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Austin Macon introduced himself again, showing Kelly his ID.
“I’m so sorry. If I knew I was going to be on private property, I’d have asked permission, but I got lost.”
He explained he was from the BLM office in Shreveport. “Yesterday we got a call that wild horses we’d moved from national land to state land down here had migrated to private property. When that happens, we worry they’re being sold or used for dog food.”
“They’re here,” Maggie said. “My boyfriend is a vet, and we are active in the local wild horse preservation group. We cut a hole in the fence yesterday to let them come over if they want, and they were here last night. They might be back in the woods now if you want to go look.”
“I guess that accounts for the barrow of manure,” he said, laughing.
The three of them made small talk about the horses. When they convinced Kelly that Maggie was safe, she got back in the Gator and took off for the rescue again.
“If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll get out of your way,” he said. “Again, I’m sorry about frightening you.”
“I’ve had trespassers in the past, so I’m on alert.”
“You have a rescue on your property?”
“Right down that trail,” she said, pointing east.
She pushed the empty wheelbarrow and guided him to the trail into the woods on the west side of the property. “Just head down there. The new band has a pregnant mare. A black horse. You can’t miss her. I hope you’re going to allow them to stay here.”
Looking at her curiously, he nodded. “You don’t mind having wild horses on your land?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you, Miss…”
“Angel. Maggie Angel.”
After the interruption, she returned to the scoop, doing a good-sized area around the house. It still smelled like horse manure, but it was a clean organic smell, and hopefully there would be no complaints.
She came inside, and after getting a shower, Maggie began preparations for lunch. They were having a garden salad, whitefish salad sandwiches, and her mother’s pie.
The table was a problem, covered with work files and her computer. Everything found a new, temporary home on the dining table that Justin was using for his desk.
That reminded her, she should send him a text and tell him about the visitor. He called her right back.
“Austin Macon’s father owns the roadhouse. Or he did. I bet the new band is microchipped,” he said. “How else would they know the horses moved off state land? Interesting. And it pisses me off he didn’t ask you for permission.”
“He said he got lost.”
“BS,” Justin growled, not wanting to worry about her because of the horses. It wasn’t a situation he thought they’d encounter. “I’ll thank Kelly for being observant, although the shotgun might have been overkill.”
“It was pretty funny now that I think about it.”
Fighting the urge to ask her not to walk around the property by herself, which she did daily, he managed not to say anything and then had to hang up. In the past, Maggie had made it clear to him she wouldn’t tolerate Justin trying to control her. It was better not to say anything. And the trespasser was originally from Cypress Cove, an agent from the BLM, not really a threat.
Before he saw his next client, he took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
It was almost time for the guests to arrive, so Maggie went to the cupboard and got out the plates and silver she didn’t think she’d ever use. A beautiful linen tablecloth, which had been ironed so many times that it had the shine to it that old linen had, fit the table perfectly. She’d also use linen napkins, all things that had belonged to her grandmother. She wondered if her mother and aunt would notice.
At twelve sharp, she heard the dockmaster, Gus Herbert’s sticky piston boat motor pull up to her dock. She ran out on the porch, and it looked like he’d brought all five of her guests.
“What’s going on?” she called out.
“Road’s washed out,” Gus said. “Only big trucks getting through that mess for a few more days.”
“The yard around the cottage is dry,” Maggie said, hugging her mother.
