by Lara Lacombe
Thorne’s answering smile was full of relief. “Me, too. It’s a real load off my mind. Thanks for being so understanding.” He shoved back from the table and stood, then began gathering up the dishes. “Let me clean this up. It’s the least I can do after you went to all the trouble of cooking.”
Maggie stayed in her chair, content to let Thorne do the dishes. There was a spring in his step she hadn’t seen over the past few days, and he hummed softly to himself as he stood at the sink. She was glad to see he was feeling better after they’d cleared the air.
Her own spirit felt lighter, as well, but she wasn’t ready to celebrate this new turn in their relationship just yet. As much as she wanted to be positive, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder: If it wasn’t for the baby, would Thorne have bothered to apologize for the way he’d treated her?
* * *
The dooryard was empty, but he stuck close to the wall of the stable, darting from shadow to shadow as he made his way toward Mac’s office. Fortunately, the moon was just a sliver of light in the sky, a thin crescent that barely pierced the blue-black darkness of the night. He heard a muffled sigh from within the stables, the gentle whuff of a horse as it shifted and settled again. Did they sense him? Perhaps. But if they registered his presence, they didn’t seem alarmed.
A light gust of wind stirred the air of the yard, carrying the scent of stale smoke. He glanced over to the dark crater in the center and shook his head, kicking himself for his mistake. If things had gone according to plan, he could be sitting at home right now, toasting his success with a snifter of brandy. Instead, he was out here in the dark, creeping around with a sack full of trouble.
The sack in question moved in his hand, its occupants shifting as they tested the boundaries of their fabric prison. He shuddered involuntarily and kept moving. The sooner he was free of this particular burden, the better.
Moving carefully, he gently set the bag on the ground, making sure to keep it well away from his feet. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a few tools, then set to work picking the lock of the office door.
It took a few minutes, as his skills were rusty. But the lock was a simple, older model, and it eventually yielded to his efforts. The door opened with a high-pitched whine of the hinges, and he froze, his heart in his throat. A few of the horses stomped and nickered softly, but seemed to lose interest after a moment of silence.
He waited until the animals had returned to their rest and his heart had slowed to its normal rhythm. Pocketing the tools, he bent and picked up the bag, making sure to hold it at arm’s length as he slipped inside the office.
It was as dark as a tomb, nearly impossible for him to see anything. He squinted, trying to make out the shapes of the furniture in the gloom. He really didn’t want to chance turning on a light, but he needed to put the cargo in the correct place...
He risked a step forward, and his foot connecting with something solid. Pain shot up his leg and he bit back a curse, nearly dropping the bag. It shifted wildly in response and revulsion crawled up his arm. Caution be damned—he wanted to get this over with.
He used his free hand to dig out his cell phone and touched the screen to make it glow. In the soft electronic light, he surveyed the office, debating on the best place to leave his little gift. Not by the door; they might escape before morning. And not on the desk; he didn’t want their presence to be immediately obvious. No, he needed someplace protected but also accessible. Someplace where they would be found, but not before the damage had been done.
The desk sat in the middle of the room, a big wooden construction that looked solid enough to withstand any number of onslaughts. The surface was scarred by years of use and covered in neat piles of paper. A computer monitor sat in one corner like an afterthought, the screen turned at an angle that suggested the machine didn’t see a lot of use. But the light on the bottom right corner blinked green, which indicated the thing was on.
He traced the cords down and found the tower on the floor, tucked away under the desk. The fan whirred softly, but he put his hand on the shell just to be sure. It was warm, but not hot. Perfect.
He set the bag on the floor, in the corner opposite the computer tower. It snugged against the side and front supports of the desk, making it all but invisible to anyone in the office. A person would have to get down on their hands and knees to see it, and given the bits of hay and small clumps of dirt on the carpet, he was willing to bet no one spent a lot of time thinking about the floor.
The knife hissed quietly as he pulled it free from its sheath. He lifted the top of the bag up as far as he could, then made a quick cut in the fabric to create an exit. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he was careful to control his actions. If he hurried now, it would only provoke the beasts within.
He gently placed the fabric back onto the squirming bundle, then scooted out from under the desk as quickly as possible. Once on his feet, he wasted no time getting back to the exit and stepping outside. Just before he shut the door, he reached inside to twist the lock back into place on the handle. The last thing he wanted was to arouse suspicion in the morning. Everything needed to appear normal, with no signs of the danger within.
The wood of the building was cool against his back and he leaned against it, the adrenaline draining from his muscles with every beat of his heart. A sense of relief stole over him, along with a giddy anticipation of what was to come. He allowed himself a smile, then pushed off the wall of the stables and melted into the shadows of the night.
Chapter 10
Maggie woke the next morning and stretched in bed, enjoying the pull of her muscles as she moved. She slid her hands down her stomach, resting them on her lower belly.
“Good morning,” she whispered with a smile.
It was still too early for the pregnancy to be obvious, but her body was already changing. Her breasts felt fuller and often ached during the day. A dull soreness had settled into her hips—not enough to cause her trouble, but definitely noticeable. And her lower belly had taken on a subtle curve as the baby continued to grow. Her pants were getting a little tight, and soon she’d have to buy maternity clothes.
The thought filled her with happiness, and she spent a few pleasant moments imagining how she would look in the coming months, when the pregnancy would be advanced enough for everyone to see. She couldn’t wait to grow big and round. But more than that, she wanted to feel the baby move. The doctor had said it would probably be a while yet, and she hoped the time passed quickly.
Working on Mac’s books would be just the distraction she needed to keep her mind occupied.
Eager to get to work, she showered and dressed as quickly as she was able. Breakfast didn’t sound especially appealing, but she knew it was important to eat, even if it was just a piece of toast. The prenatal vitamins she took every morning ensured the baby was getting what it needed to be healthy, but she still required food. With that in mind, she walked into the kitchen and drew up short as she caught sight of Thorne standing at the sink. He was usually gone by the time she woke up in the morning—the days started early on the ranch.
He saluted her with his coffee cup. “Howdy.”
“Hey,” she said, heading for the fridge. “Everything okay? I’m not used to seeing you in the morning.”
He nodded. “There was a little trouble with a few head of cattle out on the west pasture last night. Mac left early to deal with it, and he asked me to stay behind and get you set up in his office. Says you’re going to be working on a project for him?”
Maggie grabbed the juice and turned to find Thorne holding out a glass for her. She took it with a smile of thanks. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m going to bring your father’s records into the digital age.”
Thorne whistled long and low. “I’ve been trying to get him to join the twenty-first century for years. How’d you manage to convince him
?”
Maggie shrugged and took a sip of cranberry juice. “I’m not sure. Maybe he just likes me better,” she said, unable to resist teasing him a little.
He nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.” Then his voice dropped, coming out as no more than a whisper. “Can’t say I blame him.” His eyes ran up and down her body, appreciation flaring in the depths of his gaze. Maggie’s stomach fluttered at the attention and she felt her face heat. She turned away, focusing on the toaster to hide her reaction. Not knowing how to respond to his compliment, she decided to ignore it. “I don’t think it will take me long to get started. I’m sure you have things to do today.” She gestured to the bread, silently asking if he wanted some toast. He nodded and stepped closer, gently nudging her out of the way so he could take over.
“I’ve got this,” he said, tilting his head at the kitchen table and surrounding chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
She picked up her glass of juice and crossed the room, sliding into one of the chairs with a silent sigh. It did feel good to sit down, even though she hadn’t been on her feet for very long. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Thorne. Unless she missed her guess, he’d seize upon any excuse to insist she stay in bed.
“So...” he said, his tone oh-so-perfectly casual. “Are you sure you feel up to working in Mac’s office today?”
Maggie whipped her head around to look at him, certain he’d read her mind. She expected to see him watching her, a knowing expression on his face. But he stood at the counter, head bent as he spread butter on the toast.
“I should be fine,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
He was quiet a moment as he finished making their breakfast. He walked over and slid a plate in front of her, then took the seat across from her with his own in hand. “I’m just worried,” he said finally. “The doctor ordered you to stay on bed rest—”
“Modified bed rest,” she interrupted. “There is a difference.”
He acknowledged the point with a nod. “Okay. But I don’t want you to overdo it. If it were up to me, I’d drape you in Bubble Wrap and have you stay in bed all the time, at least until the baby is born. But I’m trying not to be overbearing, and I know you’re responsible enough not to take any unnecessary risks.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped and she quickly closed it, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction. It seemed Thorne had really taken their conversation to heart last night, and part of her was gratified to know he was making an effort to respect her wishes.
It was a good start, and she owed him a similar response.
“I’ll be sitting the whole time,” she said. “Which is in line with my doctor’s recommendations. I think I’ll be fine, but if I start to feel tired I’ll come upstairs and lay down to rest.”
“Call me if that happens. I’ll carry you up.”
It was a tempting offer, especially since she knew exactly how it felt to be cradled in Thorne’s strong arms and to feel the play of his muscles as he moved. When he’d brought her home from the hospital, he’d lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and his hold had been gentle but firm as he’d carried her smoothly up the stairs. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to imagine that he was holding her close because he loved her, but given his words last night, she now knew he’d simply been worried about the baby.
Nothing had changed in that respect, and she needed to remember it. No matter how nicely Thorne treated her, no matter how many times he did the dishes, fixed her breakfast, or sent Mac to check on her, all his actions were motivated out of concern for their baby.
Maggie finished her toast and juice and took the dishes to the sink. She turned around and stifled a gasp as she nearly ran into Thorne. He’d sneaked up behind her, and his wide chest filled her vision.
“Whoa,” he said, reaching up to place his hands on her upper arms. His touch was warm against her skin as he steadied her in place. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I do wish you’d let me take care of these things.”
Maggie took a deep breath and immediately wished she hadn’t. The clean scent of Thorne’s soap filled her sinuses, and his breath smelled appealingly of fresh coffee and toast. For a split second, she wanted to lean forward and press her body against his chest, to feel his solid frame against hers. The intensity of her desire sent her reeling, and she shook her head to clear it. Must be the pregnancy hormones, she decided.
“I insist,” Thorne said, clearly mistaking her attempt to regain control of her emotions for argument. He gently steered her away from the sink and made quick work of their dishes. Maggie stood there watching, mesmerized by the leashed strength in his movements as he carefully washed and dried the plates and glasses. There was something very appealing about the contrast of his strong, capable hands and the fragility of the white glass he held.
He hung the towel to dry and turned to her. “Ready to go?”
Maggie nodded, glad to have something else to focus on. Thinking about Thorne would only drive her crazy; she had to remember he was nothing more than a friend now, even though her body might wish otherwise.
They descended the stairs together and walked the short distance to Mac’s office. The horses in the stable were stomping and huffing, eager for attention after their night alone. Maggie was tempted to linger and pet the velvety soft noses poking over stall doors, but she knew Thorne had work to do and that he wouldn’t leave until she was settled.
His keys jingled musically as he pulled them from his pocket, and he held the door open for her, indicating she should precede him into the office. She stepped inside and glanced around, taking note of the desk covered in piles of papers and the filing cabinets that were no doubt filled to bursting. All of a sudden, the enormity of the task hit her, and a wave of fatigue slammed down onto her shoulders. Mac had been using this system for twenty-five years at least—did she really think she could digitize everything in a matter of weeks?
“You appear to have your work cut out for you,” Thorne said, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and sympathy. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.”
She very nearly nodded, but caught herself just in time. This would be a big job, but it was far preferable to sitting upstairs with nothing to do. And besides, she wasn’t going to break her back trying to do everything in one day. She’d focus on one thing at a time, finishing one task before moving on to another. It was the only way to finish a job of this size.
Now she had to decide where to start.
She walked over to the desk chair and sat, surveying the sea of papers before her. “Do you know anything about your father’s filing system?” she asked. “I don’t want to keep you, but if you could point me in the right direction, that would be great. He usually has the relevant documents pulled for me when I come to do his books, so I don’t have a sense of how he organizes things overall.”
Thorne blinked, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car. “I—uh. I think the invoices are arranged by date, with the earlier stuff starting in that drawer.” He pointed to one of the filing cabinets, and she swiveled to see which one he indicated.
“Do you know if he alphabetizes things, or arranges them by merchandise?”
Thorne shook his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” She swiveled back to the desk and reached for the pile of papers nearest to her elbow. “I’ll just take a look and see—”
A strange rattling sound started up, catching her off guard. It sounded a bit like someone was shaking rice in a jar, but that didn’t make any sense...
“Maggie.” Thorne’s voice held a note of command she’d never heard before. “Don’t move.”
She froze, the intensity of his words making her heart trip. The dry buzzing continued, and after a second, she finally put a name to the noise.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, feeli
ng the blood drain from her head. “Is that a rattlesnake?”
* * *
Thorne had never been so scared in his life.
Unless he was hearing things, there was a pissed-off rattlesnake under Mac’s desk.
Right by Maggie’s legs.
If she moved, if she startled it in any way, it would strike. Rattlers were not known for their patience.
“Stay still, Maggie,” he said, trying to sound calm. He could tell by the look on her face she understood the danger she was in, and he didn’t want her to panic while she was still within range of those fangs. Based on the intensity of the sound, he guessed they were dealing with a rather large snake. A shudder of revulsion ran through him, and he fought the urge to run away. How was he supposed to deal with this creature when his instincts screamed at him to make tracks?
Just then, a second buzz started up and Thorne’s heart dropped into his boots. A second snake? How was that even possible?
He dismissed the question immediately—now was not the time to worry about the source of these creatures. He had to get Maggie away from them, and fast.
She heard the new addition and let out a soft whimper. “Thorne,” she whispered, her voice tight with fear. “I don’t know what to do.”
That made two of them. “Just don’t move,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. “They’re warning you because they’re scared. If you don’t move, they should calm down.” Right? Wasn’t that what all the nature shows said? His thoughts tumbled in one after another as he called up everything he knew about rattlesnakes. It was a pathetically short list of facts, dominated by one word: run.
“I don’t know how long I can sit here,” she said, trembling slightly. The rattling intensified, and she closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek.
He couldn’t wait much longer. Despite his assurances to Maggie, there was no guarantee the snakes would relax enough to let her move away to safety. And the longer she stayed there, the madder they were likely to become. It was only a matter of time before they struck, and he didn’t want to imagine the effects of rattlesnake venom on her pregnancy.
