“You’re walkin’ like a cowboy already, son,” Gramps observed with a deep belly laugh, as Mac made his way gingerly across the lawn to the river bank.
Mac forced a smile and accepted a rod from the older man. For the next two hours, Gramps taught him how to not only cast a fly, but also how to tie one—swollen fingers notwithstanding. He’d even managed to hook a couple of trout. The first time he’d been so excited, envisioning fresh trout on the grill for dinner, but Gramps had deemed the fish too small, kissed it and released it. Two more had been rejected as undersized, before Gramps had clapped him on the back and announced his fourth fish was a keeper.
Maggie had plied them with coffee and sandwiches, Ruff following at her heels wherever she went. Mac had to admit, she had a way with dogs. Maybe she equated training a dog to raising her sisters? Gentle discipline and lots of praise? She’d sure done a good job with Pixie who, in spite of her exasperating behavior at times, was a great kid and a lot of fun to be with.
And despite Pixie’s proclamation that Coldwater was Nowhere USA on their ride this morning, she’d spoken with pride in her voice as she’d pointed out various landmarks, educated him on the wildflowers and wildlife they’d spotted and spoken with love about the ranch she’d grown up on. He’d previously thought she acted a lot younger than her age—more like an exuberant teen—but this morning she’d shown a maturity he hadn’t seen in her before.
As they collected the fish they’d caught and headed back to the house, Maggie had come out to let her grandfather know that Martha had saved a seat for him at the diner for lunch and was expecting him.
“Care to join me, son?” Gramps had asked.
Mac was flattered, but had begged off. He didn’t want to go to town where he might be recognized. Right now all he wanted to do was lie face down on a bed and rest his aching butt. Pixie had got him up at six to go riding, and catching up on some lost sleep had a lot of appeal.
“Then you’ll join us for dinner, son.” Gramps made it sound more like a command than an invite. “We’ll grill these trout.”
“I’d like that, sir,” he said, not feeling quite comfortable calling the older man, Gramps, yet. “I’ll bring some apple crumble with me, if that’s okay with you?”
Gramps rubbed his stomach and said, “My favorite, son. Come over about six. I don’t like to eat too late.”
Mac made his farewells and walked stiffly back along Maggie’s driveway. He had difficulty climbing the fence and finally staggered gratefully into his bedroom where he fell face down on the bed. In moments, he was fast asleep.
Chapter Eight
The following week flew by so quickly, Mac was astounded. He’d have never guessed there was so much to do in the country.
His days had taken on a predictable regularity. Pixie took him riding in the mornings—he’d discovered the hot–tub installed on his back porch had been a godsend for aching muscles and a sore butt— then he fished with Gramps until lunch time.
Good to her word, Maggie had taught him to shoot clay pigeons. He still missed more than he hit, but he sure enjoyed watching Maggie’s lithe form as she held her shotgun to her shoulder, followed the trajectory of the pigeon and fired. She never missed.
Ruff was proving to be more of a companion to Maggie than to Pixie, since he rarely left Maggie’s side. And although he was still a playful pup, Mac was glad of her having the dog. He had a loud bark and warned with equal gusto when strangers—or squirrels––were about.
Mac hadn’t been over to her place the last couple of days because he’d been getting the ranch ready for the arrival of his sisters and their families. He couldn’t wait to have the big house filled with laughter and noise, and had stopped in town to pick up some horseshoes at the hardware store. He’d studied up the rules on the game and had laid out a Horseshoe pit in accordance with instructions on the internet, as Pixie had assured him that Horseshoes was a staple Fourth of July picnic pastime.
He’d been discouraged to find the hardware store was low on general stock. The store sold not only hardware items but all sorts of western paraphernalia—hence his being able to get some rusted old horseshoes there.
“I’m letting the stock run out because I’ll have to close down for good once the school shuts,” the owner told him. “I’ve got two kids at Coldwater Elementary and I don’t want them having to commute over to Spruce Lake every day, so I’ll relocate over there. But I much prefer it here.”
“That’s a shame about the school closing,” Mac said. “Maggie told me a few families are likely to relocate elsewhere because of it.”
“This town is gonna die without that school, but I just can’t see how we can lift the numbers. We need to attract young families to town but there aren’t any jobs here for them. It’s a Catch Twenty–two.”
Mac had got to know Earl over the past couple of days. He’d taken the risk of being recognized by going into the store, but his gardener, Enrique, had broken a blade on his ride–on mower, so Mac had offered to go into town to get a replacement. He needed Enrique to get the grass mowed, the gardens weeded and a couple of tree branches trimmed for safety around the Horseshoe pit.
“Used to be, when I was a boy, this town was thriving. We used to have our own Fourth of July Parade and a weekend of burro races and a summer barbeque where folks would come from all over. Now we don’t have any of that. We have to go over to Spruce Lake for a parade on the Fourth, the burros have been retired and the barbeque challenge has moved to bigger towns. All those things used to give this town life, brought in money. Now the local garage has closed, the motel, the clothing store, the post office, the seniors’ center, and soon the school and my store. About the only businesses left around here will be Crazy Joe’s diner and the liquor store. If we can’t save the school, I can see Coldwater becoming as good as a ghost town.”
Mac had pondered his conversation with Earl all the way back to the ranch. He spotted Maggie at her mailbox as he drove past and pulled over. She was reading a letter and didn’t look happy.
“Anything wrong?” he asked, pulling up and leaning his elbow out the window.
Maggie wiped her face and glanced up at him. He could see the dampness on her cheeks and climbed out of his truck and went to her. “Hey, now. What’s going on?” he asked.
She waved the letter, saying, “The school board has brought forward the deadline for student enrollments to August first. Seems they have no confidence in numbers rising and want to get the kids settled in at Spruce Lake before the start of the school year.”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Mac pulled her into his arms.
It surprised him when she came willingly, placing her head against his chest. He cradled the back of her head and let her cry. He had the feeling Maggie rarely cried and certainly not in front of her family. She was their rock, the one they could always rely on, and he’d caught her having a private moment at her front gate before facing her family with the news.
“I wish there was something I could do,” he said. “Earl was telling me how the school’s closure will impact the community. I’m so sorry.”
“I feel like it’s all my fault!” she sobbed.
“No it’s not, sweetheart,” he said, soothingly and patted her back. “You can’t help it if kids grow up, go to high school and their families move on.”
He let her cry some more, her tears soaking through his shirt. Finally, she seemed to get control of herself and looked up at him, stepping out of his embrace. “Thanks for letting me have my pity–party. I couldn’t do that in front of Gramps and Pix, it would only upset them more.”
“You’re welcome to cry on me anytime you need to, Maggie. It’s kind of nice that you confided in me.”
A thought struck him and he said, “Earl told me the town used to have its own Fourth of July Parade, burro races and a town barbeque challenge. I know it’s too late to organize a parade, but what about a barbeque?”
“Everyone aro
und here would come to a barbeque, but I don’t see how that’s going to help enrollments at the school or solve any long–term problems.”
“No, I mean a real barbeque, where teams come from out of state for a challenge, like they did in the old days? And other teams sell barbeque. I remember going to one in North Carolina on a family holiday as a kid and it was so much fun. I’ve always wanted to go to one again but never had the opportunity.”
“It’s too late to organize one this year; most teams are locked into a schedule.”
“And what if there are teams out there that aren’t? And local people, community organizations… Surely they’d want to take part in something like that?”
“Sure, they probably would, but they need people to buy and eat the barbeque and there just aren’t enough folks around here to provide sufficient numbers.”
“I’m not thinking locally, I’m thinking of getting people from other states.”
Maggie crossed her arms with a skeptical look. “And how to you propose to do that, Cowboy?”
“Come back to my place with me and we can scratch out a few ideas?”
Maggie hesitated but then, hearing the enthusiasm in Mac’s voice and curious about his ideas, she agreed and climbed into the passenger seat of his SUV.
Five minutes later, they pulled up outside Mac’s house and went through to the kitchen. He poured iced teas and produced a notepad.
Maggie noticed words and musical notes on the pages as he flicked through to a blank page.
He took a long draught of tea then said, his pen poised above the paper, “What do we need for a successful barbeque?”
“People.”
“Good,” he noted it down.
“Teams to cook and sell food,”
“Yup.”
“Community support, somewhere to hold it, other vendors…Funnel cakes, drinks, beer, kettle corn… a lemonade stand.”
Mac listed them all.
“Just one problem,” she said. “Provided we can find everything else, how do we get people here?”
“Have a free, all–day concert.”
“A free concert?”
“One featuring a country music singer and maybe some of his buddies.”
Maggie’s eyes opened wide as saucers. “You? You’re going to be the main attraction?”
“Me. And some of my friends in the business.”
“Firstly, we’d never be able to afford them and most importantly, I thought you came here to escape all the media attention?”
“I did, but this is a cause worth fighting for. I don’t give a hoot in hell about my privacy if it will help Coldwater and maybe help raise numbers at your school. And as for my buddies, I can call in a few favors. They’ll come gratis.”
Maggie shook her head to clear it and said, “Can you backtrack a bit and explain how this will raise numbers at the school?”
“People will come from all over, see what a great area this is, what a great little town Coldwater is, and want to move here. You can buy houses around here for peanuts, Maggie. That sure beats renting. And if people want to rent, then that’s really affordable too.
“I think you’re dreaming,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “That’s all very admirable, but I really think you’re dreaming. Apart from the obvious—where are these people going to find jobs when they move here? Who is going to organize the barbeque?”
“I’ll make the calls to my friends, call in a few favors. I’m sure Earl at the hardware store would get the town council on side about a location and maybe rustle up some local teams from hereabouts. And best of all, my sister, Annie, arrives in two days’ time and there’s nothing she likes better than telling people what to do. She’s worked in event management and has amazing organizational skills. Give her a task, any task, and it’s done. In fact, I’m going to call her right now.”
Mac pulled out his cell phone and punched in his sister’s contact while Maggie stared transfixed at the list Mac had written. The list didn’t even cover a tenth of the things they’d need to organize, yet there was something so wonderful in Mac’s enthusiasm, that Maggie couldn’t help being caught up in the magic of the moment. But there was no time to do all this before the end of the month, surely? And he still hadn’t answered her about where people with kids, who might want to move to Coldwater, would find jobs.
“Hey, Annie! I’ve got a little project for you when you get here. Want to hear about it?”
Maggie listened as Mac outlined his idea for a barbeque to his sister. Far from getting any negative vibes from the other end of the line, it seemed Annie was as enthusiastic as her brother. Mac took notes while his sister talked. Fifteen minutes later, he hung up and grinned at Maggie. “It’s done.”
“Your sister has it all organized in a fifteen–minute phone call?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much. She has a lot of ideas and is calling the various barbeque associations as we speak, to find out if there’s a gap in their schedules between now and the end of the month.”
“You’re kidding of course! It’s summer! Prime barbeque season.”
Mac placed the tip of his index finger across Maggie’s mouth, sending delicious tingles through her lips. “She seems to think, like I did, that there will be some Colorado–based teams that don’t want to travel somewhere farther from home, or have missed registering in time. She also suggested the local fire department, since they had a stand at the one we went to as kids all those years ago and it was really popular. And there are sure to be scout groups and other community organizations that would want to run a concession stand. But, most of all, she said I have to get off my butt and organize the concert.”
“Have you ever done anything like that before?”
“No, but how hard can it be? I make some calls, get some friends lined up to play, nothing to it!”
“And what about equipment? Not just the stuff they bring, but speakers and a stage and accommodation for them etcetera, etcetera.?”
“There’s that old motel in town that closed down a few years back, according to Earl. All the furnishings are still there.”
“Along with any vermin that’s moved in in the interim.”
“Why are you being so negative?” he demanded, and Maggie could hear the irritation in his voice.
“Because someone needs to be the voice of reason in all this!”
He surprised her by grasping her hands in his and saying with all sincerity, “And thank you for being that voice, because I do get carried away. But you haven’t met my sister. Once you do, you’ll have no qualms about this succeeding.”
Maggie still couldn’t help the doubt that filled her.
“Let me make a few calls?” he said. “Maybe you’ll feel better about this then.”
“I’m sorry I’m being such a pain when you’re only trying to help.”
“Look at it this way, Maggie,” he said, still grasping her hands. “We have nothing to lose, so why not give it a try?”
Chapter Nine
By the time the entourage containing Mac’s sisters and their families in the two huge SUVs they’d rented at Denver airport rolled into town two days later, along with Lisa and her two sons, and Paige—wearing a pair of high–heeled cowgirl boots—Earl had got a commitment from the council that Main Street would be closed down to traffic for the duration of the barbeque weekend—Friday through Sunday—the last weekend of July, and only three weeks away, so everything was go.
As soon as she’d finished speaking with Mac, Annie had hit the phone and locked in at least twenty barbecue teams from around the country to come along. Some would compete in a barbeque challenge while others would sell to the crowds. And the way interest and momentum were building—especially after they heard Jake McKade was the star attraction—they’d have another twenty signed up before too long and would have to close off registrations.
Maggie was in awe of Mac’s sister’s organizational ability and her enthusiasm. What was Coldwater to her? Maggie w
ondered. Some Colorado backwater, yet she’d pulled out all the stops to make it a reality.
Martha had taken charge of accommodation and already had volunteers clearing out cobwebs from the old motel and getting the rooms cleaned up for habitation.
Mac had received a commitment from a half–dozen country music friends who were only too happy to come along and eat free barbeque in exchange for singing a few tunes with their buddies. He was astounded by their generosity.
Maggie and Martha were overwhelmed with gratitude to learn they’d all be bringing their own tour buses, so they wouldn’t need to bunk down at the motel—they’d be parking at Mac’s ranch. But other folks would be looking for accommodation and Martha was determined no–one would be without a bed, even if it meant erecting a tent city. To that end, Earl, and a team of men he’d rounded up from around the area, were preparing a campsite just out of town for campers and motorhomes.
Enrique’s wife, Sofia, mother of three of the children who were now facing being bussed over the mountains to school in Spruce Lake had been a godsend to Martha, taking over her shifts at the diner while she got on with her new pet project. Maggie couldn’t believe how the older woman’s cheeks glowed when she counted off on her fingers all the things she had planned to make folks who came along to the barbecue weekend feel welcome. Although watching her with Gramps, Maggie had to wonder if some of that color came from a bit of mild flirtation on her grandfather’s part.
Gramps and Pixie were in charge of PR. Pixie had already created a website to advertise the event and set up a contact page for queries. She’d also done several mock–ups of posters they’d hang and handouts they’d pass out at the Spruce Lake Fourth of July festival the next morning. Now Gramps was sitting in the school office cutting out the flyers and checking the printer wasn’t clogging up. Martha kept him plied with hot cups of Joe from the diner, until Maggie told her to keep his caffeine intake to two cups a day because the old guy was having trouble sleeping at night.
Colorado Woman (The Hansen Women) Page 7
