Twice Kissed

  “Maggie will never know,” he said as she reached the door.

  Her hand paused over the doorknob. “Unless you tell her.”

  “What’s this all about, Mary Theresa?”

  She looked over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised, her face as beautiful as that of her sister. Thane’s guts ached with the depth of his betrayal. “It’s personal,” she said, and breezed through the door in a cloud of Maggie’s perfume.

  He heard the sound of a car’s engine being fired, then the chirp of tires. “Good riddance,” he muttered, sick at what had transpired between them. But it was over. He’d never have to face her again.

  Or so he’d thought.

  But he’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

  A month later she turned up pregnant.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So you couldn’t resist making love to her.” Maggie had settled down in the seat, her head propped on the backrest as the city of Denver came into view. Sprawled at the base of the Rocky Mountains, concrete and glass skyscrapers stretched far and wide, rivaling the snow-covered peaks in their ascent to the sky.

  Thane’s eyebrows slammed together. “I couldn’t resist making love to you,” he said, and the interior of the cab seemed suddenly close. “Remember?”

  All too well. Her heart ached with old, never-forgotten pain. “Mary Theresa wasn’t me.”

  “I said, I made a mistake.” He shifted down as he approached the traffic-snarled city. “If it’s any consolation, I paid.” Glancing at Maggie, he added, “Being married to your sister wasn’t a picnic.” A shadow flickered through his eyes and she sensed it was concerning the child he’d never seen born. Silent memories were ghosts between them, dark spirits of distrust and deceit.

  “I don’t know why she impersonated you that night,” he admitted as he turned onto a side street. “I asked, of course, more than once, but she always just lifted a shoulder and said she really didn’t understand it herself, that she just wanted to see if she could fool me.” He shifted down and slowed as a stoplight turned from amber to red. Pedestrians wrapped in thick coats, scarves, and hats crossed in front of the truck, their booted feet moving quickly. “But I’ve always suspected it was something more…something deeper.”

  Maggie shivered inwardly. “No one understands why Mary Theresa does anything,” she whispered, ignoring the frigid sense of dread determinedly crawling up her spine. She had an inkling of something dark and sinister, a facet of Mary Theresa that she’d never known and a side that Thane, as M.T.’s husband, had seen more often than not. Wrapping her arms around her, Maggie added, “I hate to say it, but I think Mary Theresa understands her motives less than any of us do.”

  The light changed, and Thane stepped on the accelerator. “Anyway,” he continued without much inflection, “she showed up, stripped, got into bed with me, and I made the mistake of thinking she was you. In the morning I figured out that I’d been duped, but by that time it was too late. The damage was done. She called me a few weeks later and told me she was pregnant. She laid the choices out to me. Either I married her or she would get an abortion. I picked the first option. But I did think I owed you an explanation. That’s why I drove to your house that night. Remember?”

  Oh, yeah, she remembered all right. In vivid Technicolor. As she gazed through the windshield to the snow-covered streets, Maggie didn’t see the bustle of the city, the pedestrians or traffic or high-rises; instead her sight turned inward and she recalled that night as if it had happened just this past week.

  She’d been swimming laps in the backyard pool, cutting through the water, strong and steady. The day had been warm with the heat of late summer. As she reached the edge, she slowed, stood, and, gulping air, had pushed her hair from her face. As she caught her breath, she recognized the distinctive rumble of an ancient engine without much of a muffler attached. Her heart jolted. Thane! His truck was chugging up the drive. Dear God, what is he doing here? Her father would kill him!

  She scrambled out of the pool.

  The engine died.

  Grabbing her towel, she ran past the hot tub and oleander hedge, her bare feet scraping on the gravel path. As she rounded the corner to the front of the house, she realized she was too late. Thane was already inside.

  Her stomach clenched.

  Cutting through the garage, she rounded the Mercedes and flew through the door to the kitchen.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she heard her father demand. Oh, God. Had Thane bullied his way into the house?

  “Where’s Maggie?” Thane’s voice. Hard. Demanding.

  Her heart tore into a thousand pieces. She was through the kitchen like a shot. “Thane?”

  “Get out, Walker,” her father ordered. They were standing, toe-to-toe, glaring at each other in the wide foyer on the other side of the living room. Shiny-leafed philodendrons and prickly cacti were clustered near the door to soften the austere plaster walls and tile floor, but now the air was charged, the smell of a fight destroying any sense of warmth or ambience.

  Beneath his neatly pressed pin-striped suit, crisp white shirt, and spotless tie, Frank’s muscles were coiled, and he was itching to throw a punch.

  “I just want to talk to your daughter.” Thane’s gaze traveled past the older man’s shoulder as Maggie entered the living room. He looked like he’d been to hell and back. Three days of growth shadowed his jaw, and his cheeks were hollow. Worse yet his eyes—those gorgeous blue-gray eyes—were haunted, as if by Satan himself.

  Her heart squeezed so hard it ached, and she nearly stumbled as she stared at him. Something was wrong. Horribly and undeniably wrong. In a split second she understood that she didn’t want to know what had changed, what demons gnawed at Thane’s soul.

  “Are…are you all right?” she asked in a worried voice that wasn’t her own. Her insides were shaking, her stomach roiling.

  His jaw slid to one side, and he nodded, but the pain in his eyes, the denial, was all too visible. Maggie thought she might get sick.

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” Her heart was a drum, her palms itchy with sweat, denial screaming through her brain. “What’s wrong?” She was dripping, her hair wet, her face scrubbed free of all makeup. Scared beyond anything she’d ever felt before, she started across the living room.

  “I think you’d better go to your room,” Frank flung over his shoulder. In polished wing tips, he’d rocked to the balls of his feet. His arms were rigid but flexed, his fingers curled into fists. When Thane shifted, Frank was his shadow, blocking his way. “And you, Walker, take a hint and leave before things get ugly.”

  “This’ll only take a minute.”

  “I don’t have a minute to give you.”

  “I do.” Maggie swallowed back her fear.

  “Good. Meet me in the truck.” Thane’s gaze held hers. His fists were clenched until his knuckles showed white, his face etched in determination, though she sensed there was an underlying edge of defeat in his expression, something she didn’t understand, something that scared the hell out of her.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Margaret,” her father interjected, though he was still staring at Thane, sizing him up, squaring off for battle. Maggie had seen that intense expression before whenever he and Mitch had gotten into it.

  “It’s important.” Thane’s jaw tightened to the point that the skin was stretched over his cheeks, hollows pronounced. Bloodless lips barely moved. “I want to talk to you alone.”

  “Leave her alone, Walker,” Frank ordered. “Take whatever it is you’re peddling tonight and leave. Stop sniffing around my daughter. Maggie—go to your room.”

  “No!”

  Her father’s head snapped around. His face was beet red, his eyes malicious slits. “Don’t argue with me.”

  But Maggie intended to stand her ground. “I’m going to talk to Thane, Dad, and you can threaten me up and down, say you’re going to throw me out, ground me for the rest of my life, but I want to hear
what he has to say.” She inched her chin up a notch and looked at Thane. The desperation in his eyes warned her that whatever it was he wanted to discuss had caused a piece of his soul to chip away.

  “This man’s a criminal, Maggie. I had him checked out.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She was suddenly cold to the marrow of her bones and barely noticed the beams of headlights that flashed through the window of the living room, didn’t really hear the clank and hum of the garage-door opener as it engaged.

  “He put his father in the hospital a few years back, nearly killed him, isn’t that right, Walker?”

  Thane didn’t say a word.

  “So you stay away from my daughter, or I’ll sic the police on you so fast your head’ll swim.”

  “Frank?” Bernice was walking into the house from the garage. In one arm she carried a sack of groceries, in the other her purse. “There’s a truck outside. Mary Theresa says it belongs to—oh.” She stopped short. “I see.”

  Two steps behind their mother, Mary Theresa appeared. Her face was pale as death, but there was a little spark of triumph in her eyes. Her gaze skated over Maggie to land full force on Thane.

  In that second, Maggie understood.

  Her heart plummeted.

  Blood thundered in her head. No, no, no! she silently screamed as she caught the intimate, aching glance between Thane and M.T., the type of look exchanged only by lovers. Her stomach turned inside out, and her legs felt like rubber.

  “What’s going on?” Bernice asked.

  “For the love of Christ.” Frank’s face had turned the color of ashes.

  A dull roar, like the sound of the surf through a cavern, rushed through Maggie’s head. She was hot and cold all at once, and she started denying the confession before it passed Thane’s lips. “No—”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “I…I don’t want to hear it.” She started from the room, but Thane, quick as a snake striking, sprang past her father and reached forward. Strong, angry fingers captured her arm, whirled her around, forced her to meet the sheer agony etched in the lines near his eyes.

  “Just listen to me, Maggie.”

  “No, leave me alone—”

  “You heard her, Walker! That’s it; Bernice, call the police!”

  “No,” Mary Theresa whispered. “Mom, don’t.”

  Their mother’s face slackened in painful realization. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Mary Theresa and I are getting married,” Thane said.

  “What?” Bernice demanded, her voice low and aching.

  “You’ll have to kill me first!” Frank advanced, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by a look from Thane that would halt an advancing army.

  Married? Maggie shook her head. Had she heard wrong? Married? All her own silly fantasies of loving Thane, of sleeping with him, of marrying him and bearing his children shattered as surely as fragile china on stone. Her throat was hot, tears filled her eyes, and with more strength than she thought was in her body, she yanked and pulled, trying to wrest free from his grip. “I—I don’t want to hear this. I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.”

  “I—I can’t.”

  The fingers on her arm grasped harder, inflicting the same amount of pain reflected in Thane’s eyes.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “You heard her,” Frank said, but some of the starch had left his spine, his shoulders slumped as if he realized for the first time the weight of what was happening.

  “There’s a baby, Maggie,” Thane admitted. “My baby.”

  A squeal of pure, animal agony ripped through the house, and only when Maggie’s legs gave way did she realize that the horrible cry came from her own throat. Thane caught her and held her close as tears rained from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie,” he said in full view of her twin and parents. His lips whispered against her wet hair. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry.”

  “Let go of me.” She started to struggle, sick with herself for the feelings of love that still lingered in her heart and tortured her soul. She should hate him. Detest him. Spit in his face.

  “Just listen.”

  “Go to hell.” She broke free, and, feeling like a fool in her bathing suit, her chest rising and falling in fury, her towel dangling from her neck to the floor, she managed to lift her chin and glare at him. “Don’t ever…ever touch me again. Ever!”

  Stumbling, feet leaden and unsteady, she scrambled out of the room, and when her gaze swung to Mary Theresa’s, she thought she saw a glimmer of satisfaction beneath the shining veneer of her sister’s regretful tears.

  Stomach threatening to upchuck, she managed to grab hold of some rags of her dignity and, with her back ramrod stiff, hustled down the hallway to her room, shut the door slowly, and headed for the bathroom, where she locked both doors and somehow managed to splash cold water over her face before the abdominal pains hit.

  Gale-force cramps struck. Maggie doubled over, becoming so sick she threw up and shook, heaving, crying, feeling that she was about to die, and not really giving a damn either way.

  Thane and Mary Theresa? Oh, God. Let me die right now and end this, she silently prayed. A baby? Mary Theresa is going to have Thane’s child?

  She heard the sound of shouts from the living room, then running footsteps as, presumably, Mary Theresa raced to the sanctuary of her room. Within seconds someone was pounding on the bathroom door. Bam! Bam! Bam!

  “Let me in, Maggie,” Mary Theresa begged. “Oh, God, I made a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.” Her fist thudded against the door. “Let me in. Please.”

  Maggie ignored her. Whatever happened to her sister wasn’t any of her concern. Soon she’d leave Rio Verde for good, and she vowed never to return.

  “If I could do it all over again, I swear, this would never have happened!” Again the pounding, resounding through Maggie’s brain, echoing in her heart. “Maggie, please, let me in!”

  Never, Maggie thought, flushing the toilet as her stomach, emptied of dinner, heaved again. This time nothing but bile spewed from her throat.

  “Go away!” she cried.

  Thane and her sister. Oh, Jesus.

  I’m sorry. I don’t even love him, Mary Theresa cried, and for the first time Maggie heard the difference between the words that passed over her lips and tongue to the “voice” that only she could hear. Maggie, please. I love you. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I love you! Sobbing erupted from the other side of the door, and the pounding became more feeble.

  Maggie curled into a fetal position on the cold tile of the floor, closed her eyes and her ears. The world spun, and the words of an old Beatles’ song, “Yesterday,” reeled through her mind.

  That was the last time Maggie had seen Thane for a long while. He and Mary Theresa had married the day after she and Maggie had turned eighteen and the ceremony had been private, just the two of them, in Reno, Nevada.

  Now, so many years later as they wound through the heart of the city of Denver, Maggie thought it strange that she and Thane were together again, looking for the woman whom they had both once loved, the very woman who had torn them apart.

  “Mary Theresa made it sound like you and she never saw each other again.”

  “We do. Just not a lot. In fact the last time wasn’t all that pleasant.” His lips compressed as he drove around a car that was attempting to park on Larimer Square where redbrick warehouses and buildings built before the turn of the century had been incorporated into shops, galleries, and restaurants. Maggie barely noticed.

  “Why not?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “About?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Money, for the most part. The argument got out of hand. We were at her house and a neighbor overheard it. That’s why the cops think I have something to do with her disappearance.”

  “Did—did you threaten her?” Maggie asked, still disbelieving.


  “I might have.”

  “Might have? Are you crazy? Might have?” She shook her head. “Listen, Thane, you’ve got to be straight with me. What the devil was this about?”

  He hesitated a split second as he edged his truck around a minivan that had decided to stop in a loading zone. “Mary Theresa wanted to borrow money from me. It’s not important.”

  “If the police think you’re a suspect, I’d say it was damned important.”

  “Didn’t you ever fight with your husband?” he asked suddenly. “You were separated, gonna get a divorce, right?” She nodded, some of the wind stolen from her sails. “That’s the way it was between Mary Theresa and me.”

  “But you kept seeing her.”

  “Not like you’d think. It usually was a case of Mary Theresa just showing up. No notice, no phone call beforehand. She just appears. Most of the time at the ranch in California when she needs to get away. Sometimes I’m there. Once in a while she comes up to Cheyenne, but not often.” He glanced at her and added, “It’s never been romantic between Mary Theresa and me, Maggie. Never. Even when we were married. There was lust at first, yes. Lust and guilt, but once the lust wore off, it was just regret. We didn’t have much in common. Still don’t.”

  “But she’s still in contact with you. I don’t understand.”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a cynical smile. His eyes darkened a shade. “That makes two of us. Your sister is a complicated and screwed-up woman, Mag. She…” He shook his head. “She always plays both ends against the middle.” He hesitated, as if searching his own dark soul. “It’s hard to explain, but there are times when she needs something—a place to hide, I guess. Sometimes she’s just broken up with a boyfriend, or there are problems at work or whatever. She just has to get away.”

  “So she runs to you?” Maggie asked, incredulous. Could she have been fooled for so long? True, Mary Theresa was an actress, but why would she keep Maggie in the dark?