by Brenda Novak
Megan laughed, grabbing onto his arm, blushing. “All in a day’s work for my mom.”
Pride burned through Lucy at Megan’s praise. It had been so very long since Megan had anything nice to say about Lucy or her job she’d almost forgotten how good it felt.
“They say I can go home tomorrow. Can I still give you surfing lessons? It’s the least I can do—and I promise, no more standing you up.”
They both looked at Lucy, waiting for her answer. As if there were any way she could say no. “Sure.”
Megan grabbed Lucy’s free arm. “Thanks, Mom!” Then she sobered. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” she asked Mateo. “We don’t have to surf. We can just walk on the beach and you can teach me more about the architecture and history.”
Lucy blinked. When had her daughter learned how to flirt so effortlessly?
“Do you remember anything?” she asked Mateo.
“No.” He frowned. “Just blood. All that blood. Where did it come from?”
“My guess is Pastor Fleming. Wouldn’t be hard for him or his wife to get a hold of some medical supplies,” she eyed Mateo’s IV tubing, “take a little every week or so, then when they’re ready, spray it around to fake their crime scene.”
Jorge winced while Mateo’s mother and aunt made small noises of dismay. Megan frowned at Lucy for ruining the moment—back to being the mom who couldn’t get anything right.
Megan’s phone rang. Nick. A little silt and mud clung to the phone’s waterproof case, but otherwise, it was fine. Lucy edged her way out of the crowded room to answer it.
“We’re both good,” she told Nick. She glanced back into the room at Megan’s beaming face, curls bouncing and hands gesturing as she told the story of her adventures that evening to Mateo and his family. Probably not for the first time. “But you should see your daughter flirting. It’s shameless. We are so in trouble. I think we should rethink that whole convent thing. At least until she’s thirty. Seriously.”
Nick’s laughter was a sound so pure and beautiful she fell in love with him every time she heard it. She turned to the tile wall, hiding her smile from everyone passing through the busy hospital corridor, cherishing this private moment in the midst of the chaos this day had delivered. No need to travel to the beach for sunshine; Nick was all the light she needed in this world.
“Well, she is her mother’s daughter,” he finally said. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”
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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-seven novels, former pediatric ER doctor CJ Lyons has lived the life she writes about in her cutting edge Thrillers with Heart.
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Secret Hideaway
by Carla Neggers
Chapter 1
Ellen Galway wasn’t fond of cold weather, but her twin sister, Maggie, loved it. If the May cold snap didn’t explain why they were in upstate New York instead of home in Texas, it was at least a reason Maggie wasn’t complaining. “A tough prosecutor like you bundled up and shivering,” she said with a laugh.
“It’s cold.”
“It’s fifty-five degrees. It only feels cold because it’s a hundred degrees at home.”
“A hundred degrees is an exaggeration.” Ellen had to admit this sudden trip to upstate New York was a welcome break from the spring heat wave in Austin. “At least your presentation isn’t in January. I might have skipped it.”
“We could have gone skiing in January.”
“I don’t ski. You ski.”
Maggie smiled. “Cross-country only. Never downhill.”
“This talk on Jane Austen is a big deal for you,” Ellen said. “I’m so proud of you, Maggie.”
Ellen could tell Maggie was pleased with herself, as well she should be, and pleased her only sister—her fraternal twin—had taken the time to come to Saratoga Springs, a pretty, historic town in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, to hear her presentation at Skidmore College. At twenty-six, dark, willowy Maggie Galway was a writer, scholar and gentle soul. She was deep into earning her doctorate at the University of Texas, already working on her dissertation on Jane Austen. She would sometimes wonder aloud how on earth she could be a real Galway. Ellen winced at such talk but understood. Their father, Jack, was a senior Texas Ranger, and their mother, Susanna, was a financial whiz. Ellen was a newly minted prosecutor. Their little brother, Brent, was a precocious seven-year-old, born after their parents had ended a downturn in their marriage that seemed impossible now. As difficult as their separation had been on everyone in the family, they were stronger than they’d ever been.
The Galways were a strong family, Ellen thought. Any sense Maggie had that she didn’t fit in was entirely in her head.
But something was up with her—something beyond wondering if a Jane Austen scholar could be a real Galway. Ellen, with the instincts of a twin, suspected her sister had kept whatever was bothering her from their parents as well.
“Mom and Dad don’t know about my talk,” Maggie said.
“You didn’t tell them?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t want them to feel guilty about not being able to be here.”
“Maybe they’d have found a way to make it if they’d known about it.”
“For a lecture on Jane Austen? Not with their schedules. It’s okay. Honestly. I’m long past needing my parents in the audience to cheer me on. They’d only make me nervous, anyway. I only told you because I slipped up and you realized I was up to something. The prosecutor at work.”
“It’s not illegal to fly to Saratoga Springs without telling your family,” Ellen said.
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
Maggie looked thoughtful. “Do you think Mom and Dad are disappointed neither of us became a Texas Ranger or a financial advisor?”
“They always wanted us to find our own way. It’s the same with Brent now, too.”
“He wants to be a baseball player,” her sister said with a laugh.
“Maggie…” Ellen treaded carefully. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me.”
S
he hesitated, frowning as if she hadn’t understood the question. “Wrong?”
“You’re not yourself. Are you nervous about your presentation?”
“No, not at all. I can talk about Jane Austen forever. I’m never bored, and I’m confident in my opinions and arguments.” Maggie smiled, looking less preoccupied—even if it was only due to sheer force of will. “Maybe the cool air is making it seem as if something’s wrong. Maybe it’s affecting me more than I’m willing to admit.”
Ellen didn’t think the weather explained her sister’s troubled mood, but she went along with it. “Last night I dreamed about temperatures under eighty. Now I’m freezing.”
They continued down Broadway, Saratoga’s main street. The small city north of Albany was enjoying a renaissance with its shops, Victorian houses, historic parks, museums and spas. It was known for its August thoroughbred racing season, a tradition that dated back to 1863, at the height of the Civil War.
Maggie sighed deeply. “The air does feel good, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Ellen said.
“What about you? I know you’re a Jane Austen fan and you want to be supportive me as your sister, but did you seize the moment to fly up here as a way to avoid a certain Texas Ranger?”
Ellen feigned innocence. “What Texas Ranger?”
“As if you don’t know.”
Ellen ignored the jump in her heartbeat. Leave it to Maggie to guess there was a secondary motive to her presence. Her talk at Skidmore was enough to get Ellen to want to fly north. But it just so happened the long-planned talk allowed her to seize the moment to create some space between her and an overheating attraction to an impossible man.
“You swore you’d never get involved with a Texas Ranger, Ellen. How did you put it? Dad and Uncle Sam are both Rangers, and you don’t need that kind of—what was it?”
“Scrutiny. Drama. Whatever. At best, it would be awkward.”
“By would be you mean is. Ellen, you can’t run from your feelings.”
Ellen grinned, her cue to her sister that she wasn’t talking about Luke Jackson. “I never run.”
Maggie walked a few paces, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “Sometimes running is the smart option,” she said finally, half to herself. “Sometimes it’s the only option.”
Ellen gasped, alarmed at Maggie’s tone as well as her words. “Maggie, what is going on? Tell me, please.”
“Nothing. I was speaking hypothetically.” She pointed at a restaurant they were approaching, one of many on Broadway. “Let’s have coffee, maybe a small bite to eat. I can’t manage a big meal before a major presentation.”
Ellen knew from long experience with her sister that badgering her wouldn’t produce anything but frustration for both of them. They entered the bustling restaurant and sat at a high table under photographs of Victorian Saratoga with its therapeutic mineral springs, grand hotels, casinos and thoroughbred horse races. Maggie seemed to fix on a photograph of a woman in Victorian dress, parasol in hand, but Ellen knew better. Focusing on something else was a way for Maggie to center herself and push away intrusive thoughts.
Finally she turned to Ellen. “Tell me about your Texas Ranger.”
“My Texas Ranger?”
“Studly Luke Jackson in his white cowboy hat and butt-kicking leather boots.”
“Luke is in Austin working a case, I imagine.” Ellen kept her voice neutral, without any of the emotion churning inside her. “I don’t have much to do with him.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Professionally or personally?”
“Both.”
“His choice or yours?”
“Again, both, and why are we talking about me?”
“Because it’s easier than talking about me right before I give my talk,” Maggie said.
“Will you know anyone there?” Ellen asked.
Maggie looked at the handwritten menu. “A few people.”
“Academics, students, former students—”
“All of the above. I’d rather not think about it right now. It gives me the jitters.”
Ellen wanted to accept Maggie’s reluctance to talk as normal pre-talk nerves, but her doubts about her sister’s state of mind persisted.
“I’m not having alcohol,” Maggie said. “But you can feel free.”
“It’s still early. We can save the alcohol for after your presentation. We can celebrate. I’ll treat you to champagne tonight.”
“I’d like that.” Maggie’s dark eyes seemed to mist as she looked across the table at her sister. “Thank you, Ellen. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” Ellen said.
They ordered the soup-of-the-day—spring vegetable—with house-made whole-grain rolls, but Ellen could tell Maggie’s mind wasn’t on lunch or their surroundings. Ellen again resisted the urge to press her sister for an explanation of what was bothering her. It would have to wait. Once Maggie’s talk was behind her and the champagne was flowing, Ellen would put on her prosecutor’s hat and get her sister to spill what was going on with her.
Over delicious soup and rolls, they chatted about what sights they wanted to see during their short visit. Maggie relaxed visibly, and Ellen had to admit she, too, was relieved that they were staying away from any mention of their work lives and personal problems. Maggie’s personal life was on hold at the moment, by her own description, as she dived into her dissertation. Ellen’s personal life was on overdrive. Her whirlwind trip north was a self-imposed cooling-off period. A fling with a Texas Ranger was one thing. Falling in love with one? With Luke? Impossible.
Maggie insisted on paying for lunch. She jumped off her chair with a sudden burst of energy and renewed confidence. Put on or for real, she was more the Maggie Galway who could go on about Jane Austen one minute and wrestle with their little brother the next. Ellen wondered if she was reading into things because of her own raw emotions.
She and Ellen walked back to their hotel. Saratoga’s once-famous grand Victorian hotels had been razed decades ago. Changing laws and a changing society had made them obsolete. Ellen thought she might like Saratoga better nowadays, but the former Canfield Casino, now a museum, was on her list of sights to visit. It was Thursday, and she was flying back to Austin on Sunday. She’d spend tomorrow hanging out in Saratoga with Maggie and then visit friends in Albany on Saturday. She’d be back at her desk in Austin on Monday. By then, the heat was forecast to have subsided to normal warm temperatures.
Except for the months in Boston during their parents’ estrangement, she and Maggie both had lived in Texas their entire lives. Neither had illusions about their home state’s weather. More heat lay ahead with summer settling in. Ellen didn’t mind. She and Maggie had grown up mostly in San Antonio, but they both lived in Austin now and loved it. With their father’s promotion to Texas Rangers headquarters a few years ago, he and their mother and brother were in Austin, too.
Ellen took a shower and changed clothes for Maggie’s talk, then checked her messages.
Nothing from Luke.
But she hadn’t expected anything. Not only that, she didn’t want to hear from him.
It was time, now, to focus on Maggie Galway and what she had to say about Jane Austen.
***
Ellen arrived in the hotel lobby five minutes ahead of the time she and Maggie had agreed to meet. She eyed another wall of black-and-white photographs of old Saratoga Springs. Lillian Russell, Ulysses S. Grant, the famous red-and-white awnings of the Saratoga Race Track and a half-dozen thoroughbreds.
“Nothing like a good horse.”
She went still at the voice of the man behind her. It was deep and slow, with a wry, familiar Texas drawl.
No.
She turned around, weak-kneed—not like her at all.
Luke Jackson tipped his white cowboy hat at her. “Hello, Ellen.”
“What are you doing here?”
He gave her a grin that was the stuff of a woman’s dreams. “I’m here to atten
d a talk on Jane Austen by an up-and-coming Texas scholar.”
“Luke…”
“You don’t believe I’m interested in Jane Austen?”
“Not for a second.”
“Good, because I’m not.” His expression turned serious. “I’m interested in what’s going on with your sister, and so are you.”
Ellen recovered her composure, at least enough to hold a coherent thought. “What do you know?”
“About Jane Austen? Nothing. I haven’t even seen any of the movies.”
“Maggie and I have seen them all, multiple times. Nary a Texan in sight.”
“You like that, do you?”
“Let’s just say I don’t see you in a waistcoat and pantaloons.” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Maggie would tell us we have a shallow understanding of Jane Austen. Anyway, you know what I meant. What do you know about what’s going on with her?”
“I know you’re worried. That’s enough for me.”
Her determination not to fall for him wasn’t made easier by such comments. Ellen reminded herself he knew how to lay on the charm when he wanted to. He had the bluest of blue eyes and a jaw that reminded her of a young Clint Eastwood. But Luke wasn’t classically handsome so much as arresting, magnetic—totally impossible to ignore. But she was strong, intelligent, determined. A Galway. She could do it. “Maggie and I are meeting in two minutes,” she said. “When she sees you, she’s going to know you’re on to her. I don’t want to upset her before her talk.”
“You want me to disappear?”
“At least keep a low profile, if that’s possible.”
“Sure,” he said. “I can do that.”
“Since you’re not interested in her talk, why don’t you meet us afterward and find something to amuse you in the meantime? Maggie and I plan to celebrate with champagne—”
“Good. I’ll be there. It could help her open up.”
“Your presence could help?” Ellen rolled her eyes. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.”