Page 61 of The Locksmith's Promise

I fell back against the side of my truck and pressed my lips together.

Maggie waited for the front door to close behind him and Jeff before jogging down the driveway, not stopping until she plowed into my chest.

Fisting her sweater in one hand, her hair in the other, I dragged her into my body and hung on. My chest heaved as I curled around her, blowing like a racehorse as I fought back the pain lacerating me.

Her fingers dug into my back as she arched into me, the length of her soft, curvy body vibrating against mine.

This was her pain, too.

I sucked in a deep breath and gentled my hands, cupping the back of her precious head, splaying my hand over her back.

I closed my eyes, focussed on her, pliant and warm against me.

Feeling everything.

Waves of grief.

And a tsunami of gratitude.

Tossed back and forth on the whims of the past, and Maggie, as always, my anchor.

15

Altered

Maggie

While it took us a bit to pull ourselves together to go inside, dinner went smoother than I thought it would.

Although, why I expected anything less than absolute kindness from my parents was anybody’s guess.

It helped that Baxter bought new baseball mitts for the three of them. My dad’s face lit up so brightly I had to laugh. Reminding him of my sad attempts at playing catch with him as a kid made him laugh harder.

When we called it a night, Baxter shook my dad’s hand, silent communication of the masculine kind exchanged before he headed out the door for one last round of catch in the front yard with Corwin.

Beside me in the front hall, my parents hovered.

My gaze darted between them. “What is it?”

Mom interlaced her fingers gently with mine and curled our joined hands against her chest. “Don’t be afraid to take a chance.”

My eyes bugged out. Kindness was one thing, but this was something else entirely.

“With Bax?” I asked incredulously.

The one who nearly destroyed me?

Smiling, she nodded.

Were you not there? Was it not you scraping me off the floor?

I stammered, searching for a response that might make sense in this new world where Baxter tossed the ball around in my parents’ backyard with our son and my dad after eating my mother’s meatloaf.

“A lot happened back then,” she began hesitantly, “more than you know. Don’t shut out the possibility of a future with him based on a tragedy in the past.”

My blood ran cold. “Tragedy?”

My dad shook his head. “Talk to him, Maggie. I want you to get the story from him, not piecemeal parsed together from wild imaginings or the fodder of rumours. I know Sergeant Elliott was involved. I know he was on Baxter’s side. And I also know he made him leave town.”

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