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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 a pitiful 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 café, the Not Guilty Café 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 fiancée.
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 believe me, Mr. Clayton, that I have no intention of being your guest 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. “Who is 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 café, 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 intimidatingly real, 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 café 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, supersized 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 an oh-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, whatever that 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. “I care deeply about my iPod. That’s not how you describe the man you’re going to marry. 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.”
