Texas Bossa Nova (Texas Montgomery Mavericks Book 5) by Cynthia D’Alba Page B

long we’ll be without power. I’m taking Gordo down the road until I find the problem. Either I’ll be right back or I’ll be gone for a while. Can you check on the horses in about an hour? Just make sure they’re okay. The barn door is open so they can go in if they want, but don’t be surprised if they are outside. It’s fine. But take a look. Oh, and can you get a fire going in the fireplace? I opened the flue so it’s ready. This old house is going to get mighty cold without heat.”
    “Done and done,” she said. “Take your cell phone in case you need anything.”
    “Done,” he said, repeating her words with a grin. “This is going to be pioneer living for a day or so.”
    “We’ll pretend we’re camping,” she said.
    “You used to go camping?”
    “No, but I did say pretend.”
    He chuckled. “I’m gone. See you when I see you.”
    Electing warmth over panache, Magda dressed in heavy socks, sweat pants, two tank tops and a thick flannel shirt. Dragging out a pair of unbelievably ugly, but deliciously warm, fuzzy house shoes, she went to the living room to hone her fire-building skills.
    She ripped pages from Darren’s oldest issue of Ranchers magazine and stuffed them under the fireplace andirons. Hopefully, none of the pages held the secret grail to instant financial wealth. Reno had left some kindling in the front of the firewood box for easy access, which meant she didn’t have to actually leave the house to find some. She promised herself she’d be nicer to him for that.
    The flame leapt from the tip of the match to the paper and began to greedily eat away at the print. The kindling snapped and cracked as the fire began licking the bark. Before long, the one match flame had spread itself over the kindling. Magda added some smaller, dry wood pieces, which caught the fire easily. She continued to feed the snapping fire and before long, she was able to place the first log on.
    While that last piece of wood lured the fire its way, she headed to the kitchen to see what she could do about coffee. Without power, Mr. Coffee was dead in the water.
    But luckily for her, and Reno, one of the useful skills she’d learned on the streets was the talent of boiled coffee. It took the right amount of boiling to get the coffee to the right color, and thus correct strength, but right now, just hot water would help toast her insides.
    The kitchen stove was propane fueled, so they weren’t without resources. However, everything else—refrigerator, heat, hot-water tank, laundry—were all electric. Apparently, as the older appliances had to be replaced, the previous owner had moved away from gas to electric. Right now, Magda would kick his ass if he were here, or if she knew who he was. At least they had a stove, so they wouldn’t starve. And with the temperatures outside, anything needing refrigeration could go on the porch. Somewhere from the recesses of her mind, she remembered something about not opening the deep freezer after a power outage and that the frozen foods would stay frozen for a few days. She couldn’t remember how long, but that was a problem for another day. For now, the plan was survive today and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
    She turned on the kitchen faucet for coffee water and nothing happened. “Damn. Frozen pipes.” But after checking the bathrooms, she found no running water anywhere in the house. Then realization smacked her upside her head. They were on a well. The well required electricity to pump, thus they had no water.
    So it’d be melted snow and ice converted to coffee or no coffee. Really? Was there any question what she was going to do?
    She changed into her heavy boots and tromped outside. The snow was halfway up her calf, allowing the wet stuff to ooze down into her boots. She wasn’t a happy camper.
    Deciding that the snow on the hood of Reno’s truck—that he hadn’t parked in the carport and should have—would probably be the cleanest, she packed a Dutch oven