Twice Kissed (4 page)

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—?”

“Your aunt’s husband,” he cut in. “A long time ago. Nice meeting you.” He handed Maggie a blanket.

“Yeah, right. Me too,” she said, but there wasn’t a ring of sincerity in her words.

“Let’s take a look at you,” Maggie said. Ignoring Thane, she placed the blanket over Becca’s shoulders, then gently touched her ankle.

“Ouch. Watch it.” Becca drew in a swift, whistling breath as an owl hooted softly from one of the lodgepole pines that towered high above them. “Jesus, Mom.”

“Just trying to help.”

“By killing me?” Becca accused.

Maggie rocked back on her heels and told herself that Becca’s bad mood was good news. If she was angry, she wasn’t injured all that badly. “I’m not trying to hurt you, honey.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Becca offered a faltering smile that fell away as quickly as it appeared.

Thane leaned down and squatted next to mother and daughter. Pinning Becca with his steady gaze, he asked, “Think you can ride?”

Becca, expression wary, nodded slowly as she sized him up. “Probably.”

“Good.” Balancing on one knee, he instructed her to sling an arm around his neck. As she did, he reached under her legs with one arm and clasped the other around her back. “Hang on.” As if she weighed nothing, he lifted Becca off the ground and carried her, wrapped in the blanket, to the pinto. There was a part of Maggie that didn’t want anything to do with Thane Walker, that objected to his touching her daughter, a part of him that made her nervous as hell, but she bit her tongue and reminded herself that, even if he was here for some ulterior motive, he had helped her locate Becca. And that, as they said, was worth something.

More gently than Maggie thought him capable of, he helped Becca onto the pinto’s back. She let out a yelp as she settled into the saddle, sucked in her breath. Barkley, hidden in the shadows, snarled, and the horses shifted nervously.

“Okay?” Thane asked, once she was astride.

“I…I think so.” But she was pale as death.

“Good. Hold on to the saddle horn.” He placed her hands over the leather knob. “And let me know if you get woozy. I don’t want you falling off.”

“I won’t.” Bravely she tossed her hair from her eyes.

“Becca, are you sure you can handle this?” Maggie asked.

“Have to.” She stiffened her thin shoulders.

Thane patted the pinto’s thick neck, but looked up at Maggie’s daughter. “Let me know when you need to rest.”

“I will,” Becca promised.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Using the pale beam of his flashlight as his guide, Thane started leading the pinto down the hill. Astride the buckskin, Maggie followed slowly behind and sent up a thankful prayer that her daughter was safe.

It didn’t matter that Thane Walker was involved.

Or so she tried to convince herself.

“She’ll live.” The doctor, a petite woman in a lab coat three sizes too large and a name tag that read “Penny Cranston, M.D.,” gazed at Maggie over the tops of half glasses that threatened to slide off her short, straight nose. “The ankle’s sprained, but not too badly and I looked at the X-rays. Nothing broken that I can see. However, just to be on the side of caution, I’ll send them to a specialist in case I missed something.”

“Thanks.” Maggie was relieved. She’d driven over an hour to an all-night clinic in Lewiston only to discover that Becca, though bruised and scraped, her pride wounded as badly as anything else, would be fine. In the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights, Becca looked small and pale, her eyes wide, the scratches on her skin red but not deep. The dirt had been washed from her face and hands, and, all in all, aside from the knot turning blue around her ankle, she seemed fine.

“Now.” Dr. Cranston trained her eyes on her patient again. “You need to use crutches for a few days, maybe a week or two, until you’re out of pain. I’ll give you a prescription for the first couple of days, and I want you to rest, elevate the foot, and ice it for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“So, no school, right?” Becca asked eagerly.

“Wellll…I think you can make it back to class. Maybe not for a couple of days, but then I think you’ll be able to go back.” She winked at Becca, who rolled her eyes theatrically and, with Maggie’s help, hobbled back to the old Jeep, another source of irritation to Becca, who didn’t understand why they had to trade in a perfectly good BMW for a dilapidated, rugged vehicle with four-wheel drive and a dented right fender. But then Becca didn’t understand about an expensive lease as opposed to a vehicle that, though battered, was paid for.

Once they were in the Jeep, Becca leaned her bucket seat back as far as possible and closed her eyes. “Why is that Thane guy at our house?” she asked, as Maggie wheeled out of the parking lot and headed east. It was nearly midnight, and clouds had crept in, covering the stars and moon. As the lights of Lewiston faded behind them, the darkness of the night seemed to close in.

Maggie fiddled with the radio, found a country-and-western station, and recognized a Garth Brooks tune. “He’s here because there’s a problem with Aunt Mary,” Maggie said, hedging a bit until she knew for certain what had happened to Mary Theresa.

“You mean Marquise,” Becca clarified, her voice taking on a snotty edge.

“I still think of her as Mary Theresa. Always will.”

“She changed her name years ago.” Without lifting her head, Becca turned and faced her mother. “The least you could do is respect it.”

Becca wasn’t going to bait her into this argument. “Old habits are hard to break.”

“Not if you try, Mom.”

“Forget it.”

“So what’s wrong with Marquise?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted truthfully. She shifted down for a sharp corner and spied a set of taillights winking on the ribbon of road far ahead. “She’s missing.”

“So? Sometimes she just takes off.”

“I know.” Maggie should have taken solace in the fact that her sister was flighty and had, in the past, disappeared for a few days. But this time was different. This time the police were involved. And Thane Walker, Mary Theresa’s first husband, was waiting for Maggie at her house. “No one seems to know where she is. No one.”