Maggie Box Set

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “Cheyenne.”

  “Yes. You remember?”

  Of course she remembered. Hank had agreed to lose in return for increasing payments each round, so that Cristiano Valdez, the son of a Brazilian crime boss, could win at bull riding at Frontier Days. Then she and Hank met, and she’d told him she’d go out with him if he won. She’d only been flirting, hadn’t realized the deadly serious price of her demand. A lovestruck Hank had double-crossed the Valdez family. He and Maggie spent a night on the run from them, before Maggie left for Nashville. Then Hank and Maggie hadn’t spoken in fifteen years.

  “I remember.”

  “They came after him. More than once. The first time was right after the head injury that retired him. After he was home. His dad was sick. His mom was overwhelmed, depressed. Two guys ambushed him coming out of the Mint Bar in Sheridan. Hank made it to his truck and held them off with a length of pipe. Took a chunk out of one of them.”

  “Don’t mess with Hank.”

  “You have no idea.” Gene smiles without mirth. “The second time was here on the ranch. Again, two guys. His mother was in her garden. One of the men grabbed her. The wind was blowing in the right direction, so Hank heard her scream. He had a rifle with a nice scope, and he sighted them in it from out there.” Gene points into the pasture north of the main house. “He saw his mother clobber the guy holding her and break away. The guy pulled a gun on her, so Hank shot him.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “His mother got away. The other guy ran.”

  “And then what?”

  “The guy he shot had fired his gun as he went down. Died with it in his hand. Hank had his mother to testify. The sheriff’s department wrote it up as self-defense and the county attorney declined to prosecute. As far as I know, the Valdezes left Hank alone after that.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “Yeah. But it sure isn’t going to look good now. Especially because Patrick used to work for them.”

  “Them who?”

  “He was the go-between for the Valdez family with Hank, back when this all started. When Hank reneged on his deal, he ended up on Patrick’s bad side, too. And vice versa. Then Patrick got into stock contracting and moved his operation here. It’s been an uneasy peace ever since.”

  Maggie’s mind goes whirling and tumbling back in time, to the Hank she knew fifteen years before and the choices that led to this moment. To the Valdez family—the record deal they’d dangled in front of her if she chose Cristiano—and their long reach. “Oh God. There’s history. And the rifle.” Maggie’s heart plummets. “It will look like his weapon of choice. And that he doesn’t have a problem pulling the trigger.”

  “Maybe. That’s what I’m afraid of. Even worse if it turns out that Patrick was shot with one of Hank’s guns.”

  The hail suddenly stops. In its wake, Maggie’s voice sounds unnaturally loud. “You don’t think Hank would . . .”

  “Kill someone unprovoked? In cold blood?”

  “That.”

  Gene stares into the rain like he’s searching for a truth that may wash away. “Maggie May, I’ve known him for more than twenty years. And, no, I don’t think he’d kill unprovoked. Give him a good reason, though, a real good reason, and he’d do what he had to do.”

  Maggie weaves her hands together in her lap. Gene’s words cut both ways, toward the good Hank and the bad. But Hank swears he didn’t kill Patrick, and that’s what matters. “I’m glad I didn’t tell the deputies about the rifle.

  “Me, too.”

  Gene’s phone rings. He rips it from his pocket so violently it falls to the porch. He crouches to get it. “This is Soboleski.” He listens, nods. “On my way.”

  “Hank?”

  “The judge expedited bail. I’m heading back into town to get the money and pick him up.”

  Maggie squeezes her linked hands. Surely they wouldn’t spring him this quickly if they really believed he’d murdered Patrick. Would they?

  Thirty-Eight

  After another sleepless night—this time worrying about Hank and hearing nothing from anyone—Maggie feels like a human pincushion. She’s dressed in boots, jeans, and her Double S jacket, pacing the porch, hobo bag over her shoulder. Considering a drive to Buffalo to talk to Lacey about Chet and the status on that investigation. Anything to kill time, or she’ll come out of her skin. She sees Gene leaving the house, though, and all thoughts of Buffalo evaporate.

  She runs to catch up to him, dodging a few muddy spots. The rain the day before was violent, but short. Somehow her boots still kick up dust, too. Oh, Wyoming, make up your mind. “Hey, Gene, wait up.”

  He walks back to meet her. “You weren’t at breakfast. Or dinner last night.”

  “I have wheels, so I can eat where people don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. Hank doesn’t. Paco and Andy don’t. I don’t think Tom or Trudy have anything against you, either.”

  “Mrs. Sibley, Laura, and Sheila do.”

  Gene grins. “True. But Sheila wasn’t there.”

  “Fuck a bunch of Sheila. Why isn’t she here for Hank?”

  “Because he hasn’t told her about his arrest.”

  “She’ll find out.”

  “Exactly what I told him, but he said he wasn’t up for dealing with her yet.”

  Maggie isn’t up for dealing with her ever. They’re closing in on the barn, but Gene detours for his truck.

  Maggie’s phone rings. It’s the Ford dealership. She answers, midstride.

  Her Alabama friend says, “Your truck’s ready when you are, Ms. Killian.”

  She puts her hand over the phone. “Hey, my truck is ready. Any chance you can drop me in town to get it?”

  Gene grabs keys from his pocket and twirls them on his fingers. “You’re in luck. I was just heading in to pick up some vaccines at the vet.”

  Into the phone she says, “On my way. Thank you.”

  Maggie slings her bag onto the seat and climbs in after it.

  “How is your truck ready so fast? I didn’t think the part would be in until late today or tomorrow.”

  “Remember how I told you Hank was at my cabin when I got home night before last?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s more to the story than that.” She fills him in on Patrick’s old truck, the driveshaft delivery, and the men fighting in the yard.

  Gene looks gut-punched. “Man, Hank better hope they don’t call you in for questioning.”

  “It would help if I knew whether he told them about it, before that happens.”

  “I can’t help you there. He refused to talk about it last night. Then he didn’t come to breakfast today. I haven’t even seen him.”

  Acid backs up Maggie’s throat, burning her mouth. She’d misled Gene about using the Tahoe to go for food. She’s had nothing but coffee since lunch yesterday. She’s far too anxious for food. They bump along Wagon Box Road in silence while the radio plays new country. Nothing annoys Maggie like new country. She turns it off.

  Gene shoots her a look. “Make yourself at home.”

  “Not for a second longer than I have to.”

  “Does that mean you’re leaving us to go deal with your problems in Texas, now that you’ll have your truck back?”

  Maggie had forgotten about her Texas problems. She’s officially at the end of her rope. They’ll keep. For now. “I can’t until I get an official farewell from the Buffalo PD.”

  “They haven’t made any progress?”

  “Not even with my help.” She fills him in on the things she learned, minus the name of Chet’s daughter, her mother’s identity, and her unreturned voicemail to Lacey. She leaves out her concerns about Hank, too, just as she had with the detective.

  “The baby-mama angle is promising.” Gene turns onto a paved road.

  Maggie doesn’t answer.

  “I said the baby-mama angle is promising.”

  “I heard you.”

  “You don’t agree.”
>
  “I do. I also think Lisa and her family are worth a hard look.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “What is what?”

  Gene navigates the cloverleaf entrance to the interstate. “Your voice is funny. You’re holding something back.”

  Maggie feels like she’s eaten a bowl of sawdust. She opens the lid on a half-drank bottle of water and swigs it down.

  “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” She decides to probe Gene further. If she can trust anyone, it’s this man. “Do you know anything about Sheila having a daughter?”

  Gene’s head bobs back, and his chin recedes into his neck. “I’ve never heard that. One she gave up for adoption?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing certain. It’s only a guess. And your answer tells me you can’t confirm or refute it.”

  Gene’s brow furrows, then he hits the steering wheel. “Are you suggesting Sheila is the mother of Chet’s daughter?”

  Maggie bites her lip.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It could be her.”

  “Give me one reason why you think it is.”

  “Because Chet’s daughter’s name is Phoebe. And so is Sheila’s little sister’s.”

  Gene is so lost in thought he drives the truck onto the shoulder and has to correct it back onto the interstate. “Sorry.”

  “Well? Do you know any other little girls in the area named Phoebe?”

  “Who says Chet’s daughter even lives around here?”

  Maggie watches out the window as they take the exit into town. An RV dealership, Heartland Kubota. After the turn, Taco John. The Mill Inn. “Nothing to say she doesn’t.”

  The silence between them is long and awkward. Gene pulls into the service area of the Ford dealership. Maggie starts to get out, but he puts his hand on her arm. She pauses, looking back at him.

  “Maggie, this sounds like an issue for Sheila and Hank. Not for you and me.”

  Maggie gets out, nodding in thought. “Thanks for the ride.” She agrees. It’s not an issue for her and Gene. But it’s time for it to be an issue for Hank and me.

  Thirty-Nine

  Hank is saddling Wolf by the barn when Maggie returns to Piney Bottoms, Louise lounging in the dirt beside them. She pulls Bess to a stop at the barn. Her hands are frozen on the steering wheel.

  Maggie spent the whole drive home hashing out her approach with Hank. She has questions for him. Important ones. But Hank also needs her. Yes, he has a girlfriend, but she’s a mere child, and Hank hasn’t even told her about the trouble he’s in. How much help can she be? And, sure, Laura is here, too, but that’s not the kind of support Hank needs. Hank needs someone who understands what it means to be in trouble, whose life hasn’t always been picture-perfect. He needs Maggie, whether he realizes it or not.

  And she’s here in Wyoming because she needs him.

  She’s never been a quitter. She’s failed publicly and spectacularly in her life, but she’s never quit. So she’s not quitting now. She is going to get her answers. And she’s going to figure out, once and for all, if there’s a chance of a future for the two of them. If there is, she’s going to fight for it. If there’s not, she’s going to be here for Hank, then leave knowing she gave it her all.

  She’s never been more scared in her life.

  She pries her fingers from the wheel and gets out. Her hands are shaking and her face is hot. Louise sniffs her with the enthusiasm of a month’s separation instead of two hours. Distracted, Maggie reaches down to stroke Louise’s head and misses. The dog readjusts herself under Maggie’s fingers. The scratch doesn’t last long.

  Maggie stuffs her keys in her purse and throws it back in the truck. She steels herself. Hank is in a dark place. She feels it on her own skin, like a cold sweat. “Hey, Hank.”

  Hank’s face is stormy, a dangerous look she hasn’t seen since she broke up with him in Texas. “Hey.” He pulls the cinch strap so hard that Wolf snorts and bends his neck to give Hank a dirty look.

  “What are you doing?”

  Hank fastens Wolf’s breast collar and back cinch. He hefts a saddlebag over Wolf’s haunches and ties it down. Maggie approaches the side of the horse’s head with her palm down. Wolf turns to it and sniffs, then chews and swallows. She scratches the T-spot on his forehead. He closes his eyes. His head droops a few inches.

  Hank begins fastening his bow and quiver onto the side of Wolf’s saddle. Maggie remembers what Andy told her, how Hank lent the boy his bow on the morning Hank told the others he was hunting, but was still covered in blood when Andy came back from his own hunt. She doesn’t want to think about it yet. Soon, though. She’ll get Hank to clear this all up and more, soon.

  First, she has to keep him from pushing her away. “I asked what you’re doing.”

  “Riding out to hunt.”

  “Where’s Sheila?”

  Hank grunts. A few seconds of silence later, he says, “She’s already tagged her antelope with her dad.”

  Good. Sheila is still on the outside. “We need to talk, Hank. Let me go with you.” She holds a breath, waiting for his answer.

  “Don’t you need to be on the road?”

  “What?”

  “Back to Texas in your purple truck.” He tugs on straps that are already tight and doesn’t look at her.

  Does he want her gone? In her heart, she refuses to believe it. “Magenta. And I can’t. Not until the police clear me to leave. Because of Chet.”

  He slips a bit into Wolf’s mouth. “I’m grounded because of Patrick.”

  Maggie backs up to give him room to finish bridling the horse. “We may end up in adjoining cells.”

  Hank folds Wolf’s left ear down for the headstall, then the right. He fastens the throat strap and jiggles the chin chain to straighten it. “Are you going to get Lily or not?” He digs in his pocket and comes out with some horse cookies that he drops in Maggie’s hand. “But your dog can’t come.”

  “She’s not my dog.” Maggie thinks of her regal golden retrievers, two years dead. Of her twin goats, Omaha and Nebraska, that took their place in her heart. She doesn’t need a goofy pint-size border collie.

  “Oh, she’s yours, all right.” In a derisive voice, he sings to the dog, “The stars at night, are big and bright.”

  Louise howls along with him.

  “Great. Come on, girl.” Maggie jogs off, stopping with Louise at the dog run by the barn first.

  Louise stares at her balefully from behind the chain-link enclosure.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m sorry. Really.”

  She heads next to Lily, who watches Maggie approach, big black head over the fence.

  Maggie scoops up the rope halter, opens the gate, and slips inside. “I’ve missed you, Lily girl.”

  Lily crunches a cookie while Maggie ties her halter.

  “You look even more beautiful than usual today. Ready to help me with your dark and impossible owner?”

  Lily noses Maggie, looking for more cookies.

  Maggie clucks and tugs Lily into a slow trot. When the two reach the hitching post, Hank has all Lily’s gear ready. He saddles her in the time it takes for Maggie to fasten her lead line and holds the bridle out to Maggie. Gene and Hank have tacked Lily up for her every other time Maggie’s ridden her. Maggie takes the bridle, staring first at it, then at the very tall horse whose ears are higher than Maggie can reach. She peeks at Hank under her lashes. He’s studying her, expressionless.

  “Okay.” She holds the bit up in front of Lily’s mouth, thinking. The horse licks it. Maggie smiles. She puts a cookie in the hand by the bit, then lowers it. Lily follows the cookie. When the horse has her head low enough, Maggie stops her hand. Lily takes the bit and the cookie both at once. Maggie positions the chin strap and manhandles the headstall over Lily’s ears. The mare chomps without protesting or lifting her head. Maggie finishes with the chin strap, then curts
ies for Hank.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.” She stands at Lily’s shoulder, waiting for a leg up.

  Hank mounts Wolf, then pushes the brim of his hat back to scratch his forehead. “Are you coming?”

  Maggie’s not sure why he’s testing her, but she’s not about to fail. She searches for something to climb. There’s nothing, and the ground is flat.

  Hank nudges Wolf closer. “Grab her mane, close to the saddle. Put your toe in the stirrup and stay as close to her as you can. Use the mane to pull yourself up as you jump. Use your other hand on the cantle.”

  “What’s the cantle?”

  “The thing that keeps your ass from sliding off the back.”

  “Got it.”

  “Be careful not to lever your body out from her. Straight up.” His voice is slightly less curt.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Try.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “It doesn’t hurt her. Trust me.”

  Trust me. She wants to tell him how hard that is to do right now, when she knows he’s lied. That’s one strike. Then he went after Patrick, drunk, when he should have left well enough alone. That’s two strikes against trust. Hell, he’s kissed her when he’s dating another woman. That should be strike three. But no matter how many strikes he has, she also knows that if she wants him to trust her enough to tell her the truth, she has to show him some trust of her own.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Maggie follows his instructions. Her first try ends several inches short of success. The saddle creaks, but at least it doesn’t slip sideways. And Lily doesn’t move a muscle.

  Maggie flops back to the ground like a fish. “I can’t.”

  “Try again. You were too tentative with her mane.”

  Maggie mutters. “Sadist.”

  Hank makes a sound that might be a laugh. Maggie’s heart lights up like it’s hooked to a generator. She would try fifty more times if it would make him happy. She takes another deep breath, hooks her heel in the stirrup. She feels ridiculous, like she’s hanging by her heel from a trapeze, a low-rent circus act. The things a woman does for love, she thinks. This time she hops a few times on her straight leg before bending deep to access her thigh power. As she jumps, she channels her anger at Hank, magnified by the power of her love for him, into a massive jerk on Lily’s mane. She uses all her upper-body strength and tightens her core to keep her progress vertical.