Free Twice Kissed by Lisa Jackson Page A

in the matter, considering the circumstances. “So, I’ve already called Connie, and the airlines, and your teacher at home,” Maggie said, updating her daughter and ignoring her unease at leaving Becca with Dean’s relatives, who sometimes seemed more interested in the family money than they were in their own daughter. “We’ll pick up your assignments from school on the way to Boise, and you’ll fly from there to L.A. Connie will meet you at the airport. She told me Jenny is beside herself. She can’t wait for you to get there.” Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, Maggie opened the closet and, standing on her tiptoes, dragged down an athletic bag that was precariously balanced on the top shelf. “I guess we’d better both get packed.”
    Becca threw back the covers and, using one crutch, hobbled to her dresser. “This is so great,” she said, her eyes bright, any groggy little hint of sleep long vanished from her eyes. “I mean, I’m worried about Marquise and all, but nothing’s really wrong with her. She’s just missing. Like before. She’ll turn up, don’t ya think?”
    “Sure.” No reason to dampen Becca’s suddenly bright spirits, though Maggie wasn’t certain of anything. True, Mary Theresa was flighty and had, over an argument with her agent, a fight with a lover, or a battle with the production company of the few movies she’d acted in, been known to walk off the set, take off for a few days, only to return refreshed and ready to do battle. Since working in Denver, Mary Theresa hadn’t been much happier, though Maggie hadn’t heard of her temper tantrums and never before had Maggie received an anguished, silent call from her sister. More to the point, never before had Thane Walker shown up on her doorstep.
    This time was different.
    “If you need any help in the shower, just let me know,” Maggie said. “Breakfast’ll be on the table in fifteen.”
    ”’Kay,” Becca mumbled, but Maggie doubted if the information registered in her daughter’s brain as she was into sorting through T-shirts, shorts, and jeans—warm weather wear for Southern California.
    Maggie paused at the door. “Pack enough for a week.”
    Becca’s head snapped around in her mother’s direction. “A week?” She couldn’t hide the delight in her eyes. “Really?”
    “I don’t know. But you know my motto—better safe than—”
    ”‘Sorry,’ yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before.” Rolling her eyes expressively, Becca once again dug through her underwear drawer.
    Maggie had already showered, dressed, and packed. Her suitcase, laptop computer, briefcase and oversize purse were piled near the front door. She’d listened to the weather service and, upon hearing that the area was in for an early snowstorm, thrown her ski jacket, gloves, and hat onto the growing pile.
    The coffee had perked, and she popped two waffles into the toaster. Nothing fancy this morning. Just the basics. She heard the creak of the water pipes as Becca turned on the faucet and a few seconds later Becca’s off-key singing floated down the hallway over the rush of water as she showered.
    How long had it been since Becca had sung spontaneously? How long had it been since she’d been truly lighthearted and happy? It seemed like ages. Stop it, Maggie warned herself. No good comes of second-guessing yourself.
    The waffles popped up, and Barkley, ever vigilant under the table, lifted his head and cocked an ear. He let out a low, warning “woof” about the same time as Maggie heard the sound of a truck’s engine rumble up the drive.
    Thane.
    Her heart knocked in a stupid cadence as she spied his old Ford nose through the trees. Get a grip, McCrae, she told herself as she watched him stretch out of the cab, his legs seeming even longer than she remembered. He was wearing reflective aviator sunglasses and a stern expression that Maggie was certain would sour milk. He’s just a man. Nothing more. So what if he lied and betrayed you? So what