Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [55]
Heart in her throat, Maggie yanked on the reins, and Ink Spot wheeled. “Hiya!” With a slap of the reins, Maggie urged the mare forward and the once-stubborn horse took off, gathering speed and tearing through the open gates of the paddocks surrounding the stable, nose to the wind, bit in her teeth, heading toward the dry hills surrounding the ranch.
Wind streamed through Maggie’s hair and pressed in hot waves against her cheeks. Thane’s words chased after her, but she kept her eyes on the horizon and clamped her mouth shut firmly. She’d be damned if she’d smile.
“So what is it with you and the ranch all the time?” Mary Theresa asked a few days later. She was standing with her back to the bathroom, her head twisted so that she could see the reflection of her backside in the full-length mirror. Elton John was singing in the background, his voice muffled. Clothes were thrown everywhere, including over the speakers of Mary Theresa’s stereo.
Maggie, lazing on the small of her back in a director’s chair with Mary Theresa’s name scripted across the back, propped the heel of one bare foot on the corner of her sister’s bed. While waiting for Mary Theresa, she thumbed through the latest edition of People magazine. They were sharing their mother’s BMW today, which meant that Mary Theresa, because she had “tons of errands,” would drop Maggie off at the ranch.
Maggie made a point of looking at the clock on Mary Theresa’s cluttered night table, then swung her gaze in her sister’s direction. From her vantage point she saw Mary Theresa’s face reflected in the mirror. “I like the ranch. I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes for a riding lesson.”
“I know, I know, we’ll make it.”
“I could just take the car.”
“Forget it. Besides, there’s more to you running out there all the time than just because you take lessons and seem to like the smell of horses.” Mary Theresa’s eyebrows were drawn together, and deep little creases marred the skin between them. “This hangs all wrong. Doesn’t drape,” she said, disgusted with the gauzy pink dress that fell from her shoulders to her knees. “The designer must be a moron.”
Maggie thought the dress looked fine. “Maybe you should wear a bra under it,” she offered, as Mary Theresa’s breasts and nipples were visible through the sheer fabric.
“I will, stupid, when I go out, but a bra won’t affect how the back hangs.”
“Sure it will.” Maggie couldn’t help egging her sister on and felt more than a little satisfaction when Mary Theresa, rolling her eyes, let the dress drop, struggled into a bra, and zipped up again. “See.” She glanced at the clock. She was really going to be late, if M.T. didn’t get a move on. “It’s fine now. Let’s go.”
“Okay, okay,” Mary Theresa said sighing. “So you were right. It looks better.”
“It looks great.” No reason to lie.
Mary sent her a sly glance. “You know, you could do something a little more feminine sometimes.”
Maggie lifted a shoulder and thumbed through the magazine. “I suppose.”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” She adjusted the neckline again and smiled at her reflection. “Especially if you’re trying to impress some boy.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, sure, and you’re hanging out at the stables just because you’re so into horses.”
“I like to ride,” Maggie said without a trace of enthusiasm.
“Uh-huh.” Sighing, Mary Theresa undressed and, wearing only her panties and bra, hung the pink dress on a hanger. “I think you’ve got a boyfriend out there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Maggie paused to look at a slick, black-and-white picture of Princess Anne astride a thoroughbred sailing over