She set the photo on the mantel, where it had been, between pictures of all stages of Becca’s life as well as her own, then glanced outside. The evening was gathering fast, stars visible through the thin layer of clouds.
“Come on, Becca,” she worried aloud as she snapped on the exterior light and stepped onto the front porch. Silently she hoped for some sign of Jasper galloping toward the barn. But there was no sound of hoofbeats, no glimpse of a gray horse appearing over the slight rise of the field. Instead she heard a breath of wind sighing through the dry leaves that still clung to the trees and the clatter of a train rolling on far-off tracks. Again the howl of a coyote on some nearby hill.
Her gaze scoured the distance.
An answering soulful cry, lonely and echoing, reverberated across the land and put Maggie’s teeth on edge. Leaning one hip against the porch rail, she tried to find the sense of calm, of well-being that she’d been looking for when she’d leased this place at the first of the year.
Everything’s fine; you’re just letting your overactive imagination get the better of you. If you were smart, Maggie-girl, you’d use this to your advantage, go inside, pour yourself a cup of coffee and start writing. You’ve got a deadline in your not-too-distant future.
Nervously she fidgeted with the wedding ring that she still wore on her hand. It was a joke really, something she’d have to give up, but couldn’t quite. Not yet.
She’d reached for the door when she heard it—the muted rumble of an engine that got louder, then the crunch of gravel being flattened by heavy tires. Turning, she spied twin beams flashing through the night, the beacons broken by the trunks of trees as they passed, headlights from a truck that rolled to a stop not far from the barn. Black, slightly battered, sporting a canopy, the truck was unfamiliar.
A solitary man was behind the wheel—a man she thought she recognized.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
It couldn’t be. Or could it? Was her mind playing tricks on her? All the saliva in her throat disappeared.
The driver cut the engine and opened the door. “Maggie?”
She’d know that voice anywhere, even after more than a dozen years.
Thane Walker, big as life, stepped out of the cab.
Her throat turned to sand, and her stupid heart jolted.
“Well, well, well,” she said, forcing the words past lips that were numb. As he slammed the door of his truck, she told herself that the accelerated beat of her heart was way out of line.
He started toward the porch.
Looking every bit like the devil he was.
The memory of Mary Theresa’s “voice” haunted her again. It was Thane. He did this to me. Maggie swallowed hard. She gripped the porch rail with nervous fingers and told herself she wasn’t going to be taken in by him. Never again.
His slow Western saunter had disappeared, replaced by purposeful strides that ate up the gravel-strewn lot that separated the house from the barn. With a countenance as harsh as the windswept Wyoming plains he’d once called home, his features were grim and set, his jaw clenched, his eyes, even in the darkness, drilling into hers.
“Thane,” she said, not bothering with a smile as he stepped into the small circle of light cast by the porch light. “Will wonders never cease?” Somehow she hoped to cover up the fact that she was shell-shocked, that her heart was racing, and a dozen questions blitzed through her mind. “You know, Walker, you’re about the last person I expected to ever darken my door.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “Guess you’re still sharpening your tongue, eh, Maggie?”
“Always,” she lied.
His lips flattened over his teeth for just a second. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? We’re gonna trade insults?” After all these years, he still had the ability to make her feel like a fool. “Right now I don’t have the time, the energy, or the desire.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“What’re you doing here?”
The intensity of the man didn’t let up one iota. He hesitated just a second. “I need your help.”
“My help?” she repeated, not trusting him as far as she could throw him. He was trouble. She’d learned that painful fact a long time ago; the last person she wanted in her life in any way, shape, or form. “I can’t imagine why.” Already shaking her head, she forced herself to stay calm. Just because she thought she’d heard Mary Theresa’s “voice” was no reason to panic. But the fact that he was here had to be more than simple coincidence. Didn’t it? Besides, she wasn’t one to believe in coincidence. Folding her arms over her chest, she met his narrowed gaze with her own. “You know, Thane, you’ve got a helluva lot of nerve. After everything that happened between you and Mary Theresa, I can’t imagine why I would ever consider helping you.”
“Because, if I remember right, that’s the kind of person you are. Even after what happened.”
She stiffened, felt a jab of undeserved guilt, and refused to rise to the bait. Some things were better left dead and buried. She forced a cold smile. “Maybe you’d better explain.”
“It’s Mary Theresa.”
Her heart nearly stopped, though she’d expected as much.
“I don’t know how to say this but to do it straight out,” he admitted, rubbing his hand over a jaw that was in dire need of a shave. “Brace yourself.”
“Oh, God—”
“She’s missing, Maggie. Been gone at least three days. No one knows where she is, but…” He glanced away toward the shadowy hills, then took a deep breath. “It looks bad.”
“How bad?” She held on to the rail of the porch for support, felt the slivers in the tips of her fingers that she hadn’t bothered working out yet.
“Real bad. I thought she might be here.”
“No.” Her stomach twisted.
“I’m surprised the police haven’t called you yet.”
She felt the breath of something cold and sinister against the back of her neck. “You know Mary Theresa,” Maggie heard herself saying, denial running circles in her mind. “This could just be one of her stunts. It’s not like she hasn’t run away before.”
A shadow flickered in his gaze. “This time she doesn’t have a husband to run from.”
“For the love of God, Thane, listen to you. Mary Theresa is fine. She’s just…hiding.”
“But not here? Not with you?”
“No—”
He looked tired. Weary. As if he hadn’t slept in days. As if he really believed that this time Mary Theresa had gotten herself into
