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At the airport she checked her suitcases and settled in to the first-class seat paid for by her employer—a reminder that they wanted her to sign another contract as soon as possible. They’d even given her a choice of countries. She tucked her purse under the seat while wondering if she should pick somewhere new or go back to one of the places she’d loved so much.
A decision could wait until she began negotiating with her company about a new contract. She planned to be in Montana for three months. Lauren had invited her to stay in her spare bedroom, but Tara had wanted her own place. Lauren Spencer might be her twin, but she was still a stranger, and Tara wasn’t ready to live with another stranger. Her entire childhood had been spent living with strangers, being shuttled from one foster home to another.
The trip went well, albeit with a few layovers and transfers, but Tara was used to travel and made the connections to Helena without a problem.
“Tara,” called a voice as she arrived at the baggage claim area after landing. It was her sister, smiling tentatively, and their alikeness surprised Tara all over again. They had the same long blond hair, the same blue eyes with tiny flecks of gold, and the same height and build.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. “I have to get a rental car, anyway.”
“I caught a ride with someone so we could travel back together—I couldn’t let you fly in without being met.”
“That’s nice.” Tara was far more accustomed to disembarking alone than she was to having someone greet her. Still, it was a nice gesture from her sister, and the effort was appreciated.
“Is this all you brought?” Lauren asked, looking at Tara’s two bags when they arrived on the carousel.
“I mailed a few boxes, but I travel light. I’ll buy anything the apartment lacks and leave it behind when I go.”
“Hopefully the apartment will be all right. It’s just a block from where I live and fully furnished the way you wanted, but the landlord said he’d understand if you decide to find somewhere else. He was surprised you didn’t want to choose your own place.”
“I’m used to it,” Tara explained. “The company I work for makes my living arrangements, which saves time. Besides, I’m not fussy. It’s just a place to sleep.”
After picking up the vehicle she’d reserved, Tara set the GPS and headed for Schuyler, a small town a couple of hours away.
“How was the flight?” Lauren asked after they’d passed the Helena city limits.
“I slept part of the way, which made it shorter.”
“Even so, you must be exhausted. The jet lag got me pretty bad when I flew back to California after visiting you in Paris.”
“Right. I’ll probably go to bed almost as soon as we get to the apartment.”
It was a good excuse to cut the day short. They ate supper on the way, and there was a second hug after they arrived at the furnished apartment, which was much nicer than Tara had expected in a small town in the wilds of Montana.
“I’ll come to the clinic tomorrow and take you out to lunch,” Tara promised. She didn’t want things to be uncomfortable with Lauren, but she didn’t know how else to act. Her twin was obviously better with people than she’d ever learned to be.
Lauren brightened. “That would be great.”
So Tara had the evening to regroup and unpack her bags, and she could sleep late the next morning. She reminded herself that nobody could expect to build a sisterly relationship overnight. After all, anybody who believed twins automatically connected had never spent more than thirty years apart from their sibling.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN the order was canceled?” Josh barked into the phone. “I was expecting it to arrive this week. I’ve got heifers ready to breed.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. McGregor, but that’s what our records say,” explained the woman on the other end of the line. “We received a call that you didn’t need it.”
“Who called?” Josh demanded, though he was certain who was responsible.
“Walt Nelson is the name on my form. He had the purchase order number as confirmation.”
“Thank you,” Josh said crisply. “In the future, please note that I’m the only one who can cancel orders.”
“Very well.”
He slammed down the receiver and strode out to the yard where his grandfather was sitting.
“Why did you cancel my order from the Double J Ranch?” he asked.
Walt set his jaw. “Because we don’t need any frozen bull semen. Especially from Texas.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Texas,” Josh returned, trying not to lose his temper. Grandpa was an old-school rancher and had never forgotten the remark from a visiting Texan about Montana’s “little ole cows.” He’d never forgiven it, either. Josh supposed it hadn’t helped when he’d taken a job in the Lone Star state. Fifteen years ago, he’d tried working on the Boxing N during first his summer break in college but had been treated like a peon with no horse sense. Things weren’t much better now.
“Huh.” Walt crossed his arms over his chest. “They might have done mail-order breeding at that fancy-dancy ranch where you worked down there, but my cattle are already first-rate. If we want to vary it up, we make arrangements with our neighbors.”
Why couldn’t he understand? Josh wanted to produce top-grade organic beef. He had started the process of getting the Boxing N’s grazing land certified as pesticide-free, but even in the parts of the ranch that couldn’t be certified, he wanted to improve the stock. And borrowing a bull from a neighbor’s ranch wasn’t the improvement he had in mind. The Double J Ranch had prize-winning bull semen for sale, and it was exactly the upgrade he wanted.
Of course...he could go to his brother. Jackson’s breeding program was well-known, but Josh didn’t want to slide in on his family’s coattails. It already felt as if he was behind the curve since Grandpa had delayed his retirement so long.
The thought sent a mix of sorrow and guilt through Josh.
Twenty-five years ago, Grandpa Walt and his brother had made plans for the futures of their respective ranches. Since Mitch was older and didn’t have children and Walt had two grandsons, Jackson and Josh, they agreed that Mitch would retire and give his ranch to his great-nephew once Jackson got out of college. Walt, in turn, would give the Boxing N spread to his younger grandson, Josh. Except Walt Nelson hadn’t retired when Josh graduated college, he’d kept working...until the accident.
“I have a plan for the Boxing N, and bull semen from the Double J is part of it,” Josh said as calmly as possible. In the four months since Grandpa had given him the ranch, he’d danced around, trying to be considerate and respectful, but the situation was wearing on him.
“Fancy-dancy nonsense,” Walt proclaimed. “That isn’t the way we do things here.” He stood. “I’m going to see how Grasshopper is doing. It’s her first foal.”
As Walt Nelson limped toward the foaling barn, Josh held back a howl of frustration. Grandpa couldn’t let go of being boss, but you couldn’t have two bosses on a ranch, especially two with such dissimilar ideas.
Perhaps it harked back to the old rivalry between the Nelsons, Josh’s mother’s family, and the McGregors, his father’s. It hadn’t been a blood feud, but it was fierce nonetheless, and it must have been a terrible blow to Walt when his only child fell in love with someone from the enemy camp. Walt still didn’t really approve of the McGregors.
Needing space, Josh went to the barn, saddled Lightfoot and rode toward the north section of the ranch.
His frustration doubled when he saw slack wire on a fence. One of the ranch hands should have found the problem and taken care of it, but they were confused about whose orders to follow, who was doing what and when to do it. And they were also shorthanded since several men had quit, telling Josh that they’d return once Walt was out of the picture. Between the two problems, things were getting missed.
Taking the tools from his saddlebag, Josh began repairing the fence. Grappling with wire was preferable to the tug-of-war he was having with his grandfather. He would have used his trust fund to buy a different ranch years ago if he’d known everything would turn out this way. Now he was stuck—Walt couldn’t handle the Boxing N alone, and Josh couldn’t abandon the old guy, no matter how crazy the situation made him.
Distracted, Josh felt his hand slip. The wire cutters slashed across his palm and blood immediately welled from the ragged slice.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
* * *
TARA WALKED DOWN the street, following the directions to the clinic that Lauren had given her. It was almost surreal to see so many people dressed in jeans, boots and cowboy hats, as if she’d walked onto the set of a Hollywood Western.
Just three days before she’d been at the Chartres cathedral, brushing shoulders with visitors from around the world. It had been a farewell trip to one of her favorite French landmarks since she didn’t know how soon she’d be back. Now she was living in the land of cowboys and hitching posts. She only knew they were hitching posts because she saw a horse tied to one.
Stopping in front of the Schuyler Medical Clinic—a modest title since apparently it covered a vast array of services—Tara straightened her shoulders. The drive from Helena with her sister had been filled with awkward silences and even more awkward bursts of conversation. Still, it was too early to draw any conclusions about how well they would get along.
It didn’t help that she wasn’t good at relationships in the first place. Her most serious boyfriend, Pierre Montrose, had made her failures in that area abundantly clear.
Pushing the memory away, she entered the clinic.
The receptionist’s eyes widened. “You must be Tara. The two of you really do look alike.”
Tara tried to smile. She would probably hear that often while she was in town.
The other woman looked at the clock. “Lauren should be ready soon.”
“Thanks.”
Lauren was a physician’s assistant and had moved to Schuyler the previous year. She’d come for a friend’s wedding and had immediately decided the small town suited her much better than Los Angeles. It wouldn’t have been Tara’s choice, but to each their own, she supposed.
As she perused a rack of magazines, the outer door opened. A man stomped inside, his left arm wrapped in a bloodstained towel. He was attractive, with dark brown hair and intense blue eyes, but his face was flushed and scowling.
“Good, you’re here,” he said, thrusting his injured limb at her. “I need this stitched up, and please skip the lectures.”
Tara raised her eyebrows. “I’m afraid you—”
“Give me a break, Lauren. Just do it without one of your speeches.”
His manner was startlingly abrupt...surely all Montanans weren’t this rude.
“I was trying to explain that you’ve mistaken me for my twin sister, Lauren,” Tara said, keeping her tone as even as possible. It wasn’t easy. She’d never had a cat, but she knew it annoyed them if you rubbed their fur backward, and that’s how she felt...as if she’d literally been rubbed the wrong way.
“What the hell?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I’d like to point something out, however,” she added smoothly. “Declaring you don’t want a lecture suggests you may need one.”
“You’ve got one hell of a nerve saying that,” he snapped.
“Didn’t I get it right?” she asked. “Tell me what happened and I’ll try to tailor my lecture.”
“Hell.”
“You seem to have a limited vocabulary. That was your third ‘hell’ in less than a minute.”
He glared and turned to the receptionist. “Is Lauren available?”
“I’ve already paged her, Josh. She’ll be out in a minute. Has the bleeding stopped?”
“Mostly.”
A minute later Lauren hurried into the waiting room and checked Josh’s wound. She looked at Tara apologetically. “I need to take care of this,” she said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m happy to wait while you deal with the results of someone’s stupidity.”
Lauren’s eyes widened, but she simply gestured to her bad-tempered patient, who followed her into the rear of the clinic with a last fierce look at Tara.
The receptionist chuckled once the door had closed behind them. “Oh, my gosh, Lauren said you had opposite personalities, and now I see what she meant.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She’s a terrific PA and very sweet, but she would never stick it to Josh the way you did. Good job.”
“Thanks. Is he always like Napoleon with a headache?” Tara asked, using one of her French coworker’s similes.
“Lately, at least. He’s getting on everyone’s nerves and keeps—”
The woman stopped abruptly and looked down at the papers on her desk; perhaps she’d been about to say something prohibited under privacy regulations. She seemed relieved when someone else came through the door and stepped up to the window. A protracted discussion about insurance ensued, so Tara settled into a seat and leafed through a news magazine. She read with interest an article on international relations with France. The thought of returning to Paris for her next contract was compelling, but there were so many other places to see. Rome and Berlin called to her as well, along with Madrid.
In the background, she heard a comment about something Josh needed and pictured his face again. Maybe she shouldn’t have sounded off since the clinic was Lauren’s place of employment. But who did he think he was? Lauren was a professional, not a flunky who was supposed to jump when he snapped his fingers.
As for lectures... Weren’t medical personnel supposed to advise their patients on healthy living?
She was on her third magazine when the interior door swung open.
It was Josh...What’s His Name. While his hand was neatly bandaged and elevated in a sling, getting it treated obviously hadn’t sweetened his mood. The thunderclouds on his face did nothing to diminish his good looks, but Tara wasn’t impressed—she’d known too many handsome jerks over the years. He glanced at her, and she gave him a wickedly sweet smile, which made him glower all the more fiercely before marching from the clinic.
Lauren joined her several minutes later.
“I’m free now,” she said. “But I’m afraid that took part of my lunch hour.”
“That’s okay. Where shall we go?”
“How about the restaurant down the street? It isn’t gourmet, nothing like the places where we ate in Paris. Schuyler doesn’t have any fancy restaurants, but the Roundup Café is fast and clean.”
“Not a problem. I enjoy indigenous foods.”
Lauren just blinked at the tongue-in-cheek remark, so Tara wasn’t sure whether her sister shared her sense of humor. Or maybe they simply needed to know each other better before that sort of thing could be understood between them.
* * *
JOSH STALKED AWAY from the clinic. The throb in his palm had subsided thanks to the anesthetic Lauren had used before sewing it up, but it would undoubtedly begin hurting again as that wore off. She’d also written a prescription for pain pills. He had insisted they weren’t necessary, but she’d reasonably pointed out that he might change his mind after the clinic had closed.
It didn’t help to know he’d acted worse than a hungry bear right out of hibernation. The series of accidents he’d had in recent months had made him feel like a ten-thumbed greenhorn. What’s more, once he got back to the Boxing N, Grandpa was sure to make a remark that would send his blood pressure sky-high.
On Josh’s last two visits to the clinic, Lauren had suggested he needed to pay more attention to what he was doing, especially when tense or angry. It was irritating to be told something he already knew, and he hadn’t wanted to hear it again. Still, Lauren Spencer was a nice sort, and he shouldn’t have barked at her...or at the woman he’d thought was Lauren. The story of her long-lost twin sister had gone through Schuyler with the speed of a grassfire, but he hadn’t realized they were identical.
Well, not really identical, at least in personality. Lauren was quiet, almost shy at times, with a down-to-earth practicality, while Tara had a cool, sensual polish. If he’d known she was in town he never would have mixed them up, but he’d heard she lived in France. She did seem foreign in Montana, while her sister had fit in from the beginning. It was a good thing. Getting medical professionals in Schuyler was an ongoing challenge; the town had even resorted to offering a bonus for anyone agreeing to stay three years or longer.
Josh snorted grimly. People in Schuyler wouldn’t be pleased if he said anything to make Lauren unhappy. It wasn’t just that they needed a good PA, they liked her...a whole lot better than they liked him recently.
Grimacing, he fished his cell phone out, awkward from being temporarily one-handed. Finally he untied the sling and stuffed it in his pocket. His phone had rung several times in the clinic, but he hadn’t been able to answer while Lauren was stitching up his palm.
The missed calls were from his parents’ home number, so he dialed back, trying to ignore the small clutch in his chest. It had only been six months since they’d lost Grandma Evelyn, and the whole family remained jumpy about the possibility of more bad news.
“Darling, are you all right?” asked his mother in an anxious tone. “Dora Payton phoned. She said you went into the clinic covered in blood.”
“Dora overreacted, as usual. It’s just a cut and Lauren put in a few stitches.”
