Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [16]
“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