Maggie Moves On(46)

“What’s with the one shoe?” Dean asked. “You playing Cinderella?”

“Oh, allow me,” Silas told Maggie with malicious glee.

She growled at him.

“Maggie here decided to bust up her big toe while trying to get the drop on a bunch of trespassers that tried to break in,” Silas informed him.

Dean straightened up from the dog and shook his head. “Yeah. That sounds about right.” He eyed the power washer. “You cleaning the shit you scared out of them off the porch?”

Kevin let out a bark and trotted a few yards down the driveway, where he stood his burly ground against a visitor that had shown up out of nowhere.

He was tall and gangly. His blond hair was in dire need of a cut, as a cowlick stood straight up at the back of his head. He’d seen the kid around town. Cody Moses. Rough family. There’d been some gossip recently that he couldn’t quite remember.

“Kevin!” Maggie and Silas said together. The dog trotted back toward them, throwing interested glances over his shoulder.

“Do you want me to come back?” the kid asked.

“You’re right on time, Cody,” she said. “Come on in. Grab a doughnut. I’ve got a couple of questions for you when I’m done here.”

Dean and Silas exchanged shrugs as Cody made his way up onto the porch. Kevin trotted over, gave the boy’s jeans a sniff, and, deeming him safe, demanded pets.

“Dean, meet Cody. Cody stopped by last night to volunteer his services around here,” Maggie said.

The kid didn’t so much as wince as look resigned to servitude.

Silas ignored the “I told you so” look Maggie shot him.

“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” Dean said, clearly trying to decipher the unspoken conversation happening between Maggie and Silas.

“Can you get him started with the steamer in the dining room while I say goodbye to Silas?” Maggie asked Dean.

“Sure. Come on in. See you around, Sly Sy,” Dean said, leading the way inside. “You know anything about making coffee, Cody?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Silas warned her.

Hands on hips, she scowled up at him. “I’ve got a to-do list as long as my arm. I don’t have time to argue with you, let alone justify my actions.”

“Where’s the list?”

She frowned at him.

“The list, Maggie,” he growled.

“It’s on the whiteboard,” she said.

He stomped inside and found a small whiteboard on an easel in the front room. The woman probably owned stock in the company. She limped in behind him, mouth open and ready to go another round.

“Uh-uh,” he said, drilling his finger into her shoulder. “You will sit and be nice to my stepfather and do exactly what he says.”

“I have work—”

“You are work. I’ll start at the top and work my way down. Whatever doesn’t get done is not an emergency requiring you to limp around trying to finish up. Dean and Jim will back me up.”

They both heard the car in the driveway. He poked her again. “Behave yourself.”

“You’re not actually going to—”

But he was already shoving his way out the screen door.

Not only had the woman confronted a pack of teens hell-bent on troublemaking, but she’d made one of them come back to get punished. Two things were certain: Maggie Nichols was a hell of a woman, and he was still very, very pissed off at her.





17



Morris Thomas was a mild-mannered man with a soft voice, softer middle, and thick glasses. He showed up in an Idaho State University T-shirt, chunky outdoorsy sandals, and a backpack full of medical supplies. He looked utterly huggable.

“I’m sorry to waste your time,” Maggie said as he carefully examined her foot and toes. “Silas overreacted.” She said that last bit louder to make sure the man who was muscling the power washer around to the side of the house would hear her.

“If Silas is overreacting, you must really have had him worried,” he said with a smile playing on his mouth.

“He doesn’t need to worry about me,” she grumbled.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Morris advised, noting the glares Silas and Maggie exchanged. “My stepson has a big heart and usually a very long fuse. How does that feel?”

She winced as he poked and prodded. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to let me talk you into an X-ray at the urgent care?”

“I don’t suppose I will,” she agreed with a small smile.

“My best guess is it’s a sprain. Rest. Ice. Keep it elevated. Some anti-inflammatories to help with the pain and swelling. Take it easy this weekend. As long as the swelling stays down and you’re careful and you take regular breaks, you can be back on your feet Monday. You can try buddy taping it to the next toe. It’ll take a few weeks to heal.”

“Okay,” she said. She must have answered a little too quickly because the PA sharpened his gaze.

“Your body needs energy to heal,” he cautioned her. “Don’t force it to expend that energy somewhere else less necessary.”

“I have a timeline,” she complained. Ugh. She hated whining almost as much as she hated not getting things done.