Colorado Woman (The Hansen Women)

by Coburn, C. C.

  “What the hell? ” she muttered, threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed, wondering why the sun was so high in the sky. And then she remembered…

  Last night hadn’t ended so well. She’d disgraced herself in the diner, then had been driven home by a silent Pixie, who’d pushed her into the shower and left her to clean herself up.

  Maggie covered her face with her hands. How mortifying!

  Another blast made her jump. It wasn’t hunting season, so who in hell was shooting? Since Pixie had already left to do a shift at the diner, she was going to have to be the one to put a stop to that infernal noise. Right now!

  She pulled on denim shorts and a checked cotton shirt tied at her waist, brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face while more gunshots blasted outside. “That damned fool!” she muttered under her breath as she scraped her hair back into a ponytail. She found her boots sitting on the back porch, stepped into them and went striding towards her new neighbor’s house.

  She negotiated the same fence Pixie had wanted to climb over yesterday and wound her way through the trees towards the sound of the shotgun.

  It was her new neighbor alright and he had a contraption that was automatically firing clay pigeons into the air. He was shooting at them. And missing every single one.

  At least he wasn’t shooting real birds. Although she’d grown up in the area, Maggie could never abide killing anything and hunting distressed her to the point that she resorted to earplugs or went away on weekends during the season.

  “What the hell and tarnation do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, as she took the last few steps towards the man who was standing with his back to her, shotgun raised.

  He ignored her and took another shot. And missed yet again.

  In one swift move, she grabbed his shoulder, spun him around and disarmed him of the shotgun.

  “What the?…” her prey said, shock written all over his features.

  Maggie reached up and ripped the cord holding the earplugs in his ears. The plugs popped out.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” they both demanded at once.

  They stared at each other. Then he grinned, which only angered her further. She held a hand to her aching head. She should’ve popped a couple of aspirin before heading here, because if she yelled at this guy as loud as she wanted to right now, it would only make her headache worse.

  “What are you grinning about, you fool?”

  He grinned some more. “You. You look madder than a bumblebee in a jar.”

  “I am mad. I got woken up by the sound of gunshot. First, I thought someone was hunting out of season, but now I see you’re here playing games with your fancy gun and clay pigeon machine and you can’t even shoot straight, you pretentious, city–bred jackass! And, thanks to you, now I’ve got a splitting headache!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize I had neighbors so close. And it’s after eleven so I didn’t think I’d be waking anyone this time of day.”

  His apology seemed heartfelt, but she was still mad as hell about being woken up.

  Maggie harrumphed and said, “Well, I was asleep. See that fence over there?” She pointed towards the white painted fence that divided their properties. “I live about a hundred yards the other side of that, down the driveway.”

  He peered in the direction she was pointing and said, “I didn’t realize there was a house there since the trees are so thick.” He shrugged and said, “All I can offer are my sincerest apologies. I won’t do it again.”

  The air went out of Maggie. “I can’t stop you doing this on your land, but you shouldn’t be handling a gun when it’s obvious you have no idea how.”

  “And you do?”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “You don’t look strong enough to even lift a shotgun, let alone fire it.”

  “And yet I disarmed you,” she pointed out.

  He rubbed his chin. “There is that,” he said and smiled, holding out his hand. “Mac McKade: pretentious, city–bred jackass.”

  Maggie looked suspiciously at his outstretched hand for a good ten seconds, forcing herself not to smile at his self–deprecating remark, before placing her hand in his and shaking it firmly. “Maggie Hansen: cranky neighbor.”

  “Can I get you anything for that headache, Maggie?”

  She shook her head. A bad move, as it only made her headache worse.

  He reached for her but she automatically took a step back, flicking the gun so the barrel snapped shut.

  “Whoa!” he said, holding up both hands. “I was only going to stop you falling, you looked really unsteady on your feet.”

  “Maybe I could do with an aspirin if you have any.”

  “I’ve got aspirin and iced tea if you’d care to join me on the porch,” he said, turning towards the house.

  Maggie had always wondered what the big house looked like inside, but she wasn’t in any mood for a tour. Aspirin and iced tea on the porch she could do. “Okay,” she said, easily slinging the shotgun to rest on her shoulder.

  “You look like you know what you’re doing with that thing,” he said, indicating the gun. “Can I leave it with you while I go in the house—unless you’d like to join me?”

  “No, I’ll stay out here in the fresh air and enjoy the scenery.” She placed the shotgun on the porch floor beside an old guitar. City boy was trying to live the country lifestyle, was he? She half–betted he had a set of spurs hanging up somewhere, along with a cowboy hat. She took a seat and looked around. Mac McKade’s view of the river wasn’t nearly as good as hers, but it was passable. His house was angled in a different direction too, giving a view of the mountains to the east of the valley.

  “Here you go,” he said, appearing with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on a tray.

  “You’re quite the little home–maker,” Maggie said, reaching for the pills. “Where’s the missus?”

  “Missus?”

  “Your wife.”

  His face broke into a smile. There was something oddly familiar about the guy, but Maggie couldn’t put a finger on it.

  “No wife.”

  “Divorced?” she asked, knocking back the pills and water then settling back in the chair and closing her eyes.

  “Nope, never married.”

  Maggie grunted.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Guy your age not married.” She opened one eye and pinned him. “You got commitment issues?”

  He frowned but the smile didn’t leave his face. “How old do you think I am? And no, no commitment issues; just never found the right woman.”

  “That makes you sound picky. And I’d say you’re mid–thirties.”

  His dark eyebrows rose at that. “Guess I need to see a plastic surgeon then. I’m thirty–one.”

  Damn! Maggie thought. She’d hoped he was older. Mac had a maturity about him, a confidence she equated with older men.

  “And you, Maggie? I know better than to ask a lady her age, but since you brought up commitment issues, how come you’re not wearing a ring?” he indicated her left hand.

  “Don’t have to wear a ring to be married.”

  “But you’re not.” He poured iced tea into a glass and handed it to her.

  She sat forward to take it. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “If you had a husband, he’d be the one over here yelling at me.”

  “I didn’t yell.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  She sat back and drank half the glass of tea before placing it on the table and standing up. “Gotta go round up the kids for lunch. Been nice talking to you. And if you want any lessons on how to use the gun, I’ll give ’em to you. Just not today, okay?”

  He’d stood up at the same time she had and Maggie couldn’t help noticing the gentlemanly gesture.

  “I was hoping you could stay for lunch,” he said.

  “What about my kids?”


  “You and I both know you don’t have any kids.”

  “Actually, I have seventeen of them.”

  “Seventeen? ” His eyes narrowed and he said, “You’re not kidding about that, are you?”

  “You’re a keen observer of people, I’ll give you that. And, no, I’m not kidding.” Maggie couldn’t help grinning as she strung him along.

  Maybe she needed to cut him some slack, after all, he had admitted to being a pretentious, city–bred jackass. “I’m a school–teacher,” she admitted. “There are seventeen kids in my school.”

  “Seventeen?”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I didn’t know it was possible to have such a small school.”

  “It’s not.” She drew in a deep breath and said, “If enrollments don’t go up before the start of the school year, the school is closing.”

  “And you’ll be out of a job?”

  “It’s not the job that bothers me, I can get one at the school over in Spruce Lake. But it’s a long commute over a mountain pass, especially for my kids.”

  “Why are enrollments dropping? I assume it has nothing to do with your abilities as a teacher.”

  “It’s a matter of demographics. Coldwater has an ageing population and the elementary school in Spruce Lake can offer a lot more facilities, like laptops in every classroom and other teaching aids that we just don’t have the funding for.”

  “That’s a real shame,” he said.

  Maggie shrugged and walked down the few steps separating the porch from the paved driveway that swept up to the house. “That’s life.”

  Mac followed her down, asking, “How many more kids do you need enrolled to have the school stay open?”

  She turned towards him. “At least a dozen. And that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. People don’t have big families these days and there’s not a lot to offer job–wise in town for a family with young children moving here.”

  “Where do the high–school kids go?”

  “They get bussed over to Spruce Lake every day. But they’re older. Sending a five– or six–year–old that far to school is just cruel. Especially in the winter.”

  “I can tell you care a lot about the kids.”

  She shrugged and smiled. “They’re my family. Sure I care.”

  His cell rang. He ignored it.

  “You better take that, it might be important.”

  “It can wait. I’d rather talk to you.”

  The remark made something warm blossom in Maggie. “Take it,” she insisted. “I need to get going anyway. Bye.” She wiggled her fingers and turned away.

  “Bye, Maggie and nice meeting you,” he said.

  As Maggie walked away she heard him saying, “Hey, hi, sweetheart. How’s things?”

  So her neighbor wasn’t married, but there was a ‘sweetheart’ in his life, Maggie pondered, as she made her way back to her cabin. She climbed the fence and put Mac McKade out of her mind, as she walked up her dirt driveway, and the nightmare that was the night before pushed their way into her thoughts.

  She’d barfed up half her dinner on the table and the other half on Trey. Great. How was she ever going to recover from a blunder like that?

  She stopped in her tracks. Sitting on her doorstep was an enormous bunch of flowers. She mounted the steps, lifted them to her nose and took a long sniff. They weren’t particularly scented but, hey, they were flowers.

  Kicking off her boots, Maggie walked inside, searching amongst the blooms for a card. And there it was.

  Dinner tonight? Tx

  Maggie had to read the message three times before she believed what she was reading. So all was forgiven. And Trey had signed it with a kiss.

  Giddy with happiness, she went in search of a vase. As she was filling it, the phone rang.

  She picked it up from the countertop where she’d left it last night and looked at the screen. It was Trey. And he’d already called her several times.

  “Hi!” she said, trying to sound casual.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  Surprised at his tone, all she could manage was, “Excuse me? ”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Trey said, his tone changing immediately. “I’ve been worried about you. I’ve been calling since midday. Thought I’d let you sleep in. Did you get my flowers?”

  Maggie smiled and said, “Yes, I did. Thank you. I’m just filling the vase now.”

  “You only just got up? The delivery guy said he dropped them off right on twelve, like I told him. I was expecting a call back from you then.”

  Maggie couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable that Trey was tracing when the flowers had been delivered. What else could he trace?

  “I was… out visiting my new neighbor,” she said. “I’m surprised I didn’t see the delivery guy coming up the drive.” Although, come to think of it, Mac’s house didn’t face her driveway, so she wouldn’t have noticed anyone coming up it anyway.

  “I was hoping you’d be home when they were delivered.”

  “Well, I wasn’t,” Maggie said, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mags. I just wanted you to be able to enjoy your day, looking at my flowers.”

  Maggie hated being called Mags and she had no intention of spending all day staring at a bunch of flowers—nice and all as they were—so she changed the subject. “So where are you taking me to dinner?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I need to know how dressed up to get,” she insisted. Although anywhere in Coldwater and its environs, jeans and cowboy boots were more than acceptable.

  “Okay, if you insist on spoiling the surprise, you’ll need to wear heels and a pretty dress.”

  Maggie hated dresses. And heels too for that matter. Pretty dresses and heels meant she also had to wear makeup. Once, long ago, she’d have looked forward to all the feminine fripperies of going somewhere special. Nowadays, her wardrobe consisted of denim jeans or shorts and chambray shirts—anything practical for the ranch or teaching. Day–to–day, her makeup extended to just moisturizer and sunscreen. She’d felt like such a fraud when she’d gotten all gussied up last night in hopes of meeting up with Trey.

  All of a sudden, the surprise wasn’t sounding so appealing. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  “So we’re going over to Spruce Lake?”

  “Somewhere a lot better than that,” he said mysteriously. “Pack an overnight bag.”

  Last night, if Trey had suggested they spend a night away together she’d probably have jumped at it. But Gramps was coming in the morning and it wouldn’t do for her not to be there when he arrived.

  “It all sounds wonderful, Trey,” she said. “But Gramps is coming to stay tomorrow and I need to be here when he arrives.”

  “So we can leave early,” he insisted.

  Maggie was getting the uncomfortable feeling Trey wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She had to get out of this graciously—but not burn her bridges. Sex with Trey some other time—like when Gramps didn’t know about it––would be great, just not tonight.

  “I’m not sure I’m up for a long car trip, Trey. In fact, I think I might be coming down with a tummy bug—that’s probably why I… ah… threw up last night.”

  “Pixie said it was because you ate too much.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Thanks Pix! “You know kids, they’re always exaggerating.”

  “Then how about I pick something up and come by your place tonight? I could stay over and leave before your grandfather arrives.”

  Maggie had spent too many years making her own decisions about what she did when and with whom, and Trey was starting to crowd her. Right now she didn’t care if he intended bringing take–out from the best restaurant in America, she wanted her own space and she wanted it now!

  “Trey, I told you, I think I’m coming down with something. I’d hate you to catch it, so let’s take a rain–check?”

/>   “I’m not in town all that long, but I guess if you’re infectious we should give it a miss.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” she said, trying to ignore his concern with her infectiousness rather than her hunger.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can get away then?”

  Maggie could hear the hope in his voice. Trey was really a sweet guy, sending her flowers, wanting to take her out somewhere nice, have sex. Maybe she was just grumpy because she’d woken up with a headache and had had the run in with her new neighbor?

  “Yeah, let’s talk tomorrow. I might feel better then,” she said and without waiting for his reply said, “Bye, Trey,” and hung up.

  Placing the phone back in its cradle on the countertop, she padded outside towards the river and took a seat on one of the lawn chairs. This was Maggie’s favorite spot in all the world, sitting beside the river, hearing it bubbling over the rocky bottom, the birds twittering in the trees.

  She wriggled her bare feet in the grass, lay back in the chair and closed her eyes

  Chapter Three

  Hi, there. My name’s Pixie, what can I get you today?” Pixie asked, plonking down a pitcher of water and a glass, then pulling a pad from her apron and a pencil from behind her ear.

  Pixie loved emulating Martha, the diner owner who, for as long as she could remember, had always greeted new customers the same way and always kept her pencil tucked behind her ear. Over the years, Martha’s hair had changed from black through steely gray to almost white, but the old lady’s voice still held the same enthusiasm it always had for her job and her customers. Today, Martha was on cooking duty while Pixie held down front of house.

  “What do you recommend?” the stranger asked, not looking up from his menu. He’d sat himself facing away from the other diners, looking at a pretty uninteresting wall. If only he’d sat on the other side of the table, he’d have had a view of Nowhere, USA—as Pixie called her home town.

  “If I had a dollar for every time a customer has asked me that over the summers I’ve worked here, I’d have… well, actually, I wouldn’t have that much since most of our customers are regulars. Where you visiting from?”