Twice Kissed. Lisa Jackson
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”‘Sorry,’ yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before.” Rolling her eyes expressively, Becca once again dug through her underwear drawer.
Maggie had already showered, dressed, and packed. Her suitcase, laptop computer, briefcase and oversize purse were piled near the front door. She’d listened to the weather service and, upon hearing that the area was in for an early snowstorm, thrown her ski jacket, gloves, and hat onto the growing pile.
The coffee had perked, and she popped two waffles into the toaster. Nothing fancy this morning. Just the basics. She heard the creak of the water pipes as Becca turned on the faucet and a few seconds later Becca’s off-key singing floated down the hallway over the rush of water as she showered.
How long had it been since Becca had sung spontaneously? How long had it been since she’d been truly lighthearted and happy? It seemed like ages. Stop it, Maggie warned herself. No good comes of second-guessing yourself.
The waffles popped up, and Barkley, ever vigilant under the table, lifted his head and cocked an ear. He let out a low, warning “woof” about the same time as Maggie heard the sound of a truck’s engine rumble up the drive.
Thane.
Her heart knocked in a stupid cadence as she spied his old Ford nose through the trees. Get a grip, McCrae, she told herself as she watched him stretch out of the cab, his legs seeming even longer than she remembered. He was wearing reflective aviator sunglasses and a stern expression that Maggie was certain would sour milk. He’s just a man. Nothing more. So what if he lied and betrayed you? So what if he got involved with your prettier sister, so what if he married her and now is wanted for questioning in her disappearance?
She swallowed hard.
This was all so damned bizarre. And scary.
Barkley began making a racket in earnest.
“Shh! Barkley, hush!”
Careful not to burn herself, she plucked the waffles from the toaster and dropped them onto a plate about the time she heard the pipes groan again as Becca turned off the water.
Thane rapped loudly on the front door.
“It’s open,” she called over Barkley’s disgruntled growls.
“Hey, don’t you remember me?” Thane stepped into the cabin, and the stupid dog’s rear end went into immediate motion. His apprehensive growls turned into an embarrassed snort. “I thought so.” Thane paused to rub Barkley behind his good ear.
“Looks like you won someone over,” she said.
“It’s a start.” He squatted, patting Barkley’s graying head, then spied the suitcases.
Maggie’s stomach tightened as he scrutinized her. “You decided to come back to Denver with me?”
“Yep.” She called down the hallway, “Becca—breakfast.”
“Coming.”
With a curious lift of his eyebrows Thane straightened and sauntered into the kitchen area. “What changed your mind?”
“Not you. Excuse me.” She moved around him and opened the refrigerator door.
“Talk to the police again?”
“What? No.” Retrieving a carton of orange juice she avoided touching him, found a glass in the cupboard, and poured. “You want some?”
“Nah. Just coffee.”
“Help yourself.” The phone rang loudly, and she picked up the receiver as she managed to set the glass of juice on the old table. Becca, wearing cutoff overalls and a T-shirt, limped with one crutch into the room, slanted a wary glance at Thane, then slid into her seat. “Hello?” Maggie said into the mouthpiece as Thane poured coffee and she reached around him to find a sticky bottle of syrup on the second shelf of the pantry.
“Maggie? Charlie here. Emma said you called, asked us to take care of the stock while you’re gone.” Charlie and Emma Sandquist lived on the next ranch over. Maggie had spoken to Emma this morning while her husband was out feeding his cattle.
“Where’s the butter?” Becca asked, and Maggie pointed to the counter. Thane handed the dish with a half-used cube to Becca, and she regarded him with a suspicious, puzzled expression.
“That’s right. I shouldn’t be gone more than four or five days,” Maggie said, propping the phone next to her ear with her shoulder as she stretched the phone cord and handed Becca the bottle of maple syrup. “A week at the most.”
“It don’t make no never mind,” her neighbor replied. “A few days either way won’t make much difference.”
“I really appreciate it. And if I can ever return the favor, just let me know.” While she gave instructions about the horses and dog, she finished putting a few dishes into the dishwasher and swiped crumbs, syrup, and coffee spills from the counters. Thane had moved out of the way and stood, drinking from a chipped mug she’d gotten as a wedding-shower gift years before. When she finally hung up, Becca was done with her breakfast and had, with the use of one crutch, returned to her bedroom.
“You packed?” Maggie called down the hallway as she checked her watch.
“Just about.”
“I’ll help her carry it out.” Thane left his cup in the sink.
“Wait a minute.” She grabbed hold of the crook of his elbow, then dropped her hand quickly. “Let’s talk about what’s going on here. Yes, I’m going to Denver to find out about Mary Theresa, but I think I should just buy a plane ticket and fly there.”
“Rather than go with me?” One cynical eyebrow cocked, and she felt her blood pressure elevate a bit.
“Right.”
“Why?”
She thought about hedging again, but decided at a time like this the truth was the best, if the last resort. “Because I don’t trust you,” she admitted.
His lips compressed and he rubbed a jaw that was darkened with better than a day’s growth of beard. He didn’t have to say anything; the clouds that crossed his eyes convinced her that he got the message. “As long as we understand each other.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“I’m not sure that’s good enough, Thane,” she admitted.
“It’s the best I can offer.” His jaw was rock-hard, his blue-gray eyes steady and focused on her so intently she saw his pupils dilate.
The back of her throat went dry, and a small, very feminine part of her wanted to believe in him, to put the deception of the past behind her, to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You’re…you’re asking a lot.”
“I know.” He was serious, pain evidenced in the lines fanning from his eyes. “But I have to ask. I could be in trouble, Maggie. The police act like they think I was somehow responsible for Mary Theresa’s disappearance.”
Maggie thought of the desperate voice she’d heard while feeding the horses. Her sister’s voice.
“What do you say?” he asked.
Maggie didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say.
He snorted and shook his head. “You don’t believe me, either.” His voice was flat, without judgment. “Well, hell, I suppose I deserve this, but I’m tellin’ you right here and now, I didn’t do anything to harm her.”
If only she could believe him, trust in those cold blue eyes, see beyond the cynical man in rawhide and denim and peer into the depths of his inky soul. What would she find, she wondered, then decided she was better off not knowing. “All right,” she heard herself saying, “I’ll ride with you, Thane. You’ve got over a thousand miles