LITMIR.BIZ

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to fall for that line. At least not again. She was pushing forty, for God’s sake, not a naive girl of seventeen any longer. “People say she has my temper.”

      The edges of his lips lifted a bit. “I pity anyone who crosses her.”

      “Unfortunately, it’s usually me.”

      “I imagine you can handle yourself.”

      “Most of the time.” Maggie glanced at her watch, then gnawed nervously on the corner of her mouth and climbed to her feet. “She should be home by now.” Walking to the large window by the front door, she flipped on the security lamp that was suspended on a pole near the barn. Instantly the gravel lot was washed with garish blue light.

      “Where is she?”

      “Riding. The ridge, I think.” Maggie folded her arms under her breasts and stared through the glass. “She left when it was still light and I thought she’d be back by now.” Already worried sick about Mary Theresa, Maggie felt a gnawing anxiety about her daughter. Opening the door, she walked onto the porch and told herself to calm down, to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. Too much was going on. It wasn’t enough that she had to deal with Thane again, or that he was still as earthy and irreverent as ever, or that Mary Theresa was missing. No, she had to be worried about Becca as well.

      She heard Thane follow her outside, felt him standing close behind her, sensed the raw heat and intensity that seemed to radiate from him. Come on, Becca, she thought, wishing her daughter to appear.

      The temperature had dropped with the nightfall. Winter was steadily on its way, chasing away any hint of Indian summer. “I should never have let her go,” Maggie said, as much to herself as Thane.

      Barkley let out a low, threatening growl, his dark eyes fixed on the stranger who had dared enter his domain.

      “She’ll be okay.”

      “How do you know?” Maggie whirled, her thin temper snapping. She nearly bumped into him as he stood so closely behind her, and she took one step back so that she could glare up at him. “You don’t know a thing about Becca, or this terrain, or her horse, or anything! You come riding up here with bad news, then…then…hang around and offer me platitudes about my daughter’s safety.” She knew she was ranting, that her tongue was running away with her, but her emotions were strung tight as piano wires, her frayed nerves barely allowing any room for sanity.

      He arched one cynical eyebrow, and she bit her tongue. She was on edge. Anxious. And being this close to him didn’t help. All too vividly she remembered his embrace, the strength of ranch-tough muscles surrounding her, the feel of his lips against hers and then the aching, bleak days of living through the Stygian darkness of his betrayal.

      For half a second he stared at her, and her breath got lost somewhere deep in her lungs. “You’re right,” he allowed, eyes thinning in the gloom. “I don’t know anything about you or your kid.”

      The drum of hoofbeats reached Maggie’s ears.

      “Thank God.” She was down the two steps as Jasper, his coat shining silver in the moonglow, galloped through the open gate on the farside of the corral.

      Maggie’s heart nose-dived.

      All her fears congealed.

      No rider appeared on the gelding’s back. His empty saddle was still in place, the loose stirrups flopping at his sides, the reins of his bridle dangling and dancing as he drew up short and reared. Maggie was already running, speeding across the lot and opening the gate to the corral where the gelding, eyes wild and white-rimmed, sweaty coat flecked with lather, pranced nervously.

      “I take it this was her horse.” Thane was right behind her.

      “You take it right,” she agreed, snatching the reins and wondering what she would do. Fear coiled deep in the middle of her, and she had to tell herself silently not to panic. She wanted to latch on to Thane’s earlier bromides, to believe that her daughter was fine. “Something happened. I’ve got to go find her.” She glanced toward the darkened hills, her mind racing a hundred miles a second.

      “I’ll help.”

      “You don’t have to—”

      “Maggie, stop!” Thane’s hands were on her shoulders, hard and firm.

      “But—”

      “I said ‘I’ll help,’” he repeated, and he gave her a tiny shake, as if to get her brain in gear. “You might need me.”

      That much was true, and Becca’s safety was at stake. Nothing else mattered. “You’re right. I…I’ve got flashlights in the house.”

      “Get them.” Squinting, he searched the darkness. “And a cell phone if you have it.”

      “A cell phone?” she asked.

      “In case we need to call for help.”

      “Oh.” She couldn’t think like that, wouldn’t believe that Becca was seriously hurt. Not yet. “I don’t have one, and they don’t work well here anyway.”

      “I’ve got one in the truck. I’ll get it.”

      She didn’t wait. As he strode to his pickup, she tore back to the house, grabbed two flashlights, extra batteries, a couple of blankets, her jacket, and a first-aid kit. She smelled something burning and remembered the stew. Passing the stove, she cranked off all burners and scrounged in a cupboard until she found an old canteen that had come with the place, rinsed it out, and filled it with cold water from the tap. She didn’t want to think that Becca might be injured, but she had to be practical. There was a reason her daughter wasn’t on her horse.

      And it probably wasn’t Becca’s choice.

      Heart in her throat, she tore out of the house with her supplies.

      Jasper, minus his saddle, was tied to the top rail of the fence and seemed docile enough.

      Maggie jogged across the yard.

      Pale light streamed from the windows of the barn. Through the cracked panes, Maggie saw Thane saddling two fresh horses, a pinto named Diablo and a buckskin who had been dubbed Sandman. Shouldering open the barn door, she snagged a leather saddlebag from a peg, then stuffed it with things she hoped she wouldn’t need.

      “Here.” She handed Thane one of the flashlights.

      “Thanks.” He took it from her, their fingers overlapping for a second. “She’s gonna be all right.”

      “I know.” But she didn’t. She bit her lip and turned back to the gelding. With deft fingers she adjusted the cinch on the buckskin’s saddle. Her mind ran in circles, and images of Becca alone and hurt, bleeding and pale, frightened as night closed around her, played through Maggie’s mind. She worked by rote, fastening buckles, shortening stirrups, attaching the saddlebag. “We’ll ride up to the ridge,” she said, smoothing a corner of Sandman’s saddle blanket. “It’s…It’s Becca’s favorite spot. If she’s not there, we’ll double back on an old deer trail that winds along the creek. She could have stopped for a drink or to rest or…or well, who knows? If there isn’t any sign of her, we’ll check the north basin, and if she isn’t there, oh, my God, she has to be, she just has to—”

      “Maggie!” Thane turned quickly and grabbed both her shoulders in his big, calloused hands. His fingers squeezed over the tops of her arms and his breath was hot against the back of her neck. “Just slow down a minute, okay. You’re working yourself into a lather.”

      Words froze in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing the horrid pictures in her mind to retreat to the shadows. Taking deep breaths, she managed to grab the remnants of her composure. For once he was right. She nodded and felt his hands shift as he slowly rotated her to face him.

      When she finally lifted her eyelids, she was staring into a craggy face that was hard and drawn, a face so close to hers she could see his pores, read the

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