with a Plan B, ASAP. Maybe look at plane tickets for her and shipping costs for Bess. To do that, she needs connectivity.

  She rubs Lily between her eyes. “I don’t mean to be a fussy dude guest, but can I get the Wi-Fi password and some lightbulbs?”

  Hank uncinches Lily’s saddle and hefts it off her back. Holding it in one hand, he removes her blanket with the other. “Wi-Fi password is Buffalo2002. Capital B.”

  Buffalo . . . which could be the town, the animal, or the Buffalo Inn where they’d spent their one night. In 2002. Which makes it pretty clear which it is. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s an old password. Don’t make it into a big thing.” He won’t meet her eyes and rushes on to say, “I’ll bring you some lightbulbs after I check on my mom.”

  Dammit, she doesn’t want to feel this flicker of hope again. A smile threatens to break out. Ridiculous. She’s being ridiculous. “I’ll put Wolf and Lily up.”

  “Brush the sweat off her first. Check their water, too.”

  “Yes, sir, Sergeant, sir.” She salutes. It’s strangely satisfying to be asked to help. “I’d feel better about staying if you put me to work, actually.”

  “Aren’t you the eager beaver?”

  He has no idea. Maggie smiles. “I’m serious.”

  “What? Doing laundry? Chopping vegetables? Mucking stalls? We don’t have much call for a picker, of guitar strings or old junk.”

  “Any of those. Or I could refresh the cabins with stuff I find around here. Even pull a few items from my haul this week.” Maggie is surprised at herself. Where did that idea come from?

  He purses his lips. “Might be wasted on us guys. I’d say you could tackle the main house, but my mother’s been known to pepper unwanted visitors with buckshot. Or worse.”

  “I prefer my ass without holes. But think about it. I’ve got time on my hands.”

  Fourteen

  At the cabin, Maggie stops with her hand on the screen-door pull, Louise beside her. The front door is slightly ajar. She knows she closed it, because she’s paranoid in the land of single men and predators. Especially after her nightmares and Louise’s growling episode.

  “Inside, Louise.”

  The dog stares at Maggie but doesn’t move.

  “You’re no help.”

  Maggie pushes the door open further with her toe. Her neck prickles, and she rubs it with her hand. The sensation of eyes on her skin makes her feel exposed, naked. She turns slowly, her eyes darting and scanning for movement. Nothing. She feels foolish. Maybe the latch on the door is sticky. Or maybe someone brought her supplies and didn’t shut the door well.

  But as she steps into the cabin, her skin feels itchy all over. Like someone or something is watching. She leaves the big door open, and Louise darts in just before the screen door slams behind her. Maggie examines every item and surface, opening drawers, cabinets, and closet. Nothing appear
s disturbed.

  Then she kneels at her suitcase and rifles through it. Her hands feel hot and her chest cold. She knows instantly someone has been in her things.

  And her belt and buckle are missing.

  “No, no, no.” She paws through the suitcase again, searching for the hard metal that should be impossible to miss.

  It’s been her most prized possession all these years. She’s never misplaced it. The thought of it being gone is like losing Hank all over again. Louise whines and flops down against her leg. Maggie drops her head in her hands. She didn’t cry in Texas when she sent Hank packing. She didn’t cry when she learned about Sheila the other night. But now the tears come, ever so slowly, but they come. Once they start, they build and build until she’s sobbing, her back rising and falling, her breaths choking gasps.

  When the worst of it subsides, Louise licks her leg with darting tongue movements.

  “Stop it. No. Gross.”

  Louise withdraws a few inches. Maggie wipes her cheeks and stares into her messy suitcase. The tears dry up, but she’s in a trance of sorts, mulling over how much like this suitcase her life has become in such a short period of time. She had her shit together. She really did. Until six months ago. Now? She’s just as messy as it is.

  After what seems like an eternity, there’s a tap on the wooden frame of the screen door behind her.

  She swivels toward the sound and falls on her rump, vulnerable. Again. Then embarrassed.

  Hank sees her and pulls the door open a few inches. “I don’t remember that as a favorite position of yours.”

  “Whatever.” She rolls to her knees, then stands. Can he see her ravaged face in the dim light of the cabin? She’s glad for all the burned-out bulbs.

  “I brought you some stuff.” Under his arm is a package of lightbulbs and another box. In his left hand is a long gun.

  “There’s no need to shoot me.”

  Hank extends the rifle to her. “More like don’t shoot me. I thought maybe having this would make you feel safer. At night. With the critters and sabotage and all.”