Twice Kissed. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
out, climbing to her feet and dusting her hands on her jeans. She managed a weak smile, hoping it would mask her lie a little.
Becca with her freckled face, eyes a little too large and a lot too serious for the age of thirteen, was instantly suspicious. “What were you doing in here?” She motioned to the post. “Praying?”
“No—”
“You were on your knees, Mom. Did you, like, have a heart attack or a stroke or what?”
“I was just feeding the horses and I, um, needed…a rest.” Maggie cringed inside because the lie was so ridiculous, but what could she say? That her sister, whom she hadn’t heard from in months, was finally contacting her through telepathy? She’d learned from past experience that no one would believe her, especially not her nearly estranged daughter.
Becca eyed the empty coffee can that had rolled against a burlap sack of feed. “Right.”
“I was. I just…well, if you want to know the truth—”
“That would be a change.”
“Becca,” she reproached, then held her tongue. The strain between them was palpable. Mother and daughter. How had they grown so far apart when they had once been inseparable?
“I…” Oh, God, how would she explain this—this connection she had with her twin? This weird way of communicating when it hadn’t happened in years. “It…It was…just a little spell.”
“A little spell?” Becca repeated, nodding her head as if she had expected just such an answer from a mother she could no longer trust, a woman who had single-handedly ruined her life. Turning away, she didn’t bother hiding the fact that she rolled her eyes.
Frustration caused a headache to pound behind Maggie’s eyes, and her fingers curled into fists. She’d love to tell Becca the truth, but then her daughter would just think she was crazy. Anyone who had heard her try and explain about the odd connection she had with Mary Theresa did. “Yes. A spell. When you get older—”
“You’re only thirty-seven, Mom. You keep telling me it’s not exactly ancient.”
Thirty-seven and sometimes it feels like seventy.
“Maybe you should see a doctor. Another one.” Was there just the hint of concern beneath the sarcasm?
“Maybe I will.” Maggie bent down, picked up the can and found a push broom hanging from a nail. “Nothing to worry about.” She swept with long, sure strokes, though she was still shaken. There was a chance she hadn’t heard anything after all. Maybe she was just overworked—exhausted from the move and the emotional turmoil that she’d been through.
Becca lifted a thin adolescent shoulder. Beneath her baggy polar fleece sweater and faded jeans, she showed off the beginnings of a womanly figure. “I, um, thought I’d go for a ride.”
“The sun’s gonna set soon.”
“I won’t be gone long. What do you care anyway?”
“I care, okay?”
“But I’ll take Jasper. You said yourself he’s more sure-footed than any other horse you’ve ever seen.”
It was useless to argue. No reason to. Becca was right. “Just be back soon, okay? For dinner. Before it gets dark.” She hung up the broom and scooped another ration of oats.
“No one’s gonna get me out here in the middle of nowhere,” Becca said as she pulled down a bridle. “It’s not like when we lived in California, you know, in the middle of civilization.”
“Just be careful.”
“Always am.”
“Take Barkley with you.”
“He’ll come whether I want him to or not, but he’s not much of a watchdog.”
“Just take him.”
“Fine.”
“And let Jasper finish his dinner first, okay?”
Becca rolled her eyes again, then let out a theatrical long-suffering sigh, but she did as she was told, leaving the bridle draped over the top rail of the stalls and even going so far as to grab the pitchfork and toss hay into the mangers. They worked in tense silence, the argument simmering between them. It took all of Maggie’s willpower not to make small talk or criticize her daughter. Patience, she told herself. The resentment will fade. Give it time. Lots of time.
When Becca was in one of her the-world-is-against-me-and-it’s-all-your-fault moods, anything Maggie said would only exacerbate the situation. She had learned it was better to hold her tongue. Besides, Becca wanted answers, and what could Maggie say? I heard your flamboyant aunt’s voice while I was feeding the stock. It came to me right here in this barn, hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away from her? Yeah, right.
When Jasper had eaten his fill, Becca brushed and saddled him, then slid a bridle over his head and walked the gray gelding to the pasture. The rest of the small herd snorted, nipped at each other, and tossed their heads as if they, too, were restless within the confines of the barn. Maggie leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched as Becca climbed into the saddle. Whistling to Barkley, their adopted German shepherd, Becca rode through a series of gates to the Forest Service land, where scrub brush was interrupted by stands of jack and lodgepole pine trees. The dog, with his mangled right ear and bad hind leg, followed right behind, loping easily on three legs across the dry acres that were guarded to the east by the Bitterroot Mountains.
Maggie rubbed her arms. Today, her jacket didn’t seem to keep out the cold of coming winter; or maybe it was because she realized how very much she and Becca were alone. Just the way Maggie had wanted it. As far from the city and all the painful memories of L.A. as she could get.
Becca leaned low over Jasper’s shoulders and eased him into a gallop. The scruffy dog, despite the injuries he’d sustained in a losing battle with a raccoon, loped easily behind as they approached the hills. Becca and Barkley. Both broken souls, Maggie thought anxiously as she ignored the first mournful cry of a coyote hidden somewhere in the distance.
The moon, a smiling crescent that shimmered in opalescent tones, had already risen, though the sun was still undecided about settling into the western horizon where a jet’s wake sliced across the sky before disappearing into a thin veil of slowly gathering clouds. In the fields, cattle stirred, chewing their cuds, switching their tails, lumbering without much grace near a stream that sliced sharply through the fields.
Yes, it was peaceful here, she thought. And safe. The nearest neighbor was half a mile down the road, the closest town not much more than a stoplight, grocery store, post office, and gas station. Maggie considered Settler’s Ridge, Idaho, to be as close to heaven-on-earth as a person could find. Becca was sure the tiny town was the embodiment of hell.
Once Becca had disappeared from sight, Maggie checked the water in the troughs, then walked to the back porch to yank sheets she’d been drying off the line. She’d collected two pins in her mouth and was gathering the yards of percale when the phone jangled. “Great,” she mumbled around the pins.
A second, demanding ring.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming…I’m coming,” she grumbled, spitting out the pins and tossing the bedding into a wicker basket.
Brring!
She hauled the load into the old cabin, dumped it on the table, snagged the receiver, and heard the flat sound of a dial tone in her ear.
“Hello?” she said automatically, then started to hang up only to stare down at the instrument as she shrugged out of her jacket. Who had called? If only she lived in the city as before so that she could check caller ID. Or you could buy a new battery for the answering machine and plug it in. You don’t have to be a hermit.
That much was true. She eyed the mouthpiece of the receiver, then placed the handset into its cradle. So someone had called. Big deal. It could