Neil leaned forward to take a closer look. “I didn’t notice that.”
Logan studied Neil for a moment before speaking again. “Well, you’ve got to know what to look for. I’ve dealt with a lot of broken stuff in my time. I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting it. Not always so good at fixing it.”
“Well, I’m glad you were able to fix this,” Maggie interjected. “Today’s going to be a scorcher.”
Maggie sounded a little breathless, not at all like her usual buoyant self, and she was keeping her eyes carefully away from his.
Could be he wasn’t the only one flustered by that almost-kiss a few minutes ago.
“Yeah, yeah.” Logan pounded stakes through the holes in the bottom of a support, anchoring the tent into the grass. “Talk’s cheap, Mags. I want my cookies. And don’t be stingy. I didn’t have time for breakfast.” While Logan tacked down the second leg, Neil took care of the two on the opposite side of the tent.
When they were done, Logan strolled over to inspect Neil’s work. It must have passed muster, because he left it alone and turned to his sister. “You got any more of those coolers out at the car?”
“Two more,” Maggie said.
“I’ll help Neil here haul them over, but then I’ve got to get back to the fundraising tent. The sheriff’s department is in charge of the donations, and I’ve got the first shift.” The radio clipped to his shoulder squawked. “Hang on a minute.” Logan walked a few steps away and began speaking into the microphone.
“I don’t think your brother has much faith in me,” Neil said wryly when Logan was out of earshot.
Maggie was sorting cookies into a clear cellophane bag. “Don’t mind Logan. He’s always been tough on my—” She froze, one hand on a cookie—which, sure enough, was shaped like a puppy. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she finished with a shaky laugh. “He’s cranky. He skipped breakfast, and now he’s manning a fundraising booth. Logan doesn’t like asking people for money, not even for a good cause.”
Neil had been a part of enough school fundraisers over the years to sympathize. Maybe he’d walk over in a few minutes and make a donation. He might not be able to put up a tent, but he could certainly drop a few bills for a good cause. Besides, it might do some reputation damage control with Logan.
Which, of course, shouldn’t matter. There was absolutely no reason he and Maggie’s brother had to get along.
Still. Neil reached for his wallet to check how much cash he had on him and froze when his hand encountered nothing but a flat back pocket.
“There!” Maggie tied the chubby bag of cookies with a curly blue ribbon. “These should sweeten up Logan’s mood.” She frowned. “You’ve got a funny look on your face. Seriously, don’t let Logan get to you. He doesn’t mean anything by it, honestly.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
It took him a minute. The words were stuck in his throat. “I...uh...forgot my wallet.”
He hadn’t done that in years. He’d forgotten hundreds of other things—thousands, probably—but never...that. Not once. Not since...
But this morning, he’d been running late. He’d lost track of time grading some work Dex had sent in, and he hadn’t wanted to keep Maggie and Oliver waiting. He’d been eager to get started, looking forward to the day ahead.
When was the last time he’d felt like that?
He didn’t have to wonder. He knew.
The last time he’d forgotten his wallet.
“Oh.” Maggie seemed puzzled. “Okay. Do you want to go back and get it? If you do, that’s fine.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got another half hour or so until they have the puppy parade. We’re not supposed to start handing out the refreshments until after that. If you leave now, you should be back by then.”
Just as Neil started to answer, his eye lit on Oliver. While the adults had been distracted, the little boy had opened the cookie tub. He had puppy-shaped cookies in each hand and icing smeared all over his face. From the generous litter of crumbs around his shoes, there was no telling how many he’d already devoured.
The kid was well on his way to making himself spectacularly sick.
“Oliver, whoa!” Neil stepped around Maggie and pried the cookies out of the child’s fingers. “How many of these have you had?” Oliver set up a howl of protest, but Neil shook his head. “Sorry, buddy.” He snapped the lid back on the tub. “No more cookies.”
“Give me those.” Maggie stood beside him, her face tense. She held out her hands. “Give me the cookies,” she repeated.
He stared at her, the missing wallet and all its implications forgotten. He’d never seen that expression on Maggie’s face before.
She looked furious.
He handed the gnawed cookies to her wordlessly. She stooped to Oliver’s eye level and handed one of the treats back to the wide-eyed child.
“You can have all the cookies you want, sweetie. But one at a time, okay? Start with this one, and I’ll put the rest in a bag for you.”
Without glancing at Neil, she snagged another plastic sack from the table, dropping the bitten cookies into it. She handed the baggie to Oliver.
“Here you go.”
“Maggie.” Maybe Neil didn’t know much about kids, but even he knew that you didn’t hand a two-year-old a bunch of cookies. “Don’t you think maybe you should keep those for him and dole them out?”
She ignored him. “Oliver? I’m going to get you something to drink, okay?” Maggie unfolded a child-sized canvas chair and set it next to the toddler. “You sit here and eat your treat.” She walked over to rummage in the ice chest, and Neil followed her, still bewildered.
She wouldn’t look at him. She poured some chilled water into a bright blue sippy cup, her mouth set in a tight, angry line.
“Maggie—” he started, and she turned to him, her green eyes icy hot.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she commanded in a low voice.
“What?”
“Don’t ever take food away from my child again.” She fumbled with the lid of the cup, her hands shaking violently.
As Neil watched her, his concern deepened. Something was very wrong here, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.
“It was just cookies, Maggie. I was worried he was going to make himself sick.”
“What’s going on?” Logan walked over, his eyes cutting sharply between Neil and his white-lipped sister.
“Neil’s leaving.” Maggie handed Oliver his cup and snagged the overstuffed bag of cookies. She held them out to her brother. “Here you go, Logan. Thanks for fixing the tent.” She turned back to Neil. “There’s no point in your driving all the way back here today. Since Logan’s here, he can unload the rest of the coolers and help me pack everything up after it’s over.”
He waited for a couple of breaths before speaking. “What about Oliver? Won’t he be upset if I just...leave?”
Maggie didn’t flinch. “I think he’ll be fine. We’ve taken up an awful lot of your time lately. You’re probably ready for a day off.”
He didn’t know how to answer this new Maggie with the hard eyes and the abrupt manner, so finally, he just nodded.
“All right. See you, Maggie. Bye, Oliver.”
Oliver’s lower lip started to quiver.
“Come on, Neil,” Logan said. “I’ll walk to the parking lot with you. I need to get the other coolers anyhow.”
“Logan.” Maggie’s tone sounded like a warning.
Her brother ignored her. “The event’s starting in about ten minutes, and that parking lot’s going to get wild. If you want to get out, you’d better go now.”
As they walked away, Neil heard Oliver whimper. He started to turn, but Logan clapped a firm arm on his shoulder, propelling him forward.
“Keep walking,�
�� Logan muttered. “Going back would only make things worse. She needs time to cool down.”
“Clue me in. What just happened?”
“You stepped on a land mine.”
“What?”
“Not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” They’d reached the parking lot, and Logan halted on the sidewalk, weighing the keys in his hand. “But you will. If I know Maggie—and I do—before long she’ll cool off and start feeling rotten. By this evening, she’ll be ready to apologize. Unless I miss my guess, that’s when she’ll tell you.”
Neil frowned. “Tell me what?”
“Nope.” Logan shook his head. “This has to come from Maggie herself.” The sheriff tilted his head and gave him a hard look. “I hear the kids over at the high school call you Iceman. That so?”
Neil met the other man’s eyes squarely. “That’s so.”
“They have a good reason for that? Or is it just kids being kids?”
Neil waited a beat before answering. “They have a reason.”
For a second, Logan looked taken aback. Then Neil saw a flicker of respect in the other man’s eyes.
“You’re honest. I’ll give you that much. Well, do me a favor, Iceman. When my sister tells you her story, you listen good. And if you can’t handle who Maggie is—all of who she is—then you back things up before you do any more damage than you already have.”
Before Neil could come up with an answer, Logan strode away in the direction of the bakery van.
Chapter Ten
Late that afternoon, Maggie stepped over a sagging barbed wire fence and picked her way down the overgrown path leading to Sawyer’s Knob. When she reached the overlook, she paused and surveyed the rapidly eroding area.
Ruby was right. The earth around the big hunk of granite was washing away at an alarming rate. Before long, there’d be nothing left but the slippery stone itself, jutting out over the ravine.
It was definitely time to put up a better fence. She’d have to mention it to her brothers.
She edged cautiously onto the rugged rock and peered down over the breathtaking view. Now, at the peak of summer, breezes rippled over the leafy treetops, and the smells wafting up were sweet and green.
In spite of its precariousness, there was something strangely peaceful about this high place where the hawks swooped and called right in front of your eyes. It always soothed her, and growing up, whenever Maggie had been feeling particularly bothered, she’d slipped away and come here.
Strange, because this was the only place that Ruby had ever cautioned her against.
It’s a danger, Ruby had told all her kids. That rock gets mighty slippery when it’s wet, and the ground around it’s crumbling away. You step wrong out there, you’ll fall to your deaths, and you wouldn’t be the first who’d done it, neither.
Ruby’s worries had been well-founded, and this place had only grown more dangerous over the years. Nowadays, even Maggie tended to avoid it, but she was on her way to apologize to Neil—and to explain what had happened at the park. She felt awful about the way she’d spoken to him, and she thought something she’d hidden here long years ago might help him to understand.
She wanted him to understand.
Picking up a long stick, she leaned over the rough gray rock ledge. The cleft she remembered was still there, its opening clogged with leaves. She gingerly cleared it with the stick, ready to bounce back fast if necessary. Once there’d been a skunk holed up in there, and today had already been bad enough.
Fortunately, nothing happened except that her stick clanked against metal. She dragged the old box toward the opening until she could pull it out. She dusted its top off gently. Then she sighed, picked it up and headed back down the brambly path.
Twilight was falling as she walked into the clearing where the old Sawyer cabin stood. She took a minute at the edge of the darkening yard to collect herself.
God, help me explain this, she prayed.
She squared her shoulders and walked up the stone steps to the porch. Lamplight shone from the living room windows. She raised a hand to knock, but Neil opened the door before she could, as if he’d been expecting her.
“Hi, Maggie.” He looked down and frowned. “Oliver’s not with you?”
“Not this time. He got so tired at the park that he zonked out on the ride home. He’s been asleep ever since. He cried for a few minutes after you left, but then the dog parade started.” Her mouth curved at the memory. “He was really excited. I definitely see a puppy in our future.”
“I’m sorry I missed that.”
Maggie drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, too, Neil. I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. I’m sure you wondered why I did it.”
He didn’t answer, and as the silence stretched between them, Maggie remembered something Logan had told her. Sometimes the best way to get a suspect to talk was simply to go silent. Most people couldn’t stand it, and they’d end up confessing. Now, as the quiet between herself and Neil grew heavier, Maggie understood why.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “And show you something, if you’ll let me.”
“Sure,” he agreed readily. “Come on in.”
Her fingers tightened on the box in her hands. “Could we talk out here on the porch?”
“Okay.” He closed the door and motioned toward the large rockers in front of the living room window.
“I want to apologize,” Maggie began as soon as she was settled.
“No.” Neil spoke evenly. “I overstepped my boundaries. You’re Oliver’s parent, and I had no business—”
“No, it was me. I—” Maggie struggled, but the words wouldn’t come. She handed him the box. “Here. I guess we should start with this.”
He examined it in the faint light from the window. “A lunch box?”
“Ruby gave it to me not long after I came to Sweet Springs. No telling where it came from originally. Ruby saves things.” Originally it had sported some 1960s-style flowers on it, but those had rusted and faded and were barely visible now. “Open it.”
He set the container in his lap and flipped up the metal catch. He lifted the lid and took out the plastic baggie.
“It’s full of old crackers.” He looked at her, obviously puzzled. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“That was my emergency box.” When he still looked blank, she laughed wryly. “Sorry, it’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Take your time.” Replacing the crackers, he closed the lid and put the box on the small table between them. He leaned back in the rocking chair, which creaked softly. At the noise, Rover scampered across the porch and jumped into his lap. Neil scratched the purring cat under the chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Maggie unclenched her fingers and sighed. She looked out over the yard, grateful they were having this conversation on the porch. The small clearing was hedged by trees, lending it a sense of seclusion and safety. Inside it, everything was peaceful. Frogs sang shrill summer songs by the creek that trickled behind the cabin on its way down the mountain, and lightning bugs flashed yellow-green sparkles along the edge of the forest.
Up here, you felt separated from the world’s troubles, and somehow, that made it easier to talk about them.
“I have this thing,” she began quietly. “About food.”
As they rocked together on the old porch, she told him about her childhood. She kept it simple, but there was no way to make it less ugly. She described going weeks without food, left alone in a ratty apartment by a single mother who was battling her own problems with addictions and mental health. She talked about eating dry pasta straight out of the box because she wasn’t big enough to cook it for herself, and sobbing when she couldn’t figure out how to work the can op
ener so that she could unseal a tin of pineapple she’d found.
“Of course, when I got old enough to go to kindergarten, there was free lunch and breakfast,” she said. “That helped, but—”
“Whoa,” Neil cut in sharply. “All that happened before you were five?”
She’d been watching the flickering lightning bugs, but something in his voice made her turn toward him. “Well, yes.”
He stopped rocking his chair and stared at her, then nodded shortly. “Sorry. I interrupted you. Go on.”
He sounded so grim that, for a second, she faltered. Still, she’d come too far to quit now. She might as well see it through. “It was a long time between lunch and the next day’s breakfast, so I learned pretty quick to save food from my school meals to take home.”
“Smart kid.” Neil’s tone was casual, but there was something not-so-casual thrumming beneath it.
“Not really. Because even after I got put into foster care, even when I got three regular meals a day, I kept saving food.” She swallowed. “Having a stash of food made me feel safe, but it also caused a lot of problems. Foster moms didn’t react well to finding spoiled food hidden in closets and dresser drawers, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I got kicked out of one home after another. Until I came here, to Ruby.”
“Ah.” Neil put a lot of understanding in that one syllable. Maggie smiled at him. He was looking out over the moonlit yard, his face half turned away, but she knew he was smiling, too.
She could feel it.
“Ruby found my first hoard five days after I moved in. I’d stockpiled some cookies she’d given me in the back of my closet, and ants had gotten into them. She helped me clean it all up, and the whole time, I was waiting for the lecture.” She darted a glance in Neil’s direction and laughed half-heartedly. “It was always the same one, pretty much. The adults usually started off sympathetic. They’d reassure me that I had plenty to eat now, that I didn’t have to worry. But by the second or third time they found food hidden in my room, they’d be aggravated. Finally, sooner or later, they’d call my social worker. I’d be removed from that home and taken to another one, and the whole process would start over.”
Lost and Found Faith Page 13
