Twice Kissed. Lisa Jackson

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      “Okay, so you be good for Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim, okay?” Maggie said into the mouthpiece of the pay telephone.

      “I will, Mom.” Becca sounded distracted, ready to bolt; she was in California and didn’t need or want to deal with her mother.

      “I’ll call when I get to Denver.” It was dark, and outside the phone booth snow swirled in a fine powder that piled on the roof of the roadside cafe and covered the parking lot.

      “Fine. Whatever.”

      “Becca—” she reproached and caught sight of filthy words and telephone numbers scratched into the metal where a missing phone book had once been tethered. For a good time call Pamela. Randy loves Jill. Hearts. Arrows. And the usual four letters.

      “I said ‘fine.’”

      There was no reason to try and reprimand her from hundreds of miles away. “Okay. Love ya. Bye.”

      “Bye.” Click. Becca had hung up, and Maggie stared at the receiver for a few heart-wrenching seconds. Her baby was growing away from her, taking off with all the restless energy of a pent-up colt at the gate. Give her time, she told herself as she hung up. Remember how you were at thirteen.

      Inside the diner the smells of grilled onions, smoke, and day-old grease lingered in an invisible cloud near the rafters. The heating system was wheezing as it worked overtime against the dropping outdoor temperature. Colored lights, strung over the windows as if it was nearly Christmas rather than early November, winked merrily. Someone had plugged a jukebox full of quarters, and country music played on and on, accompanied by the tinkle of silverware, the murmur of conversation, and the ripple of discordant riffs of laughter.

      Thane sat on one side of a wooden booth, his jacket hung on a peg. A few glints of gray appeared in the stubble darkening his chin, and the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes aged him a bit, but he still possessed that raw animal magnetism that she’d found fascinating at nineteen, an innate sexuality that some men were cursed with all of their lives.

      “Get her?” he asked, looking up from a plastic-encased menu that sported more than its share of burn marks from cigarettes smoked long ago.

      “Yep.”

      “Everything okay?”

      “Other than rampant teenage attitude?” She picked up her menu, scanned the dinner selections, and avoided the questions in his eyes. Her relationship with her daughter was none of his business. “Have you ordered?”

      “Just coffee.”

      A slim waitress in a checked blouse, tight jeans, and scarf tied loosely around her long neck appeared with two cups and a thermal pot. “Regular?” she asked, and poured as they nodded. “Made up yer minds on dinner?”

      “Burger and fries.” Maggie wasn’t in the mood to count calories or fat grams or anything else for that matter. “With the works.”

      “Same—but cheese on the burger,” Thane ordered.

      “You got it.” She whisked away, slapping the order on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining area.

      “How far to Denver?”

      “Too far.” Thane looked into the night. “We can’t outrun the storm, so we just have to drive as far as we can. Probably Salt Lake. I’ve got studs on the tires, chains in the back if we need ’em. We won’t be stranded.”

      “How do you know?”

      He swung his gaze back to her. “I won’t let that happen.”

      “So now you’re God?”

      His lips pursed. “Just don’t worry.”

      “You take more risks than I do.”

      “I’ll get us through this.”

      “Look, Thane, I said I’d go to Denver with you. I said I’d talk to the police. I even said that I’d vouch for you, though God knows I don’t trust you for a second, but I’ve learned over the years that I shouldn’t rely on anyone, that I can stand on my own two feet, and that they’re steadier than anyone’s shoulder I’ve ever made the mistake of leaning on, including yours.”

      A muscle worked near his temple. “So now we’re down to it, aren’t we?”

      “Just forget it.”

      “You know, Maggie,” he said, resting his head against the wooden back of the booth, “you’re starting to sound like a bitter woman.”

      “I wonder why?” she threw back at him. She was edgy and nervous, saw no reason to hide it. “And really, who cares?”

      “You do.”

      “Do I?” She nearly laughed but he’d hit too close to the mark.

      “It’s not like the girl I remember.”

      She stopped short, her breath caught in her lungs. Don’t fall for this, Maggie. You’re way too smart, and you’ve been burned before. “I think we’d better not go into what you or I remember.”

      “Why not?”

      Was that her heart drumming? “Water under the bridge, cowboy. That’s all it is.” She took a sip of her coffee and was grateful that her hand was steady. This conversation was getting way too personal.

      “I don’t think so.” Suddenly he leaned forward, his elbows landing on the Formica tabletop. “I think you’re scared.”

      Damned straight. “Of what?”

      “Me, СКАЧАТЬ