Read Online MM03 - Saturday Mornings by Peggy Webb - Free Book Online

secret, Aunt Bertha? Why was I given away?”
    “You have to understand, Margaret Leigh. He was married.”
    Aunt Bertha started sobbing again.
    Margaret Leigh sank onto the sofa. The truth hung over the room like an ugly pall. Everything she'd believed in had crumbled at her feet. Everything she had lived was a lie.
    “Who is my mother?”
    Aunt Bertha cried louder.
    “Aunt Bertha.” Margaret Leigh rose from the sofa, gripping the arms for support. “Who is my mother?”
    A shudder went through Aunt Bertha. When she lifted her face, Margaret Leigh saw the truth.
    “I am.”
    The words exploded inside Margaret Leigh. Aunt Bertha, who had preached virtue and goodness, who had railed against scoundrels and sin. Aunt Bertha, who had brought her up to be almost an ice maiden—Aunt Bertha was not her aunt at all. Aunt Bertha was her mother.
    Rage came on the heels of shock. Margaret Leigh threw back her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. Then she marched from the room.
    “Margaret Leigh,” Bertha called after her. “Where are you going?”
    “I'm going to sin.”
    “Wait. Let me explain.”
    Margaret Leigh ran out the door and down the front steps. Blindly, she climbed into her car and turned the key. She was Bertha Adam's bastard. Conceived in sin. Born in secret. She didn't need any explanations. She didn't want any excuses. Lies. Everything in her life had been lies. She wasn't even Margaret Leigh Jones. She was an Adams. And Lord only knew what else.
    She gunned the engine and drove away from the house. It didn't even seem like her house anymore. Nothing seemed real. Where had all her virtue gotten her? Nowhere. Like mother, like daughter. She might as well go out and vamp the whole damned town.
    Her knuckles turned white on the wheel, and she found herself heading out of town. Where did a woman go to sin? She supposed most women knew at least a dozen places, a dozen ways, a dozen men. But she knew only one—Andrew McGill.
    o0o
    His house was dark when she arrived. She didn't care. She walked up the steps and knocked on his door. She didn't wait for an answer but knocked and knocked until her knuckles were bleeding.
    Suddenly the door opened, and Andrew was there in bare feet and tight jeans, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
    “Margaret Leigh. What in the devil...?” Her eyes were huge. She just stood on his front porch, gazing at him with those purple eyes. He took her elbow and gently drew her into the cabin. “Is someone sick? Is it your aunt?”
    Margaret Leigh blinked at him slowly, and then she smiled. “My aunt? My aunt!”
    She threw back her head and laughed. The sound sent shivers down Andrew's spine.
    “Come over here, Margaret Leigh, and sit down.” He led her to the sofa and drew her down, keeping his arm around her shoulders. One hand massaged her upper arm, back and forth, up and down, over and over, touching, comforting.
    “Where's your coat? Did you forget your coat, sweetheart?”
    “No. I didn't forget anything.”
    Her breathing was shallow, and she stared straight ahead as if she were seeing something that he could not.
    “I'm glad you came to me.”
    He moved his hand to her back, keeping up the massage, kneading the stiff muscles in her shoulders, caressing the tense line of her back.
    “I'm a good listener, and I'm a pretty good fixer.” Silence from Margaret Leigh. “I have a sister and a brother, you know. Rick was always an independent cuss, but Jo Beth was a little blond slip of girl who was always getting into trouble.”
    A shudder went through Margaret Leigh. Andrew kept talking and caressing.
    “One time she climbed into the orchard next door to our house and stole some little green apples. She ate until she got sick. I took the punishment for her. I marched next door, holding my baseball cap in my hands, looking contrite, and I apologized to old man Clifford for stealing his apples.”
    A soft sigh from Margaret Leigh. A slight relaxing. Andrew