Twice Kissed

by Lisa Jackson

  On cloud nine for the first time since the funeral, she tiptoed to her sister’s room and shook Mary Theresa on the shoulder. She had to let her in on the scheme, as M.T. was supposed to pick her up from Roberto’s around ten. Yawning, a little grouchy from being aroused, Mary Theresa had agreed to being an accomplice before pulling her pillow over her head and falling back to sleep.

  Maggie hadn’t slept a wink. The thought of seeing Thane again had been too exhilarating. She’d been up at the crack of dawn, swum laps, and even cleaned her room to keep busy; but still the day had dragged by until she arrived at the restaurant.

  Everything was as it should be. Roberto’s was busier than usual for a Saturday night; families and couples crowded into the waiting area until tables were available. Maggie flew through her shift, clearing tables, carrying tubs of dishes into the kitchen, replacing silverware, filling water glasses as the hours rolled onward.

  Around nine-thirty business began to slow. Nervously, she watched the entrance and at about a quarter to ten, Thane swung through the front door. Dressed in clean jeans and a wheat-colored polo shirt, he sauntered through the vestibule and scanned the connecting rooms until his gaze landed full force on Maggie. She nearly dropped the plastic tub of clean silverware wrapped in napkins she was carrying to the servers’ station. He winked, her heart soared, and, cheeks burning, she managed a ghost of a smile.

  “Maggie!” Enid whispered harshly. “Table three. Step on it.”

  “I’m on it,” she muttered, embarrassed and feeling all thumbs as she swiped the table clean, set out fresh silverware, checked to see that the condiment jars were filled, then adjusted the placement of wineglasses on the table, a job she could usually do blindfolded. In her peripheral vision she saw Thane walk into the bar and take control of a stool at the corner of the mahogany counter. From this vantage point, he could look over a short wall topped by planters filled with lacy ferns and view the dining area where she worked.

  He ordered a beer and waited.

  For the remainder of the shift Maggie was so aware of him, she had trouble concentrating. She felt his eyes upon her, anticipated spending time with him, looked forward to kissing him, and blushed when she thought of what they would eventually do together. She wanted to bury herself in his strength; to lose herself in him; and fantasizing of making love to him, she had twice filled a glass to overflowing, nearly spilling ice cubes and water on a wasp-thin woman with a severe expression and too much lipstick. Red-faced Maggie swabbed up the mess and mentally called herself several kinds of fool.

  The clock inched laboriously onward and the dinner crowd thinned. Just after ten, she was pocketing her tips, untying her apron and trying to keep control of her rapidly escaping emotions. She hadn’t seen Thane in weeks, and the thought of being with him again caused her throat to turn to sand.

  “See ya tomorrow,” she promised Enid and Walter, waving to them as she hurried across the foyer. Thane left some bills on the bar and climbed down from his stool. His heart-stopping smile was just stretching over his jaw when the front door of the restaurant was flung open to bang into the wall.

  Maggie nearly ran into her father.

  “Dad.”

  “Hi, Mag.” Frank Reilly’s eyes held no hint of amusement as he stared at his daughter just long enough to tie her tongue, then sent his gaze up the two wooden steps to the bar, where Thane was standing. “Get into the car,” he ordered his daughter.

  “No, Dad. Wait a minute.”

  “Get in the car, now, unless you want things to get worse,” he ordered.

  “No.” For the first time in her life Maggie stood up to the man who had sired her.

  “Maggie—” Her father’s voice was deep, filled with authority. “Don’t defy me. Not here.”

  “I’m going with Thane,” she said, and started for the bar.

  Thane was down the wooden steps in an instant. “What’s going on here?”

  “I forbade my daughter from seeing you, Walker, and I told her that if she ever did, I would make your life a living hell.” Shorter by three inches, bristling with authority and a hot rage, Frank glared upward at the younger man. “I could ruin you, you know.”

  The door opened. Two couples, laughing and talking, smelling of cigarette smoke and booze, careened into the lobby.

  “Dad, please—”

  “I said, ‘Get into the car, Maggie.’”

  “Not unless she wants to.” Thane reached forward, the fingers of his hand surrounding her forearm, his grip crushing the sleeve of her white blouse as he claimed her. “She and I are going out.”

  “Over my dead body. She’s seventeen, Walker. Still a minor.” His nostrils flared in rage. “Like I said, ‘hell.’”

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” The manager, Ted, menus tucked under one arm shot out of the double doors leading to the kitchen. “Maggie, is there a problem?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do.” Thane’s eyes, like those of a hawk finding prey, zeroed in on her father. He tugged on her arm. “Come on, Maggie.”

  “Who’re you?” Ted demanded.

  “Oh, whoa!” One of the guys in the group of new customers stopped short and held up his hands, palms outward as he started to back away.

  “Hey, sister, don’t take any shit,” his woman friend advised Maggie, and the other couple laughed nervously. Heads of the patrons at the nearest tables swiveled in their direction, and the soft buzz of quiet conversation seemed to disappear. The clink of silverware became more indistinct as everyone, it seemed, turned to watch the drama unfold.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” Ted said, keeping his voice low. “And I don’t really care. Just leave. All of you.”

  “I’m calling the police.” Her father started for the pay phone.

  “Good.” Ted was in complete agreement. “You do that, fella. Now—” He turned. Smiling, he faced the suddenly somber party of four who had just entered. “May I help you?”

  “Let’s get outta here,” Thane suggested, but Maggie’s eyes were riveted to her father as he reached the pay phone and fumbled in the front pocket of his slacks for change.

  “No. I—I can’t.” She yanked her arm away from Thane’s possessive grip. She knew her father too well. He would do exactly as he warned—make sure that Thane was ruined, professionally or personally. It didn’t matter to him. When Frank Reilly felt backed into a corner, he was ruthless. A poor kid from Pittsburgh who had been a street fighter in his youth and risen to the rank of sergeant in the army, he did what he felt he had to do to survive. He’d stepped on anyone who’d gotten in his way in his climb up the corporate ladder and never once looked back.

  “I…I’ll talk to you later,” she promised Thane.

  “No, Maggie, you won’t.” Frank, hearing her compliance, shoved his coins into his pocket again and, with a triumphant glare at Thane, shepherded his daughter out of the restaurant. “You contact that son of a bitch again, and I’ll throw you out without a dime.” At the door of the Mercedes his shoulders slumped a bit. “No, I wouldn’t. You know that. But, please, give yourself some time to grow up, will you? Believe me, there are a dozen Thane Walkers on every street corner. You deserve better. It’s my job to see that you get the best. Hop in.” He held the door for her, and she felt sick, knew deep in her heart that she’d not only let Thane down, but herself as well. She might never see him again.

  “I think I know what’s best for me,” she said, staring out the window. Thane had walked outside the restaurant, paused to light a cigarette and stare at the Mercedes.

  “How could you?” Her father slid behind the wheel and paused before starting the well-tuned engine. “You’re just a kid.” Jabbing the keys into the ignition, he paused again, took a deep breath, and in the dark interior cast her a worried look. “In a few years, you can do anything you damned well please. Your mother and I won’t stop you, but right now, you still need some guidance.”

  With a flick of his wrist the engine s
parked, purring fitfully. Frank backed out of the parking space. “Look, honey,” he said, the last vestiges of his rage stripped away, “we’ve all been through a lot lately. Mitch…” He shook his head. “…let’s just take things slow, okay?” He reached over and patted her knee. “You’ve got the rest of your life to find the right guy. And I guarantee you in six months, you’ll wonder what you ever saw in Thane Walker.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. Within six months she’d learned to hate his name. Or so she’d tried to convince herself. And now she was on the road to Denver with him, trying to work with the man who had betrayed her as well as figure out what had happened to her sister, his ex-wife, the glue that seemed to bring them together, yet was always pushing them apart.

  “I remember the last time we tried to get together,” she said as she used one finger to wipe the condensation from the inside of the passenger-door window.

  “At the restaurant. Roberto’s.”

  She nodded.

  “You didn’t return my calls after that.”

  “Wasn’t allowed.”

  In the dark interior of the truck he scowled. “You could have done anything you wanted to do.”

  “I wasn’t like you,” she argued. “I didn’t just take the bull by the horns.”

  “You know, Maggie, it’s more than taking the bull by his horns. Once you’ve got him, you have to dig your bootheels in the dirt, stop that sucker dead in his tracks, and twist hard, throw your back into it so that the curve of his neck forces him to the ground.” He slid her a look that spanned a lifetime of making it on his own. “That’s when you win. When you survive. The way I remember it, you were pretty tough for a city girl, ready to spread your wings if not tackle bulls. But you weren’t afraid to speak your mind. Oh, hell.” He eased on the brakes and guided the truck around what appeared to be an abandoned vehicle with snow piled high on its fenders, hood, and roof. “What’s this?”

  Thane parked the pickup and, with Maggie following in his footsteps, made his way to the snow-covered sedan. The air was bitter cold, a stiff breeze slicing through Maggie’s jacket and stinging her cheeks.

  “Anyone in there?” Thane yelled, banging on the car and shoving off the snow with his gloved hands until they could peer through the glass to the dark interior. It was empty, no sign of life within. Thane scanned the terrain of flatland, sagebrush, and fence posts covered in a thick layer of icy white powder. “Hey!” he shouted, squinting at the horizon as Maggie did the same. “Anyone out here?”

  Using her hand as a visor, she scoured the sparse terrain and caught sight of several antelope dashing off in the distance, startled by the sound of a human voice. Otherwise, she saw no movement, not so much as a rabbit disturbing the stillness. The sky was gray again—the color of a dove’s soft underbelly, thick clouds blocking the sun.

  For a few minutes they shouted and searched the area around the car. No other vehicle passed, and they found no sign of life anywhere nearby. “Come on,” Thane finally said. “No one’s here.”

  “At least no one who’s alive,” she muttered, again thinking of her sister.

  “No one dead, either. Whoever was driving obviously got a ride.” He took her elbow in his big hand and propelled her toward the truck. “I think it’s time to crack open the thermos. Coffee, crackers, and cheese. What d’ya say?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You sure know how to make a girl feel pampered.”

  “Always aim to please.” He offered her a wink as he held her door open, and that one small gesture lifted her mood a bit. There was a part of Thane she remembered as being charming in an irreverent, rebellious way. Along with his wicked smile and tough-as-old-leather exterior, there had once been a man with a heart. That part of him had gotten to her then, and she was afraid, if she wasn’t careful, it would get to her again, and she might forget about the darker, secretive side of him that had always given her pause. The man he never let shine through.

  As he drove ever south, she poured them each a cup of coffee from the thermos and handed him a mug. “You haven’t explained the situation with Mary Theresa,” she reminded him, sipping from the hot, strong coffee.

  “It began as a simple case of mistaken identity, you know that.”

  She’d heard this much but never had believed it.

  “She showed up at my place, that old barn converted into living quarters just out of Rio Verde.”

  She remembered, though she’d only visited him once.

  “I’d been drinking—hell, that’s putting it lightly—I was on a bender. Decided that you and I were through after the scene in the restaurant, so I went out and tied one on. Nearly passed out on the bed, then she—though I thought it was you—let herself in.”

  “And you couldn’t tell the difference?” Even after all these years, Maggie still felt a stab of betrayal that sliced deep into her heart.

  His lips tightened until they showed white over his teeth. “Nope.”

  “Thanks for stroking my female ego.”

  “You wanted the truth.”

  Amen, she thought, no matter what the cost. “Am I getting it?”

  “In spades. It was late. Dark. I didn’t bother locking the door.” He snorted, his face a mask of self-derision. “So I’m passed out in the bed and she shows up smelling like you, tasting like you, looking like you. As I said, the only light was the moonlight streaming through the open blinds.”

  “And you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “I thought she was you, damn it,” he admitted, remembering waking up to find Maggie next to him, her body warm and willing, her lips and tongue hungry. There had been something different about her, something he’d sensed, but she wore her hair in a ponytail and in the poor light he saw no hint of makeup, no trace of the pinup girl Mary Theresa was always trying to portray. “At least I did at first.”

  “Maggie?” he’d whispered, his body already responding, his erection hard and stiff, his mind still groggy.

  “Shh. I’m here,” she’d answered, and kissed him with wet and wild abandon. That had been the end of any resistance on his part.

  He’d stripped the rubber band from her hair, started touching her breasts, thrilled that they seemed larger in his hands. The kissing was different, more anxious and desperate. At the time, his brain still soaked in scotch, he was vaguely aware that there was a slight change, but he chalked it up to the length of time they’d been apart, the ache between his legs that had kept him up at night. Her touch had ignited him. His erection had been hard, his blood instantly white-hot.

  He’d made love to her, not once, but over and over that night. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d convinced himself that they would never be together again, that by the light of dawn, Maggie would leave him forever.

  It wasn’t until she slipped from the bed that he sensed his mistake. “What’s this?” she’d asked, rubbing a finger over the scar he bore on his left shoulder.

  “You remember, I told you about it…my old man did that the night that I nearly—”

  “Oh, right.” She slid quickly off the bed, and Thane sensed the change in her.

  With one eye open, he watched her dress, and a sick realization needled through the painful clouds in his mind. The scotch had worn off and aside from a blistering headache, he was able to think again. As she wound her hair into a ponytail, he noticed the difference and, at first, telling himself he was out of his mind, he lay on the wrinkled sheets, opened both damned eyes and stared up at her.

  She zipped her shorts and the tiny prickle of apprehension he felt turned to a needle of dread. With bone-chilling certainty he watched as her left hand adjusted the zipper tab and slid the button through its hole.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice dead and filled with all of the suspicions that were suddenly racing like fire through his brain.

  “What do you mean?” So innocent. Had he been wrong? She reached for her purse. Maggie’s fringed suede bag.


  “You’re not Maggie.”

  She paused, then shook her head. “You’re drunk.”

  “Nope.”

  She glanced at the opened bottle of scotch on his bedside table. “Whatever you say.”

  “What kind of game are you playing, Mary Theresa?”

  She flinched a bit, bit her lip, then slowly extracted a key ring from her purse. With her left hand. The keys jangled over the soft hum of the alarm clock and the muted songs of morning birds that filtered through the open window. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Not until you explain yourself.”

  “There’s nothing to—”

  He leaped out of the bed and, bare-ass naked, pushed her up against the wall. Her back and shoulders flattened against the plaster.

  “Oh! Damn it, Thane! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as his fingers gripped hard.

  “That’s what I asked you.” Nose to nose, eyeball to squinted eyeball, they glared at each other. “I know you’re not Maggie,” he said, disgusted with himself and the fact that even though he knew the truth, with her pinned against the wall, her perfume teasing his nostrils, the hard muscles of her body flexing defiantly against his weight, he was beginning to get turned on again. His brain was pounding, his eyes burning, the impending hangover parching his mouth as the thought of what he’d done dehydrated his soul. “You goddamned slut.”

  “Careful, Thane,” she warned and Frank Reilly’s threats echoed through his pained head. If anyone found them here, him naked and strong-arming her, she playing coy, fragile, and underage, what would happen? The police would be called in and he had a record, a bad one…if they located it in Wyoming…Slowly he let his arm drop and stepped away from her.

  “Get out.”

  “Gladly.” She flashed him her thousand-watt smile, and he had the distinct impression that he’d been set up. Big-time. By a master.

  “This is between us.”

  “Believe me, I won’t say a word.” She walked out of the bedroom, and he followed her as she made her way past a pile of dirty clothes and a few lawn chairs that he used for furniture. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head at the sorry state of his home. Not that he gave a good goddamn. Any money he didn’t use, he saved and invested. He intended to buy a spread of his own someday. Furniture and the amenities could wait.