Kathleen O'Brien - [Cowboy Country] - Texas Baby

TEXASBABY

Kathleen O’Brien

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE MORNINGS.

No, Josie Whitford corrected herself as she poured another round of coffee into Mr. Benetta’s cup, smiling even though she had a hammering headache, that was a laughable understatement.

It was one of thoseyears . The ones in which you just couldn’t catch a break, couldn’t get ahead, couldn’t even run fast enough to stay in place. Ones where you felt yourself stumbling, slipping backward, as if life were a treadmill set on the highest speed, programmed to cycle out the weak.

Of course, the morning itself was lousy, too. Raindrops as fat as marbles, true Texas raindrops, bounced off the oily pavement, and the windows of the Not Guilty Cafe had turned gray and runny. They reminded Josie of the last plate she’d carried to the kitchen, prune juice splashed into the remnants of over-easy eggs. For a minute, just remembering, she thought she might get sick.

Oh, God, she wasn’t finally catching that flu, was she? She’d managed to avoid it all winter, but lately she’d been so run-down, so damn tired. The splat of gravy on her apron, courtesy of the kid at table two, sent up a wave of odor, and the banana she’d had for breakfast rose in her throat.

No.She clamped her jaw.Not on the customer. That would be the perfect excuse to fire her, the one Ed had been waiting for.

She pivoted away from Mr. Benetta, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of bacon grease wafting from the grill. The Not Guilty Cafe didn’t use the best cuts of anything, but it had the benefit of a great location. Tucked into the shadow of Riverfork City Hall and courthouse for the past fifty years, the cafe had become a tradition for the local politicians, businessmen and lawyers.

For a minute, she just stood there, the coffeepot hot against her hand, the banana roiling in her stomach. She looked around, panicked, but oddly paralyzed. On a day like this, when the rain made a good excuse for arriving late to work, the customers lingered, and the cafe was jammed. Where could she throw up without having to pay someone’s dry cleaning bill?

Nowhere. She felt sweat break out on her forehead even as a chill passed across her back, from shoulder to shoulder. She set down the coffeepot, which suddenly felt as heavy as an anchor.

Oh, how she wanted to go home. She longed for a nap, for the soothing warmth of the expensive sheets Chase had bought her that day in the Galleria. Sometimes, when she snuggled down into the five-hundred-thread cocoon, she could imagine that Chase, with his hot hands and his hard body, was still lying there beside her.

That she wasn’t completely alone.

But shewas alone. And unless she intended to sell those sheets to pay next semester’s tuition, she’d better stay put, chills or no chills. She needed every penny she could make today. And then some.

“Hey, gal, come out of that trance. Is your blood sugar low? Table six is getting cranky. And you know Ed’s watching.”

Josie snapped to attention, anxiety taking precedence over nausea. She tossed Marlene, her favorite coworker, a grateful grimace, then glanced toward the front register, where Ed stood, giving her the evil eye.

The bastard. If she was exhausted, it was his fault. He’d been working her double shifts for weeks, seating all the most demanding customers in her section, riding her like a devil. No one could keep that pace, and he knew it. He would torment her as long as he could, for the sheer fun of it, and then he’d fire her.

“Don’t let him get to you, hon.” Marlene leaned in, her shoulder warm against Josie’s, her voice a raspy whisper. “You know he’s just cranky ’cause he can’t get into your pants.”

Josie nodded, though that wasn’t exactly true. Ed was angry, all right. But he wasn’t upset just because Josie always told himno . What made him positively rabid was that she’d told Chase Claytonyes .

Fat lot of good that had done her. At least if she’d slept with Ed she might have gotten a raise and some decent shifts. Sleeping with Chase Clayton hadn’t left her with anything but a bruised heart, a cynical attitude toward romantic dreams and a C on her English lit exam—her first C in four long years at the community college.

And, of course, a set of supersoft sheets.

Maybe her blood sugarwas low. She felt tearful suddenly, just at the thought of Chase, which was really dumb. He’d been gone for two months now, twice as long as the fairy tale had lasted in the first place.

She dug in her pocket for a glucose tablet and popped it surreptitiously into her mouth. Ed saw, of course, though he probably thought it was gum, or an aspirin. Marlene was the only one who knew about her diabetes and the shots she’d taken every day since she was a kid.

Frowning, Ed called her name out in a booming voice. He always talked like a radio announcer, probably to compensate for being shaped like a stick of spaghetti. And maybe other shortcomings, as well. There must be a reason the waitresses secretly called him “pinkie.”

“Josie!” He made a circular “hurry up” motion with his hand. He pointed toward the waiting area, a ten-square-foot nook where some of the biggest deals in Riverfork politics were forged by big, red faced men with soft drawls, Stetson hats and lizard-skin boots.

It wasn’t Josie’s turn to straighten the area, and, just as Marlene warned her, the dad at table six was tapping his menu and shooting her dirty looks, but she knew better than to argue with Ed.

Still, there might be trouble, and she didn’t have the energy to cope with it today. The dad looked like an Alpha male and would undoubtedly complain about her slow service. Ed obviously expected that—wanted it, even. He had a stack of write-ups on her now, and when he got tired of torturing her, he’d stuff them down her throat.

She should quit.

But even that took more energy than she had today.

As she gathered old, crumpled paper coffee cups, dirty stir sticks and torn straw wrappers, she felt Ed’s gaze crawl across her back like bugs.

She took shallow breaths, trying not to smell the old, spilled coffee. Though her hands shook, she moved aside the mints and the rumpled newspaper sections, which felt clammy, absorbing the stormy air. Putting those back together would take forever, but she might as well get started.

Ed was a fool to keep the customers waiting, just to play this power trip on her. Someday one of them would complain to the owners, and he’d learn that managers could lose their jobs, too.

That ought to please her, but somehow it didn’t. She couldn’t really feel anything but this pulsing nausea. She ought to start stumping for a new job. She ought to sue him for sexual harassment.

But the very idea of any of those things felt like climbing a jagged, frozen mountain. She couldn’t even summon up enough indignation to hate him right now.

What on earth was wrong with her? She wondered if her insulin dose might be out of whack after all. Surely this weary exhaustion wasn’t completely emotional. Surely it wasn’t all about Chase Clayton.

Coming home to find her fairy-tale lover vanished, her idyll smashed, had been painful, but not completely crushing. As beautiful as the fantasy had been, she’d always known it couldn’t last. A rich, handsome rancher with 25,000 acres romancing a twenty-five-year-old waitress struggling to make her rent and finish community college?

Yeah, right. Everyone knew howthat story ended.

So, though it had hurt, she’d fully expected to nurse her bruised heart and childish disappointment for a while, then dust herself off and get back to work.

But instead of feeling a little stronger every week, she’d actually been sinking, going deeper each day into this shadowy hole of lethargy. Last night she’d been so depressed she had even picked up the phone and begun calling her mother’s house in Austin.

Luckily, she’d come to her senses before the last number was punched. Her hands had trembled as she put down the receiver, grateful for the near miss. Suppose her stepfather had answered? He’d warned her she couldn’t make it on her own. She’d spent the past seven years proving him wrong, by God, and she wasn’t going to give up now.

She picked up the sports section, the most pawed-over of the lot, naturally, and rearranged the pages. Then she added the front page, with its war news and bold black headlines predicting bird flu, rising murder rates and new taxes.

She closed her eyes, fighting back another wave of nausea.

It must be the flu. Maybe she’d better see the doctor next time Ed gave her a day off. If he ever did.

Finally she located the feature section, which had been folded inside out. The page on top was all weddings and engagements, row upon row of finger-sized pictures of beautiful young women who radiated confidence and optimism, as if they were lit by the shimmer of their engagement diamonds. As if they’d been sprinkled with the magic dust of True Love.

She squeezed the paper so hard it bent and softened in her damp fist. How lovely it would be to feel like that. Adored, pampered, beaming. Your whole life in front of you, and a loving partner to stand beside you, in sickness and in health.

To know that you would never be alone again.

“I’ve transferred table six to Marlene,” Ed said, his swollen voice suddenly right behind her shoulder. “They were ready to get up and leave. For God’s sake, I had no idea cleaning up over here would take you so long.”

Yes, you did, she wanted to cry out. But vomit closed off her throat, and a deep heaviness flowed into her veins, as if she’d been injected with mud. She didn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes on the happy women, the healthy, happy women standing on the threshold of paradise.

Aleshia Phillips to marry Timothy Braxton.

Sandra Culter to marry Arthur Brun.

Susannah Everly to marry Chase Clayton.

What?

Her heart stopped. She tried to take in air, but her throat wasn’t working, either.

Susannah Everly to marry Chase Clayton.

No.

Chase Clayton.

Josie felt her head bobbing, as if her heart beat so hard it shook her whole body with every stroke. She saw her own brown bangs, which needed cutting. They looked dull and lank as they trembled across her vision. She tried to think, but none of the gears in her brain seemed willing to turn.

She held out one hand toward Ed. “I,” she began, strangling the word. “I—”

He had no pity, as usual. He looked annoyed by her incoherence. He shifted, and his cologne filled the air. “Jeez, Josie, get a grip.”

And then, finally, she lost the battle, all the battles. With her pride, with her heart, her exhaustion, and even, to Ed’s dismay, her roiling stomach.

“I—” She tried one more time.

And then she threw up all over his lizard-skin boots.

CHAPTER TWO

TWO HOURSinto his own engagement party, Chase Clayton was bored and restless and having trouble hiding it.

He had agreed to put on a tie and make nice with all their friends for Susannah’s sake—she loved parties—but the truth was, he was bored stiff.

Besides, there was work he needed to do. Well,needed might be an exaggeration. Trent, his ranch manager, was too good to leave much for Chase to worry about.

But there was work he’drather do. Every time another person in this endless line of well-wishers came up, slapped him on the back and offered the same carbon copy congratulations, he smiled politely, but his mind was a mile away, wondering how things were going on the reroofing of the south stable.

When his phone vibrated on his belt, it was like getting a governor’s reprieve. He eased back his jacket and sneaked a peek at the text. Trent had a problem and needed a minute. Chase could say no, but he wasn’t going to. Fate had thrown him a life raft, and he was jumping on.

“Would you excuse me? That call was from Trent. Some kind of hay emergency, if you can believe there is such a thing.” Chase smiled at Jenny Wilcox, the pastor’s wife, who for some unknown reason seemed to be so damn happy about Chase’s engagement that she’d spent the past twenty minutes alternately giggling and then tearing up like a leaky faucet.

“Of course. I’ve kept you from Susannah far too long,” Jenny said, sniffing in a bliss of emotion. “Oh, I’m so pleased that you two finally got together! You’re so perfect together. And with the ranches right next door…oh, it’s just too perfect!”

Before another spill of tears could appear, Chase squeezed her hand and turned away. Trying not to attract attention, he set down his tumbler of ice water and eased toward the corner of the terrace. He wondered, just for a second, whether Trent had manufactured this crisis. He knew Chase well, and might have guessed that his boss needed a breather.

Or maybe it had something to do with Sue. Chase looked over his shoulder. Susannah Everly stood by the fountain talking to Jim Stilling, their lawyer. She held a glass of white wine that caught the sunshine when she drank, tossing it in gold sparkles onto her strong, tanned shoulders. Jim seemed mesmerized, and even Chase had to admit that Sue looked great. That low-cut green dress was the girliest outfit he’d ever seen her wear, and he’d known her all her life.

Any man in his right mind would be thrilled to marry a woman like that.

The man he was about to meet, for instance. Trent Maxwell had loved Susannah for years.

Which showed how Fate enjoyed a little kick of irony, didn’t it?

Chase slipped around the edge of the terrace. As the chatter of voices faded, he strolled to the front of the house, ignoring the small twinge of conscience at being absent from his own celebration.

All through his childhood, he’d been infamous for sneaking away from family parties. His parents had thrown the biggest balls and barbecues in the county. Anything was an excuse for a Clayton festival—Christmas, birthdays, Chase’s elementary school graduation, the full moon…anything. But Chase always found himself bored, drifting down to the riverbank to catch minnows, or into the stables to brush Captain Kirk, the lazy baldface bay his parents had given him when he’d turned fourteen.

“You sure you’re a Clayton, son?” His father, a huge, happy man, loved to snag his young son by the feet. “You sure your mom didn’t slip the corral about nine months before you were born?” He’d check Chase’s heel, just for the pride of seeing the walnut-colored Clayton birthmark. “Yep, you’ve got the family brand, but I’ll be damned if I know where this antisocial stuff sneaked into the bloodline.”

It had sneaked in, though. Chase and Trent had been friends since elementary school, and Chase sometimes wondered whether they had been accidentally switched at birth. Trent was suave and well dressed, socially sought after, the ideal guest. Chase preferred blue jeans and hard work, and the company of horses.

“Hey, corporal, over here,” a voice said, and Chase looked toward the front porch. Trent stood in the shadows, leaning over the balcony, his shoulders oddly stiff. He hadn’t turned his head in Chase’s direction. Instead, he seemed half-frozen, staring out toward the road.

Chase wondered what Trent was looking at. The main house fronted pretty close to the street, so this view wasn’t the one that took your breath away.

The real beauty was from the back, where the party was going on right now. The Double C was substantial, but not grand—25,000 acres now that Chase had bought the Hillman land—and, behind the house, acre after acre of green pasture and ponderosa pines undulated down to the creek. Clayton land splashed right through the clear, pebbled water and then marched across another ten thousand acres of peach orchard, almost all the way to the Austin city limits.

Out here, though, there wasn’t much to see, unless you counted the bluebonnets on either side of the white fence that marked the half-mile driveway. But as Chase drew closer, he got a better view of Trent’s face. He realized his friend hadn’t been looking at anything. He’d just been staring blind.

Of course. This wasn’t going to be an easy day for Trent, no matter how you cut it.

Chase climbed the six steps and joined his manager on the porch, leaning his elbows on the banister, too. “So, what’s up? Is there really a hay emergency, or are you playing guardian angel, giving me a breather?”

Trent laughed. “Both. About the hay—we went with that new company you said you wanted. Old Joe’s daughter’s new business. She delivered a semi load today, and the first three bales were moldy.”

Trent’s educated voice was clipped, clearly irritated. He didn’t tolerate moldy hay, or any other kind of shabby work, which was what made him the perfect ranch manager. He was what cowboys used to call “square.” Completely on top of his job.

“Damn it.” Chase whistled through his teeth and scuffed a toe against the balustrade. “I really wanted to throw her some business. Joe asked me to, and you know he wouldn’t ask a river for water if he were dying of thirst.”

“That’s why I called. Ordinarily, I’d just send it back and get another hay company. We don’t give second chances. But since she’s old Joe’s daughter…”

“Yeah.”Hell’s bells. Chase knew he was without options here. Joe had been ranch manager for two generations of Claytons, and he’d reluctantly retired when Chase’s dad had died five years ago. But the old guy had dropped enough of his sweat on Clayton soil that Chase would always feel beholden. “Okay. Just this one time. She gets a do-over.”

Trent glanced at him, his mouth a one-cornered smile. “Somehow that’s what I thought you’d say.”

Chase smiled, too. Trent wasn’t kidding anybody. This little decision definitely hadn’t required a face-to-face. He’d just been saving Chase’s ass, and Chase appreciated it. Their business was done, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to go back.

For a couple of minutes, they stood together in silence, watching the leaves of the sweet gum tree carve shapes on the front yard. In some intangible way, the silence wasn’t as companionable as it used to be, before Chase’s engagement.

He wondered if Trent was ready to talk about it. For the past month, they’d both pretty much pretended it wasn’t happening.

Finally, without taking his gaze from the grass, Trent spoke. “So. How’s it going back there? I saw her. She looks happy.”

Chase made a noncommittal sound. This was tricky territory they were stepping over, and he wasn’t sure of his footing. “I guess she is. That ranch means a lot to her. If it meant she could keep it, she probably would have married the devil himself.”

Shit.Two seconds into this conversation, and Chase already had a mouthful of foot. “Hell, Trent. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. She would have married anyone.” Trent straightened up and met Chase’s gaze. He shrugged in that elegant way that drove most women mad. “Anyone but me.”

It was so true, there was no way to contradict it. So Chase didn’t try. Every word he thought of had a “quicksand” warning sign posted all over it. Better, when you didn’t have the gift of gab, to shut the hell up.

He considered laying his hand on Trent’s shoulder, but that seemed patronizing, too.

Apparently Trent agreed. He took a deep breath, then began descending the porch stairs. He paused at the bottom. “You heading back now? You probably should, you know. If your mom was here, she would’ve had a fit if she saw you leave your own party.”

Trent was right there, too. Chase’s mother had come from Virginia, and she’d had very strict ideas about how her son should behave. She didn’t mind his quiet nature, but whenever he was rude she’d always “explained” his mistake to him so gently and sweetly he ended up wanting to shoot himself.

“In a minute,” Chase said. “I need a little time alone. Jenny Wilcox was talking my ear off.”

Finally Trent smiled. “Your mom always said trying to teach a Texan manners was like trying to teach a snake to tap-dance.”

“Yeah. But she never had to talk to Jenny Wilcox.”

Trent chuckled, but still hesitated.

“Look, Trent,” Chase said, feeling oddly defensive. “I don’t plan to saddle up and ride off into the sunset. I’m not going to back out on her. I just want a few minutes alone.”

“Okay,” Trent said. “Just don’t…” He frowned. “Don’t stay out here so long it ends up embarrassing her.”

Chase nodded. “Never,” he said solemnly. He held Trent’s gaze. “That’s a promise.”

After Trent was gone, the minutes stretched out quietly, interrupted only by the carrying-on of the robins and the wind flirting with the sweet gum tree. Chase let his tired gaze rest on the bluebonnets, which were blooming their hearts out today.

They should have held the party out here. Susannah had the terrace decorated like something out of a magazine, lots of cute ribbons and potted plants shaped like illustrations from geometry textbooks. But for his money you couldn’t beat the first big honest splash of spring flowers.

He felt his chest relaxing. His breath came deeper, from the gut, where it was supposed to. After a few more minutes, he was a little sun stunned, and when he heard a strange noise in the distance he wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But then he transferred his gaze to the road and identified a foreign spot on the horizon. A car. Almost half a mile away, where the straight, tree-lined drive met the public road. He could tell it was coming too fast, but judging the speed of a vehicle moving straight toward you was tricky.

It wasn’t until it was about two hundred yards away that he realized the driver must be drunk…or crazy. Or both.

The guy was going maybe sixty. On a private drive, where kids or horses or tractors or stupid chickens might come darting out any minute, that was criminal. Chase straightened from his comfortable slouch and waved his hands.

“Slow down, you fool,” he called. He took the porch steps quickly and began walking fast down the driveway.

The car veered, from one side to the other, then up onto the slight rise of the thick green spring grass. It barely missed the fence.

“Slow down, damn it!”

He couldn’t see the driver, but he definitely didn’t recognize the automobile. It was small and old and hadn’t cost much even when it was new. It used to be white, but now it needed either a wash or a new paint job or both.

“Goddamn it, what’s wrong with you?”

At the last minute, he had to jump away, because the idiot behind the wheel clearly wasn’t going to turn to avoid a collision. He couldn’t believe it. The car kept coming, finally slowing a little, but it was too late.

Still going about thirty miles an hour, it slammed into the large, white-brick pillar that marked the front boundaries of the house. The pillar wasn’t going to give an inch, so that car had to. The front end folded up like a paper fan.

It seemed to take forever for the car to settle, as if the trauma happened in slow motion, reverberating from the front to the back of the car in ripples of destruction. The front windshield seemed to ice over with lethal bits of glassy frost. Then the side windows exploded.

The front driver’s door wrenched open, as if the car wanted to expel its contents. Metal buckled hideously. Small pieces like hubcaps skipped and ricocheted insanely across the oyster-shell driveway.

Finally, everything was still. Into the silence, a plume of steam shot up like a geyser, smelling of rust and heat. Its snakelike hiss almost smothered the low, agonized moan of the driver.

Chase’s anger had disappeared. He didn’t feel anything but a dull sense of disbelief. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. Not in his life. Maybe the sun had actually put him to sleep.

But he was already kneeling beside the car. The driver was a woman. There was no air bag. The frosty glass of the windshield was dotted with small flecks of blood. She must have hit it with her head, because just below her hairline a red liquid was seeping out. He touched it. He tried to wipe it away before it reached her eyebrow, though of course that made no sense at all. Her eyes were shut.

Was she conscious? Did he dare move her? Her dress was covered in glass, and the metal of the car was sticking out dangerously in all the wrong places.

Then he remembered, with an intense relief, that every good medical man in the county was here, just behind the house, drinking his champagne. He found his phone and paged Trent.

The woman moaned again.

Alive, then. Thank God for that.

He saw Trent coming toward him, starting out at a lope, but switching to a full run when he saw the car.

“Get Dr. Marchant,” Chase called. “Don’t bother with 911.”

Trent didn’t take long to assess the situation. A fraction of a second, and he began pulling out his cell phone and running toward the house.

The yelling seemed to have roused the woman. She opened her eyes. They were blue, and clouded with pain and confusion.

“Chase,” she said.

His breath stalled. His head pulled back. “What?”

Her only answer was another moan, and he wondered if he had imagined the word. He reached around her and put his arm behind her shoulders. She was tiny. Probably petite by nature, but surely way too thin. He could feel her shoulder blades pushing against her skin, as fragile as the wishbone in a turkey.

She seemed to have passed out, so he put his other arm under her knees and lifted her from the car. He tried to avoid the jagged metal, but her skirt caught on a piece and the tearing sound seemed to wake her again.

“No,” she said. “Please.”

“I’m just trying to help,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”

She seemed profoundly distressed. She wriggled in his arms, and she was so weak, like a broken bird. It made him feel too big and brutish. And intrusive. As if touching her this way, his bare hands against the warm skin behind her knees, were somehow a transgression.

He wished he could be more delicate. But he smelled gasoline, and he knew it wasn’t safe to leave her.

Finally he heard the sound of voices, as guests began to run around the side of the house, alerted by Trent. Dr. Marchant was at the front, racing toward them as if he were forty instead of seventy. Susannah was right behind him, her green dress floating around her trim legs.

“Please,” the woman in his arms murmured again. She looked at him, the expression in her blue eyes lost and bewildered. He wondered if she might be on drugs. Hitting her head on the windshield might account for this unfocused, glazed look, but it couldn’t explain the crazy driving.

“Please, put me down. Susannah…This wedding…”

Chase’s arms tightened instinctively, and he froze in his tracks. She whimpered, and he realized he might be hurting her. “Say that again?”

“The wedding. I have to stop it.”

CHAPTER THREE

CHASE ENDUREDthe next hour the way he’d endured most of the crises in his life—he kept busy.

He played host the best he could. He soothed the hysterical—Jenny Wilcox was hyperventilating and her husband, Pastor Wilcox, wasn’t far behind. He deflected the curious. He tried to get as many guests as possible to go home. This became much more difficult once the rumor began to circulate that the mysterious woman lying upstairs in the north guest room, being tended by Dr. Marchant, was Chase Clayton’s discarded, suicidal lover.

And he refused to dwell on worst-case scenarios. Josephine Ellen Whitford, twenty-five years old, from Riverfork—all information they’d learned from her driver’s license—was going to be okay. She had seemed dazed, scraped and bruised and maybe concussed, but surely not damaged enough to be in danger.

Whatever mischief she’d come here to start, he would face when it presented itself. If it ever did. He still hoped he might have misunderstood her last, slurred words.

He took a deep breath as he waved the Wilcoxes’ car down the drive, which was turning blue in the twilight. He shut his eyes for a minute, gathering his focus for the next job…probably finding a taxi for old Portia Luxton, who had stopped driving ten years ago.

He could handle it, whatever it was. He’d been through worse things than this. His parents’ deaths and the collapse of his first marriage, for starters. And of course the life of a horse breeder came with a hundred little agonies, from the liquid-eyed foals who take a few breaths and die, to the beautiful, doomed stallions whose wild streaks can’t be tamed.

“It’s going to be all right,” Sue said, appearing at his elbow. Her voice was soft. “It’ll be the talk of the town for a week or so, and then Elspeth Grimes will see Elvis in the oil stains on her garage floor and everyone will move on.”

“I know.” He appreciated Sue’s common-sense approach to things, which had been her trademark, even as a child. It was the main reason he’d agreed to this marriage. He could trust her to keep it clean. To carry their plan out to the letter. Marry him, satisfy her autocratic grandfather’s absurd will, then take the money and run.

No sticky emotional swamps. No tangles, no hidden agenda.

No last-minute complications, like sex. Or love.

“I know,” he said again. “I’m just sorry it spoiled your party.”

“It didn’t.” She smiled, but her mouth and her eyes didn’t match. She looked toward the house. “I hope she’s okay. She looked kind of…sick, don’t you think? I mean, not just hurt from the accident, but unwell.”

Chase nodded. He had thought exactly that. Miss Whitford didn’t look like a healthy woman. She was painfully thin, and so pale she might have been made of wax. She probably had beautiful eyes when she was rested, large and blue, with feathery black lashes. But right now they were dull, sunken into deep circles like river stones set in mud.

“I wonder who she is.” Susannah was still looking at the house.

Again, Chase merely nodded, trying to hide how much he, too, wanted the answer to that question. Susannah had no idea that the woman had spoken both their names and had even said she wanted to stop the wedding. He wasn’t planning to talk about those cryptic, disturbing words. Not until he had to.

But for the love of God, what could the woman’s motives be? No one had a problem with this wedding. No one wanted to stop it.

Everyone in Texas knew that Susannah Everly had inherited a raw deal from her grandfather, who had written his will while under the influence of alcohol, the leading edge of Alzheimer’s and one of his all-too-common rages.

It was only fitting, their neighbors believed, that her best childhood pal should help her out of it. A few romantics even dreamed that a butterfly of love might come winging out of the chrysalis of friendship, creating that storybook happy ending everyone craved.

No. No one wanted to stop this wedding. Not even Trent Maxwell. That’s how much the poor sucker loved her.

“Here comes Dr. Marchant,” Sue said. She put her hand on Chase’s arm. He glanced at her steady profile, and he wondered if she’d heard the rumors. What a mess. He remembered promising Trent, just an hour ago, that he’d never embarrass her.

He wondered how long he could keep that promise. Perhaps no longer than it took a seventy-year-old man to travel the few yards of oyster-shell driveway between them and the house.

He watched the old man striding toward them, his shock of leonine white hair glowing, even in this gathering gloaming. His face was unreadable in the dim light, but he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Something in his movements suggested that his news would not be good.

When Marchant reached them, he didn’t waste time with a preamble. He had always given his diagnoses the same way he gave his medicines—nothing more than you needed, and nothing less. And he expected you to take it like a man, even if you were only four and frightened.

He didn’t believe in sugarcoating.

“She’s going to be fine,” he said.

“Oh, thank heaven,” Sue breathed. She squeezed Chase’s forearm.

Chase knew Marchant’s expressions better than Sue. He knew there were more pills here to swallow. “But?”

“The girl is a Type I diabetic,” the doctor said, looking grim. “She hasn’t eaten since this morning, and apparently she vomited that up hours ago. She was very nearly in insulin shock. It’s amazing she could still drive at all.”

“Good grief,” Chase said. “I knew it was something, but I wouldn’t ever have thought of that.” He watched the older man carefully. “Is that all?”

“No.” Marchant glanced toward Susannah. “Maybe we should talk privately?”

Sue’s hand was very still on Chase’s arm. He could feel the slight tremor that ran through her index finger. “Of course,” she said in an even voice. “Whatever you prefer.”

“No,” Chase said. “I don’t have any secrets from Sue, Matt. Whatever it is, tell us both.”

Marchant shrugged. “Okay. Ms. Whitford is generally in very poor condition. Recent weight loss, maybe a little anemic. I’d say she’s overworked, underfed and possibly depressed.”

He hesitated, an uncharacteristic move. It chilled Chase to the bone. Whatever came next, Marchantreally didn’t want to say it.

“The bottom line is, the girl is pregnant.”

Sue’s hand dropped. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. She looked at Chase. “Pregnant?”

Chase looked at her, and he shook his head. “No.” He turned to Marchant and shook his head again. “No.”

“I’m afraid so,” the doctor said, looking first at Chase, then at Susannah, and then back at Chase. For the first time, his dark intelligent eyes showed his age. “I confirmed it, of course, before I agreed to speak to you at all. She is indeed with child. I’d say about three months gone.”

“And…” Chase couldn’t finish the sentence. He shifted his feet to find firmer ground, and then he tried again. “And—”

“And I’m sorry, son. She says that you’re the father.”

 

JOSIE WRAPPED HER PALMSaround the cool glass of orange juice brought to her by a uniformed maid moments ago. She used both hands, because she still felt a little shaky, even though the doctor had assured her that the injection he’d given her should stabilize her blood sugar just fine.

She leaned her head back against the cool sheets and shut her eyes. She must have been pretty far gone this time. She’d had insulin reactions before, of course. They had been a part of her life for two decades, since she was diagnosed at only five years old.

But this one had been the worst ever. The doctor had told her about the crash, though she remembered nothing after she took that last left turn, steering her car under the arching iron sign that said Clayton Creek Ranch.

He said she was lucky, given how fast she was going, to escape with only some cuts and abrasions. But she didn’t feel lucky. She hurt everywhere. And she knew the car was totaled. It probably didn’t look like much to a rich doctor, but it had meant the world to her.

It had meant she could get to work, at least. And to the clinic.

Now what would she do?

Especially if, as she feared, Chase refused—

She heard footsteps coming down the hall, and her hands flew to her hair, trying to smooth the tangles. She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror, and forced them down again.

What was the use? Her hair had lost the shine he used to admire. It wouldn’t spill like honey through his fingers anymore. She’d lost ten pounds, in all the wrong places. She’d cried off her mascara and worried away any hint of lipstick long before she got to the ranch. And now she had a bandage on her forehead and a black eye that made her resemble an off-kilter raccoon.

Chase had turned his back on her two months ago, when she’d been pink-cheeked and bright-eyed with first love. His lust wasn’t likely to be reawakened by her “beauty” today.

She’d have to appeal to his honor, or nothing at all.

Which was why her hands started to tremble again as the footsteps drew closer. This was a man who hadn’t even bothered to leave a goodbye note. Honor probably wasn’t his strong point.

She forced herself to watch the door steadily. She squared her shoulders, trying to look as dignified as possible. She didn’t need to cower before him. She hadn’t created this baby alone. They had done it together, with laughter and tenderness and passion, however short-lived it had been.

She might be a poor waitress, and he might be a rich rancher. But this was the twenty-first century, and she had no intention of slinking away to starve nobly on the streets for her sins. She wasn’t a martyr or a fool.

They’d made the baby together, and they would face the consequences together. She lifted her chin and waited for him to show up in the doorway.

But the man who appeared there wasn’t Chase. He was older, for one thing. Short and neat, brunette and sober-faced.

“Hello, Ms. Whitford,” he said. “I’m Chase Clayton’s lawyer. May I come in?”

“His lawyer?” She felt some of the bravado whoosh out of her, as if a hole had been torn in her sail. So far she’d seen Chase’s doctor, his maid, and now his lawyer. Apparently he had an army of people he could send ahead, like the military’s front lines, to wear the enemy down.

“Yes. Jim Stilling. May I come in?”

She nodded. “Of course, Mr. Stilling. It isn’t my room. I’m not in a position to deny anyone access to it.”

He smiled, waving that idea away and entered the room. He sat on one of the soft chairs, which were covered in butter-colored silk. He looked at home there, even though the decor was so feminine, with powder-blue and butter-yellow-flowered wallpaper, a white lace canopy on the bed and a huge window overlooking rolling green hills.

She’d never slept in a room this beautiful, much less owned one. She’d been trying not to let that intimidate her.

“And please,” he said, still smiling softly. “Call me Jim. So. Are you feeling better?”

Josie knew a lot of lawyers. The Not Guilty Cafe was full of them. Her stepfather was a lawyer, too. But she’d never met one with such warm eyes and gentle smile.

All the better to fool you with, my dear.

“Yes,” she said politely. “Much better.”

“Good. I’d like to talk to you a minute, if you don’t mind. Dr. Marchant has told me about your condition. Apparently you gave him permission to discuss it?”

She flushed slightly, remembering. She’d told the doctor he could shout the news to the whole world if he wanted. She had been angry, embarrassed that she’d caused such a ruckus, ashamed of her scrawny, scraped-up body, which she’d been required to lay bare for his inspection, so that she could prove she wasn’t lying about the baby.

“Yes,” she said. “He has my permission. The pregnancy isn’t something I’ll be able to keep secret very long, anyhow.”

The lawyer steepled his fingers. “And is it your contention that Chase Clayton IV is the father of this child?”

Her eyes narrowed. That sounded like something on a subpoena.

“Maybe we should dispense with this prologue, Mr. Stilling, and get to the point.” She drew herself up even straighter in the bed. She put her hands under the blanket, to hide the tremor that hadn’t quite disappeared. She didn’t want to appear weak. She was tired of being weak. Now that she knew why she had been feeling so sick and exhausted lately, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

And she was all through with cringing and enduring. She was going to be a mother, and that was a job that called for courage. It was time to find out if she had some.

“Yes,” she said. “It is officially, legally, my contention that Chase Clayton IV is the father of my baby. Is it his contention that he isnot? ”

“I didn’t say that,” the man said, shaking his head as if alarmed by her sudden adamance. “I haven’t spoken to Chase about this yet. I assume Dr. Marchant is filling him in on the situation at this very moment. He doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be here. It’s just that, I’m very fond of Chase, and I thought perhaps I might—”

“Make me go away? Make me change my story? That isn’t going to happen, Mr. Stilling. Back in January, Chase and I spent a month as lovers. He may regret that now. In fact, given that he’s planning to marry someone else, I’m fairly sure he does. But regret doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It also doesn’t change the fact that I’m carrying his child.”

“There’s no need to upset yourself, Miss Whitford. I’m not trying to make you do anything. It’s just that…” Stilling looked sincerely uncomfortable. “You see, I’ve known Chase a long time, and it’s hard for me to believe that—”

“Chase is the father,” she said firmly. “I understand that you know nothing about me, about my character. Maybe you think that…I don’t know, that I have dozens of lovers, and I just picked the richest one to pin it on.”

The lawyer shook his head. “No. Really. I’m not implying anything of the sort.”

But he was thinking it. Of course he was. It would be the perfect out for Chase, if he could prove she was a tramp. This Stilling guy was a lawyer, and he represented a rich man accustomed to taking what he wanted and throwing it away when he was through.

Like her stepfather. Funny, how that seemed to be her pattern. Her mother’s husband had forced her out of the house at eighteen. For her own good, he said. So that she’d learn to stand on her own two feet. A year later, in a moment of weakness, she’d asked him if she could move back home for a while, just until she got her AA. He was drunk, of course, but his answer was unequivocal. Hell, no. Having her show up again was the equivalent of having the trash guy bring back his garbage.

As if the insult had happened yesterday, she felt tears pressing at the back of her eyes, and she fought them away. They were part of the old weakness, and she was done with them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But it simply isn’t true. I have had only one lover. It was Chase. I met him at the restaurant where I work, and he was—”

Somehow she stopped herself. She didn’t need to justify herself to this man. She wasn’t on trial for immorality here. She didn’t have to tell him how lonely she’d been, and how the handsome cowboy had swept her off her feet, which were aching like fire from twelve-hour shifts. She didn’t have to admit how easily he’d romanced her with a fancy car, expensive meals and whispers about the stars in her eyes and the honey in her hair.

That story wouldn’t make her look one bit better. It would make her look gullible and pathetic, which was worse than trashy any day.

And anyway, how could she ever describe how sweet Chase had seemed, at the beginning? The first night, after they’d made love, they had stayed up for hours, eating the chocolates he’d brought her and telling each other stories about their childhoods.

The sex had been nice, but it was those stories that had made her fall in love with him. She’d been able to picture him as a little boy of eight, fishing in the creek that bore his name and throwing ev erything back. And at nine, killing a rattlesnake with a golf club and shaking for an hour afterward.

She’d never known a man so willing to admit he had a tender heart.

“Anyhow, it’s all true,” she said. “We spent a month together. Every day. I know all about him, Mr. Stilling. I know he got his first horse when he was fourteen, and its name was Captain Kirk. I know that when he was ten his collie died, and he carved the gravestone himself.”

The lawyer’s eyes widened slightly.

“The doctor says I can’t get out of bed, but if I could, I’d go to that window, and I bet I could see the stone from here. It says Yipster, the World’s Nicest Dog.”

“Anyone could know those things,” he said carefully. “Anyone could—”

“No,” a harsh voice from the doorway said. “Not anyone.”

Stilling leaned forward. “Chase!”

The man in the doorway didn’t take his gaze from Josie. “Only someone who knew me well could have told you those stories, Miss Whitford, and I’d like to know who it was.”

She shook her head, feeling nauseated again. She wondered if her blood sugar might have dipped again, from all the stress. She couldn’t quite follow what seemed to be happening. Who was this? Were they trying to fool her, bringing in someone to pose as Chase and hope she’d snap at the bait?

The man glaring in at her was very tall and beyond handsome, with thick golden hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. They were also the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.

“It was Chase who told me,” she began, her voice betraying her anxiety. It was like walking on a road rigged with land mines. She didn’t know what they were trying to do.

“No,” the man said roughly. “That’s a lie.”

A woman stood at his elbow, just behind him. She looked familiar, though Josie had no idea why. “Chase,” the woman said gently. “That’s too harsh.”

“It’s not harsh—it’s true. You are lying, Miss Whitford. I told you nothing. Until you wrecked your car in my driveway this afternoon, I had never seen you before in my life.”

Dr. Marchant’s low, gruff voice came from the hall, somewhere out of sight. “Chase, really.”

Josie tilted her head back, trying to make enough room in her lungs to breathe. Thank God she wasn’t standing up. She would have fallen into a heap, like a puppet with no strings.

“Well? I’m waiting for an explanation, Miss Whitford. I swear on my life, I have never seen you before.”

He sounded…so certain. So indignant.

So exactly how an honest man unjustly accused would sound.

The bed seemed to tilt. Her heart hitched.

But then everything cleared. And suddenly she understood.

Yes, she thought as she took in the man’s generous mouth, his wide, clear brow and his intelligent eyes, everything finally made sense. The one mystery, the one thing she hadn’t ever been able to figure out, came clear. She’d never understood how a boy who had cried over killing a rattlesnake could grow into a man who could break a woman’s heart without batting an eye.

How could anyone change so much?

He couldn’t. That was the simple, terrifying answer.

He hadn’tchanged . The dashing heartbreaker she’d met, and the tenderhearted rancher’s son whose stories had won her heart…they were two different men entirely.

“Damn it, woman. Say something.”

She met his furious gaze helplessly. She had nothing to say. Not to him. All she could possibly say was…

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Clayton. I’ve never seen you, either.”

CHAPTER FOUR

IT TOOK SEVERAL MINUTESfor Chase to clear the room. Obviously, once Josie had dropped her bomb, no one wanted to leave before the mystery was sorted out.

The lawyer, in particular, resisted. He used euphemisms, but Josie wasn’t an idiot, so she understood. He was trying to warn Chase about being alone in a bedroom with a woman like her. According to Stilling, Josie probably planned to wait thirty seconds, scream “Rape!” and live off the hush money for the rest of her life.

But apparently no one ordered Chase around in his own house, even for his own good. Though he never once raised his voice, pretty soon everyone was filing out, slowly and still chattering, offering last-minute advice.

Everyone except the woman Josie had seen earlier, standing just behind Chase in the doorway. As soon as the auburn-haired beauty entered the room, Josie recognized her. She was Susannah Everly, Chase Clayton’s fiancee. Apparently she was going to be the official witness.

Josie wondered whether Susannah was staying to protect Chase from the crazy lady in the bed, or to protect her own romantic interests. Either way, Josie could imagine how much the woman must resent an interloper on a day like this. Josie had already gathered that she had crashed an engagement party…literally.

“Okay, Ms. Whitford,” Chase said, his voice hard. “Let’s talk.”

Josie braided her fingers in her lap, hoping that would keep them from feeling so shaky. “I wish I knew what to say. Obviously someone’s been impersonating you, Mr. Clayton, and I fell for it. I was upset this morning, when I set out to come here. I’d just learned I was pregnant, and I…I didn’t think it through, I suppose.”

She looked at him, trying to believe what seemed to be true—that he was the real Chase Clayton. “It was terrible timing. I’d say I’m sorry for causing such a commotion, but that doesn’t seem to quite cover it, does it?”

“No,” he agreed. “Not even close.”

She waited, unsure where to go from here. On the exhausting drive to this ranch, she’d been fueled by fiery indignation, believing she must make Chase do right by his own child. But now…

Now she just felt like a fool.

Chase was watching her through narrowed, appraising eyes. She lifted her chin. Okay, she had been a fool, but she didn’t have to be apitiful fool. If only she were sure her legs would hold her, she’d get out of the bed and…

And what? Her car was in bad shape. And she certainly didn’t have money to take a cab all the way back to Riverfork.

“I think maybe you’d better start from the beginning,” he said slowly. “For starters, how did you meet this…this man you thought was me?”

“About three months ago, he came into our cafe, the Not Guilty Cafe in Riverfork. I wait tables there every morning.”

She almost added that she went to school in the afternoons, that she was just one semester away from getting her associate’s degree, but she bit her lip. He hadn’t asked for her life story. And besides, she wasn’t ashamed of being a waitress. She didn’t have to impress this man or his elegant fiancee.

She noticed that Susannah had subtly separated herself from the conversation. The tall, slender woman stood over by the window, silhouetted against the deep blue, dying light. Of course she could still hear every word, but Josie appreciated the tact. At least Josie didn’t have to look into her eyes while she revealed her own stupidity.

She turned back to Chase. “He came in every day for a week before he ever asked me out. He always requested one of my tables. He was friendly. We talked a lot. He said his name was Chase Clayton IV. He told me all about his life, his ranch, his—” She stopped. “I guess it was your life, though. Your ranch.”

“Apparently. But you just swallowed the story whole? You didn’t check him out? You didn’t even ask for identification?”

“No. It never occurred to me. Some things you just take for granted, don’t you? You can’t go around suspecting everyone of fraud. Do you check out every single person you meet?”

“Absolutely. Especially if it involves business, or anyone who will be granted…a degree of intimacy.” He took a step closer. “Like sleeping in my guest room, for instance. Stilling is downstairs doing a LexisNexis search on you right now. If you have a criminal background, he’ll find it. And if you do, then believe me, Miss Whitford, you’ll be out of that bed in a hurry.”

She frowned, stung by his tone. “And you can believeme , Mr. Clayton, that I have no intention of being yourguest one second longer than is absolutely necessary.”

She felt herself flushing. “I’m not sure what you suspect me of, Mr. Clayton. I’ve already admitted, in front of witnesses, that I made a mistake. That I’m not accusing you of being the man who…the man I…”

Over by the window, Susannah stirred. “Chase, Dr. Marchant said she needed to rest. Don’t you think…” She let the sentence dwindle off.

Chase looked at her for a minute. Then he took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right, Sue.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, mussing the golden waves of hair that curled around his collar. “You’re right, darn it. You always are.”

He smiled. It was just a one-sided, self-mocking smile, and it wasn’t even directed at Josie, but it was enough to make the soles of her feet tingle under the covers.Wow. She could only imagine the sex appeal if both sides were in play.

Susannah Everly was a very lucky woman. But then Josie had known that from the moment she glimpsed the woman’s beaming face in the paper.

Chase turned back toward the bed. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitford. I’m being a jerk. If my mother were alive, she’d tan my hide. You are my guest, and I’m not doing a very good job of being a host. And honestly, I don’t always see a conspiracy behind every shrub. It’s just that—”

“I know. I embarrassed you in front of your guests. I’m very sorry. Your reputation—”

He waved his hand. “I don’t give a damn what the guests think. Most of them are my friends, and they’ll understand. The rest of them don’t matter. And, just for the record, the only reputation that matters around here belongs to my horses.”

“Yes, your quarter horses. They’re considered the best in Texas. Especially Alcatraz, right? And you almost didn’t buy him, which would have been a terrible mistake. His stud fees alone—”

“Damn!He knew everything about me, didn’t he?” He narrowed his eyes. “Whois this guy? What can you tell me about him? Did he look like me?”

She gazed at him. “No.”

“What did he look like? Tell me everything you remember. If he knew me that well, I might recognize him.”

She hardly knew where to begin. Looking at this man, trying to think of him as Chase, was as disorienting as looking into a fun house mirror.

Her Chase had been handsome, with a slight, but well-muscled body and a face so pretty it was almost feminine. The day he sauntered into the cafe, his rosebud lips and china-blue eyes had turned every female head. He was a little girl’s childhood dream come to life, a fairy-tale prince with a charmingly cocked Stetson hat and sexy snakeskin boots.

This Chase wasn’t anything that simple. He was too ruggedly male, too intimidatinglyreal , to have stepped out of any kind of dream. He was a good six inches taller than her Chase, with double the shoulder span. His whole body seemed to have been carved from a much-harder material, and his energy radiated out, creating a force field that she imagined few could resist.

His face was full of fascinating contradictions. His square, don’t-mess-with-me jaw came to a sweetly dimpled chin. His bedroom-blue eyes were fringed in black lashes so long that when he shut them they brushed the prominent, knife-blade cheekbones below.

His upper lip came to a sharp bow. Not like her Chase’s lips. This mouth wouldn’t ever make a woman think of rosebuds, because she’d be too busy thinking of…other things.

“He was smaller,” she said, though she knew it was woefully inadequate. “Several inches shorter, and…more wiry all over. He had blond hair and blue eyes, but paler than yours. Less intense.”

“Was he my age?”

“He said he was thirty-one. He looked about that, I’d say. But again, I didn’t check his ID.”

“That could be a million guys in Texas alone, including me. Is there anything else that might help? Did he have an accent? Any scars? Tattoos? Injuries? Anything unique?”

She thought hard. It was strange, but her mental image of Chase—her Chase—had grown fuzzy, like someone seen through a fog. What had done that, she wondered? The discovery that he was not merely a garden-variety love-’em-and-leave-’em heartbreaker, but also a first-class fraud and a liar?

Or had he just been obscured by the sheer force of the real Chase?

“Well…he had a slight Texas accent, a nice voice, well-educated East Texas. But that could have been fake, too, I suppose.”

“What else?”

She shut her eyes and tried to summon up a clear image. “Nothing else, really. Nothing unique, anyhow.”

“There must have been something special about him.” Chase sounded impatient. “You met him only three months ago. Dr. Marchant says you’re almost three months pregnant. So I repeat. There must have been something special about him.”

“Chase.” Susannah left the window and came toward the bed. “I don’t think this is the time to—”

“It’s all right,” Josie said. She squared her shoulders and looked at Chase. “I don’t mind the question. It wasn’t that simple, Mr. Clayton. I didn’t fall for him because of the way he looked. It was the way he acted. It was the way he made me feel. He was nice to me. He was friendly and had a good sense of humor, and he knew how to have fun. He took me out to expensive dinners, and he listened to me when I talked. He rubbed my feet when they hurt after work, and he bought me things. Not flowers and perfumes, but things I needed. A teapot. A clock radio. New sheets.”

Susannah moved even closer, her hand outstretched. “Miss Whitford, you’re very tired. It’s been a terrible day—”

“No,” Josie broke in. She didn’t want pity. Especially not from this woman, who had everything Josie would never have—a healthy, golden life with the real Chase, the sexy rancher with gentle hands and a tender heart.

She hadn’t told them how the fake Chase had really seduced her—using the sweet, corny stories of a little boy who loved his home, his horse and his dog. The little boy who sold a baseball card to buy his mother chocolates, but ate them all before he made it home.

She had believed her heart—and her body—were safe in the hands of a man like that.

She tried to speak. To her horror, she realized she’d begun to choke up again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m all right. I think being pregnant does a number on your hormones, that’s all. I’m not crying. At least not…not because of Chase.”

Chase gazed at her, unblinking. “I’m Chase.”

“Of course.” She wiped roughly under her eyes with the knuckles of her index fingers. “You know what I mean. I’m not crying because of him. I’m anxious about the future, and of course the baby. And I’m shocked to discover how completely I was conned. But I’m not heartbroken.”

“Why not? Are you saying that what you felt for him wasn’t really love?”

She hesitated. That first week, she had thought it might be. But maybe it had just been…hope.

Hope that she could still be lighthearted and happy, in spite of working so hard and worrying every minute about money.

Hope that, on any given day, something special just might walk through that cafe door and single her out.Her. Sickly little Josie Whitford.

Now she had new hope. Hope that she could stay healthy enough to have a healthy baby. Hope that she could be a good mother. Hope that she could face her future, whatever it was, with courage.

And honesty.

She took a deep breath. She might as well begin today.

“No,” she said, in spite of how she knew it would sound. “It definitely wasn’t love.”

 

“WHAT A MESS.” Susannah Everly tossed her front door keys onto the end table and dropped her purse on the floor. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back against the foyer wall. “What a big, bad, super-sized Texas mess.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

Susannah’s eyes flew open. She hadn’t realized that Nicole was within earshot. She’d sent her little sister home with the Parkers hours ago, with instructions to clean her room and do her homework. Judging from how Nikki’s room had looked this morning, that should have taken her a couple of weeks.

Where was she? Susannah scanned the foyer, which was large and beautiful, the prettiest foyer of any ranch in the county. Her mother had decorated this foyer right before she died. Susannah had been fifteen at the time—Nikki a toddler. Susannah had been allowed to pick out the paneling, and she’d chosen a honey pine that she still loved just as much today.

Of course, she loved every inch of Everly Ranch, which had been in her family for six generations. Every hole in the knotty pine floor, every beam and timber and pane of glass. Every leaf on every peach tree in the thousand-acre orchard.

Finally, Susannah spotted Nikki lying at the foot of the staircase, her brown hair fanned out on the floor, just a shade redder than the wood. Her feet were cocked up on the third tread, the cordless phone resting on her stomach. It was her favorite position for a long chat with…

Probably with Eli. The new ranch boy over at the Double C had been spending a lot of time over here, in spite of Susannah’s objections that he was too old for Nikki. It was the new hot spot between Susannah and her sister. Just mention the name Eli Breslin, and things got ugly in a hurry.

Right now she ignored the sight of the phone. She wasn’t up to swimming in that swamp tonight.

“Yeah,” Nikki repeated, a little louder. “I heard.”

Susannah straightened. “You heard what?”

Nicole gave her anoh-brother look.

“Heard about your super-sized mess.” She kicked her bare feet and began using her toes to play with the banister. She knew that irritated Susannah, who actually cared how hard the servants worked.

Nikki had also changed into her tightest cutoff shorts, also guaranteed to annoy. The cream-lace dress she’d worn to the party was probably on a heap in her closet, right above a mildewing swimsuit or stinky sneakers.

“Yep,” Nikki continued when she didn’t get a rise out of Susannah on the first try. “A real mess.Everybody’s talking about it.”

“Everybody? That’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? I’ll bet there are Bedouins in the Sahara who haven’t a clue.”

Susannah leaned toward the mirror over the end table and pretended to check her lipstick, although she’d chewed it off hours ago, back in Chase’s guest room. “And speaking of messes, if I went upstairs right now and looked in your room, what would I find?”

She could see, even in the mirror, the glower that passed across Nikki’s face. She bit back a sigh. Teenagers were so…melodramatic. And the last thing she needed today was more melodrama.

Nikki swung her feet around and sat up, balancing the phone on one knee. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? Your engagement is falling apart, you’re the laughing stock of the whole county, and all you can worry about is my room?”

“Don’t be absurd. My engagement is not falling apart.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s not what I hear.” Nikki climbed to her feet. Her face was bright and feverish, as if she’d worked herself into a real state.

Susannah turned around, more disturbed than she wanted to let on. “What do you hear?”

“I hear that woman in the accident today was Chase’s secret lover. I hear she was trying to commit suicide because Chase was planning to marry you.”

Susannah’s stomach tightened. “Is that what Eli Breslin told you?”

Nikki scowled. “He’s not the only one saying it. You should have seen the Parkers, when they drove me home. They kept looking at each other in this totally shocked way. And then they’d look at me like, poor little kid, she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“I think you’re imagining things, Nikki. The woman in the crash today is just an old friend of Chase’s. She was coming to see him, but she’s a diabetic, and she had gone into insulin shock. That’s why she lost control of her car.”

This was the story she and Chase had agreed on, after they’d left Josie Whitford, pale-faced and frightened, lying in the guest room. As much truth as possible, they’d decided. Not a word of the impostor Chase. It was quite possible, judging from his intimate knowledge of Chase’s history, that he was someone from around here, and they didn’t want to tip him off. Of course, there still was a possibility that the “fake” Chase had been fabricated by Josie Whitford to advance some agenda they didn’t yet understand. Susannah felt sorry for the young woman, but she wasn’t buying her story wholesale. She still had some serious reservations.

Apparently Nikki did, too. She’d scrunched up her nose and mouth. “A diabetic old friend?” She snorted. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

All in all, it was a pretty good story. Still, she might have liked to try it out for the first time on a less cynical audience.

Nikki had scrunched up her nose and mouth. She looked very young when she did that, though of course she’d have died if anyone pointed that out.

She snorted. “A diabetic old friend? Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” Susannah shrugged. “If you prefer to invent lurid fantasies, that’s your choice. All I ask is that you not bore me with them. I’ve got to make some calls for the Burn Center tonight, and I’m tired.”

With a curse, Nikki tossed the phone toward its regular table, but she missed. The plastic went clattering to the floor.

“God, you really don’t give a damn about him, do you? I know you told me it was just a business deal really, whateverthat means. Personally, I think it’s disgusting. You shouldn’t marry a man you don’t have one single feeling for.”

Susannah drew her brows together. “Nikki, that’s out of line. You know I care deeply about Chase.”

“Care deeply?”Nikki snorted. “Icare deeply about my iPod. That’s not how you describe the man you’re going tomarry . Eli says you just want the Clayton money. He’s right, isn’t he? You wouldn’t care if Chase had a hundred secret lovers, would you?”

Her tone was poisonous, even more insulting than usual. Susannah felt the blood drain from her face. Nikki had always been a handful, even as a toddler. She’d seemed older than her years, more precocious and demanding than such a little girl should be. Certainly more than Susannah, who had been forced into surrogate “motherhood,” much too early, knew how to control.

Susannah had always suspected that, behind Nikki’s brash facade, lay a painful insecurity. It made sense. Whether it was fair or not. Nikki probably felt abandoned by their parents, who had died together in a car crash so long ago she hadn’t had a chance to know them. So yeah, Susannah understood. She even ached for her stormy little sister, who didn’t have the memories Susannah had to sustain her.

She just hadn’t known what to do about it.

Maybe, she thought, looking at Nikki now, she had made a mistake, not fully explaining why she and Chase had agreed to a marriage of convenience. She couldn’t just gloss things over anymore, the way she’d done when Nikki was a child. Maybe, at sixteen going on forty, Nikki was old enough to handle all the facts.

“Sit down,” Susannah said.

Nikki looked wary. “Why? I don’t want to hear another lecture about Eli.”

Susannah moved wearily to the staircase, with its beautiful scrolled banister. She lowered herself onto the nearest tread.

“Not Eli, Nik. I want to explain about Chase. And I’m too tired to stand up while I do it.”

Nikki hesitated, but her curiosity overcame her defiance. She plopped down next to Susannah with a heavy sigh. “Okay. Go ahead. Tell me how wrong I am.”

“You’re not wrong.” Susannah leaned back on her elbows, too tired to care what happened to her expensive party dress. “Chase and I aren’t in love, not the way you mean. We’re very good friends—the best. We always have been, ever since we were kids. You know what a super guy he is.”

Nikki shrugged noncommittally, which made Susannah smile. Nikki adored Chase, and everyone knew it. He was the only person on earth she confided in.

“Anyhow, the bottom line is that, because of some weird rules that Grandfather put in his will, I have to get married in order to have any real control of the ranch. And I need control. We’re having money problems. You knew that, right?”

“Of course. How could anyone not know, the way you always go on about it? What I don’t know is how come. The ranch is huge. And our peaches are like the best anywhere. I don’t know anybody who buys anything else.”

Susannah thought of all the planning, fretting, investing and pure backbreaking work that went into creating those lush peaches everyone wanted in their pretty cut-glass dessert bowls. But she’d always spared Nikki the details, trying to allow her to grow up carefree, without the worries and obligations that had weighed Susannah down too soon.

Maybe that had been a mistake, too. Maybe a little responsibility would have been good for her.

Well, better late than never.

“It’s a combination of a lot of things, Nik. We’ve had frost two years running. That hurt us a lot. And some of the acres on the west ridge are just about used up. They’ll have to lie dormant for a few years before they can be replanted. Worst of all, though, is that one of our best buyers is in deep financial trouble. They just might go bankrupt.”

“So? Can’t you find another buyer?”

“Believe me, I’m trying. But it’s not that easy. There’s a lot of competition. The thing is, we’ve crunched the numbers every way we can think of, and the only answer is to sell some of the land.”

Nikki’s mouth hung open. “Sell Everly?”

Susannah put her hand on Nikki’s arm. “Not the whole ranch, honey. Everly has always belonged to the Everlys, and it always will. Just a couple of hundred acres, not enough to miss really. But enough to put us back in the black.”

Nikki rubbed the pad of her thumb over the glossy pink polish on her index finger. Susannah knew that habit. It meant Nikki was thinking hard.

She hoped she wasn’t overloading her with too much scary information. There was a mighty fine line between character-building and spirit-crushing.

“I guess I still don’t understand what this has to do with marrying Chase,” Nikki muttered, staring down at her finger. “Grandfather left you the ranch, right? Can’t you do whatever you want?”

“Not unless I’m married, and even then my husband gets to make the decisions. You know how Grandfather was. You know how he felt about women.”

Nikki looked up with a half smile. “Totally chauvinist? Totally caveman?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Susannah sighed, remembering the fights, the rip-roaring yell-fests as she tried to keep an ornery ninety-year-old man from running the ranch into the ground. Arlington H. Everly had a true Texas-sized ego. No one told him what to do. But take advice from a woman? “Not unless my wits get up and go prancing in the pepper patch,” he’d vowed.

Tragically, toward the end, it had come to that.

“Does Chase know all this stuff?” Nikki’s upturned face looked pale, and, although Susannah might be imagining this, she looked a tiny bit older already.

“Yeah. He knows. He’s doing me a favor. You can see that I couldn’t risk marrying just anyone. They’d get control of the ranch, and…”

She couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Anyhow, I trust Chase. After we’ve been married a year, he can sell the acres we need to unload. Grandfather didn’t stipulate how long the marriage had to last beyond that first year. So then we’ll end it, and we’ll go back to being friends.”

She looked down at Nikki, and to her surprise realized that the girl’s eyes were glistening in the light from the overhead chandelier.

Susannah felt her heart squeeze. Damn it. She reallyhad screwed up. Nikki must actually have hoped that the “marriage of convenience” might turn into more than that.

She must actually have hoped Chase might become her big brother for real.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about all this sooner—”

“Don’t be,” Nikki said roughly. She stood, yanked on the hem of her short-shorts, stretching them out just enough to cover the lacy white underwear. “I don’t care what you do.”

She headed up the stairs. Susannah watched her go helplessly.

“Nikki…”

The girl reached the first landing, then turned furiously, her face set and white. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. You tell me I shouldn’t hang out with Eli. Well, at least we really love each other.”

“Love?” Susannah rose instinctively to her feet.“Love?”

“That’s right. And you can say whatever you want about how young I am, or how stupid I am. At least I knowhow to love somebody. So I guess I’m not as stupid as you are.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CHASE HAD MADE ITcrystal clear. Under no circumstances was Josie to get up before Dr. Marchant came in the morning, checked her out and gave her the green light.

But by nine, she was too restless to stay put a minute longer, even in this comfortable guest suite, a bedroom and bath that together were nearly as big as her whole apartment.

She’d been awake for hours, since the first bout of morning sickness swept through her around dawn. During the night, someone had placed a tray of soda crackers and a pitcher of ice water beside her bed, and by six she felt strong enough to nibble the edge of one of the little saltine squares.

After that, the house had been too full of noise, doors banging and people calling to one another, trucks pulling up in the drive, horses whinnying and phones ringing. The ranch was coming awake for the day.

A few minutes later, the sun woke up, too, and her pretty room filled with clear lime-colored light that danced on mirrors and curlicue silver picture frames, and even on her water glass.

But she remembered her promise and tried to sit still, waiting for the doctor. She pulled one of the chairs up to the window and sat for an hour, just drinking in the beauty of the ranchland. It seemed to stretch out to forever. The hills rolled softly into the distance, going from green to gray to foggy blue.

She’d been right about where the little hand-carved headstone should be. From her window, she could just see it, beneath the sparkleberry tree, which was shedding its starry white flowers all over the collie’s grave.

Funny, that one spot of the Clayton Creek Ranch had been as vividly real to her as her own kitchen. Her lover—she no longer found it comfortable to call him Chase—had described it so perfectly, down to the way the headstone had been set crooked in the grass.

She tried to picture him standing there, staring down at the sweet, silly inscription and thinking,Yes, I can use this someday. Some brainless bimbo will fall for this like a pile of rocks.

After that, she’d paced the room for a while, testing out her legs. In spite of a roaring headache and her purpling bruises, she felt stronger today.

Probably because she’d had a good night’s sleep. And, for once, her stomach hadn’t been required to wake right up and handle the smell of greasy sausage and fat-marbled bacon.

But even the luxury of laziness grew uncomfortable after a while. She was used to being busy. She checked her watch. Nine-thirty. Despite Chase’s command, she needed to get going.

She started with her shot—thank goodness she’d had enough presence of mind, after the shock of discovering she was pregnant, to pack a small bag of essentials, including her insulin.

She wouldn’t have wanted to do without a change of clothes, either. Yesterday’s outfit was ruined. The skirt was torn, and the scoop neckline was newly decorated with a circlet of teardrop-shaped bloodstains.

The guest bathroom was well stocked, so she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She stared at the raccoon-eyed stranger in the mirror, and tried to fluff her hair into some semblance of self-respect. It was hopeless, so she gave up.

When she left her room, she entered a long, wide hallway that smelled like a spring garden. Simple arrangements of hand-picked blooms—from phlox to daffodils—were everywhere, on tables, beside windows, even spilling out of an architectural niche in the wall.

Someone at the Clayton Creek Ranch was passionate about flowers—and she quickly discovered who it was. As she turned the corner toward the staircase, she spotted a short, round woman bending over a vase, clearly searching for the perfect placement of a sprig of bright pink dogwood.

The woman looked up as she heard Josie’s footsteps. She was probably about fifty, but she had a baby face, cheeks as pink as the flower and the most cheerful smile Josie had ever seen.

“You must be Miss Whitford! How are you feeling, honey? I’m Imogene. Officially I’m the housekeeper, but in reality I do everything around here. Absolutely everything. You looking for Chase? He’s still out on the terrace, ignoring that fine breakfast I cooked him. There’s plenty, if you’re hungry.”

Josie smiled, not sure where to grab the conversation first. “I’m feeling much better, thanks,” she said carefully, unsure how much Chase would have told his housekeeper.

“And I am a bit hungry.” Josie peered over the banister to the sprawling layout below. “But I’m not sure how to get to the terrace.”

Imogene tucked the sprig of dogwood into the vase, gave the arrangement one last fluff, then held out her hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

She led Josie to a big bay window at the end of the hall. “He’s right down there, see? Three cups of coffee, but not one forkful of hash browns. Not even a melon cube. The boy could drive a saint insane.”

Josie squinted against the bright morning light. At first she just saw the only trees, green grass and white paddock fences. But then she saw Chase.

“Oh, yes. But how do I get out there?”

Imogene patted her arm. “Easy as pie. The house is just one big C-shaped box. Take the main staircase down, U-turn at the bottom and follow the sunlight. Or the intoxicating smell of my world-famous hash browns.”

It really was that easy. Josie didn’t stop to look into any of the spacious, flower-filled rooms she passed. She didn’t want to risk missing her chance to talk to Chase alone.

He had his back to the doorway, so he didn’t see her coming. He seemed engrossed in the newspaper, which was folded in half and resting against his leg, which he’d propped against the wrought-iron trestle table. The table practically buckled with food—hard-boiled eggs, bagels, toast, ham, pastries, fresh melons and berries, and enough coffee and tea and juices to float the whole terrace away down the hill.

But he didn’t seem to be eating any of it. His left hand rested absently against a coffee cup that she knew had gone cold long ago.

She stole a minute to look at him, to gather her courage. And to see if, in yesterday’s emotional state, she had been imagining his extraordinary good looks.

She hadn’t.

His golden hair tumbled freely across his broad forehead, and his chin was dusted with a stubble about two shades darker. He wore faded jeans and soft leather boots, but they were topped by an expensive blue dress shirt that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. An elegant navy blazer with gold buttons lay across the back of another chair.

He wasn’t glossed up for a party today, but the real, everyday Chase Clayton was even more attractive.

Half big business, half cowboy. All man.

“Mr. Clayton?”

“Do you think you could bring yourself to call me Chase?”

She frowned. “I think that, given our situation…given how you feel about my showing up here—’

“No.” He put out a hand. “Look, I need to apologize. I was a jerk yesterday. I was just shocked, that’s all. But I shouldn’t have been so rough. Please call me Chase? This Mr. Clayton stuff is so formal, given…” He grimaced. “Well, given that you seem to know every dumb thing I ever did in my checkered past.”

She nodded. “Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Chase.”

It felt awkward, though, and her voice cracked.

“Darn it. Don’t say it like that. Say it like you mean it.” He took a sip of coffee and grimaced, discovering no doubt that it was stone-cold. “Itis my name, you know. I’ll be damned if I’m going to feel like I stole it from him.”

“Of course not,” she said.“Chase.”

“That’s better. Now, grab some breakfast and tell me what you’re doing out of bed. I thought you were going to wait for Marchant.”

“I was. But I’m not used to sleeping this late. And if I’m going to make arrangements to get back to Riverfork today…”

His blue eyes widened. “You’re planning to go backtoday ?”

“If I can, I think I should. You’ve been very nice, Mr.—I mean, Chase. But I can’t take advantage of your hospitality forever.”

“One day is hardly forever. And what about your car? I haven’t heard from the garage, but I have a feeling your insurance company is going to total it out. You probably don’t remember how it looked, having been unconscious at the time, but I do.” He smiled. “It was a wreck.”

She didn’t doubt it. The details were hazy, like images from a nightmare, but she half remembered the smell of gas, and the surreal hissing of steam.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed. “They’ll never pay to repair it. The car might have been worth five hundred dollars, but only if I’d just filled the gas tank.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he’d thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. A line appeared between his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “I’m not hinting that I need a ride all the way back to Riverfork. Though I would appreciate it if you could spare a car to take me to the bus station.”

His frown deepened. “The bus station?”

“Yes.” He probably wouldn’t be caught dead boarding a bus, but she was very glad that she could actually afford to do so. When she first woke up, she’d used the phone in the guest room to call her bank’s 800 number and confirm her checking account balance. Then she’d called Greyhound’s toll-free line and inquired about the price of a one way ticket to Riverfork.

The first number was, thank God, slightly larger than the second. She could at least get home on her own steam, and salvage that much of her pride.

After that…

Well, after that things were likely to get a little sticky. With no job and no money, and a fatherless baby on the way…

“Look, Josie.” Chase put one foot up on the edge of his chair and leaned his elbow on his knee. “Please get something to eat and sit down. We need to talk.”

“About—” She caught herself before she said “Chase.” “About the man who used your name?”

“Yes.” He grabbed a plate and began piling juicy squares of cantaloupe onto it. “Look, you need to eat. Marchant told me a little about diabetes, and if you’ve had your insulin, you really need—”

He broke off, frowning. “You have had your insulin, right?”

She smiled at the protective tone, though she knew he was probably only worried she might pass out, bust her head on these pretty Mexican tiles, then file a lawsuit. “Yes. I’ve had it.”

“Good. So first, you eat. Then, we’ll talk about—” He handed her the plate and a fork. “You know, we really need to think of something to call this jerk. I’ve got some colorful ideas, but I don’t think Miss Manners would approve of any of them.”

She took the chair he held out and, settling the plate on the table, speared one of the pieces of cantaloupe. She did need food, and besides, it looked too good to resist. And Imogene had been right about the hash browns. After two years at the Not Guilty Cafe, Josie had forgotten that hash browns could smell like fresh onions and crisp peppers instead of day-old backfat.

“How about Fake Chase?” She raised her brows. “That’s what I’ve been using in my head.”

“No. No Chase anything. I want a clear distinction between him and me.” He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, then sat back down beside her. “Okay, let’s see. How about Mr. Flim Flam?”

She smiled wryly. “That fits, I guess.”

“Okay, then.” He slapped the table, then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Flim Flam it is. Flim for short.”

While she applied herself to the fruit, he got another plate and filled it with a couple of eggs, some hash browns and a bagel.

“I can’t eat all that,” she said, alarmed.

“Try. I’ll share it with you. That’ll make Imogene deliriously happy.”

They ate in silence a few minutes. At some point, she sensed that he was just watching her, so she looked up.

“What?”

Out here, in the morning sunlight, his eyes looked bluer than the sky over his head, and just as clear and steady.

“I’m going to have to find him, Josie. You know that, right?”

Someone was training a horse in the nearest paddock, and she could hear the low nickering, alternating with the trainer’s gentle voice. She shut her eyes for a minute, enjoying the peaceful sound.

“Yes,” she said. She opened her eyes again and met his gaze calmly. “I don’t blame you. He can’t be allowed to go on using your identity for…for his own purposes.”

“No. He can’t.”

“What will you do when you find him? Will he go to jail?”

“Would that bother you?”

She thought a minute. “I don’t know. Part of me would like to watch while you string him up by the thumbs.” She chewed the final nugget of cantaloupe. “But another part of me…”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “Please don’t tell me you still harbor the secret dream of becoming Mrs. Flim Flam.”

“Of course not. Even when we first started out, I always knew he wasn’t going to stay forever. That wasn’t why I came here, you know. I wasn’t going to try to force you…him…anyone…to marry me.”

“Why did you come, then?” He toyed with his coffee, though he hadn’t taken his gaze from her. “What made you drive here like a bat out of hell, not even stopping long enough to eat?”

She’d known he’d ask, sooner or later. Again, she could only be honest, no matter how idiotic it sounded.

“I got sick at work yesterday morning, and so I went to the clinic. I thought I had the flu. I assumed the doctor would give me some pills, and my biggest fear was trying to find the money to fill the prescription. But when he told me that I was pregnant…”

She moved the hash browns around on her plate, her appetite vanishing. It was difficult, even thinking back to yesterday, when the words “you’re going to have a baby” had come at her like a wrecking ball, knocking her into a million little pieces.

Luckily, she seemed strong enough today that she didn’t choke up every time she tried to explain herself about anything.

“The truth is, I think I just panicked. It was overwhelming. I was terrified. I don’t make much money as a waitress—and I’ve been using every extra penny for my tuition at the community college. But ababy …I knew I couldn’t manage without help. All I knew was that Chase—”

“Not Chase.” He touched her hand, a gentle reminder. “Flim.”

“Right.” She tried to smile. “Anyhow, all I could think was that Flim had an obligation to this baby. That he couldn’t just run away and leave me to deal with it alone.”

He hadn’t moved his hand, and now he exerted a small pressure. It didn’t feel like pity, which she would have hated. It felt like understanding, one human being to another. The warmth was bracing, and Josie realized her fingers were cold, even though the spring morning was mild and sunny.

“That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say,” he said. “You’re right, Josie. He can’t just run away. We need to find this guy. Both of us. We may have different reasons, but they amount to the same thing. We both want him to pay for what he’s done. I think we should work together.”

“Together?”

“Yes. You can stay here a few days, take a little more time to recuperate. We’ll see how quickly we can make the insurance company settle up, and that will give us plenty of opportunity to talk it over, narrow down the possibilities. Your boss will okay the sick leave, I’m sure. If he balks, we’ll e-mail him a picture of your black eye.”

“I don’t have a job,” she said. “Not since I introduced my manager to the joys of morning sickness. Or rather…my manager’s tacky snakeskin boots.”

He groaned. “One more sin Flim has to do penance for. We’ll make him buy your manager some new boots. The tackiest ones in Texas.”

She smiled. “I guess this means I passed your LexisNexis test,” she said. “You didn’t find a criminal record?”

“Well, there was that speeding ticket two years ago, but I already knew you were a wild woman behind the wheel.”

“I was late for work that day,” she protested with a laugh. Then she sobered. “More to the point, I guess this means you’ve decided that Flim actually does exist? That I’m not just here running some complicated con?”

He nodded slowly. “I guess it does. So what do you say? Will you stay a few days? Shall we pool our resources and find this guy?”

Pool their resources? Hadn’t she just made it clear she had none? Wasn’t this just charity in disguise? And yet, the idea of staying here a few days, until she felt stronger, until she could decide what to do, was so tempting it scared her.

She could probably pull it off. She could buy a couple of cheap T-shirts to sleep in and a toothbrush. Her only class this term was an online English lit, and he undoubtedly had a computer she could use.

And, of course, she didn’t have a job. But rent wasn’t due for about three weeks, and she had enough money in savings to cover a few days off.

Maybe even a couple of weeks, if she decided to. Didn’t she deserve some time to think things through?

It would be her first vacation in seven years.

He seemed to read her mind. “Say yes, Josie. I could really use your help. You’ve got the most important resource of all. You’re the only one who has seen our friend Flim Flam in the flesh.”

She laughed. It really brought the fake Chase down to size, calling him by such a foolish name. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous man who had to snake his way into a woman’s bed by pretending to be someone else.

“So?” Chase’s eyes sparkled, and he held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” she said, extending her own. “Thank you, Chase. We have a deal.”

 

DOWN BYGREENFERNPOOL, Clayton Creek bubbled out to form a fifteen-foot-deep swimming hole. In this secret spot, only the brightest afternoon sunbeams were strong enough to muscle their way through the canopy of ancient black gums, sugar maples and loblolly pines.

The air here was always cool and green, crisscrossed with golden shafts of light that, on a good day, speared all the way to the bottom of the crystal clear pool. When the wind blew the trees, little fairy-darts of sun skipped over the water’s surface and glimmered on the limestone walls.

Chase rode Captain Kirk slowly along the sandy path beside the creek, partly because the poor old bay wasn’t up to anything more energetic, and partly because Chase wanted to savor the scenery.

He’d been coming here since he was a kid, first with his dad and cousins, then as part of the Fugitive Four. Chase, Trent, Susannah and Paul, a group of friends who had believed they were inseparable.

They’d been wrong, of course. At thirteen, fourteen, even just-turned-twenty, how could they have understood life’s destructive power? They had no idea that fate sometimes picked you up like a cyclone and dropped you down wherever and whenever it saw fit.

Trent and Chase had made it through okay. And obviously Chase hadn’t ever lost Sue. But Trent and Sue, that was a different story. When the cyclone was through, they’d fallen on opposite sides of an ever-widening divide.

And Paul…Paul was gone forever.

Sometimes, all these years later, it was hard to remember exactly what had happened. They’d been so young—only nineteen or so. Chase had just married Lila, a move that was a mistake on many levels. He’d often wondered whether, if he hadn’t been distracted by his demanding, glamorous older-woman bride, he could have stopped things from spiraling out of control.

But maybe that was wishful thinking. The only people who could have stopped this tragedy from happening were Trent and Susannah, and they were too tangled up in their own emotional knots to think straight.

They’d been having problems for months. Girls were crazy for Trent—it was just a fact of his good looks and smooth charm. And he liked the attention a little too much. Though Chase knew Trent really loved Sue, Trent hadn’t been quite ready to settle into complete monogamy.

The night things fell apart, they were all at a bar on the outskirts of town, listening to a local band and coaxing Lila, the only one of the group legally old enough to buy beer, to keep the table supplied.

She agreed, probably because the mood was tense as hell. Just two days before, Sue had discovered Trent’s one-night-stand with one of their friends from high school—a spoiled cheerleader with curly red hair who hadn’t ever taken no as an answer from anybody.

Sue was, understandably, furious. But Sue didn’t get mad like normal people. She got even. This time, she obviously decided to hurt Trent by flirting with other men.

Including Paul.

Paul knew what was going on, of course. The Fugitive Four understood each other completely. He knew, just as Chase did, that Sue and Trent were meant for each other. Eventually she would forgive Trent, and things would revert to normal.

So he played along. Maybe too well. After an hour or so, watching Sue and Paul giggle and dance and whisper and touch, Trent was boiling. Lila thought it was funny, and fed his fury by bringing him beer after beer.

When the tragedy finally happened, it was so fast and strange, Chase could hardly piece it all together later, when they talked to the cops at the hospital. Trent said something to Paul, who said something back, and before anyone realized it wasn’t a joke, Trent had loaded up and punched Paul so hard he fell over, taking the table, five beers and a kerosene lamp with him.

The floor was covered in hay, and the fire sprang up so fast it was like a bad dream. Paul lay there burning and screaming. Or maybe it was Susannah who was screaming. Chase and Trent tore off their shirts, and rolled Paul over and over, until there were no more flames. Just the smell of scorched skin, and the sound of people running and hollering and crying.

The ambulance arrived in record time. God knows, the doctors tried.

Paul hung on for cruel, heartbreaking months. But, in the end, he didn’t make it.

And neither did Susannah and Trent.

As he reached the swimming hole now, Chase squeezed his eyes, trying to make the tough memories go away. He didn’t relive it all that often anymore. He and Trent hadn’t talked about it for years. And Sue never did.

He wondered if it might be better, if Sue and Trentcould talk about it. But it didn’t seem likely now. She’d devoted her life to raising money for a local burn center, and to blaming Trent. Trent had devoted his life to showing Sue he didn’t give a damn.

What a mess people could make of things!

Still, the swimming hole was a beautiful place, where the best of nature could soothe your soul—and even vanquish your ghosts. Chase had stored up about a million happy memories here.

He should come more often.

Today he was looking for Trent. He’d gone by the manager’s office, only to discover that Trent was out getting a water sample from the hole.

Chase saw him now, squatting on one of the big, flat silver rocks on the east side of the hole. The boat launch, they’d called it, though of course it was too small even for a canoe.

Trent held a plastic bottle in one hand, its screw-on cap in the other. He spotted Chase and waved. “Come on down,” he said. “I’m almost done.”

Then he dipped his arm in up to the elbow and let the water bubble noisily into the container.

Chase tied up Captain Kirk, who seemed ready for a nap. He’d been tempted to bring one of his younger, spryer horses, but the poor old horse had given him such a longing look he couldn’t resist. Besides, the old guy needed the exercise.

He stroked the horse’s nose, and Captain Kirk responded with a soft snort and a nudge into his palm. “No treats, buddy.” Chase patted his pockets to prove they were empty. “Maybe when we get back.”

He made his way carefully down to the swimming hole. The sloping ground around the pool was mossy and covered in ferns, and if you missed your footing you could slide right in.

“Looks pretty good,” he said as he got close enough to see the clear water. You could pick out every rainbow-colored rock.

“Yeah,” Trent said, still squatting, still staring out into the water. “I think it’s okay. You can still see the bottom, and no sign that the vegetation’s struggling.”

They’d been monitoring the water each week, ever since a developer just upstream from the east branch of the creek had begun grading the site for his new subdivision. A month ago, the man had been cited for a silt containment failure, and Chase was watching him like a hawk. He didn’t intend to let anybody degrade his creek.

“Yeah, the water looks good enough to drink. Guess he’s worked the kinks out of his containment system?”

Trent stood, shaking the water from his hand. “So far, so good. But I’m going to keep an eye on it anyhow. We’re going to send someone out to measure those greenbelts, too. If he doesn’t live up to his promises…”

He seemed to register, suddenly, that Chase had come a long way just to stare at a bottle of water. “What’re you doing down here, corporal? As I recall, you took in a stray kitten yesterday. Shouldn’t you be home giving it milk or something?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t mind the tone. He’d filled Trent in about his plan over the telephone this morning, and he already knew Trent thought it was a dumb move. “But she’s asleep. She’s always tired. Marchant says she’s anemic, on top of the diabetes. God knows she’s as skinny as a rope. The kid must not have been eating right for months.”

Trent gave him a straight look. “She’s not a kid, Chase. She’s grown-up enough to be making babies with somebody.”

“I know. That’s why I came down here. I need to figure out who that somebody might be. I thought it might be better to do it somewhere we weren’t likely to be overheard.”

“Imogene listening at keyholes again?”

Chase chuckled, looking around for a dry spot flat enough to sit on. “She doesn’t have to. She has supernatural powers. But it’s not just Imogene. It’s—”

“It’s the kitten?” Trent dropped the water sample into a satchel, then arranged himself on a nearby rock. “You don’t want her to hear you naming candidates for the World’s Biggest Sleazeball award?”

“I don’t wantanybody to hear me.”

Trent nodded slowly. “Fair enough. So, where do you want to start?”

That, of course, was the question. And now that they were out here in this peaceful place, Chase found that he didn’t want to start anywhere. How was it possible that he knew—and knewintimately —anyone who would do such a thing?

He rested his elbows on his knees and stared out at the glimmering pool of glassy blue water. It was gorgeous in the spring. A patch of buttercups at the edge looked like a honey spill in the sunlight. All around the water hole, trees were beginning to flower.

“Look at the old redbud. It’s about twice as big now, isn’t it?”

Obediently, Trent glanced at the tree, which was covered in rose-purple flowers. “Yeah. But the swamp willow is dead, did you notice? Must have been last year’s freeze.”

Chase looked across to the south, where the bare willow was standing. “Yeah. Too bad.”

With a sigh, Trent scraped his boot across the rock, adjusting his position. “Tell you what, though. If we’re going to have a nice long chat about trees, I might need to find a more comfortable rock.”

Chase laughed. “Okay, I know, I’m dodging. So here we go. Here’s how I see it. Whoever did this has to meet two qualifications. He has to know me well, or know someone who does. And he has to have a serious grudge against me.”

Trent smiled. “Not necessarily. He might just think it would be cool to be you for a while. For all you know, it’s his form of flattery.”

“You don’t really believe that. If a guy doesn’t want to do something under his own name, he just makes one up. He doesn’t stage a charade this elaborate, this risky. He was with her for a month, for God’s sake. She might have seen my picture in the paper, or on TV. I’m not exactly invisible. Any day, she might have decided to check him out.”

“But she didn’t. Maybe he reads people well. I saw her ten seconds, tops, and even I could readgullible all over her pretty face.”

“Still, it’s a risk he didn’t have to take. He wanted to take it. He wanted to use my name, my life. Can’t you feel the hostility in that? He wanted to prove he was as good as I was—or maybe, in a weird way, that I was as bad as he was.”

Trent whistled. “You put it like that, it does sound pretty creepy. Okay, here’s a third option. He’s certifiably, barking nuts.”

“Maybe. But still functioning. Still pretty damn plausible. I’ve spent a little more time with her than you have, and I know she’s not all that gullible. She’s more like—” He tried to think of the right word for that look in her eyes. That proud, determined desperation. “More like vulnerable.”

If Chase hadn’t known Trent so well, he might have missed the slight flicker of pulse in his jaw.

“She’s a nice kid, Trent. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And all I’m saying is that you’ve got a Sir Galahad complex. You can’t save every stray kitten that mews at the door, Chase. I think you’ve got your hands full already, don’t you? Trying to save Sue and all?”

Chase laughed. “Point taken. Although Sue would scratch your eyes out if she heard you say that.”

“Sue would scratch my eyes out just for fun. But let’s start naming some specific names here before my butt freezes on this rock.” He tilted his head. “I assume we both thought of Alexander first?”

“Of course.” Alexander was Chase’s second cousin, and about ten years ago he’d been caught in Vegas, registered at an expensive hotel as Chase Clayton, drawing money out with Chase’s ATM card like water from a tap. They looked a little alike, although Alexander was shorter, his build more boyish.

He was also quite a playboy. When they’d caught him the second night, the two cocktail waitresses with him in the hotel room had burst into tears.

“Let’s see if we can find a recent picture to show Josie,” Chase said. “And we should find out where he’s living these days.”

Trent rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure, but I think he’s between wives right now, living in San Antonio. Nowhere near Riverfork, but that would make sense. Wouldn’t want to foul his own nest. Maybe I’ll see if anyone knows where he was a couple of months ago.”

“Good. Now, who else? I considered that guy you fired last year, the one who kept harassing the maids. Charming Billy, they called him. But he was too tall, wasn’t he? And his grudge would be against you, not me.”

“Well, you’ve fired plenty of people, too, boss.”

“Yeah, but I can’t remember any who fit this description, can you? About five ten, 180 pounds, blond, slick as hell?”

“Not offhand. But I’ll scan the employment records, see if anything jumps out.”

“What about people in town?” Chase mentally ran through the vendors, vets, trainers, gardeners, feed stores and cowboys he dealt with every day. A ridiculous number of them seemed to be thirty-something five-tenish blondes.

“How about people I’ve outbid for horses? And what about that guy who wanted to buy the Hillman land? He seemed to think there was something shady going on, a secret deal or something between me and Hillman. Didn’t he make noise about suing?”

Trent nodded. “Yeah. Marx. I dealt mostly with his lawyer, but I saw Marx a few times. He’s probably a close-enough fit, so I’ll put him on the list. I don’t know about the horses, but I can ask around.”

He chuckled softly as he picked up a pebble and tossed it into the pond. “Man. Rich guys sure do piss off a lot of people.”

“It feels weird, doesn’t it, looking at everybody and wondering…do you go around pretending to be me?” Chase shook his head. “Could make you paranoid if you weren’t careful.”

“Maybe you should ask Sue for ideas, too.” Trent stiffened slightly, as he did every time he mentioned her name. “She’s been around forever, and she might have the female perspective. I mean, this guy has clearly got some sex appeal, right? You and I might not even see it. Remember how she used to drool over Bucky Sizemore? I thought the guy was a total dweeb, but she said he was hot as a forest fire.”

Chase laughed. “She was just pulling your chain, and you know it. Sue never had eyes for anybody but you. If I had a nickel for every hour I spent out here, listening to the two of you talk dirty about the trees…”

In spite of himself, Trent laughed. They both knew it was true. Sue had fallen in love with Trent when she was only about twelve, something that horrified her snobby grandfather. Trent, whose dad had been a science teacher, was the only one of the Fugitive Four who hadn’t been a rancher’s child. He didn’t have his own horse or housekeeper. His family property was marked off in feet, not acres.

But out here, he was king. He was probably the only teenager who had ever wooed a girl with botany. Sue had been hypnotized when Trent told her about the two-winged silverbell with its delicate white flowers and erect stamens that looked like Christmas candles.

She could lie for hours, with her head in Trent’s lap, while he told her about the devil’s walking stick, the snowflower tree, the ebony blackbeard, the inch plum, the tickletongue.

Chase chuckled, remembering. “You made some of that crap up, didn’t you? There’s no such thing as the tickletongue.”

“Sure there is. Just not necessarily here, in this exact spot.” Trent raised one eyebrow. “If I were making it up, do you think I’d call it theinch plum?”

Chase grinned. “Guess not. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Nothing new about that.” Trent got to his feet. “Come on. This trip down memory lane is officially over. Some of us have work to do.”

He picked up his satchel of water samples. Then he paused, squinting. “Hey. How about Bucky Sizemore? He lives over near Big Bend these days. He’s blond, isn’t he? Not quite six feet.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t hate me.” When Trent didn’t answer right away, Chase frowned. “Does he?”

“Sorry, boss.” Trent grinned. “I have a feeling this list is going to be a lot longer than you thought.”

CHAPTER SIX

“NO,NO …put the tallest ones in the center.” Imogene nudged Josie out of the way and began shifting the long spikes of larkspur in the silver vase. “See? Like this. And be sure to let them breathe. Not too crowded. See?”

“Yes, I see.” Josie nodded. “Got it.”

That sounded more confident than she actually felt. But since she had begged Imogene for something to do, and this was the chore she’d been given, she didn’t want to let the housekeeper down.

When Josie woke up from her nap, she’d come downstairs looking for Chase. But Imogene said he was gone…no one knew exactly where, or when he’d be back. Imogene’s hands were busy kneading dough, and she suggested that Josie sit on the front porch and read, in much the same tone she had probably shooed away an annoying little Chase and his collie years ago.

Josie had tried to obey. She’d sat on the wide, white front porch, comfortably ensconced in a wicker settee and watched the wind blow through the bluebonnets.

For about half an hour.

Then she began to fidget. She wasn’t a woman of leisure. She was accustomed to working hard all morning, going to school all afternoon, then cramming her homework, housework and errands into evenings that never held enough hours to get it all done.

So, though she hated to be a nuisance, she’d appealed to Imogene. Surely, there must be something she could do. Dishes? Dusting? She’d be glad to take out the trash.

“I think we can find something,” Imogene had said finally, slowly nodding, as if she approved of people who wanted to be useful. “There’s always work on a ranch.”

Josie had wondered if that might mean mucking out a stall, but apparently not. She’d brought her here, to this beautiful wood-paneled library, to create a bouquet of larkspur, baby’s breath and fern fronds.

It took about three tries, but finally Josie thought she’d succeeded. She liked flowers, too, and frequently spruced up the arrangements at the cafe. This one looked good. Mentally, she ticked off the requirements…balance, breathing room, interesting angles, no dead space, a touch of asymmetry to prevent boredom.

Done.

Stretching backward to unkink her spine, she let her gaze wander across the library, which was a large room with a lot of light. She’d been surprised at how elegant the Double C was, both inside and out. She’d expected a lot of antler-rack chandeliers and saddle-shaped bar stools, but, though it was clearly the home of a proud Texan, this ranch had nothing as kitschy as that.

The honey wood paneling kept the room light, and the river rock fireplace rose two stories high, with stones of soothing blue, gray and silver hues. The leather armchairs pulled up to it were dyed a matching blue.

Chase’s desk, which dominated the back half of the room, was strong and masculine, but with a hint of grace in its curving lines. A lot like the man himself, she thought.

It was fairly orderly, though he’d left some papers scattered on its surface, which she took as a sign that he expected to come back soon. She wandered over, drawn by a set of framed photographs on the credenza behind the desk.

Was it possible Chase knew Flim Flam well enough to have a picture of him somewhere? She picked up a group shot and scanned the faces. No…these were teenagers. She could identify Chase, and there was Susannah. But the rest were strangers to her.

Another was clearly of his parents—a sad-eyed beauty, filled with quiet elegance, leaned her head onto the shoulder of a larger-than-life, broadly smiling man in a Stetson hat. Josie looked closer. She could see a little of each of them in Chase.

She had just picked up another photograph when she heard the sound of light footsteps in the hall.

“Imogene, come see! I think you’ll be proud of your pupil.”

“It’s not Imogene,” a pleasant voice said. And then its owner rounded the corner. “It’s Susannah.”

Josie froze, pressing the photograph against her chest as if she’d been caught stealing it. She felt her face burn, even though she knew it was ridiculous. This picture had been put out for anyone to see. She wasn’t prying into anyone’s personal affairs.

She wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of.

But the other woman looked at her with such a cool, quiet disapproval that it was hard to remember that. Awkwardly, Josie pried the picture away from her chest and held it out for Susannah to see.

“Hello,” she said. “I was just waiting for Chase to come home. I was just looking at these family pictures he has out here.”

No kidding. She sounded like a complete simpleton. And she sounded guilty as hell.

“Hi, Josie. You’re looking better. How are you feeling?”

Susannah didn’t take the picture, so Josie set it back down on the credenza, bumping into two others.

“Much better,” she said, though she was getting tired of giving that same response to everyone. Too bad good manners prevented you from answering with the truth.My head hurts, I feel like puking and frankly I’m scared to death.

“I’m glad,” Susannah said, though you couldn’t tell it by looking at her.

Josie hadn’t been clearheaded enough to really look at Susannah last night. She’d just been this shadowy, gentle figure in the background, listening while Josie told her story.

But now Josie could see that this was one of the coolest, most collected women she’d ever met. Susannah Everly was a true beauty, with glossy hair, sparkling green eyes and the athletic, long-limbed body of a dancer.

Her posture and wardrobe said she’d been raised with confidence and class. She wore three-hundred-dollar jeans, a sharp white shirt with a dashing cut and a turned-up collar. Her long legs ended in fawn-colored boots that looked as soft as butter.

She moved gracefully into the room and, though she tried to make it look casual, she scanned the set of photographs, as if checking for missing spots.

“I didn’t steal one,” Josie heard herself saying. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Josie inhaled sharply, shocked that she’d actually spoken the words out loud. That was unbelievably rude.

It didn’t seem to faze Susannah, though. She merely smiled, as cool as ever. “Of course you didn’t. I just realized I haven’t looked at them in a long time myself. Some of these go way back, to when we were kids.”

Josie glanced at the photograph of the laughing teens, giddy with youth. “You’ve known him a long time.”

“Since I was born. Our families have lived on these adjoining spreads for generations. He was my best friend long before he was my fiance.”

“How nice.” Josie didn’t trust herself to say more. She dreaded the thought that she might sound bitter. But it brought home, didn’t it, how stupid she’d been to believe Chase Clayton IV would come looking for love in the Not Guilty Cafe. When people like this wanted a partner, they didn’t need to look farther than the ranch next door.

She wondered if Susannah was deliberately trying to make her feel like an outsider. If so, it was overkill. She already felt soother she might as well have been from a different planet.

“Susannah, do you mind if we cut through all the polite, surface things we’re supposed to say here, and just be completely candid?”

“Of course not.” Susannah looked curious, but not offended. Josie wondered what it would take to disturb a woman this cool. “Of course you should say anything you want.”

“Thanks.” Josie’s head had begun to throb. She tried to ignore it.

“It’s just that—I can tell there’s a lot going on beneath the surface here. I’ve tried to be honest. I admitted my mistake. But with you, the lawyer, the doctor, even Chase, it’s as if we’re polite adversaries. There’s always that hint of suspicion. Why is that? It seems to me we’re all pretty much in the same boat. Victims of the man who impersonated Chase.”

The other woman took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. It’s not fair. I guess it’s because…because we all love him.”

Josie frowned. “But what—”

“We’re protective of him, I think. That sounds strange, because he’s so strong, and really he’s the one who always protects all of us.” She touched one of the pictures. Josie thought it was the one of the teenagers.

“He’s a good person, Josie. One of the best people you’ll ever meet.”

“I don’t doubt that. He’s been very nice, nicer than he had to be. But why does he need protecting from me? I’m no threat to him.”

Susannah smiled. “That’s probably true. Still. You have to admit it’s all very strange. The way you arrived, the story you tell…”

“I know. I am as bewildered as any of you. Probably more so.”

“Yes, of course. But Chase is a very prominent man, and that draws a lot of…unwanted attention. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to fleece him. No one has done it successfully, though—not in a long, long time.”

Josie felt her back stiffen.“Fleece?”

“I didn’t mean that you…” Susannah sighed. “Damn it. I’m not expressing myself very well.”

“No, I think I understand you perfectly. Let me recap. Chase Clayton is a rich, important hotshot, and I’m a suspicious nobody from nowhere. And if I plan to sue, rob, slander or otherwise annoy him I’d better be careful, because his equally prominent friends are standing guard.”

Susannah seemed about to protest, but Josie’s look stopped her.

“All right, fair enough, though I believe you’ll discover we’re not quite the snobs you think we are.” Susannah seemed to square her shoulders. “But there’s one more thing I came here to tell you.”

“What?”

She put her cool, slim hand on Josie’s arm. Her beautiful face was grave.

“If what you say is true, there’s a man out there who has done an incredibly cruel thing. A terrible, unforgivable thing. Not just to Chase.To you. And if there’s any way I can help you find him, Josie, I will.”

 

CHASE DIDN’T SEEhis houseguest for a full twenty-four hours. He meant to check on her, but things kept cropping up. One of his most promising stallions stressed a tendon when something spooked him in the turnout paddock. The south stable’s new roof sprang a leak during the regular afternoon downpour. Late in the afternoon, Eli Breslin, the new stable boy, broke the mechanical cow, and Chase had to keep Boss Johnson, his best cutting horse trainer, from drop-kicking the kid into the next county.

Thank God for Imogene, who was half drill sergeant, half Mother Teresa. He knew he could trust her to give Josie plenty of TLC, while at the same time keeping an eagle eye on her, just in case there was, after all, a con artist lurking beneath that wounded-baby-bird exterior.

By the time Chase got back to the house, both Josie and Imogene had gone to bed. Frankly, he was too tired to be anything but relieved.

But the next morning, after a quick meeting with Trent, he knocked on the guest room door.

Josie answered quickly, as if she’d been waiting. She wore the same clothes she’d had on yesterday, just a pair of jeans and a brown T-shirt. He wondered if he should buy her something else…or maybe ask Sue to do it.

“Morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well? You look like you feel better.”

That was only partly true. Her bad eye actually looked even worse, as the raccoon-black bruising began to lighten to a sickly mishmash of purple, yellow and red. But her good eye looked much better. The blue had a real sparkle, the whites weren’t bloodshot, and the circle underneath had begun to disappear.

“Thanks,” she said. “Although I do have a mirror in here, you know, so gallantry can only go so far.”

He smiled. “Theright side of you looks tons better, and that’s not gallantry. It’s the truth.” He reached out to free a strand of silky, honey-brown hair from the tape that held down the gauze of her forehead bandage. “The left side will follow. Just give it time.”

She nodded, but she tilted her head back slightly. He wondered if he’d made her uncomfortable by touching her, even this casually. It would make his lawyer uncomfortable, no doubt. Stilling always saw everything in terms of how it would sound in court.

Did you ever touch the plaintiff, Mr. Clayton?

“Imogene tells me you were going stir-crazy yesterday, looking for something to do.”

“A little. She gave me a few chores, but I still feel pretty useless.”

“You shouldn’t. Your job is to recuperate.”

That apparently was the wrong answer. Her softly arched brows drove together.

“I’m not an invalid, for heaven’s sake. I just have a black eye and a couple of stitches.” One side of her mouth cocked up reluctantly. “And diabetes. And morning sickness.”

“And anemia.”

“And a couple of guys running jackhammers in my head.” She gave up and grinned. “But other than that I’m fine.”

“Good. You’ll be glad to hear, then, that I’ve got a mission for you.”

Now her eyes really did sparkle, even the multicolored one. “Yes. Anything!”

“Trent rounded up some pictures for me. I thought we could look at them and see if you recognize anybody.” The phone on his belt began to beep. “Sorry,” he said, and answered it.

It was Boss Johnson. Another crisis. The red roan they recently bought, a horse Johnson had high hopes for, was acting up. Johnson thought the stallion might have a phobia about bright colors.

Great. Just what he needed. Pay all outdoors for a horse who balked every time a cardinal flew by.

“I’ll be there in five.” Chase clicked off the phone with a sigh. The truth was, he didn’t have time to play Sherlock Holmes with this woman. He really should hire a private detective to track down the elusive Mr. Flim and send little Josie Whitford home to Riverfork.

“Is everything all right?” She bit her lower lip, which had the effect of making Chase stare at her mouth. It was, he noticed, pretty fantastic. Wide and full, with a built-in pucker that had all kinds of X-rated undertones.

For the first time, he understood why Flim had chosen this particular woman to seduce. That was a mighty fine mouth.

A shiver passed through him, settling in his loins.

Somehow he pulled the thoughts up short and turned off the heat. What the hell was he doing, letting himself ride into murky territory like that?

Oh, yeah, he sure as hell needed to get her back to Riverfork.

But then he made the mistake of raising his gaze and looking straight into her blue eyes.

Damn it, those eyes belonged on someone else. On one of those Hallmark card kids, maybe, the waifs who crouched in corners, their faces too small to hold their round, sad, innocent eyes.

It was the eyes, in the end, that made the decision for him.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. I need to go check out one of the new horses, though.” He holstered his phone. “We could do this a little later…or…”

She cocked her head. “Or?”

Dumb, Clayton. Really dumb.

But he said it anyway.

“Or you could come along with me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

JOHNSON BROUGHTthe roan into the outdoor round pen to demonstrate the problem. The side boards would cut down on distractions.

It took only about two minutes for Chase to see that the trainer was right.

Damn it.The horse still looked gorgeous. Healthy. Athletic. Good conformation. He had a light mouth—Johnson hardly had to touch the reins. Chase already knew that the stallion had been trained for cutting by somebody who knew his stuff. He used his hindquarters well, stopped on a dime with his hocks buried in the sand, and kept his head low, even on his backups and spins.

Even better, he liked it. That was the magic. Any good trainer could teach a horse to cut cattle, but only God could make him like it.

Then came the heartbreaker. At a prearranged signal, Eli Breslin, the nineteen-year-old ranch hand who had broken the mechanical cow yesterday, entered the pen, wearing a bright red shirt. Instantly the confident, cooperative roan began to balk. He backed up, shook his head from side to side and threatened to rear.

It was all Johnson could do to hold him. The same stallion who had responded to the lightest touch of the reins against his neck now ignored the thrust of a cold bit, hard in his mouth, and the pressure of Johnson’s powerful legs.

“Enough.” Chase made a sawing motion in the air, telling Johnson to give it up. Johnson jerked a thumb to dismiss Eli, and the boy exited quickly, looking relieved.

Johnson dismounted. Immediately the horse subsided, though his ears lay flat against his head, and his nostrils were flared. This was not a happy animal.

Chase wasn’t a happy rancher, either. He conferred with Johnson another minute, and then he exited the pen, trying to shake off his frustration before he got to the viewing stands, where he’d left Josie with the photos.

Instead, she was standing two feet away, in a shaft of sunlight on the other side of the door.

“I hope you don’t mind—I climbed up so I could watch,” she said. “I’m sorry, Chase. That didn’t go well, did it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Damn shame, too. That could have been a champion. He has it all.”

“Can it be fixed? Can you train him not to be so afraid?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on the horse, and how he got the phobia in the first place. It’s a lot of work, no matter how you look at it.”

“But you’ll try?”

He shrugged, casting one last glance into the pen, where Johnson was soothing the still-agitated roan. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s cost-effective.”

Josie frowned. “You mean you’d just give up on him? A horse that could have been a champion? Just because he’s had some kind of trauma in his past?”

“Probably. It’s disappointing, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Not every horse lives up to its potential. We’ll find another one.”

She tilted her head. “Is that how it is on a ranch? No room for mistakes? You’re either perfect, or you’re off to the glue factory?”

He squinted at her, trying to block enough of the sun to get a look at her face. He couldn’t read her expression, but all five foot three of her was rigid with disapproval. He wondered whether they were still talking about the roan.

“I’m a rancher, Josie. Not the horse whisperer. But if it makes you feel any better we don’t send our animals to the glue factory. We’ll find someone who wants a good horse at a good price, someone who has the time to correct it.”

She remained stiff for another moment, and then all the starch just blew out of her.