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“She was sniffing me and sort of rubbing on me,” Maggie said, charmed.
“We’d better head back.”
Draping his arm over her shoulder, they walked back to the cottage again, both still amazed at what they’d just experienced.
“I wish I could stay.”
“I know, babe. We have to keep working so we can afford this expensive hobby.”
“Ha! The wild horses. I bet they end up in the yard,” Justin said.
“We’ll sit on the porch and wait tonight.”
Kissing Maggie first, Justin scratched Brulee behind the ears before he got into his truck.
Maggie watched as he drove off to the veterinary clinic his father, Victor Chastain, had started. The sun had moved behind a bank of clouds. She looked up at the sky, frowning.
“I hope we don’t have rain, Brulee.” The ground had just dried out from the rain they’d had the day before.
Maggie ran up the steps and shut the porch gate after the dog was inside. At her kitchen table slash worktable, she got down to business for the morning. But the concern that she’d miss the band if they came into the yard kept her from being productive, so she moved out on the porch to work.
Rain started, tapping on the metal roof. Soon concentrating on work blocked out the patter. Brulee fell asleep at her feet while she worked. After two hours, her stomach growled loud enough for Brulee to raise her head and look at Maggie.
“Ha! Sorry, girl. Time to eat.” She put her computer down and stepped over the dog.
It was the Friday after Ash Wednesday. Looking into the fridge for something for lunch, she saw a bottle of wine with maybe a glass and a half left. For Lent, she’d joined Justin in giving up alcohol. Of course, suddenly the glass of wine she used to look forward to at night took on new meaning.
“Oh, this is ridiculous.”
She took the bottle and uncorked it and poured it down the drain.
“Now it’s no longer an issue.”
Justin received a text next;The last lurking wine is gone. Not in my belly, either, down the drain.
He sent her an emoji of a crying face, making her laugh. The weekend was looking interesting.
“What are we going to do?” she’d asked.
“We’ll go to the roadhouse and dance. We can do that without getting plastered.”
“Ha! They might not let us in. The last time we were there, they asked us to tone it down.”
“Yeah, and then we won the contest,” he shouted. “Who ever heard of a roadhouse dance contest telling people they are dancing too sexy? That’s bogus.”
They barked out laughing.
“Okay, we’ll dance Friday night. What about the rest of the weekend?”
“We’ll fish. We’ll exercise. We’ll horseback ride. We’ll stay busy, and then at night we’ll drink coffee or something. Just not wine.”
A slightly hysterical feeling stirred within about giving up drinking wine.What’s wrong with you?she asked herself.You’re acting like an alcoholic.
Then a bowl of fruit caught her eye. She’d do healthy. The thought of the scale moving up as she substituted sugar for wine truly scared her. Her rear end already felt like it was getting bigger.
A big salad with whitefish in it and grapes and oranges would have to do. But by three her stomach was growling again.
“This is ludicrous. Brulee, let’s go for a walk.”
