by Lisa Jackson
“Didn’t anyone call you?”
“No.” Maggie shook her head.
“Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“Yeah,” she said, then leaned back in her chair. “But last weekend Becca and I drove up to Coeur d’Alene, and if anyone phoned, I wouldn’t have known it because I don’t have my answering machine hooked up.”
He looked at her hard. “Why not?”
“It’s a long story,” she said, evading the issue. It was bad enough that Thane put her on edge, but the entire situation had her doubting what was real, what was imagined. “I moved here to get away from all the rat race and chaos of the city,” she admitted, hedging just a little. Never in a million years would she have thought that she would confide in Thane Walker, the one man who had, years before, stolen her heart and callously shredded it into a million painful pieces. The less this man knew about her personal life, the better.
He cocked one eyebrow. “Seems like an answering machine would make life easier.”
“Sometimes, I guess.”
“Most of the time.” He picked up a recent picture of Becca, his eyes scanning the school photograph that showed off teeth still too big for her head, dark hair that refused to be tamed, and eyes that sparkled with the same green fire as Maggie’s. “Your daughter?”
“Yes.” No reason to lie. “She’s thirteen.”
“Pretty,” he said, slicing Maggie a glance. “Looks like her mother.”
She wasn’t about to fall for that line. At least not again. She was pushing forty, for God’s sake, not a naive girl of seventeen any longer. “People say she has my temper.”
The edges of his lips lifted a bit. “I pity anyone who crosses her.”
“Unfortunately, it’s usually me.”
“I imagine you can handle yourself.”
“Most of the time.” Maggie glanced at her watch, then gnawed nervously on the corner of her mouth and climbed to her feet. “She should be home by now.” Walking to the large window by the front door, she flipped on the security lamp that was suspended on a pole near the barn. Instantly the gravel lot was washed with garish blue light.
“Where is she?”
“Riding. The ridge, I think.” Maggie folded her arms under her breasts and stared through the glass. “She left when it was still light and I thought she’d be back by now.” Already worried sick about Mary Theresa, Maggie felt a gnawing anxiety about her daughter. Opening the door, she walked onto the porch and told herself to calm down, to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. Too much was going on. It wasn’t enough that she had to deal with Thane again, or that he was still as earthy and irreverent as ever, or that Mary Theresa was missing. No, she had to be worried about Becca as well.
She heard Thane follow her outside, felt him standing close behind her, sensed the raw heat and intensity that seemed to radiate from him. Come on, Becca, she thought, wishing her daughter to appear.
The temperature had dropped with the nightfall. Winter was steadily on its way, chasing away any hint of Indian summer. “I should never have let her go,” Maggie said, as much to herself as Thane.
Barkley let out a low, threatening growl, his dark eyes fixed on the stranger who had dared enter his domain.
“She’ll be okay.”
“How do you know?” Maggie whirled, her thin temper snapping. She nearly bumped into him as he stood so closely behind her, and she took one step back so that she could glare up at him. “You don’t know a thing about Becca, or this terrain, or her horse, or anything! You come riding up here with bad news, then…then…hang around and offer me platitudes about my daughter’s safety.” She knew she was ranting, that her tongue was running away with her, but her emotions were strung tight as piano wires, her frayed nerves barely allowing any room for sanity.
He arched one cynical eyebrow, and she bit her tongue. She was on edge. Anxious. And being this close to him didn’t help. All too vividly she remembered his embrace, the strength of ranch-tough muscles surrounding her, the feel of his lips against hers and then the aching, bleak days of living through the Stygian darkness of his betrayal.
For half a second he stared at her, and her breath got lost somewhere deep in her lungs. “You’re right,” he allowed, eyes thinning in the gloom. “I don’t know anything about you or your kid.”
The drum of hoofbeats reached Maggie’s ears.
“Thank God.” She was down the two steps as Jasper, his coat shining silver in the moonglow, galloped through the open gate on the farside of the corral.
Maggie’s heart nose-dived.
All her fears congealed.
No rider appeared on the gelding’s back. His empty saddle was still in place, the loose stirrups flopping at his sides, the reins of his bridle dangling and dancing as he drew up short and reared. Maggie was already running, speeding across the lot and opening the gate to the corral where the gelding, eyes wild and white-rimmed, sweaty coat flecked with lather, pranced nervously.
“I take it this was her horse.” Thane was right behind her.
“You take it right,” she agreed, snatching the reins and wondering what she would do. Fear coiled deep in the middle of her, and she had to tell herself silently not to panic. She wanted to latch on to Thane’s earlier bromides, to believe that her daughter was fine. “Something happened. I’ve got to go find her.” She glanced toward the darkened hills, her mind racing a hundred miles a second.
“I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Maggie, stop!” Thane’s hands were on her shoulders, hard and firm.
“But—”
“I said ‘I’ll help,’” he repeated, and he gave her a tiny shake, as if to get her brain in gear. “You might need me.”
That much was true, and Becca’s safety was at stake. Nothing else mattered. “You’re right. I…I’ve got flashlights in the house.”
“Get them.” Squinting, he searched the darkness. “And a cell phone if you have it.”
“A cell phone?” she asked.
“In case we need to call for help.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think like that, wouldn’t believe that Becca was seriously hurt. Not yet. “I don’t have one, and they don’t work well here anyway.”
“I’ve got one in the truck. I’ll get it.”
She didn’t wait. As he strode to his pickup, she tore back to the house, grabbed two flashlights, extra batteries, a couple of blankets, her jacket, and a first-aid kit. She smelled something burning and remembered the stew. Passing the stove, she cranked off all burners and scrounged in a cupboard until she found an old canteen that had come with the place, rinsed it out, and filled it with cold water from the tap. She didn’t want to think that Becca might be injured, but she had to be practical. There was a reason her daughter wasn’t on her horse.
And it probably wasn’t Becca’s choice.
Heart in her throat, she tore out of the house with her supplies.
Jasper, minus his saddle, was tied to the top rail of the fence and seemed docile enough.
Maggie jogged across the yard.
Pale light streamed from the windows of the barn. Through the cracked panes, Maggie saw Thane saddling two fresh horses, a pinto named Diablo and a buckskin who had been dubbed Sandman. Shouldering open the barn door, she snagged a leather saddlebag from a peg, then stuffed it with things she hoped she wouldn’t need.
“Here.” She handed Thane one of the flashlights.
“Thanks.” He took it from her, their fingers overlapping for a second. “She’s gonna be all right.”
“I know.” But she didn’t. She bit her lip and turned back to the gelding. With deft fingers she adjusted the cinch on the buckskin’s saddle. Her mind ran in circles, and images of Becca alone and hurt, bleeding and pale, frightened as night closed around her, played through Maggie’s mind. She worked by rote, fastening buckles, shortening stirrups, attaching the saddlebag. “We’ll ride up to the ridge,” she said, smoothing a corner o
f Sandman’s saddle blanket. “It’s…It’s Becca’s favorite spot. If she’s not there, we’ll double back on an old deer trail that winds along the creek. She could have stopped for a drink or to rest or…or well, who knows? If there isn’t any sign of her, we’ll check the north basin, and if she isn’t there, oh, my God, she has to be, she just has to—”
“Maggie!” Thane turned quickly and grabbed both her shoulders in his big, calloused hands. His fingers squeezed over the tops of her arms and his breath was hot against the back of her neck. “Just slow down a minute, okay. You’re working yourself into a lather.”
Words froze in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing the horrid pictures in her mind to retreat to the shadows. Taking deep breaths, she managed to grab the remnants of her composure. For once he was right. She nodded and felt his hands shift as he slowly rotated her to face him.
When she finally lifted her eyelids, she was staring into a craggy face that was hard and drawn, a face so close to hers she could see his pores, read the concern in his gaze as he stared at her with eyes that pierced deeply, searching for the bottom of her soul. “We’ll find her,” he promised.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
Sandman snorted.
“Of course we’ll…” She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her lungs constricted.
He gave her another little shake. “I said, ‘We’ll find her.’” His lips were flat over his teeth, his gaze unflinching as he stared down at her. “Do you believe me?”
She didn’t answer.
His fingers tightened, digging into the muscles of her forearms. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His grip relaxed a bit, though he didn’t seem convinced of her answer. “Now, let’s get out of here. You’ll have to lead the way.”
“I know.”
“Don’t lose me.” He released her, and she nearly fell backward. The words, said so innocently, catapulted her to another time and place when she would have cut out her heart to hear him utter them.
“I…I won’t,” she said, catching herself and reining in her runaway emotions. Clearing her throat, she grabbed the buckskin’s reins and, determined not to break down again, led him smartly out of the barn. Outside, even with the security lamp, the night was dark, the breeze thick with the promise of winter. Clouds scudded across the slice of moon.
With a whistle to Barkley, Maggie swung into the saddle, turned the horse’s nose into the wind, and pressed her knees into his sides. “Let’s go,” she urged, and the gelding sprang forward, kicking up dirt as his strides lengthened. They sped through the open gate and across a dry field before heading into the vast acres owned by the government.
“Becca!” she cried as the cold wind tore at her face and tugged at the strands of hair escaping from her ponytail.
“Becca!” The flashlight’s beam bobbed as she swept it over the landscape with her right hand while holding the reins with her left. Barkley, swift on his three legs, tongue hanging out, raced earnestly beside the fleet horse.
Thane was right behind her, his pinto galloping stride for stride with Sandman, the beam from Thane’s flashlight wobbling over the clumps of weeds, grass, and dead wildflowers covering the ground.
Straining to listen, hearing nothing other than the horses’ labored breathing and the thunder of their hooves, Maggie wondered how they would ever find her daughter. The hills in this part of Idaho were steep craggy bluffs and precipices that dropped off to chasms as opaque as midnight.
Don’t give up, she told herself. Becca’s a smart girl. Even if she’s hurt, she’ll use her head. Unless she’s unconscious.
Or worse.
No! No! No! Fright was the ghost in the saddle with her, but she denied her worst fears, pushed aside the horrible, bloody scenarios that played at the edges of her brain, threatening to paralyze her. Please, God, keep Becca safe. Protect her. She’s just a baby. My baby.
“Becca!” she screamed again, her fingers clutching the reins. “Becca! Can you hear me?” Answer, baby, please just answer me. The ravine for the creek, a dark winding chasm, split the moon-silvered fields and loomed ahead. Pressing her knees against the buckskin’s sides, Maggie leaned lower, urging Sandman ever forward. Anxious to run, he grabbed the bit in his teeth and flew over the land. She sensed his strides quickening, lengthening.
Ducking her head close to his neck, she felt him launch. They sailed over the dry gravel and shallow stream that sliced through these dusty acres.
With a jolt that jarred her bones, the horse landed. He missed a stride, grunted as he scrambled up the bank, then recovered and took off, speeding Maggie toward the dark foothills, where stands of pine and larch clustered like lonely, cold sentinels defending the hillside.
The shepherd, his coat slick with water, lagged behind.
“Careful!” Thane yelled, his voice close as she shined her light on the deer trail that switched back and forth through the thickets.
“Always,” she muttered under her breath. The last thing she was concerned about was her own well-being, but the buckskin slowed of his own accord, picking his way along the path as Maggie swung the flashlight over his head, sending a solitary beacon up the hill, the thin stream of light weakly illuminating the underbrush and tree trunks.
“Becca!” she yelled, then whispered, “Please, please, please, be okay.”
“Becca!” Thane’s voice boomed through the hills, and for a second Maggie was grateful for his strength, for the fact that she wasn’t alone, that there was someone upon whom she could lean.
Never, Maggie! You can never rely on this man, never trust him! Remember what he did to you—to Mary Theresa and, for God’s sake, remember why he’s here! Because he’s in trouble. Somehow he’s involved in Mary Theresa’s disappearance. Her heart ached again, her head reverberated with trepidation. Right now she couldn’t worry about Thane, could only use him for the help he gave. After they found Becca…if they found her…No! When they found her daughter, then Maggie would deal with Thane.
Her horse was sweating now, fighting gamely up the path as the flashlight’s beam began to dim. Maggie yelled until she was hoarse, hollering at the top of her lungs, refusing to give in to the mind-numbing fear that she would never see her daughter again. Dark mountains spired around her, deep canyons gaped on either side of the ridgeline trail.
In her mind’s eye Maggie saw her daughter again for the first time, red-faced and screaming as she was being brought into the world, then another mental image of Becca’s second birthday party, where the guest of honor had delightedly placed both chubby hands in the middle of her cake while Mary Theresa had laughed and flirted outrageously with Dean…
“Mom! Over here!” The voice was faint.
“Becca!” Maggie pulled up short, her heart pounding, tears of relief filling her eyes as she stood in the stirrups and swung her flashlight as high as possible, creating the largest arc over the greatest area. “Where are you?” Damn, but she couldn’t see a thing!
“Mom! Help me.”
Thane drew up beside her, his eyes narrowed against the darkness. He aimed his beam into the underbrush.
“Becca. I can’t see you—” Maggie yelled.
“Here, by the stump—”
Pinpointing the sound, Thane shined his light on the jagged remains of what had once been a pine tree twenty yards off the trail. Lightning had shorn the tree, leaving only a ragged, blackened stump. Propped against the scorched bark was Becca, her face white and drawn, her dark hair falling over her eyes, one hand raised and waving to get Maggie’s attention.
Heart in her throat, relief and adrenaline flowing through her blood, Maggie scrambled off her horse and ran the short distance over the uneven ground on legs that threatened to give way. “Oh, my God, Becca what happened? Are you hurt?” At Becca’s side, she fell to her knees, thankful that her baby was alive.
“Damned Jasper threw
me.” Becca’s eyes were dark. Angry. Her eyebrows pulled into a single furious line. But beneath the fury there was a hint of terror, and the tracks of tears that ran down her cheeks belied her true emotions. Her teeth chattered and she shivered. “He spooked for no reason. No damned reason at all.”
“Are you all right?” Maggie asked, seeing the scrapes and smudges on Becca’s cheeks and elbows. Thane, still holding the flashlight so that its beam illuminated the area surrounding Becca, edged his horse closer.
“Yeah…Nah…it’s…it’s my ankle.”
“Let me see.” Gently Maggie removed Becca’s boot and her daughter, after giving out one squeal of pain, bit her lip. A knot swelled above Becca’s right foot.
“I don’t know what happened to Jasper,” Becca grumbled ungraciously. “I hope he’s lost for good, and the coyotes eat him.”
“Too bad,” Maggie said with a half smile. “He already made it back.”
“Figures,” Becca sniffed, angry at the horse, her mother, and the world in general. “If I were you, I’d sell him for dog food.”
“I’ll consider it,” Maggie agreed, though she had no intention of doing anything of the kind. She just wasn’t in the mood for another argument, and Becca seemed more angry than hurt. Thank God.
“Who’s he?” Becca asked, holding her arm over her eyes, shading her brow as she wrinkled her nose and stared up at Thane, who was dismounting and reaching into the saddlebag.
“He’s—” How could she explain? And why? “He’s a friend,” she said, her tongue tripping on the lie. She glanced over her shoulder at the source of her daughter’s confusion, and for a split second her throat caught at the sight of him. A tall man holding the reins of his horse, he cut an imposing figure. Wide shoulders pulled at the seams of his jacket, and yet his hips and waist were lean enough that his worn jeans hung low on his hips. He wore his sensuality as if he didn’t know it existed.
Not that she cared. Not anymore. “Becca, this is Thane Walker.”
“Oh.” Her gaze thinned on him. “Thane? Weren’t you—?”