“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” Dean said, clearly trying to decipher the unspoken conversation happening between Maggie and Silas.

“Can you get him started with the steamer in the dining room while I say goodbye to Silas?” Maggie asked Dean.

“Sure. Come on in. See you around, Sly Sy,” Dean said, leading the way inside. “You know anything about making coffee, Cody?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Silas warned her.

Hands on hips, she scowled up at him. “I’ve got a to-do list as long as my arm. I don’t have time to argue with you, let alone justify my actions.”

“Where’s the list?”

She frowned at him.

“The list, Maggie,” he growled.

“It’s on the whiteboard,” she said.

He stomped inside and found a small whiteboard on an easel in the front room. The woman probably owned stock in the company. She limped in behind him, mouth open and ready to go another round.

“Uh-uh,” he said, drilling his finger into her shoulder. “You will sit and be nice to my stepfather and do exactly what he says.”

“I have work—”

“You are work. I’ll start at the top and work my way down. Whatever doesn’t get done is not an emergency requiring you to limp around trying to finish up. Dean and Jim will back me up.”

They both heard the car in the driveway. He poked her again. “Behave yourself.”

“You’re not actually going to—”

But he was already shoving his way out the screen door.

Not only had the woman confronted a pack of teens hell-bent on troublemaking, but she’d made one of them come back to get punished. Two things were certain: Maggie Nichols was a hell of a woman, and he was still very, very pissed off at her.

17

17

Morris Thomas was a mild-mannered man with a soft voice, softer middle, and thick glasses. He showed up in an Idaho State University T-shirt, chunky outdoorsy sandals, and a backpack full of medical supplies. He looked utterly huggable.

“I’m sorry to waste your time,” Maggie said as he carefully examined her foot and toes. “Silas overreacted.” She said that last bit louder to make sure the man who was muscling the power washer around to the side of the house would hear her.

“If Silas is overreacting, you must really have had him worried,” he said with a smile playing on his mouth.

“He doesn’t need to worry about me,” she grumbled.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Morris advised, noting the glares Silas and Maggie exchanged. “My stepson has a big heart and usually a very long fuse. How does that feel?”

She winced as he poked and prodded. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to let me talk you into an X-ray at the urgent care?”

“I don’t suppose I will,” she agreed with a small smile.