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“You know that path that leads north into the woods from the yard?”
“Yes, the horse path.”
“There was someone there in the shadows, a person on horseback, watching me. And when I looked up, they disappeared into the trees.”
“Why didn’t you call me right away?”
His heart rate had increased exponentially, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to let her hear how upset he was.
“Justin, it was ten at night. What could you do at that hour?”
“If it happens again, please let me know as soon as it happens.”
“Do you know who it could be?”
“I’m not sure. But I intend to find out. My patient is ready. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “Bye.”
She felt a little discombobulated, like he might be angry about it, but that was ridiculous. His reaction to things was something she had no control over.
Planning her day, after coffee she was getting on the ladder again. Scraping the cottage gave her a sense of accomplishment she hadn’t had in a long time. Around the back of the cottage where her grandparents’ gardens were located, the area was lonely and wasted, and the sun quickly left it in darkness.
Everything should be in front, facing the water. No one wanted to sit in the shadows, on the dank, damp brick. She might have to reconfigure the space, and while she scraped, she thought of digging up the bricks and re-laying them in paths around the cottage. In their place, she’d plant rye or Bermuda grass, something the horses could eat. She’d talk to Justin about it.
At noon, the sun overhead, it had gotten too hot to scrape for a while, so she got off the ladder and eyed an edge of brick that had popped up. After getting Brulee a drink, she grabbed a shovel out of the shed and started digging up the brick terrace. There was no time like the present. Soon, she had a huge area brick-free, the bricks neatly stacked, ready for use in front.
“Let’s eat,” she said, picking Brulee up to nuzzle. “You’re such a good whittle dog.”
Baby talk rewarded with a lick on the face, they headed to the house. Inside, it was cool compared to outside in the sun. The porch was unusable in the afternoon with the sun beating down, so she had the idea of getting roll-up blinds. That would be her next project. Probably her grandparents’ backyard garden was the panacea to the afternoon sun, but she still didn’t like it back there.
After Brulee had her lunch, she quickly fell asleep in the crate. While Maggie ate fruit salad, she searched the internet and found just the thing: insulated, UV-resistant fabric for blinds. Taking her measuring device out on the porch, she figured out how much fabric she’d need and ordered it.
In the living room, under the ceiling fan with the blinds closed, she sat down in her grandfather’s chair, put the foot up and fell asleep.
At a pig farm twenty miles from Maggie’s cottage, Justin Chastain and his father examined a hundred baby piglets and proclaimed them all in good health. Washing up, they would go their separate ways after this, Papa Vic walked to the house and Justin to the clinic in the backyard.
“How’s Betty Bonnet’s niece doing out at Bayou Cottage?” Vic asked at the pump with his son.
“She’s doin’, Pop. Last two times I saw her, she was on a ladder, scraping old paint off.”
“Ew, she shouldn’t be on a ladder with no one around. You got the guts to tell her?”
He chuckled, knowing that if Maggie Angel was like her aunt, she wouldn’t appreciate anyone telling her what to do.
“Ha! Not me. But I’ll tell her you mentioned it. I’m seeing her, socially,” Justin said, grinning.
“I figured when you took half my food last night.”
“You’ll thank me when you don’t have to eat jambalaya for a week.”
“This is true,” Vic said, laughing.
Later that night, shortly after she received a text message that Justin was on his way, she was standing at the sink, washing dinner dishes, when the familiar sound of a diesel truck could be heard at the gate. She dried her hands and stepped out onto the porch, watching the figure of a man in the vehicle lights unlocking the gate, opening it, driving through, and locking it again. As the truck got close, Brulee let out a soft trill.
“Good girl!” Maggie praised, picking her up to kiss. “Good watchdog. We’ll tell your daddy.”
She laughed, determining she wouldn’t tell Justin just yet that he was daddy. The truck pulled up and she opened the porch gate for him. Brulee scampered down the steps, her little tail going a mile a minute.
