mess, evidence that she’d been sleeping.
“Sorry. I had a bad dream. A nightmare.”
“About Marquise,” Becca guessed.
“Yes.” Giving herself a quick mental shake, she stood and walked to the doorway. “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I’m just worried.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll get some more ice and—”
“I’m okay, Mom, really.” Becca yawned. “You just weirded me out. You’ve been acting so strange lately. Today in the barn when you were on your knees, and now with the screaming.” Becca’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. “It’s kinda creepy.”
“Oh, honey.” Without thinking, Maggie wrapped her arms around her daughter, and for once Becca didn’t squirm away. “The last thing I want is to be creepy.”
Becca managed a nervous giggle as she slid out of her mother’s embrace. “I know you’re worried about Marquise, and I heard you and Thane talking about you helping him.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. “I wasn’t really eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” Becca added hastily, her gaze sliding away from her mother’s. “So why don’t you go find out what happened to her?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is. The neighbors will take care of the horses, your book isn’t due for another couple of months, I could miss a few days of school and stay with my friends or Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim in L.A….”
“So that’s what this is all about,” Maggie said, wondering how conniving her daughter was becoming. As the years rolled by it seemed that Becca was developing her own sense of how to manipulate people. Just like Mary Theresa.
“But you could help find Marquise.”
“I could?”
“You write mystery novels, Mom. True crime. You talk to policemen all the time, and you worked for a private investigator, didn’t you?”
“That was a long time ago.”
Becca lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t it kind of like riding a bicycle?”
“Not quite,” Maggie said, chuckling a little as the effects of her nightmare faded away. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
Becca offered a shy smile. “How about that hot cocoa now?”
Maggie wasn’t so groggy that she didn’t realize she was being conned, but she couldn’t help herself. If this was Becca’s self-centered and manipulating way of bonding, so be it. “Okay, okay, but then back to bed, and don’t try and talk me into this trip to Denver, okay? I’ll decide on my own.”
She helped her daughter into the living area of the house, where Becca curled on the sofa with an afghan tossed over her shoulders. The fire had burned low until only red embers glowed behind the screen and the house was taking on the chill of night. Maggie, barefoot and shivering, took the time to throw on a fleece robe and slippers, then quickly heated water for the instant cocoa. As the cups circulated in the microwave, she rummaged in the pantry for marshmallows whose shelf life had expired eons before. “Perfect,” she thought aloud. Culinary creativity had never been one of her attributes. She considered herself the Sergeant Friday of the kitchen: “Just the facts, ma’am.”
Plopping the hard mini-marshmallows into the cups, she asked, “What makes you think if I do go to Denver that I’ll send you to—L.A.? Why wouldn’t you stay with a friend here?”
“Who?”
Maggie stirred the cocoa. Becca had a point. They didn’t know anyone well enough to leave her with for more than a night. “I don’t know.”
“This way I could see my friends.”
“And miss school?”
“I’d make it up.”
“Promise?” Maggie carried a cup to Becca, who, for the first time in weeks, grinned up at her. An eager spark lit her eyes as Maggie sat on the far corner of the couch, tucked her knees up inside the voluminous folds of her dressing gown, and pulled the edge of the afghan over her feet.
“Promise.” Becca blew over her cocoa.
“I’ll think about it,” Maggie
“Sorry. I had a bad dream. A nightmare.”
“About Marquise,” Becca guessed.
“Yes.” Giving herself a quick mental shake, she stood and walked to the doorway. “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I’m just worried.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll get some more ice and—”
“I’m okay, Mom, really.” Becca yawned. “You just weirded me out. You’ve been acting so strange lately. Today in the barn when you were on your knees, and now with the screaming.” Becca’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. “It’s kinda creepy.”
“Oh, honey.” Without thinking, Maggie wrapped her arms around her daughter, and for once Becca didn’t squirm away. “The last thing I want is to be creepy.”
Becca managed a nervous giggle as she slid out of her mother’s embrace. “I know you’re worried about Marquise, and I heard you and Thane talking about you helping him.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. “I wasn’t really eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” Becca added hastily, her gaze sliding away from her mother’s. “So why don’t you go find out what happened to her?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is. The neighbors will take care of the horses, your book isn’t due for another couple of months, I could miss a few days of school and stay with my friends or Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim in L.A….”
“So that’s what this is all about,” Maggie said, wondering how conniving her daughter was becoming. As the years rolled by it seemed that Becca was developing her own sense of how to manipulate people. Just like Mary Theresa.
“But you could help find Marquise.”
“I could?”
“You write mystery novels, Mom. True crime. You talk to policemen all the time, and you worked for a private investigator, didn’t you?”
“That was a long time ago.”
Becca lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t it kind of like riding a bicycle?”
“Not quite,” Maggie said, chuckling a little as the effects of her nightmare faded away. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
Becca offered a shy smile. “How about that hot cocoa now?”
Maggie wasn’t so groggy that she didn’t realize she was being conned, but she couldn’t help herself. If this was Becca’s self-centered and manipulating way of bonding, so be it. “Okay, okay, but then back to bed, and don’t try and talk me into this trip to Denver, okay? I’ll decide on my own.”
She helped her daughter into the living area of the house, where Becca curled on the sofa with an afghan tossed over her shoulders. The fire had burned low until only red embers glowed behind the screen and the house was taking on the chill of night. Maggie, barefoot and shivering, took the time to throw on a fleece robe and slippers, then quickly heated water for the instant cocoa. As the cups circulated in the microwave, she rummaged in the pantry for marshmallows whose shelf life had expired eons before. “Perfect,” she thought aloud. Culinary creativity had never been one of her attributes. She considered herself the Sergeant Friday of the kitchen: “Just the facts, ma’am.”
Plopping the hard mini-marshmallows into the cups, she asked, “What makes you think if I do go to Denver that I’ll send you to—L.A.? Why wouldn’t you stay with a friend here?”
“Who?”
Maggie stirred the cocoa. Becca had a point. They didn’t know anyone well enough to leave her with for more than a night. “I don’t know.”
“This way I could see my friends.”
“And miss school?”
“I’d make it up.”
“Promise?” Maggie carried a cup to Becca, who, for the first time in weeks, grinned up at her. An eager spark lit her eyes as Maggie sat on the far corner of the couch, tucked her knees up inside the voluminous folds of her dressing gown, and pulled the edge of the afghan over her feet.
“Promise.” Becca blew over her cocoa.
“I’ll think about it,” Maggie
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