Читать книгу Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson - Страница 10

Thane was waiting on the porch swing. Huddled in a sheepskin jacket, one booted heel propped on the opposite jeans-clad knee, he glowered into the night, rocking, the swing gently swaying as the wind cut across the valley. Barkley, turncoat that he was, lay docilely near the door.

Maggie braced herself as she cut the engine. She switched off headlights and radio and told herself that her nerves were shot because of Becca’s accident and Mary Theresa’s disappearance. It had nothing to do with Thane and his innate, earthy sexuality. Nothing. She was just tired. There wasn’t a thing about the man that got to her. She was being a fool. Thane Walker was only a man, and a lying one at that.

Slowly he climbed to his feet, and his silhouette was cast in stark relief against the porch light. All male. And dangerous. Long legs covered by low-slung battered jeans, and a chest that was wide enough to be interesting without a lot of extra weight.

Just muscle.

Great.

His physique was the last thing she should notice.

“It’s been too long,” she muttered. Too many months without a man.

“What?” Becca roused.

“Nothing, honey. We’re home.” Pocketing her keys, she touched Becca on the shoulder and looked away from the dark sensuality of a man she didn’t trust, a man who’d stolen her heart only to break it.

Becca blinked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as snowflakes hit the windshield, collecting on the wipers. She looked at the cabin, lights glowing warmly in the cold night, then rolled her eyes expressively. “Terrific.”

“I’ll get the crutches.”

“Don’t need ’em.”

“Of course you do.” Shouldering open the door, Maggie ducked her head against the flurries of snow and dashed to the back of the Jeep. Over the noise of the wind, she heard Thane’s boot steps steadily approaching, gravel crunching. Stupidly, her heart began to pound. “Get a grip,” she admonished.

Don’t even think about him.

“How is she?” he asked, pulling the crutches from the cargo space.

“She’ll be okay. The doctor thinks it’s just a sprain. Not a bad one at that.”

“Good.” He actually seemed relieved. As if he cared. What a joke. Maggie wasn’t going to fall into that particular trap. Not when Thane Walker was involved. But as she slammed the Jeep’s cargo door closed, she caught a glimpse of him helping Becca out of the Jeep. Rather than force her to use the crutches, he lifted her off her feet and, sheltering her body against the cold, carried her swiftly across the snow-dusted lot to the house. A twinge of unwelcome forgiveness tugged at her heart.

“Don’t be fooled,” she warned herself, as she grabbed the crutches he’d left propped against a fender, then jogged to the porch where Thane, hugging Becca tight, waited until she opened the door. He carried Becca inside.

Barkley’s back end was wiggling crazily, and he, on his three good legs, trotted through the closing door a minute before Maggie snagged the handle and walked inside too. “Traitor,” she said to the dog, and old Barkley didn’t even have the decency to look abashed. “Fine watchdog you turned out to be.”

Once inside, she motioned toward the hallway. “She should go right to bed…” Maggie began to instruct, but Thane was already hauling Becca in the right direction.

Still toting the damned crutches, Maggie marched into the bedroom and watched Thane place her daughter on the single bed tucked into the corner of the chaos Becca unhappily called home. She thawed a little as she saw how tenderly he laid Becca on the old quilt, but she reminded herself that whatever Thane was doing, it was all an act. He was here with a purpose, and it had something to do with Mary Theresa.

Mary Theresa.

Dread assailed Maggie once again.

Where was she? What was that horrible, painful plea she’d heard earlier? Had Mary Theresa tried to contact her, or had it all been in her head, a great blip in the universe, a coincidence that she’d heard from her sister after months of silence?

Goose bumps rose on her arms as she stacked the crutches in a corner near the bookcase, then opened a wicker chest and pulled out a couple of extra pillows which she used to prop up Becca’s foot. As if sensing mother and daughter should be alone, Thane winked at Becca, whistled to the dog, and slipped out of the room.

“Can I get you anything?” Maggie asked, pulling on the edges of the antique quilt that she’d bought at an estate sale years before. On the table, Becca’s lava lamp was glowing an undulating blue.

“Nah.” Becca’s eyes were beginning to close. Posters of teen idols adorned the walls, and the scatter rugs on the floor were covered with makeup, CDs, magazines and stuffed animals left over from her younger years.

“Not even some hot cocoa?” Maggie hovered over the bed. She was caught between wanting to push the wet strands of hair from her daughter’s eyes and knowing it was best to leave her alone. She had a tendency to over-mother. Becca hated it. “Or I’ve got some of that stew—it’s a little burned, but…”

Rolling her eyes, Becca sighed loudly. “I said I didn’t want anything.”

Maggie got the message. “Look, I was just trying to help, okay? I’ll get the ice pack and bring it back. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Becca didn’t respond, and Maggie held her tongue rather than lash out. Lately she and her daughter had been involved in some kind of struggle she didn’t understand. Of course Becca blamed her for uprooting her in the middle of her last year of junior high and bringing her to some “gawd-awful middle-of-nowhere place where only losers lived.” Well, too bad. Moving here was just what the doctor ordered. At least in Maggie’s opinion.

Mentally counting to ten, and then on to twenty when she hadn’t cooled off, she walked briskly out of Becca’s room, down the short hallway to the kitchen where she found a Ziploc bag and some hand towels. Ancient pipes creaked as she turned on the hot water, waited and waited until it was steaming. Grabbing a hammer from the odds-and-ends drawer, she placed ice cubes in a plastic bag and beat them into tiny shards.

Thane, with the old shepherd on his heels, had walked outside again and returned with an armload of firewood. The shoulders of his jacket were dark with melting snow, his hair wet as well. She tried not to notice and continued whacking at the bag of ice.

“Jesus Christ, Maggie, it’s dead already.” He dropped the firewood into a basket near the hearth.

“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.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll get some more ice and—”

“I’m okay, Mom, really.” Becca yawned. “You just weirded me out. You’ve been acting so strange lately. Today in the barn when you were on your knees, and now with the screaming.” Becca’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. “It’s kinda creepy.”

“Oh, honey.” Without thinking, Maggie wrapped her arms around her daughter, and for once Becca didn’t squirm away. “The last thing I want is to be creepy.”

Becca managed a nervous giggle as she slid out of her mother’s embrace. “I know you’re worried about Marquise, and I heard you and Thane talking about you helping him.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. “I wasn’t really eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” Becca added hastily, her gaze sliding away from her mother’s. “So why don’t you go find out what happened to her?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. The neighbors will take care of the horses, your book isn’t due for another couple of months, I could miss a few days of school and stay with my friends or Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim in L.A….”

“So that’s what this is all about,” Maggie said, wondering how conniving her daughter was becoming. As the years rolled by it seemed that Becca was developing her own sense of how to manipulate people. Just like Mary Theresa.

“But you could help find Marquise.”

“I could?”

“You write mystery novels, Mom. True crime. You talk to policemen all the time, and you worked for a private investigator, didn’t you?”

“That was a long time ago.”

Becca lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t it kind of like riding a bicycle?”

“Not quite,” Maggie said, chuckling a little as the effects of her nightmare faded away. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Becca offered a shy smile. “How about that hot cocoa now?”

Maggie wasn’t so groggy that she didn’t realize she was being conned, but she couldn’t help herself. If this was Becca’s self-centered and manipulating way of bonding, so be it. “Okay, okay, but then back to bed, and don’t try and talk me into this trip to Denver, okay? I’ll decide on my own.”

She helped her daughter into the living area of the house, where Becca curled on the sofa with an afghan tossed over her shoulders. The fire had burned low until only red embers glowed behind the screen and the house was taking on the chill of night. Maggie, barefoot and shivering, took the time to throw on a fleece robe and slippers, then quickly heated water for the instant cocoa. As the cups circulated in the microwave, she rummaged in the pantry for marshmallows whose shelf life had expired eons before. “Perfect,” she thought aloud. Culinary creativity had never been one of her attributes. She considered herself the Sergeant Friday of the kitchen: “Just the facts, ma’am.”

Plopping the hard mini-marshmallows into the cups, she asked, “What makes you think if I do go to Denver that I’ll send you to—L.A.? Why wouldn’t you stay with a friend here?”

“Who?”

Maggie stirred the cocoa. Becca had a point. They didn’t know anyone well enough to leave her with for more than a night. “I don’t know.”

“This way I could see my friends.”

“And miss school?”

“I’d make it up.”

“Promise?” Maggie carried a cup to Becca, who, for the first time in weeks, grinned up at her. An eager spark lit her eyes as Maggie sat on the far corner of the couch, tucked her knees up inside the voluminous folds of her dressing gown, and pulled the edge of the afghan over her feet.

“Promise.” Becca blew over her cocoa.

“I’ll think about it,” Maggie said, though her mind was half–made up. Something had to give. She and Becca were always at each other’s throats, the cryptic messages from Mary Theresa, real or imagined, had to be dealt with, and finding out what had happened to her twin was a priority, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Maggie had never been one to sit back and let everyone else handle her problems and, now, it seemed, Mary Theresa needed her.

“Mom?” Becca’s face was serious again, worry evident in the way she chewed on the corner of her lip.

“Yeah?”

“Is something wrong with you?”

“You mean other than the fact that I can’t seem to get along with my daughter?” she teased, as the marshmallows melted into a gooey white mass. She took a swallow of the sickeningly sweet brew.

“No. I mean like are you sick?” Becca swallowed hard and her gaze shifted away. “You know…”

“No, honey, I’m not sick. Not physically. Not mentally.” She sighed and wished she could confide in her daughter, tell her the truth about hearing Mary Theresa’s voice, but that would only add fuel to the fire, scare Becca and bring back all the old, painful memories and concerns that her mother might not be sane, just because Maggie had seen a psychiatrist after her husband’s death. It hadn’t been a big deal, but Connie and Jim had insinuated time and time again that Maggie’s mental health was an issue. Clearing her throat, she said, “Drink up, then we’ll go back to bed.”

“So what’re you gonna do?” Becca asked. She took a final swallow, then handed her half-drunk cup to her mother.

“I wish I knew,” Maggie admitted. There wasn’t an easy answer. None. Life was getting much more complicated than she’d ever imagined. She carried both cups to the sink, where she noticed the mug Thane had used earlier. Touching the rim with one finger, she wondered why he’d chosen to show up at her doorstep. He could have called and told her about Mary Theresa, yet he’d decided to drive hundreds and hundreds of miles to see her in person.

Drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter, she stared through the kitchen window. Snow covered the ground and bowed the branches of the trees. Without any light from the moon, the night was eerie, the solitude that she usually found so comforting oddly disturbing.

“Mom?” Becca’s voice caught her up short. “What’s really going on?”

Maggie shook her head and sighed. Instead of acting as if she didn’t know what Becca was talking about, she said, “That seems to be the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question right now.” Running her fingers through her hair, she walked back to the living room and silently offered to help her daughter down the hallway. “I wish I knew the answer, Becca. Damn, but I wish I knew.”