Colorado Woman (The Hansen Women)

by Coburn, C. C.

  She struggled against him, but Trey outweighed her by almost twice her body–weight. She wrenched her mouth from his and said in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Let. Me. Go!”

  But Trey only gripped her tighter. She was about to lift her knee to his groin when she heard Mac say, “I think the lady wants you to let her go.”

  Never had Maggie been so glad to see anyone step out of the darkness. Trey reacted by pulling her tighter against him. Maggie lifted her knee, slammed her booted heel down onto his foot, then lifted her knee again and rammed it into his groin.

  Trey doubled over with pain, releasing her. “You bitch! ” he growled, clutching his groin, then he lunged for her again.

  But Mac was too fast for him. Easily maneuvering Maggie out of harm’s way, he stepped right up to Trey’s face and said, “Apologize to Maggie.”

  “For what? She’s nothing but a goddam tease!”

  “No she’s not, you jerk!” Pixie cried, coming down the steps with Trey’s flowers in her hand. She strode up to him and started belting him about the head. Blooms flew everywhere as Trey raised his hands against the onslaught.

  Mac let her vent her anger and turned to check that Maggie was okay. She was whiter than a ghost, staring at Trey as if she’d never seen him before. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trey make a move to stop Pixie, so he pulled her out of harm’s way and into her sister’s arms.

  “Got the message?” He asked Trey. “They don’t want you here, so get in your fancy car and get the hell out of here!”

  “So she’s screwing you, is she?” Trey demanded, but the words had barely left his lips before Mac pulled back and punched him in the mouth.

  Man, that hurt! he thought, as he resisted the urge to cradle his hand.

  Trey’s lip was split open good and wide, and Mac took grim satisfaction in it as he pulled open the door of Trey’s car and man–handled him into it. He slammed the door, but Trey had been to slow to pull his leg in, so it hit him in the shin.

  With a yowl of pain, Trey pulled the door closed and started up the engine. He let the window down a fraction and yelled, “I’ll sue you, you bastard!” Then peeled out of the parking area in front of the cabin.

  They could hear his vehicle as it roared all the way along the driveway, the clunk–clunk as it passed over the cattle grid and turned onto the highway leading back to Coldwater.

  No one released a breath until they were good and sure he was gone, then Pixie turned to Mac and slid her arms around him, saying, “Thank you for saving my sister.”

  He brushed the top of her head with his left hand, cradling his injured hand against his chest and said, “I think she was taking pretty good care of herself,” he said. “That was quite a maneuver,” he said, turning to Maggie.

  She stood hugging herself, the color slowly returning to her features. And then she started to shiver.

  “Hey there now,” Mac said, placing an arm around her. “How about we all go in the house and calm down?”

  Maggie nodded and turned to mount the steps, but stumbled. Mac was there to catch her and help her the rest of the way up.

  “You were great, sis,” Pixie told her, helping Maggie from the other side.

  “Th… thanks,” she said. “So were you, Pix.”

  “And Mac was our hero!” Pixie said, as she helped Maggie into a chair at the kitchen table. “You look pretty banged up,” she said, indicating his hand. “That’s your playing hand isn’t it? Maybe you could counter–sue Trey for ruining your career?”

  Mac smiled and said, “I don’t think it’s permanently damaged; a bit of ice should fix it.”

  Pixie rushed to the freezer and fixed an icepack, while Mac cleaned off his hand under the faucet.

  “You might need a rabies shot,” Pixie said. “I swear he was foaming at the mouth as he drove off!”

  Mac laughed at that and said, “In spite of those vampire–like teeth of his, he didn’t break any skin.” He glanced across at Maggie. She was staring into space, so he grabbed paper towels, dried off his hands and went to her. “You okay, Maggie? Can I get you anything?”

  She looked at him and the pain in her eyes broke his heart. “I don’t feel safe in my own home anymore.”

  “Then I’ll bunk down on the sofa tonight in case he comes back. Or you’re both welcome to come to my place, if you prefer.”

  Pixie came over and wrapped the ice pack around his hand. He winced. She didn’t exactly have a gentle touch. “I’ll get you a couple of ibuprofen,” she said. “You’ll need ’em. That’s one almighty bruise you’re gonna have in the morning.”

  “Going to have,” Mac and Maggie corrected her at the same time and smiled at each other.

  Pixie thrust a glass of water and two white caplets under his nose, saying, “Take these and call me in the morning. I’m going to bed. You gonna be okay, sis?”

  Maggie nodded. “Thanks for everything, Pix. You’re the best.”

  “I really enjoyed hitting him, you know? I was so mad when I came in here and he was waitin’ in the dark.”

  Maggie shivered again. Never again would she leave her doors unlocked.

  She stood up and said, “I’ll fetch some bedding for you. The couch is really comfortable, but you’re welcome to Gramps’ bed, if you’d prefer.”

  “I’ll be fine right here. But I warn you, I’m an early riser, so I might be gone before you’re up.”

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Maggie awoke the next morning, the house was silent. Usually, she could hear Pixie bashing around in the kitchen or whistling outside somewhere.

  Downstairs, she found the quilt she’d given Mac to use neatly folded underneath the pillows on the end of the sofa. A note from Pixie sat on the kitchen counter.

  Taken Mac riding. x

  Maggie smiled. Mac was good company for Pixie and she really needed to apologize for her outburst yesterday, accusing him of all sorts of unseemly behavior. Being over–protective was what she did. In her heart, she knew Pixie was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  After brewing coffee, she took it out to sit beside the river and enjoy the morning sounds. Gramps would be here soon and together they were going to plan Pixie’s party. Although Mac had offered to have it at his place, it wouldn’t work. For one, Pixie was inviting some of her college and old high school friends, so there was no way his location could remain a secret for long.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the honking of a truck as it rattled along the driveway.

  Gramps! Maggie shot to her feet and ran around to the front of the cabin to greet him.

  He pulled up in his old truck with a squeal of brakes and a lot of dust. Gramps only knew two speeds—flat–out and stop—and age hadn’t tempered the way he drove.

  He climbed out of the truck, saying, “How’s my best girl?” and pulled Maggie into a bear–hug.

  She hugged him right back, loving the comfort of his strong arms and the familiar smell of tobacco. Gramps smoked a pipe, but never around his girls, so he’d have been puffing on it double–time on the drive up, Maggie suspected.

  “It’s so good to see you!” she said, and stepped back, holding his hands in hers.

  A black streak of something shot past her peripheral vision and Maggie turned to identify it. A black dog had raced to the edge of the driveway, lifted his leg on a tree and was now racing back to her. He jumped up, his front paws on her chest.

  “Ruff! Down!” her grandfather commanded, but the dog disobeyed him completely. “Ruff!”

  Ruff barked and breathed doggie–breath all over Maggie. “Down, Ruff!” she said, and pushed the dog until his paws touched the ground. “Good dog,” she said, patting his head.

  “See, I knew you could do something about him,” Gramps said. “I’ve had him a week and all I’ve managed to do is get him to sit—when he feels like it.

  Maggie took a good look at the dog. “Has he got Border Collie in him?”

  Gramps scr
atched his chin. “I’d say so, goin’ on how he’s always trying to round up the old dears at the retirement village. Got a few other things I can’t identify though.” He reached into his truck, drew out a duffle bag, and he and Maggie walked towards the house, Ruff, jumping around their feet, barking excitedly.

  Just what she needed. A week of an overexcited dog and a grandfather who refused to train it properly.

  “Ruff! Sit!” she commanded, using her hands and tone of voice.

  Ruff sat, his head on the side, as if trying to figure out this new human.

  “Well, I’ll be, he’s never done that for me on the first command.”

  “That’s because you aren’t consistent and you no doubt spoil him,” Maggie said, taking Gramps’ bag and mounting the steps. She turned back to the dog who was still sitting where she’d left him. “Come, Ruff!” she said, with enthusiasm in her voice and he mounted the steps to her, his tail wagging excitedly. “Good dog,” she said. “Let’s get you some water.”

  Maggie’s last dog had been an old Coon–Hound–Labrador–cross she’d inherited from her grandfather when he’d moved to Colorado Springs. But Bug had passed on a year ago and Maggie hadn’t been able to replace him. Bug had grown up with her sisters—he and Pixie had been inseparable. Maybe now she wasn’t feeling so safe in her own home, she should think about going to the shelter over in Spruce Lake and seeing if they had anything suitable as a guard dog. Either that, or borrow Angus from Paige. No man would make it past the first step of the cabin with that little terror around.

  She fished out an old water bowl, filled it at the sink and placed it on the floor. Ruff pounced on it and drank noisily.

  Gramps grinned and said, “Sounds like Pix when she’s thirsty.”

  “Don’t talk to me about that girl and her manners! She embarrassed me terribly in front of our new neighbor yesterday by gulping soda and then burping.”

  Gramps tried to hold back a grin, but Maggie knew he couldn’t. He adored Pixie and her antics, and with Gramps around her behavior would be even more unruly!

  “So where is my little dumpling?” he asked. “I expected her to have the welcome wagon out.”

  “She’s taken the neighbor riding,” she said, pouring glasses of chilled water from the fridge and coming to sit at the kitchen table with him. Ruff waddled over, sat at her feet and rested his muzzle on her knee. She reached automatically to pet his soft ears.

  “Someone buy that McMansion next door?”

  “Nope. He’s renting it for the summer. A real city–boy: no idea how to ride or shoot.”

  “Can he fish?” Gramps asked. The one thing he liked more than sitting by the river casting a line was company to do it with.

  “I doubt it.” He knows how to throw a punch though, she thought.

  “What’s he do for a living?”

  “Ah… he writes country music.”

  “A city boy who writes country music? Well, I’ll be.”

  “I thought the same. I think that’s part of why he’s staying here, to get a feel for the real country.”

  “He got a family?”

  “Just sisters with kids. Not sure about parents. I only met him yesterday.”

  “Yet you let my little dumpling go riding with him?” Gramps got to his feet and she laid a hand on his forearm to stay him.

  “It’s okay, he’s a good person.”

  “And you know this because?”

  Maggie didn’t want to get into the circumstances of the night before; it would only upset her grandfather.

  Ruff whined then ran to the front door, barking excitedly.

  “Speak of the devil, I think they’re back,” Maggie said, getting to her feet and going to Ruff. “There, boy. It’s only Pixie and the Cowboy. No need to bark anymore.”

  But Ruff was having nothing of it. The humans were okay, but he didn’t like the big, ugly beasts they were sitting on one little bit. He kept charging at the horses, then running back to Maggie, as if to let her know there was danger afoot.

  “Hey, there, who’s this?” Pixie asked throwing a leg over the front of the saddle and sliding to the ground. She held out her hand to Ruff but he still wasn’t sure about the horses, so stayed by Maggie’s side, growling at the intruders.

  Maggie grabbed his collar. “Leave it!” she commanded and gave his collar a tug so he was forced to sit. He obeyed but kept dancing from one front foot to the other and whining.

  “Gramps!” Pixie cried, spotting her grandfather and running into his arms. You’d think she hadn’t seen him for a year, instead of just a week ago.

  “Hey, Pixie–Pie,” he said returning the hug, then looked over to Mac who was having difficulty dismounting.

  Pixie followed his gaze. “He’s got a sore butt,” she whispered, then dropped to the ground to pet Ruff, who licked her face, crawled into her lap and curled up, his nose resting on her thigh.

  “Happy birthday, sweetie!” Gramps said.

  Maggie’s groan was drowned out by Pixie’s squeal of delight. She jumped to her feet, almost upending Ruff in her haste and kissed her grandfather profusely.

  “And where’s she going to keep the dog at college?” Maggie demanded as she helped Mac off his mount.

  Mac grunted his thanks, then walked awkwardly towards Gramps and extended his hand.

  “I’ll get you some ibuprofen, Mac!” Pixie said and ran into the house, knowing trouble was brewing between her two favorite people in the world.

  “Grandpa!” Maggie growled.

  “Uh, oh,” he said to Mac and extended his hand. “I know I’m in trouble when it’s ‘Grandpa’!”

  “Mac McKade, pleased to meet you sir,” Mac said, and winced as Gramps shook his hand more firmly than necessary.

  Maggie watched her grandfather’s face carefully. He gave an imperceptible nod that meant he approved of Mac’s handshake, and that Mac hadn’t backed down from his patented bone–crusher, in spite of the fact his hand was still swollen after last night.

  “Walter Hansen. But you can call me sir.”

  “Grandpa!”

  “Uh, oh, I’m still in the bad books,” he said, winking at Mac. “Call me Gramps, everyone else does, whether they’re related to me or not.”

  Mac held onto the older man’s hand until he released it and resisted the urge to put his hand under his left armpit to ease the pain. The bruises from last night’s altercation with Trey that Pixie had predicted had come up sure enough, and bouncing around on the horse today hadn’t helped.

  “Here you are!” Nurse Pixie returned with water and two more white pills, saying, “Take one for your butt and one for your hand and call me in the morning.”

  Mac smiled at her, took the pills and threw them back gratefully.

  “You got a drug problem, son?”

  Mac nearly choked on the water. He wiped his mouth and said, “I didn’t until I met your granddaughter. All she wants to do is ply me with pills.”

  “Mac hurt his hand yesterday,” Maggie was at pains to explain.

  “Yeah! He smacked Trey Porter in the mouth when he tried to rape Maggie!”

  “What? ”

  Gramps yelled so loudly, the horses threw back their heads and stomped their feet. Ruff cowered whining at Maggie’s feet.

  “She’s exaggerating, Gramps. It… was just a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding that had this young man punching him?”

  Maggie wound her arm through her grandfather’s saying, “Let’s go in the house. I can explain everything. Pixie, go unsaddle the horses and let them loose in the fresh pasture,” she said, with a shooing motion to her sister. She didn’t need Pixie adding drama to the conversation.

  Pixie gathered up the horses’ reins and led them towards the barn a few hundred yards back along the drive.

  Mac wasn’t sure if he should go help Pixie, or go in the house and speak up for Maggie.

  Figuring Maggie probably needed his moral support more than Pixie needed
him to help unsaddle the horses, he headed inside, wincing with every step. He’d enjoyed the ride with Pixie and learned heaps about horses and how to handle them, but maybe he’d give riding a miss for a few days, let his bruised butt recover. Besides, he had some songs he needed to write. Pity his hand was so swollen he could barely strum his guitar. Hanging out with the Hansen women was definitely injurious to his health. And his career.

  By the time he made it inside, Maggie seemed to have managed to calm her grandfather and explain the situation to his satisfaction.

  When the older man came to clap him on the back, Mac resisted the urge to wince, since now every muscle in his body was protesting the ride with Pixie.

  “Thanks for takin’ good care of my girls, son,” he said. “You like fishing?”

  “I’ve tried it a few times, sir, but never had much success.”

  “Then it’s about time you learned from a pro,” Gramps said and turned to Maggie. “I could do with a cup of Joe and some sandwiches, honey. And I’m sure Mac here’s worked up an appetite riding.”

  “Coming right up, Gramps,” Maggie said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Can I help?” Mac called after her.

  Maggie stuck her head out and said, “Thanks, but this is Gramps’ usual routine when he arrives. A cup of Joe, sandwiches and a fishing line. It’s no trouble to make extra.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Go!” she said, making shooing motions with her hands. “Gramps is looking forward to some male company that doesn’t need a walker to get around.”

  Mac smiled at her remark as he wandered out to the back porch where the house overlooked the river and figured a man who’d raised five girls was probably desperate for male company. Having grown up with two sisters, Mac had often yearned for some himself.

  The view of the river from here was nothing short of stunning and Mac took a moment to appreciate the vista as it wound through the pastures, the mountains way in the distance. The last vestiges of snow still capped the tops of some of them and he wondered if it ever melted completely over the summer months.