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So that cinched it, Rose Angel would allow something more to develop between her and Vic Chastain. Maggie had given her blessing.
***
The front window in the kitchen had unobstructed views to the water, so that was the place Maggie chose to work. She’d pushed the kitchen table under the window to use as a desk. If she had guests for a meal, they either ate on the porch or, if it was raining, in the formerly unused dining area in the living room that faced the back of the house.
That backyard was so much nicer now with the grassy space and the occasional horse visitor. The wild horses had taken over a parcel of her land beyond the woods. On one of her explorations of the property, she found the spot the horses had decided was home: dry ground, perfectly sheltered from intruders with its own small watering hole. They were skittish around her, so she kept her distance, but it made her feel good that they were sticking nearby.
The wild horses that had always been there were still her touchstones, appearing nightly when Maggie and Justin had their glass of vino on the porch, and often when she took Brulee out for her morning toilet, they’d be there.
Soon, Annie and Steve made a public announcement that they were going to get married. The sooner they did it, the less time discrepancy there’d be on the baby’s birth certificate, not that it really mattered.
“You’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you?” she asked Maggie.
“Of course. Just tell me the time and place.”
“Can I borrow the garden party dress?”
“My grandmother’s Easter dress? Yes! That will be perfect for your wedding dress.”
“I’d ask to borrow her wedding dress, but I think you should wear it when you get married.”
“Annie, I’m in no hurry to get married. Zero. If you want to borrow it, be my guest.”
“Nope. Steve liked me in the Easter dress for the short time I had it on my body. It’ll be perfect.”
Before the wedding, Gus Hebert had come to Bayou Cottage. Sitting on the porch working on her laptop, Maggie looked up when she heard the outboard motor. Gus’s boat had a distinctive clicking sound he said was from a valve that had needed replacing for twenty years. She got up and leashed up Brulee, who couldn’t be trusted outside on her own; she was apt to go fishing, and Maggie still worried about alligators, although she’d never seen one right at the cove. They sprinted down to the dock to see what Gus was up to. Visits from him usually meant a delivery of some kind: goodies that Mrs. Spencer wanted her to have from the bakery, or something from the PO Polly thought she should have right away in case it was from her client.
She waved, happy to see him, happy for his company.
“Gus, I was just going to make coffee.”
“I’ll have coffee with ya. I brought bear claws from Café Delphine,” he said, handing her the bakery box and a grocery bag, as well. “Joan said she just made them, too. There’s something in the bag from Miss Spencer.”
“Did you go door-to-door asking for goodies for me?”
“And I found this,” he said, laughing as he pulled a large square of something out of the stern, covered in an old blue bedsheet.
“What is that?”
He stopped and looked at her intently. “It’s something wonderful. I actually jumped up ’n down when I seen it.”
“Gus! What is it?”
“I have to tell you the whole story first. Can we bring that coffee down here ’n have a little seaside picnic?”
“Yes! I’m so excited. This is just the kind of thing I have wanted to do since I moved here.”
He walked with her to the cottage and waited while the coffee brewed, talking about Rose putting her townhouse up for sale and possibly living with Val and Elizabeth before jumping into anything with Victor Chastain.
“Can you manage balancing a mug, or do we need a thermos?”
“I should be able to carry a mug real good without too much shakin’. I usually don’t get the DTs until about five,” he answered, chuckling. He looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “You know I had a date, don’tcha?”
Maggie stopped short and looked at him. “With whom, and why didn’t I know?”
“It’s a little embarrassin’, to tell the truth.”
“Spit it out, Gus. I hate intrigue.”
