by Lisa Jackson
“Very funny.” She wasn’t amused and slammed the plastic bag with the hammer one more time for good measure. As he opened the damper and stacked kindling over a hefty backlog, she dumped the crushed ice into the pack and carried it, along with the warm washcloths down the hallway. Becca’s face was turned toward the wall and she was feigning sleep, even going so far as pretending to snore.
“This might be a little cold,” Maggie said, undeterred by her daughter’s act. Gently, she placed the ice bag on Becca’s leg.
“Ouch.” Becca jumped. Her eyes shot open. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“The doctor said that—”
“I don’t care. I don’t want that, okay?”
“No. It’s not okay, Rebecca,” Maggie said, reverting to her daughter’s given name as she always did when she was angry. “Leave it on. And here are some cloths to clean up with.” She left the warm, wet rags on a paper bag on the nightstand.
“God, Mom, give me a break, will ya?”
“Just do what the doctor said, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Becca closed her eyes again, and Maggie, rather than be drawn into an argument that neither one of them would win, straightened and turned out the light. Her head was beginning to pound in earnest. Drawing a deep breath, she headed to the living room to face Thane.
The old saying that if it wasn’t one thing, it was another certainly seemed to be raging tonight.
In the living room, the fire was crackling. Golden light played on the old pine walls, making them seem even more yellow than before, and the scent of burning wood filled the small rooms.
In the few months she’d been here, Maggie had come to love this little cottage nestled at the foot of these craggy northern Idaho hills. A part of her realized that she’d run away from her problems, that eventually they would catch up with her, but for now, she felt safe and secure thousands of miles from L.A. Safe from the accusations. Safe from the pain and guilt that sometimes stole into this private place and hid, deep in the shadows, ready to attack her when she least expected it.
Thane, hands in his back pockets, hitched his chin toward the hallway. “How’d it go?”
“The same as always. I’m an ogre of a mother, can’t possibly understand her, and she’s just a poor victim.” The minute the words were out, she cringed. Just because her nerves were frayed, she didn’t need to be bad-mouthing her only child, the reason she found a way to get up each and every morning. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. She’s in a lot of pain, and she’s trying to sleep.”
“And giving you a bad time?”
She bristled inwardly. It was one thing for her to complain about Becca, another thing entirely for an outsider to make a deprecating comment. “It goes with the territory. I can handle it.”
“Can you?” He didn’t seem convinced, but she ignored the silent questions in his eyes and walked to the telephone. By rote, she dialed Mary Theresa’s number and again was connected with the answering machine. Her stomach clenched when she heard her sister’s recording. She drummed her fingers on the receiver. At the tone, she said, “Hi, M.T., it’s Maggie again.” Leaning a hip against the small table where the phone rested, she bit the corner of her lip and glanced up at Thane, who was watching her every movement. As she turned her back for a bit of privacy, she said, “Look, Mary Theresa, I know I called earlier, but I’m worried. Call me back as soon as you get in, okay?” She rattled off her telephone number again, then slowly hung up, her fingers lingering on the receiver as if she expected the phone to jangle at any second.
“She’s not gonna call back.”
Facing him again, Maggie said, “She will.” She has to. Maggie couldn’t comprehend, wouldn’t give a second’s thought to the horrid idea that something had happened to her sister. “It might be a while, but she’ll call.” She wasn’t going to think of the other alternative and opened a cupboard to pull down a can of coffee. Shaking the grounds into the basket of the coffeemaker she felt the same dark fear that had attacked her in the barn earlier today start to stalk her all over again.
“I hope you’re right.” He adjusted the screen in front of the fireplace, then dusted his hands together and unbuttoned his jacket.
“You planning on staying?” she asked, suddenly nervous as she filled the coffee carafe with water.
“For a while.” As if he’d lived here all his life, he tossed his jacket over the screen.
Maggie was instantly wary, her muscles tense. She glanced at him over her shoulder and sloshed some of the water onto the counter. Damn. The man made her so jittery, it was ludicrous. “How long is ‘a while?’”
His eyes glinted, and a corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t worry, Maggie, your virtue is safe with me.”
She gasped, nearly sputtered out some kind of lame reply, and bit her tongue until she had control of it. “Still the same charmer you always were, aren’t you, Thane?” she mocked, snapping on the coffeemaker, then swiping up the spill with a sponge.
“I try.” His smile widened into a familiar sexy grin that she wanted to slap off his face. The same cocky, self-assured expression that had won as many hearts as it had broken.
“Well, it won’t work on me.”
“No?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as if he sensed a dare.
“No.” She was firm.
“Good. That’ll make things easier.” His gaze swept the mantel, lingered for a while on the photos of Becca growing up, of the framed picture of the two sisters back to back, then stopped short on the only wedding picture that Maggie displayed, one of her and Dean, smiling happily at each other, she in her ivory-colored dress, her veil falling off, her fingers around the nosegay of baby’s breath and pink roses, Dean’s tuxedo tie loosened, his eyes full of life—a spark that had extinguished early on.
Without comment, Thane took a seat in a worn wing-backed chair and propped one heel on the ottoman as the coffee began to perk.
“Easier? How?”
His smile slowly disappeared and he stared at her with an intensity that made her want to squirm. She wrung the sponge over the sink as he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Shoot.” She was ready to say “no,” to deny him anything he might want from her, because she knew deep in her soul he wasn’t a man to be trusted, wasn’t a person she wanted anything to do with. “What is it?”
“I want you to drive back to Denver with me.” Eyes never leaving hers, he nodded slowly. “I think I might need you as a character witness.”
If he hadn’t been so deadly earnest, she would have laughed. “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “Me? A character witness for you?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
In an instant she believed him. The expression on his face was determined: his jaw set, his eyes steady, his lips blade-thin and unforgiving. Not a hint of the man who had joked just a few seconds before.
“I don’t think I owe you anything,” she said slowly, folding the cloth, eyeing the pan of cold, burned stew, and ignoring it. She wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been since Thane had walked back into her life.
“This isn’t a matter of payback.”
“Then why?” She walked into the living room and took a seat on the arm of the sofa.
“You know I would never lift a finger to hurt Mary Theresa.”
Her heart squeezed painfully. Oh, how she knew it was true. From the minute Thane had set eyes on her more seductive twin, he’d been smitten. She suspected that Thane had never stopped loving Mary Theresa. He’d only stopped loving Maggie. “Of course.”
“The police don’t know it.”
In an instant, she understood. “You mean, not only do the police suspect foul play in Mary Theresa’s disappearance, but they think you’re involved.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
It was Thane. He did this to me. Mary Theresa’s cryptic message crept through her brain again, chilling her blood, causing her stomach to cramp.
> “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t have to,” he said, and she knew he meant it.
“I just can’t up and leave,” she began, then heard herself. This was her sister they were talking about. Her twin sister. The person most like her on this earth. And she was in trouble. “There’s Becca to consider and…” She let her thoughts trail off. What if Mary Theresa needed her? The coffeemaker dinged, and she returned to the open kitchen to pour two cups with hands that weren’t quite steady. “I…I don’t know,” she admitted, carrying the mugs of steaming coffee into the living room and handing one out to him. “There’s sugar or milk in the kitchen…”
“I take it black. Thanks.”
She remembered. Not that she wanted to. Not ever. She settled into a corner of the couch, tucked her feet onto the cushions, and blew across her cup. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” she suggested. Maybe if she heard what he had on his mind, she would better understand the situation.
“I don’t know what happened to Mary Theresa or Marquise or whoever you want to call her,” he admitted. “No one seems to. Some people think she was kidnapped; there’s even talk of murder, you know that.”
Maggie nodded mutely.
“Then there are those who think this is some kind of publicity stunt, or that she just left because the pressure was so great, and she needed some peace of mind.” He took a swallow from his cup, studied the dark liquid inside, and frowned. “I’m not sure I believe that one, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because whenever the rat race got too much for her, the ratings were down on her show, her latest lover had taken a hike, or she needed to get away from the high-profile life she was living, she’d show up at my ranch.”
“Your ranch?” Maggie repeated, dumbstruck. She’d thought that Mary Theresa hadn’t seen Thane since their divorce. Never had her sister confided that she’d spent time with her ex-husband.
“Sometimes the ranch in California, other times the one outside of Cheyenne.” Setting his cup on the window ledge, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Sometimes I was there, but a lot of times I wasn’t.”
“I…I never knew that she even saw you,” Maggie said, realizing for the first time how little she understood about the woman who was her twin. It was almost as if when Mary Theresa had changed her name to Marquise, she’d severed ties with her family.
His eyes were steady. As cold as the Arctic Ocean. “There are lots of things you don’t know about your sister, Maggie. Lots of things you’d rather not know.” He stood and looked out the window to stare into the night. His reflection, distorted in the cold panes, was pale and shimmering with a steady determination. She knew from experience that Thane Walker was as stubborn as he was sexy.
The phone jangled and Maggie jumped, nearly spilling coffee all over her lap. By the second ring she grabbed the receiver and felt her heart thudding a million miles a minute. Maybe Mary Theresa had finally gotten her messages. “Hello?”
“Maggie? It’s Connie.”
Maggie’s soaring spirits crashed. She recognized her sister-in-law’s voice and steeled herself for more bad news.
“Hi.”
“I know you’re wondering why I’m calling so late, so I’ll get right to the point. I heard that Marquise is missing. I have a friend who lives in Denver who knows we’re related. Well, sort of. Anyway, I…I know this is awkward, but I wanted to call and see if you and Becca are all right.”
As if you cared. “We’re fine,” Maggie lied.
“Well, good. Good. I, um, wanted to offer to help out. Oh, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, and still do. But Becca is still my niece, damn it, and I care what happens to her.”
Or what happens to her share of her inheritance.
“Thank you,” Maggie said without much warmth.
“Have you heard from Marquise?”
“No. She hasn’t called.”
“Oh. I…I don’t know what to say. But, believe me, if I can be of any help, just let me know.”
“I will,” Maggie lied as she hung up.
Becca, in her room, waited until she heard the click, then replaced her receiver. Through the thin walls of the cabin, she’d heard most of the conversation between her mother and Thane Walker, Marquise’s first husband. When the phone had rung, she’d picked up, but before she’d been able to answer, her mother had started talking.
From what she could gather, Marquise was missing, no one knew why, but Thane wanted her mother to go to Denver with him. Her mom was worried about her sister. Becca smiled to herself in the darkness. She wasn’t worried about Marquise. Marquise was too smart and pretty, too much of a celebrity to be in any kind of real trouble.
Becca watched the blue bubbles gently rising in the base of her lava lamp. She liked the fact that Thane was trying to talk her mother into going to Denver. In fact, that was perfect. If Becca worked things right, she’d be able to con her mom into letting her visit her cousin in L.A. Hadn’t Aunt Connie offered any kind of help?
For the first time in a long while, Becca felt a ray of hope. Maybe there was a chance that she could get out of this loser, hole-in-the-wall town that her mother thought was heaven. In Becca’s opinion, Settler’s Ridge, Idaho, was the pits.
“Just think on it,” Thane suggested as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He watched as a gamut of emotions crossed Maggie’s face, and, along with a sense of satisfaction in knowing she was going to agree, he felt a second’s hesitation, a tiny grain of guilt that pricked at his conscience.
“I’m not sure.” She glanced at the phone again, as if willing Marquise to call. It wasn’t going to happen.
“I’ll be back in the morning.” He reached for the door and saw the hesitation in her eyes. She didn’t know whether to invite him to stay or not. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to spend the night here. “You can let me know then.” As he walked through the door a blast of wind cut through him like a razor. He eyed the sky as snow continued to fall and hoped that they weren’t in for a blizzard.
Inside the truck, he flicked on the engine, lights, and wipers, then switched the radio to a local news station. Above the static came a brief report that started with a local shooting. As he threw his rig into reverse, the beams from its headlights flashed against the house and he saw Maggie at the window, arms folded under her breasts, eyebrows drawn together pensively, mouth compressed. A beautiful woman. More beautiful than her more high-profile sister, though she didn’t know it. Probably the reason she held so much more appeal.
Fool, his mind taunted, and he saw the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue-gray, hard, and glinting with a twinge of lust. He’d always been an idiot where the Reilly girls were concerned, probably always would be. Calling himself a dozen kinds of moron, he cranked the wheel and drove down the lane until he found a wide spot in the road, where he pulled off and cut the engine.
Reaching behind him to the compartment that held his essentials, he dragged out a down sleeping bag, draped it around himself, then opened the glove box and retrieved a pocket flask. Unscrewing the cap, he smiled grimly to himself. “Here’s to you, Walker, you miserable son of a bitch.” He took a long tug, felt the rye whiskey splash against the back of his throat, then burn a welcome path to his gut. Not satisfied, he lifted the flask again to his lips, swallowed long and hard, then screwed on the cap and settled in for what promised to be a long, cold, and probably fruitless vigil. But he had to wait; he couldn’t take a chance that he’d been played for a fool again.
Maggie, help me, please! Remember how Thane used you, how he used me. Whatever you do, don’t trust Thane Walker!
Maggie’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded and sweat poured off her. Mary Theresa’s voice was as clear as if she’d been in the room. But she wasn’t. Maggie was alone in her bed, in the cabin near Settler’s Ridge. She swallowed back the fear that dried her mouth and pounded through her brain as the digital clock blinked
a bright red three-seventeen. The dream had been so real, she wasn’t convinced it hadn’t happened. The three of them, Mary Theresa, Thane, and Maggie, had been standing at the edge of a ravine, the precipice high over a black abyss that seemed to have no bottom. Mary Theresa, laughing and flirting, had stepped backward.
“Don’t!” Maggie had cried.
“Here, grab my hand!” Thane had ordered, as Mary Theresa’s bright expression had fallen away and sheer terror had contorted her face. The earth beneath her feet had crumbled. She’d scrambled, her skin blanching, her eyes wide with panic.
“Thane!” she’d cried, and he lunged forward as if to catch her.
Maggie had screamed as his expression had turned to hatred and the hand he’d offered her sister had been used to push her farther over the edge.
“No!” Maggie had yelled, but it had been far too late.
Marquise began falling, her arms and legs frantically flailing as she became ever fainter, and the yawning black hole swallowed her completely. Thane, his features once again calm, had turned and faced her as if she was his next victim. That’s when she’d heard Mary Theresa’s voice again.
Now, the nightmare still palpable, Maggie sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her insides were shaking, her pulse thudding deep in her brain.
“Mom?”
She gasped, only to see Becca, a pale figure in the doorway. “Good Lord, you scared me,” she admitted, clicking on the bedside lamp.
“You scared me.” Becca, still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had on when she’d been thrown by Jasper, was leaning on the doorframe, her injured foot cocked, her other leg bearing all her weight. She blinked against the sudden wash of light, and her hair was a tangled mess, evidence that she’d been sleeping.
“Sorry. I had a bad dream. A nightmare.”
“About Marquise,” Becca guessed.
“Yes.” Giving herself a quick mental shake, she stood and walked to the doorway. “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I’m just worried.”