“You’re welcome back here, any time.” Hank has a hand clamped on Andy’s shoulder.
“Thank you, sir. I know that. But I’ll be staying in the community. My mother needs me now, to help with the family.”
Maggie is only a little out of breath. “Is that what you want?” Returning to the community means baptism and is a point of almost no return.
“My father ain’t my religion. I can keep the pieces separate. This is what is right.”
The lump in Maggie’s throat nearly chokes off her air. “You’re a good person, Andy Yoder.”
“So was my father. Before. I wish you could have known him then.”
Hank holds his hand out to Maggie and she takes it, gripping it tight.
“Before what?” Hank says. “You’ve lost me, son.”
“Before the rotgut ate his brain.”
“Alcohol.” Maggie isn’t surprised. It confirms what she has smelled and suspected. And she knows substance abuse can destroy a human one brain cell at a time. She wonders if they’ll find bottles up at the summer cabin—she’d reviewed the new security camera shots in the hospital the day before. The mysterious figure she’d seen in the alerts? Reggie Yoder. “You knew?”
“Others did. The truth is out now.”
“Maybe he can get treatment in prison?”
“That ain’t the Amish way. We don’t always understand God’s will, but I know my father never would have done those things before.”
Maggie isn’t sure how it could be God’s will that Reggie kill off the people Andy cared about, but now is not the time to wrestle her theological demons. Whatever God’s will, Reggie’s quest is fulfilled: Andy is returning to the community. But if she remembers one thing from all her religious upbringing and education, it is not to confuse God’s will with man’s. Reggie made the choice to start drinking, not God, and that was the choice that led to all his other ones. Or that’s the way she sees it as a two-time survivor of rehab, and success story of sorts, anyway. Her head hurts from even that little bit of religious contemplation, so she forces her attention back to the conversation.
Hank is saying, “If it’s about money, Andy, we can help.”
“That’s a very kind offer. Especially after all my father did. I’ll be sure my mother knows about your generous nature. Maybe someday she’ll support me coming back.”
“I’d like that.” Hank pulls him into an embrace.
Maggie takes her turn hugging Andy. She expects him to hold back from her touch, but he surprises her with a warm bear hug. “We could continue your guitar lessons.”
Hank shoots her an odd look.
“I’d like that. Well, I’ll just pick up my things, then, and be off. I’m visiting my father and his court-appointed attorney before I go home.”
They wish him good luck, and he returns to the passenger seat of the decrepit truck. It isn’t even in gear before Travis gets out and walks over to Maggie and Hank.
He shakes hands with both of them. “If you’re going to make a habit of solving our cases for us, we’ll need to put you on the payroll, Ms. Killian.”
“If nearly getting killed by the murderer is what you call solving a case, then I don’t want the job.”
“You knew who didn’t do it, and you never quit trying to prove it.”
Hank clasps her around the shoulders. “Don’t let her good looks fool you. She’s stubborn as hell. And no one gets to tell her the sky is blue. It’s whatever color she damn well says it is.”
“Well then, I guess you two are a good match.”
Maggie watches the old pickup pull up to the bunkhouse then says, “I hope you’re not here to tell us someone else is dead.”
Travis smooths his shirt and adjusts his belt. “Nah. I just dropped by to tell you I’m sorry. It was nothing personal.”
“You mean about Andy?” Hank says.
Something on the horizon becomes mighty interesting to Travis. Then he sighs. “Hank, you’re one volatile and physical son of a bitch. I don’t take that back. But I was wrong about Andy, and I was wrong to suspect you. Don’t get me wrong. It’s my job to question everything. I just want you to know that everyone out here at Piney Bottoms is A-OK, as far as I’m concerned.”
Hank looks at Maggie. “You had my woman questioning me, too.”
Maggie holds up her thumb and forefinger. “Only a little bit.”
Hank makes a wider space between his hands. She shrugs. Travis chuckles.
“Looks like you’ve got her snowed again, then.” Travis backs a few steps. “I’ve gotta hit the road. Stay out of trouble.”
“No promises,” Hank says.
Maggie waves.
As soon as Travis closes the door of his truck, Hank flips Maggie around so her shoulders rest against the front door of the house.
“What was that about? The thing you said to Andy.”
“What?” She gives him an innocent smile.
“Teaching him guitar lessons if he ever comes back someday. I thought you were on your way back to Texas.”
“Well, how can I be, with no truck?”
He grins at her. “About that.”
“About Bess?”
“Yes. I took a look at her. She got lucky on her landing. I think we can fix her back up. It’ll take a while, but if you’re not going anywhere soon, maybe we’d have time.”
Tears threaten the corners of Maggie’s eyes.
From the barn, Gene’s voice interrupts them, shouting. “If y’all hurry, you’ll get here in time to see Lily’s latest. She’s about to drop it.”
Gene and Hank have been working since four a.m. with the day hands and some neighbors who insist on pitching in until Double S can find help, now that Paco, Michael, and Andy are gone. The two men have to be exhausted, but they don’t show it.
Hank grins and takes Maggie’s hand. A laugh escapes her throat as they trot to the barn. The snow falls faster—big, pretty flakes. When they reach the entrance, Maggie pulls him to a stop as she catches her breath and a whiff of sweet-smelling hay.
“I’ll always be on my way somewhere, Hank. That’s who I am. And it so happens I have things—people, too—in Texas. From time to time, I’ll have to take care of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll leave sometimes. But I’ll always come back where I belong.”
Hank takes her other hand. “Jesus, Maggie. Are you leaving me or not?”
“Not. I’m staying. I’ve figured out how to support myself here.” She lets go of one of his hands and holds up a finger. “I can teach music lessons.” Then another. “I can be your first permanent, part-time female hand.” She lifts a third. “I can sell my salvage pieces on consignment or at rodeos with you.” When her pinky finger rises, so do the corners of her mouth. “And maybe I can use some of them to decorate the summer cabin.”
He pulls her to him and kisses her long and hard. “That is the best thing I’ve ever heard. All of it.” Then his face falls. “If we can keep the place, which Gene and I are going to try like hell to find a way to do.”
“About that. I have an offer for you and Gene.”
Gene appears. “Hank and me? I’m not into that kind of thing, thank you very much, Maggie May.” Then he laughs. “You two look like snowmen. Come on.”
He leads the way to the birthing stall. Maggie and Hank drop snow as they follow him.
Maggie turns to Hank in the corridor. “I have insurance money coming, and I’m going to sell my place.” And according to an email from Michele, she should expect double the number the insurance company offered. “I was thinking you might let me buy in. Not in Double S. But in the property. Piney Bottoms. I could run a music camp in the summer cabin a few times a year. And, um, Ava has offered me a deal to record together.” Maggie had called Ava just that morning, and the two of them had reached a deal. If Ava keeps being so reasonable, Maggie is even going to have to admit she likes her. And after Maggie’s meeting with Amos, he’d sent a link to
a semi-positive piece on her, with a promise he’d be all over any collaboration with Ava. “She’ll front us the rest of the money to buy Laura out, an advance on royalties. So that Laura and Mickey can cover the cost of Mickey’s dad’s treatment ASAP.”
Hank’s fingers grip her arms so tightly it hurts, but she’s not about to ask him to let go. “Are you serious?”
“Holy shit,” Gene says.
“It’s taken me a while to work through the options, but I think this is the best one. So, yes, I’m serious. What do you think?”
Hank’s eyes shine. “We can live there together. At the summer cabin. With lots of room for your friends and family to visit.”
“No, thanks, I’ve got a place,” Gene deadpans.
Maggie makes a raspberry at Gene and says to Hank, “Your friends and family, too. Except Laura, because she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s had a tough time. But thanks to you and Ava, things will be much better for her soon.” He kisses her forehead and lowers his voice so that only she can hear. “But what about my condition? My brain—that’s forever.”
She moves her mouth by his ear and speaks softly. “You said yourself the treatment is helping. And I’ve got a few issues myself. If you haven’t figured them out already, I’ll let them be a surprise.”
He presses his forehead against hers. “Then you can’t run off again when things get tough.”
She leans back to give him the evil eye. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Denver.”
“Oh shit. I forgot. I have a present for you. The thing I went to Denver to pick up.”
“It had better be damn good.”
He grins. “Only if you like signed prints of Front Porch Pickin’, a Gidget Becker original. And a pair of snow boots, which I think I’m delivering a few days late.”
“Oh my God, Hank. It’s the best gift ever. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” A signed print of the prized original she’d lost in the fire, plus boots? This man gets her. She locks her lips on his, crushing their faces together. Steam rises around their bodies as snow melts from the heat of their kiss.
When they come up for air, Hank says, “I’m serious. You’ll crush me like a grape if you ever leave.”
“I’m not just your lover, Hank. I’m your partner. We’ll do the hard stuff together. Like your mother’s funeral tomorrow. Like telling my mother I’m staying here.”
“Yeah, you can do that last one by yourself if you want.”
She socks him in the chest, and he catches her fist, laughing.
Gene’s voice comes from inside the birthing stall. “If you lovebirds don’t mind the interruption, Lily has something to show you.”
Hank and Maggie tear their eyes from each other and lean over to look in the stall. Lily is licking a bundle of wet black fur that’s mostly long legs that seem to stick out in every direction.
“Way to go, Mama. Is it a boy or a girl?” Hank says.
Gene approaches mother and baby. “Hey, girl. Let me take a look at what you got there.”
Lily nudges at her foal, and not gently. It begins scrambling and rocking. She keeps pushing it insistently until it stands, only to wobble and tumble immediately. Maggie clutches her throat, but Gene and Hank laugh.
Gene says, “I got a glimpse down under. Looks like a girl to me.”
Maggie claps. “Go, Lily. Bucking girl power.”
Hank turns to Maggie. “Are you sure you’re ready for that kind of partnership? The forever kind.”
“I am.”
“Promise on the life of that little one in there?”
“I promise on the life of the Black Widow.”
“The Black Widow?”
“Those spidery legs. She needs a killer name for a killer bucking career, so she can follow in her sister Crazy Woman’s footsteps.” Maggie spits on her hand and sticks it out with a grin. “And oh, by the way, I love you.”
Instead of shaking it, he pulls her into his arms, but not before she sees the dimples that curl her toes. “Now that didn’t hurt so much to admit, did it, music girl?”
* * *
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Acknowledgments
The Maggie books are set one foot in Texas and the other in Wyoming, while Maggie’s life is a little bit junker and a little bit rock and roll. My own love affair with Wyoming started at an early age when my family moved to Buffalo. Then my parents “ruined my life forever” by moving us back to Texas a few years later. I didn’t return to Wyoming until 2014, and then only because I took Eric for his first visit in July, as opposed to January. My mama didn’t raise no fool.
Two cabins later, my Virgin Islands–native husband drives a snowplow and owns more coats than his famous sandals. I wrote all the Maggie stories from our Snowheresville, Wyoming, in a big, beautiful, remote, off-the-grid, and, above all, rustic cabin on the eastern face of the Bighorn Mountains. It’s not easy shuttling between two homes in Texas and one in Wyoming, but Eric does it with a smile on his face and adventure in his heart. I am beginning to think he loves me.
The animals in this book are based on Pippin, one of our granddogs, and Katniss, my Percheron cross mare. The truck, Bess, and store, Flown the Coop, are rooted in the lives of Tiffany and Jeff, who live near our Nowheresville, Texas. I am grateful to a colorful cast of Wyoming characters (Jeff, Christina, Brenton, Colter, Mandy, Travis, Ron, Eric, and many others) for endless anecdotes. Thanks for the inspiration, all of you!
Thanks to my husband, Eric, for brainstorming the Maggie stories with me despite his busy work, travel, and workout schedule. He puts up with me recycling bits and pieces of our lives in the stories as well. I’d say he does it without reservation, but that would be a lie. I guess that makes it even more remarkable that he smiles about it in the end.
Thanks to our five offspring. I love you guys more than anything, and each time I write a parent/child (birth, adopted, foster, or step), I channel you.
To each and every blessed reader, I appreciate you more than I can say. It is the readers who move mountains for me, and for other authors, and I humbly ask for the honor of your honest reviews and recommendations.
Thanks mucho to Bobbye and Rhonda for putting up with my eccentric and ever-changing needs.
Maggie editing credits go to Rhonda Erb and Whitney Cox. The beta and advance readers and critique partners who enthusiastically devote their time—gratis—to help us rid my books of flaws blow me away. The special love this time goes to Angie, Caren, Pat, Tara, Karen, Ken, Kelly, Vidya, Ginger, Mandy, Susan, Jim, Ridgely, Melissa and Linda.
Thank you Alayah Frazier, for working with Bobbye to create amazing vector art for the covers, as we took Maggie into (for What Doesn’t Kill You) uncharted visual territory.
SkipJack Publishing now includes fantastic books by a cherry-picked bushel basket of mystery/thriller/suspense writers. If you write in this genre, visit http://SkipJackPublishing.com for submission guidelines. To check out our other authors and snag a bargain at the same time, download Murder, They Wrote: Four SkipJack Mysteries.
About the Author
Pamela Fagan Hutchins is a USA Today best seller. She writes award-winning romantic mysteries from deep in the heart of Nowheresville, Texas and way up in the frozen north of Snowheresville, Wyoming. She is passionate about long hikes with her hunky husband and pack of rescue dogs and riding her gigantic horses.
If you'd like Pamela to speak to your book club, women's club, class, or writers group, by Skype or in person, shoot her an email. She's very likely to say yes.
You can connect with Pamela via her website
(http://pamelafaganhutchins.com)
or email (pamela@pamel
afaganhutchins.com).
Other Books by the Author
Fiction from SkipJack Publishing
The What Doesn't Kill You Romantic Mystery Series
Act One (Prequel, Ensemble Novella)
Saving Grace (Katie #1)
Leaving Annalise (Katie #2)
Finding Harmony (Katie #3)
Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)
Earth to Emily (Emily #2)
Hell to Pay (Emily #3)
Bombshell (Ava #1)
Stunner (Ava #2)
Knockout (Ava #3)
Going for Kona (Michele #1)
Fighting for Anna (Michele #2)
Searching for Dime Box (Michele #3)
Buckle Bunny (Maggie Prequel Novella)
Shock Jock (Maggie Prequel Short Story)
Live Wire (Maggie #1)
Sick Puppy (Maggie #2)
Dead Pile (Maggie #3)
Box Sets
Murder, They Wrote: Four SkipJack Mysteries
by Pamela Fagan Hutchins,
Ken Oder, R.L. Nolen, and Marcy Mason
Nonfiction from SkipJack Publishing
The Clark Kent Chronicles
Hot Flashes and Half Ironmans
How to Screw Up Your Kids
How to Screw Up Your Marriage
Puppalicious and Beyond
What Kind of Loser Indie Publishes,
and How Can I Be One, Too?
Audio, e-book, and paperback versions of most SkipJack titles available.
Books from Other Publishers
Eve’s Requiem (anthology), Spider Road Press
Maggie Box Set Page 76
