Wishmakers Read Online Free Page A

followed on trembly legs. This certainly wasn't what she'd expected.
    “Is there no one at home?” she asked, struggling to keep the poise she'd been wearing like a borrowed coat since boarding the plane.
    “I doubt it, if Chip or Penny ain't here. Dolly's still in the hospital down at Kalispell,” he said casually, as if she should know what he was talking about.
    “Who lives over there?” She inclined her head toward the other two houses.
    “Curtis and Keith, foremen. The womenfolk are home; the car's there. Kids'll be coming on the school bus soon. Well, I'd better get along. You'll be okay. Chip will come aroarin' in soon. If not, Penny'll be gettin' off the bus—unless she's stayin' in town with Miss Rogers, that is.”
    He turned to leave, and Margaret felt acute panic. “Mr. MacMadden—Tom.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. I didn't realize it was so far from Kalispell to the mill.”
    “Ain't no distance at all in this country.” From his expression, Margaret gathered that shaking hands with a woman was a novelty for him. “Hope you find out what you come for, ma'am.” He walked purposefully to the car and got back in. “Door ain't locked. Nobody much locks up around here.”
    “Thank you again for bringing me out.”
    With his hand to the brim of his hat he saluted and then drove away. Margaret watched him, feeling as misplaced as an elephant in a tree. Try my wings and see the world, she thought. Ha! Nonplussed, she looked across the clearing to the other house and saw a curtain quickly fall into place. Knowing she was being watched, she shouldered her bag, draped her red jacket over her arm, and walked into the house as nonchalantly as the teenaged girl she'd seen on the plane.
    Margaret hesitated inside the door and looked around. The room was half the width of the house and paneled with warm pine. The fireplace was huge, the furnishings plain and uncompromisingly masculine. Chairs and sofa were covered in a soft brown leather, and the floor was carpeted in light tan, along with several braided scatter rugs. A bookcase ran the length of one wall and was filled to overflowing with hardcovers, paperbacks, magazines, and newspapers. At least this is a reading family, Margaret thought as she took it all in at a glance.
    There was another door straight across from where she stood. She walked over, tentatively opened it, and found herself in a short hall with more doors. One gave way into a kitchen the size of the living room. It was bright and cheery, with an oak table standing before a window that commanded a view of the river. Margaret's gaze skimmed over a large cooking range and white counters, and came to rest on a pile of dirty dishes stacked in the stainless-steel sink. She shuddered in distaste, took another look around the room, then peeked into a white tiled bathroom at the end of the hall. To the side of that was another open door. The room beyond had a double dresser and a wardrobe with the doors standing ajar. The bed was unmade, and piles of masculine garments were heaped in the middle of it as if ready for the laundry. Feeling braver, she opened the door across the hall. If it was a bedroom, austerity was the key word for it. With its iron bedstead, four-drawer chest, and looped rug on the bare floor beside the bed, it reminded Margaret of the rooms at the convent where they had put the hard-tohandle girls. She closed the door and looked into the next room. It was larger than the other two. There was a large double bed and a small youth bed covered with stuffed animals. Small scuffed shoes were set beside shiny black patent leather pumps. A ruffled blouse was draped across a chair.
    Margaret gave a sigh of relief. Duncan Thorn was married and had a child. At least now she could exorcise those broad shoulders, blue eyes, and glistening brown hair from her mind. Perhaps that would provide the impetus to send her back to down-to-earth Justin. Had Tom said Thorn's wife was in the