Читать онлайн книгу «Taking On Twins» автора Carolyn Zane

Taking On Twins
Carolyn Zane
Passion blinded me once, but not again!When the Colton investigation led to Keyhole, Wyoming, Annie Summers realized the safe life she'd built had just been blown apart by the reappearance of one man–Wyatt Russell! Once, she'd loved him with every fiber of her being.But when Wyatt had left to pursue his ambitions, she'd been brokenhearted. Now, widowed with twins, the struggling single mom refused to believe in Wyatt's passion-filled promises and let the hotshot D.C. lawyer back into her life. But had the time finally come to act on the dream she'd long suppressed?



Taking on Twins
Carolyn Zane

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen

One
“Wyatt?”
Wyatt Russell glanced up to see his foster cousin and bride-to-be Liza Colton burst through the front doors of her uncle Joe’s massive Spanish-style ranch house. In her tail-wind she dragged some hapless devil that he could only guess to be her fiancé. Liza’s giddy laughter rang out and a grin started in Wyatt’s belly and flared into his cheeks. Man, it was good to be back. As he pulled his bags out of the trunk of the idling cab, Wyatt inhaled a deep lungful of home.
Ah, Prosperino, California. Just standing in this fertile valley was rejuvenating.
The day was typically sunny, the sweeping vista filled with rolling hills and endless blue sky.
Yes, this was paradise on earth. Even more so, because of the people who waited here for his return.
“Yes! Nick, honey, it is Wyatt! Sweetheart, come on, hurry!”
“Nick,” as it were—wearing an indulgent smile—allowed himself to be yanked by the wrist as Liza rushed down the aggregate steps that led from the Hacienda de Alegria and to the cab parked beneath the sprawling portico. “Wyatt Russell, you sneaky—and terminally late might I add—rascal! I can’t believe you are actually here in time for my wedding! And a week early? Nick, honey, get ready to catch me, I may faint.”
“Liza!” Wyatt dropped his suitcases in favor of a hug and swept the willowy woman into his arms.
After they rocked and exclaimed over each other for a moment, Wyatt set Liza back on her feet and looked her up and down. Now slender and sophisticated, cousin Liza’s baby fat had migrated to all the right places, leaving her a beautiful woman. Wyatt let out a low whistle.
“Good grief. My little Lizard’s gone and grown up on me.”
“So have you, Beevis.” Liza preened under his scrutiny. She reached up and lightly touched the cleft in his chin with a forefinger. “Handsome as ever I see, ya big heartbreaker.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “How long has it been?”
“Too long.” She pouted. “Now that you’re a big-time Washington lawyer, you don’t have time for us little people.”
“This from the diva of the hoi polloi.”
“Don’t tell me you pay any attention to my career.”
Wyatt snorted. “Only every time I go through the checkout line. Did you know that you and Elvis are expecting an alien baby?”
“That is so yesterday. You obviously haven’t heard that Nick and I are divorcing.”
“Before the wedding?”
“Saves all kinds of time, don’t you agree?”
“Always thinking. And, speaking of your career, congratulations on getting your voice back. You sound better than ever.”
She lifted a palm of supplication to the heavens. “Thanks to Nick.” Liza tugged her fiancé from where he stood in the shadows behind her. “That’s how we met. He was my doctor.”
“Nick, music fans everywhere are indebted to you, man.”
Nick chuckled. “She makes me look good.”
“Wyatt, I want you to meet the man I love—” her sigh was content as she circled his biceps with her arms “—Nick Hathaway. Nick, Wyatt Russell was one of Uncle Joe’s many foster sons and—” she grinned “—my nemesis growing up.”
As Wyatt held his hand out to Nick, he could see the love sparkling in Liza’s eyes and knew that she was happy. He felt a tiny stab of envy and exhaled in a world-weary way. If only he could get his caseload to cooperate, maybe he could start penciling in a social life. A special someone. The bachelor deal was growing tedious and he longed for the type of connection with a woman that he saw radiating between these two.
He raked a hand through his hair. Weddings. They always made him go soft in the head.
“Good to know you, Nick,” he said, gripping the other man’s hand and clapping him on the back. And he meant it. There was something about Nick that immediately inspired trust. Wyatt liked him already.
“Good to meet you, too. Liza has told me all about you.”
“All?” Wyatt bent to retrieve his bags. “Has she told you that if you want to hear her really hit those high notes, a well-placed pile of plastic barf will do the trick? I recommend her sock drawer, although her shoes and her closet are both good.”
Nick cast a thoughtful look upon his intended. “I’ll keep this in mind.”
“You will do no such thing! Wyatt, leave your luggage here. We’ll get it later.” Flitting like a delicate butterfly, Liza moved between the men and, slipping her hands into the crooks of their elbows, urged them toward the house. “Right now everyone is wanting to see you. Especially Uncle Joe.”
Just as Liza had predicted, the welcoming committee was waiting in the parlor just off the breezy foyer.
“Wyatt, my boy!” Family patriarch Joe Colton’s affectionate voice reverberated off the endless expanse of slate flooring, and Wyatt was summarily joggled and jostled and pounded on the back. “You made it, son! Good deal. Just in time for dinner, too. Nothing has changed, I see.”
The poignancy of belonging burned the back of Wyatt’s throat as he returned Joe’s manly displays of affection. It was such a relief to see Joe standing there, safe and sound considering what he’d been through last year. The older man carried only a light scar on his cheek as a somber reminder of the attempt made on his life at his sixtieth birthday party.
“You’re looking good, Joe.”
Joe snorted and waved the compliment away.
Wyatt grinned. Joe never could take a compliment. He never seemed comfortable with the fact that, even in middle age, he was still a handsome guy, commanding the ladies’ attention with dark good looks and the physical build he hammered into shape every morning. Even though he’d just entered his seventh decade, his hair was only now beginning to silver at his temples, which only added to his distinguished appeal.
But none of that stuff mattered to Joe.
No. To Joe, family love and a good moral character were of utmost importance. And that was why, Wyatt noted with admiration, Joe Colton was the man he was today.
As Joe steered him into the parlor, Wyatt heard his name ring out. Soon, he was enveloped in hugs and memories of happy times that began in the bosom of this family and he laughed with unbridled joy at each familiar face that came forward to greet him. This family was his heart and soul.
But even so, he was suddenly feeling a tad fifth-wheelish.
As he looked over the crowd of faces that helped to shape his youth, everyone, it seemed to Wyatt, had a partner in this old life. Everyone but him. Odd how he’d never really noticed this feeling before today. Then again, there had been a rash of weddings recently. His gaze slowly swept the crowd as he made note of the many couples.
Besides Joe and Meredith, there were the parents of the bride, Uncle Graham and Aunt Cynthia, Wyatt’s foster brother Rand and his wife, Lucy, Joe’s daughter Sophie and her husband, River, Joe’s son, Drake and his wife, Maya, and family friend, Heather, and her husband, Thad.
And, of course, there were the bride and groom, Liza and Nick.
And these were just the people in the parlor at the moment. Damn. Wyatt passed a palm over his jaw. When had everyone gone and paired off? Over the next hour, more of the family moved in and out to extend their greetings, all married, or at the very least, engaged.
“Hey brother, how was your flight?” Rand—Wyatt’s foster brother and newest partner in their Washington D.C. law practice—inquired as he pressed a cold drink into Wyatt’s hand.
“Smooth as glass. Yours?”
“Same.” Rand lowered his voice and darted a covert glance over his shoulder at Meredith. “Have you seen Austin yet?” Austin McGrath was a shirttail foster cousin of his and Rand’s and a private investigator of growing renown.
Wyatt shook his head. “Last time we spoke on the phone, he’d hit a dead end. But he said he was close and should be sending over some sensitive information as soon as it comes in.”
“Good. I’m anxious to see if he has anything new on the situation with—” he glanced over his shoulder at Meredith “—Mom. If he sends news, I want to meet with you in private and bring you up to speed.”
Wyatt nodded. “Sure.”
“By the way, brother, thanks for staying behind and wrapping up so many loose ends back at the office. Lucy and I needed the family time.”
“No sweat. How was San Francisco?”
Rand crossed his eyes for a brief, yet meaningful moment. “We spent a few days…er, enjoying Lucy’s relatives. At her second cousins insistence, young Max will be staying there, until the wedding. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Ah. In-laws. How is that?”
“You’re a lucky man, Wyatt. Don’t take your bachelorhood for granted.”
“In-laws are that bad?”
Brow arched, Rand’s grin was weak.
Wyatt’s shrug was philosophical. “Yeah, well, at least you have a date to the wedding.”
Turning from her conversation with the bride, Lucy stepped between them and looked from her husband to Wyatt and back again and, as if she knew what they’d been talking about, said, “Rand, we’ve got to get Wyatt a date to the wedding.”
Wyatt laughed. “Can’t you turn her off for a minute?”
Rand shook his head. “Are you kidding?”
“Lucy—” Wyatt dragged her against his chest and ruffled her hair “—give it a rest. It’s bad enough that I have to put up with your incessant matchmaking on a daily basis back home.”
“Some day you’ll thank me.”
“I’ll thank you to shut up.”
Lucy pretended to pout. “Okay, Mr. Grinch. Come on, I’ll show you your suite. It’s right across from ours. Lucky you. I can matchmake all weekend.”
“Lucky me.”

As Wyatt unpacked his bags and stowed them in the closet of his luxurious suite, he couldn’t help but wonder if there would ever be a wedding in his own future.
He gave his head a sharp shake. Nah. He’d blown his chance, back in college with Annie.
Annie.
Not a day went by that he didn’t think of her. Even the mere thought of her name had his guts roiling with regret. A muscle worked in his jaw and he ground his back teeth in a way that was becoming second nature. What an idiot.
He could have been happily married by now, with a couple of kids to wrestle if he hadn’t been so self-focused. Wyatt rolled his shoulders and rotated his head from side to side to ease the tension.
Something about Liza’s impending marriage made him reflective. Maudlin. Short-tempered. And he knew it had a lot to do with his own sorry, lackluster personal life. Oh, his career path was very fulfilling and had been since college. But now that he had hit—and passed—thirty, he harbored a yearning for something he’d felt very strongly the moment he stepped from the cab.
Family. Home. Belonging to a unit. There was nothing like it.
A knock sounded at his door. “Wyatt? It’s me, Lucy.”
Then again, along with family came the hassles…. With a mock frown, Wyatt yanked open his door and barked, “I can find my own damned dates.”
“Yeah, right. Come on, Rand,” Lucy called. “He’s decent.” She scowled and moved into Wyatt’s room and perched on the bench at the end of his bed. “Well, he’s dressed anyway.”
Rand, reading as he walked, moved into the room and dropped down to sit next to his wife.
Noticing the sober look on his foster brother’s face, Wyatt stopped unpacking. “What is it?”
“The information Emily’s been wanting for so long finally came in.”
“Have you spoken with Emily?” Wyatt couldn’t help but worry and wonder about their young sister. Though she was of age, she was still just a kid in his mind.
“Not yet. But I will. Listen. Austin had a courier drop this by so that we could take a look.”
Wyatt moved to the end of his bed and dropped on the bench next to Lucy, sandwiching her between himself and Rand. “What does it say?”
“More evidence that Meredith isn’t Meredith anymore.” Rand’s tone was wry.
Wyatt’s exhale was long and slow. “What now?”
Rand tapped the pages he held. “Okay. So far we’ve all suspected that the woman out there we’ve known as ‘Mom’ might not be mom at all, but instead, her twin sister.”
“Patsy Portman,” Lucy murmured.
“Right.”
“That’s just…so hard to believe. I mean, come on. It’s wacky.” Wyatt raked a hand through his hair. ”
“True. But Emily believes it,” Rand drawled. “And she was traumatized enough to run away last September.”
“We should have listened to Emily.” To stem his agitation, Wyatt stood and moved to the wet bar. He pulled bottles of sparkling water from the refrigerator and passed them out.
“Don’t be so hard on yourselves,” Lucy murmured as she popped the top to her bottle. “Sometimes people change after severe trauma to the head. Act completely different. Besides, you had no way of knowing that Meredith had a twin. Obviously, she didn’t want any of you to know about Patsy. And can you blame her?”
Wyatt took a long pull on his water bottle, hoping to rinse the acid taste from his mouth. “No. Except that now that Em’s run away, it might have been helpful.”
“Considering what Emily’s been saying about Meredith, she may be better off out of this house.” Rand held up the documents in his hand. “Austin’s report confirms her worst suspicions.” He snapped the pages with his thumb and forefinger.
As understanding dawned, Wyatt leaned against the wet bar and gave his head a kind of backward nod. “It’s confirmed. Patsy Portman is here.”
“Right.”
Lucy twisted her fingers together. “Then it’s true. That wacko is here. In the house. With us. Now.”
Wyatt arched a brow. “We knew there was that possibility.”
“Yes, I knew it up here,” Lucy gestured to her head, “but deep down, I couldn’t really believe it. I mean it’s so…so…I mean, how can one woman take another’s place and fool everyone for ten years?”
Tipping his chin to his shoulder, Rand looked over at Wyatt. “Which also begs the question, if she’s not Mom, then where is Mom?”
Wyatt chose not to mince words. “You think she may be dead?”
“Could be. Drake thinks so. Hell, practically the whole family does.”
“Murdered?”
“Probably. Patsy’s done it before.”
Lucy glanced between the two men. “Why would Patsy do that to her own sister?”
“Jealousy, most likely.” Wyatt was becoming more certain with every bit of information revealed. “Taking Meredith’s identity would also keep her from facing another murder rap.”
Lucy let her head flop back on her shoulders. “Okay, so my mother-in-law is a murderer.”
Wyatt held up a finger. “Actually, she’s your aunt-in-law.”
Lolling her head from Wyatt to Rand, she stared pointedly at her husband. “I don’t ever want to hear you complain about my family again.”
“So far, Mom’s murder is still conjecture.” Rand tipped back his water bottle and drank, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Right now, we don’t have any hard evidence that she is indeed dead. Without a body, we can’t prove anything yet.”
“But until we do, we have to pretend that Patsy is Meredith, and that her bizarre behavior is normal?” Lucy wondered.
Wyatt shrugged. “Nothing we haven’t been doing for years now.”
Lucy looked back and forth between the men and shivered. “The only difference is that now we know for sure.”

Later that evening, dinner with his family sent memories cascading through Wyatt, making him feel more alive than he’d felt in years. There was nothing like the praise—and good-natured insults—of family. It was too bad that “Meredith” had pleaded headache and missed most of the festivities. When she’d made her excuses and stepped from the room, he’d exchanged meaningful glances with Rand and Lucy and wondered how many others at the table suspected that Meredith wasn’t actually…Meredith.
If she was missed, it didn’t dampen the festivities for long. There were toasts to the bride and groom, trips down memory lane, and a feeling of something so incredibly right. Again, Wyatt yearned for more than a professionally decorated and cleaned condo to come home to at night.
After the candles had burned low, some of the crowd retired, some headed for the hot tub, some for the pool tables and others for after-dinner drinks in the courtyard. Lucy and Rand walked with Wyatt to their neighboring suites and stepped inside Wyatt’s room for a moment.
“What now?” Wyatt asked.
Rand patted the pocket that held the papers that Austin’s courier had delivered that afternoon. “We need to get this information to Emily.” Rand glanced at Lucy. “I’ll be back in time for the wedding.”
“You’re leaving?” Wyatt asked.
“Have to. We can’t leave Emily twisting in the wind. The more we keep her in the loop, the safer she’ll be.”
Frustrated by feelings of helplessness, Wyatt nodded. “Right. How did you figure out where she went?”
“Austin’s P.I. found her a few hours ago.” Rand paused and looked into his brother’s eyes before he spoke. “She’s in Keyhole.”
Tiny hairs stood up on the back of Wyatt’s neck and he froze. Had he misunderstood? “Keyhole? Keyhole, Wyoming? You’re kidding!”
“I thought that place might ring a bell for you.” Rand narrowed his eyes, searching Wyatt’s face.
“What rings a bell? Why?” Lucy’s head swiveled back and forth between the two men as they talked over her head. “Why would some town named Keyhole ring a bell?”
“Emily’s hiding out in Keyhole?” Wyatt asked, ignoring Lucy. “Why Keyhole?”
“Don’t know. The P.I. didn’t talk to her. Keyhole’s not far from Nettle Creek, where Dad grew up, so I guess Emily maybe feels a little less homesick.” His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t Keyhole where Annie lives now?”
“Who’s Annie?” Lucy wondered.
Wyatt gave his throat a noisy clearing in hopes that he didn’t sound as screwed up as he felt. “Yeah. As far as I know.”
Lucy sighed. “Hello? Guys? Remember me? Who is Annie?”
“How long has it been since you two saw each other?” Rand asked his brother.
“Not since college.” Wyatt passed a hand over his forehead and rubbed at the familiar ache that settled in his brow every time he thought of the life Annie led without him. Just speaking about her marriage turned him into a melancholy mess. “She got married and had a couple of kids. Twin boys, I hear.”
“I’m gathering somebody named Annie has twin boys. Don’t feel like you owe me any explanation or anything. After all, I’m just standing here,” Lucy fumed.
“Wasn’t her husband killed in an accident of some kind a few years back?” Rand asked.
“Yeah. I thought you told me that.”
Rand shrugged. “Can’t remember.”
“Maybe it was Austin.” Unfortunately, Wyatt hadn’t learned of the accident that took her husband’s life until long after the funeral, and by then, his condolences seemed untimely. Misplaced. At least that was the excuse he used to explain away his fears of contacting Annie. “Anyway, as far as I know she hasn’t remarried.”
With a moan, Lucy buried her face in her hands. “I’m invisible.”
Rand laughed. “Lucy, honey, Annie was Wyatt’s first—” he arched a brow at Wyatt “—and only love.”
Lucy peeped between her fingers. “You were in love once?”
“You don’t need to sound so shocked.”
“Excuse me? Mr. I-Don’t-Need-Nobody-Nohow-Never was once in love? Oh, baby. This is juicy.” She hooted, then her eyes narrowed and she gently probed his cheekbones with her fingertips. “And, by the little flush in your cheeks, may I deduce that she still has your heart?”
Wyatt looked askance at Rand. “How do you put up with her meddling?”
Rand laughed. “With Lucy, it’s an art form. Her talent at digging up dirt is one of the main reasons I fell in love with her.”
“Aw, honey. You’re so sweet.” Lucy stepped into her husband’s arms and met his mouth for a solid kiss. Soon, happy moans were rumbling from their throats.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Don’t you two have a room of your own?” he groused. For crying in the night. Sometimes they could be so obnoxious. Not to mention thoughtless. It wasn’t like he had anyone of his own to turn to when they skipped off to their room to do whatever came naturally to newlyweds.
“Honey,” Lucy said as she nuzzled Rand’s neck, “why are you going to Keyhole? Don’t you think we should make Wyatt go? After all, he has more reasons to go than you do, don’t you think? Besides, I don’t want you to go. Stay with me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I can’t think straight with you kissing my ear that way,” Rand groaned.
“That’s it. Get out of here,” Wyatt ordered and, striding to the door, yanked it open.
With one smooth move, Rand lifted Lucy and carried her to the hall.
“Don’t worry, Wyatt,” Lucy called. “You can be back in time for Liza’s wedding. Bring a date back with you!”
Their laughter echoed down the hall and into their suite. And then it was silent.

Wyatt kicked off an insanely expensive pair of Italian leather shoes and, wiggling his toes, allowed his gaze to travel leisurely around his suite. Never—not even in his wildest dreams—would he ever have believed that he’d build a decent life for himself on this old planet. But he had.
Thanks to the fact that Joe had been a foster child himself and remembered how it had felt to be taken in and loved when the people who’d brought him into this world had been unable. The fact that Wyatt hadn’t been in Prosperino for nearly five years, then could sit down at the table and pick up where he left off as easily as if it had been five minutes, proved that family was about far more than blood. It was about shared history. About caring. Love.
As Wyatt leaned back into the pillows that were propped against the headboard, his thoughts moved to Annie.
Always to Annie.
Her family came from Keyhole. The same small town where his foster sister Emily had gone. Lord have mercy, what were the odds of that? Some astronomical number, he decided as he considered the bizarre coincidence.
Keyhole, Wyoming. The quaint little village came to life in his minds’ eye. It had been years since he’d been there. To visit Annie. To meet the family. To mess up the best thing that had ever happened to him.
His mind, like a runaway locomotive, churned and screamed with thoughts of Annie. He’d learned a long time ago that once he started thinking about her, he couldn’t stop. It made him miserable, left him sleepless. But there didn’t seem to be any cure. It was almost as if, after their first kiss, she’d become entwined with the ladder of his very DNA. Even after all these years, memories of her made his mouth go dry as the Mojave desert and his face feel the burn of his changing blood pressure. With a tortured groan, Wyatt shifted his position and covered his head with a pillow.
Fool. Fool. Fool. The downy feathers couldn’t seem to drown out the incessant refrain.
His eyes slid closed and he entertained a vision of Annie’s delightfully expressive face. She could have been a poster child for the musical that bore her name. Curly and carrot red, Annie always said that her hair was the bane of her existence. She wouldn’t believe that it had been one of the things that had first drawn Wyatt. That, and her clear ivory skin and fresh wholesome features. But the thing that he’d most loved were her amazing green eyes. Almond-shaped eyes that tilted slightly up and lent her otherwise all-American face an exotic look.
Eyes that could see through to his soul.
Wyatt pulled the pillow off his face and stared at the ceiling.
The very first time he’d met Annie, ten years ago, they’d been working together in the dish room at one of Prosperino State College’s many cafeterias. A conveyor belt carried the dirty trays toward a giant dishwasher. Along the way, student workers would remove the silverware, the paper, and the glasses. Then the trays traveled to the garbage disposal where more student workers scraped the scraps and sprayed the dishes and loaded them into the mouth of the dishwasher. The machine would haul its load, in a never-ending car-wash style, to the other end where more workers would unload. It was a hot, dirty job, but it helped to pay the bills his scholarship wouldn’t cover.
Wyatt’s job had been to load the dishwasher.
Annie’s had been to make sure all the silverware was taken off the trays before they reached Wyatt.
Her first day on the job she’d grown flustered as the trays came speeding by and, when a piece of silverware had jammed the garbage disposal for the third time, Wyatt had gotten mad. Turning off the belt, he’d marched down to the silverware station brandishing a mangled spoon.
“What the hell is the problem down here? Any idiot should be able to handle pulling three lousy pieces of silverware off a passing tray.”
Eyes snapping with anger, Annie had tossed her wild coppery mane out of her face and fired a fistful of silverware at the soapy container at her side. “Hey, buddy, I’d like to see you get it all when the belt is going a hundred miles an hour.”
Enjoying the break, their more experienced co-workers had settled in to watch the show. At the same time, students attempting to turn their trays in poked their head into the dish room to see why the belt was off and what the shouting was about.
“Nobody else seems to have a problem keeping up.” Wyatt knew that wasn’t exactly true, but he’d had a hell of a day and with midterms coming up, he was in no mood to deal with this rookie.
“Baloney. Nobody wants this stupid job. That’s why I got it before the ink was dry on my application. This is my first day, so you can just cut me some slack!”
Wyatt stared at her. “This is your first day on the job and you’re yelling at me?”
“Yes!” The little veins stood out on her neck and she fairly pulsed with frustration.
The humor of the situation suddenly struck him and Wyatt threw back his head and started to laugh. Soon, everyone but Annie was laughing. Then, lips twitching, she’d cracked and they’d all howled until the boss came in to see why trays had stacked up waist deep in the cafeteria, just outside the dish room.
The next time Wyatt had seen Annie was at the time clock a week later on Valentine’s Day.
“Hi,” he said as she punched out. He glanced at her time card. “Annie.”
“Hi.” She glanced at the card he held. “Wylie.”
“Wyatt.”
“Whatever.”
She was a smart aleck. As casually as he could, Wyatt draped an arm over the time clock and winked. “So. It’s the fourteenth. Where’s my Valentine’s kiss?”
She snorted. “Are you off your rocker? I barely know you.”
“Aw, c’mon. We’ve already had our first fight. Surely it’s time to move on to a kiss.”
“Forget it.” Her smiling green eyes belied the stern tone of her voice.
“Just a little one.” He puckered up and waited.
She giggled. “Are you always so delusional?”
“You wound me.” He thrust out his lower lip and pretended to pout.
Noisily, she exhaled. “Okay. One kiss. On the cheek.”
He wasted no time in presenting his cheek. “I’ll take what I can get.”
As she stood on tiptoe to press her full lips to his cheek, Wyatt turned at the last instant and caught her lips with his own.
She’d recoiled and shrieked with laughter. “You cheater,” she squealed, “I can’t believe I fell for that old trick!”
In a flash, she spun on her heel and tore through the industrial kitchen, pushing stainless food carts in his way as he gave chase. Cat and mouse they ran and played, darting out of the kitchen and into the now nearly empty dining room.
“Come back,” Wyatt yelled.
“Never,” Annie yelled back.
He admired her spunk. She was fast for such a short little thing. As she plunged into the great outdoors and sped down the sidewalk toward the dorm across the street, Wyatt had shouted after her, causing passing students to stop and stare.
“Someday I’m gonna kiss you proper, Annie Summers, just wait and see.”
And he had.

Two
One month after that first Valentine kiss, Wyatt lay on a blanket in the Memorial Union Quad, Annie curled at his side, her head resting on her backpack. She was close enough to set him on fire with desire, but not close enough to kiss. Oh, yeah. Wyatt released his frustration in a long, slow breath directed at the high clouds that scudded by.
That was Annie for you.
It was a beautiful spring day. Here in Prosperino, the college campus by the sea was a riot of color and the fragrant aroma of a landscape in bloom. A perfect day for lovers. For kissing. For ducking off into the bushes for a little “hot and bothered.”
Wyatt stripped off his T-shirt to better work on his tan. He glanced at Annie. She was studying her biology.
For crying out loud, didn’t she ever give it a rest? He had some biology he’d like to show her. He flexed a biceps and watched her from his peripheral vision to see if she noticed. She didn’t. He flopped over onto his back.
Annie was a nice girl. The type of girl a guy brought home to mother. Even the kind of kooky, hormone-ravaged woman his foster mother, Meredith, had been lately.
Yep. Annie Summers was the kind of girl a guy married.
The renegade thought shocked him and he nearly choked on his gum. Married? Where had that come from?
The pink tip of her tongue protruded from her mouth as she scrunched her brow and highlighted endless paragraphs of proton/neutron-type information. He groaned, low in his throat. She was driving him batty.
Overhead, seagulls wheeled and cried, begging the students for leftover crumbs from lunch. Annie was such a sucker for the noisy critters. She called them “baby” and “honey” and enticed them with bits of her sandwich. She didn’t even do that for him, he thought grumpily.
He called the stupid, noisy birds “air-rats” and shooed them off. They reminded them too much of himself as a boy he guessed. Always begging for food.
He fired a pebble at one now, and without looking, Annie reached up and smacked his hand. He chuckled. She was so cool.
They’d been dating for nearly a month now, and it had been the slowest, most torturous month of his life. Courting this woman took finesse. Savoir-faire. A patience born of wisdom and maturity.
A veritable sainthood.
Hell, he’d be a monk by the time she got done with him. So far, she’d given up three dinky little good-night kisses and some hand-holding at the midnight movie. He’d relived every moment of these whisper kisses a million times after each successful union of their lips. But always, she’d push him away, shyly claiming that she needed time.
Time? Time for what? he wanted to know.
Normally, he’d have moved on to greener pastures by now, but this was Annie.
Annie was different.
Annie was his soulmate. He’d known that from the moment his lips had touched hers back there on Valentine’s Day and a clap of thunder had gone off in his head that left him deaf to any kind of rhyme or reason when it came to one flame-haired, fiery-tempered, good-humored, overly studious Annie Summers.
“Hey.” He reached over and tugged a strand of her wild red mop away from her cheek.
“Mmm?” Her highlighter squeaked as she found a particularly interesting section in her text.
“Want to go to a party on my dorm floor tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Really?” Annie wanted to party tonight? During dead week? Had a Frosty Freeze opened in hell?
“Yeah. I could use a study break.”
Wisely, Wyatt bit back the sound of impatience he’d been on the verge of snorting.
Study break?
This would be no milk and cookies study break. This was to be a kegger of mass proportion. An out-and-out rock-n-roll, get-down-and-funky brawl. He couldn’t wait. Right now his roommate and a couple other guys who were freshly twenty-one were out scoring the beer and other accoutrements. He could fairly hear the electric guitars tuning up from here. By ten o’clock that night, people would be swinging from the chandeliers. He just hoped Annie would loosen up for once and enjoy herself.
No such luck.
By ten that night, Annie was angrily shrugging into her slightly beer-stained jacket and marching out the door and back to her room. Wyatt, whipped puppy that he envisioned himself to be these days, followed, bellowing her name like a lovesick bull.
“Annie!”
“Shut up,” she barked.
She jerked her arm out of his grasp when he finally did catch her out on the sidewalk. The moon was full—which no doubt accounted for at least some of the insanity up on his dorm floor—and he could clearly see the disgust etched into her flawless brow.
“But wait. I can explain. I had no idea, really, that it was going to be such a big, well, riot, actually—”
“Bull.”
“No, really, I’m not lying. I knew it’d be wild, but not that bad. Especially that guy with the can of Crisco. He was kidding, I think. Anyway, I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
She slowed slightly. He was breathless. Man. When the woman was mad, she could move. They reached the end of the street that fronted his dorm and Annie turned down a main drag that led to the library.
No doubt she had some studying to do, he thought sourly. The street lamps shone through the trees and cast eerie patterns on the pavement. Now and then a Thursday night reveler or two would pass. Staggering, slurring, singing and generally firing Annie up even more. He grinned, imagining that her face was nearly as hot as her hair.
As her body.
Oh, man, she had to forgive him.
Out of energy reserves, he grabbed her arm, and when she tried to jerk away, he didn’t let go.
“Annie.” He was breathing heavy now, from the exertion or from the effect her anger had on his libido, he couldn’t tell. “Annie, please, honey, I’m sorry.”
Annie sighed. “I can’t believe you like hanging out with those…those…” She groped for the perfect word, meant to scathe. To blister. To singe.
“Animals?” he supplied helpfully.
“Yes!” she exploded, sending the word into the next zip code. “They were horrible!” She gave her arms a frenetic waving. “All gropy and dopey and—”
“Freaky and geeky?” He pulled her off the beaten trail and into a small grove of trees at the side of the library. “Goofy and doofy?” Steering her against a tree, he leaned across her body, balancing against a smooth trunk with his palm. Looking into her eyes, he arched a brow and grinned. “Dancy and fancy?”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Why not?”
“I’m mad and I want to stay that way.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“Tough noogies,” she said petulantly.
He brought his lips to hers and rubbed them lightly across. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered into her mouth. Her breath was sweet. Minty and warm and fresh and…Annie.
“I can’t help it. I want you to respect me. Not treat me like some kind of brain-dead, sex-crazed party animal.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, raining kisses in a line along her jaw until he reached that little place behind her ear where she’d dabbed something musky. “I’ll never treat you like a sex-crazed animal again,” he murmured, reclaiming her mouth and speaking against her lips, her nose, her chin.
“Promise?” she breathed.
He noted that her lungs were laboring nearly as hard as his now.
“Promise.”
“What?” she murmured and wound her arms around his neck. “What did you promise? I—I forgot.”
“I promise to treat you like a sex-crazed party animal.”
“Good.” She didn’t seem to realize, or care about, his mistake.
Wyatt wasn’t actually sure that it was a mistake, but he was too busy filling his hands with her silky red curls to analyze. Just the same, before she could protest, he closed his mouth over hers for their first real kiss. A deep, soul-searching kiss that he put everything he had into, knowing that—for this evening anyway—it was all he’d get from Annie.
He eased her flat up against the tree trunk and pressed his body into hers, absently noting how well her valleys fit his hills and vice versa. As he lay over her, he lowered his hands from where they’d been tangled in her hair and captured her wrists and pulled her arms up over her head.
She writhed beneath him, arching against him, returning his kiss with every bit of the passion he’d dreamed of from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. From deep in her throat, a whimper of sorts issued, and she melted against him, her head moving back and forth, seeking, searching for a better fit of her mouth under his.
He moved with her, accommodating, anticipating her every move, straining to become a single unit with her. He released her arms and she wound them at the back of his neck. His own hands settled at her jaw. Beneath his onslaught, Wyatt could feel her losing herself, becoming weightless, boneless, fearless. He knew because the same thing was happening to him.
It was a blissful feeling that he’d never experienced before. A feeling he never wanted to lose. A feeling of unity.
Of belonging.
This. This must be what love was all about, his muzzy mind reasoned, as he tore his mouth from hers just long enough to gasp for air and go back for more. No wonder so many people spent their lives searching for it. If this was at the end of the rainbow, count him in.
With his fingers, he traced the contours of her face, memorizing the feel of her cheeks, the union of their mouths, the way her fabulous hair tickled his cheeks, his neck. He breathed in the sea air, the scents of spring flowers, the velvety, cool darkness, the scent of Annie’s perfume mixed with spilled beer and old leather. He listened to the serenading crickets, the distant music and laughter of a party in progress and the footfalls of the occasional passerby. He committed each of these things to memory, realizing this was an experience he never wanted to forget.
What Wyatt hadn’t realized at the time was that this very kiss welded him to Annie Summers for the rest of his natural life.
Even after she married another guy and bore his sons.

Wyatt woke with a start, and for a moment, couldn’t remember where he was. Slowly reality began to dawn and he realized that he’d fallen asleep in his clothes. Again. And dreamed of Annie. Again.
Blearily, he rolled on his side and checked the clock. Three in the morning. The Hacienda de Alegria was wrapped in the kind of cottony, deep silence that only happened at that particular hour. He sat up and pulled off his T-shirt and flung it on the floor.
He’d been sweating.
Must have been some dream.
Right now, he could only recall fragments, but as usual, Annie played a starring role in his bed. He unzipped his jeans, eased them over his hips and kicked them off. Then, reaching for the light on his nightstand, he clicked the room into a blackness the color of the hole in his heart. Even now, fully awake, he could feel Annie’s body pressed against his.
How had he ever been stupid enough to let her go?
Back then, as a child of a broken home, he’d had something to prove, he guessed. Making it to the top was all-important.
When Annie had to leave school during her junior year and return home after her father had a debilitating stroke, their long-distance relationship had begun to suffer under the strain. She’d felt strongly about her family ties and decided that she was needed at home to help run the family business. It was a heartrending decision, but family had come first to Annie.
And at the time, being so young, he hadn’t understood the deeply precious gift that family could be. But Annie had. To Annie, family was everything.
Always.
Still.
And now, seven years later, Wyatt lived in regret.
His Annie had married someone else. Borne his children and was now his widow. She would probably always love the father of her sons and carry his insurmountable memory in her heart till the day she died.
He could have been the father of those children. Her one and only love. If only he hadn’t thrown it all away for a meaningless career that did not love him back at the end of the day.
Wyatt punched his pillow. He knew eating his heart out was fruitless, so he tried to envision Annie older now. Grayer. Life-ravaged. Age-spotted. Stoop-shouldered. Knock-kneed. Tongue-tied. Rotten-toothed.
Wyatt’s chuckle was grim.
Seeing Annie face to face again would no doubt be the only way he’d ever be able to fully purge her from his soul. To get on with his life. To realize that what they had was now dead. Over. Ancient history.
By now she was undoubtedly a battle-scarred old crone. The nagging, perpetually weary mother of two identical little demons. He was lucky to be footloose and fancy-free of that ugly scene.
And, if he repeated this mantra often enough, he might just start to believe it.

The next morning in the wee Saturday hours, after a quick discussion with Rand, Wyatt phoned the airline from his room and reserved the last seat on a flight leaving from San Francisco to Seattle. From Seattle he’d catch a commuter to Jackson Hole and be in Keyhole by early lunchtime. Then he called and arranged for a cab to meet him out front in fifteen minutes.
At least now he had a legitimate excuse for going to Keyhole without looking like the loser he feared Annie would see in him. He hoped she was still single. He guessed that she was probably was. He’d have called and asked before now, but until this deal with Emily came up, he hadn’t been able to figure out a way to barge back into her life. A life that seemed to have gone on quite happily without him. He had to give her credit. That was something he’d been unable to do.
Maybe this trip would give him a chance to apologize and maybe work on a sense of closure, if nothing else.
For once, Wyatt was glad that Lucy was a terminal matchmaker.
He could barely believe that within a matter of hours, he’d be in the same town as Annie. His gut clenched and his heart picked up speed at the thought. He and Rand had agreed to keep this trip low-key with the family. No need to risk Emily’s location by letting too many in on the secret.
Already, he’d repacked and made his excuses—an unexpected business appointment in the Midwest—to Liza, Nick and Joe, whom he’d found having coffee out by the pool. They’d all been disappointed, but understanding. Especially since he’d promised Liza a pound of flesh if he didn’t make it back in time for her wedding.
Nobody had a hard time believing that Wyatt put business first. He always had.
They had no way of knowing that he was a changed man. Or at the very least, an evolving man.
On his way out to await his cab, Wyatt breathed in all the familiar morning scents of Joe Colton’s “House of Joe.” Rich, aromatic coffee wafted in from the kitchen and a warm breeze carried the fragrance of blooming roses in from the courtyard where Nick and Liza were to be married next week. The bakers were working overtime, and though the fresh cinnamon rolls and coffee cakes smelled heavenly, Wyatt couldn’t eat. He was too keyed up over the thought of seeing Annie again.
Before he stepped out the front door, Wyatt heard voices coming from the parlor, just off the foyer. He paused to poke his head inside and bid a quick goodbye to whoever might be in there. As he cracked the door, the voices grew heated, rising in both volume and intensity.
Uncle Graham and his son, Jackson, were at it again.
Grimacing, Wyatt backed away. Rather than chance drawing their attention, he left the door ajar and moved as far away from the parlor as possible, and still be in the house and able to watch for his cab through the leaded glass sidelights at the front doors. Unfortunately, as much as he tried to block it out, it was impossible not to overhear the content of the disturbing conversation.
Jackson’s voice had an ominous, feral quality. “Okay, Dad. One more time. The reason you’ve been making these massive deposits into this mystery account is because you are being…blackmailed?”
“Keep your voice down,” Graham growled.
“Why the hell should I keep my voice down? Blackmail is illegal! Whoever is doing this to you can be stopped. Get yourself a good lawyer. I’m available. If you don’t want me, the family is loaded with them. Just ask Rand or Wyatt. I’m sure they can think of a way to bail you out of whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” Jackson’s voice was filled with the parental censure usually reserved for father to son and not vice versa.
Wyatt could hear the soles of Jackson’s shoes tattooing out an agitated beat that must have had him pacing in furious circles.
“That wouldn’t be prudent.”
“What, you don’t like Rand? Wyatt?”
“Has nothing to do with them. Or you.”
“Then what?”
“I’m being blackmailed by a member of the family.”
The echo of pacing footsteps stopped.
At this, Wyatt felt a warning tension grip the muscles at the back of his neck and he abandoned his position behind the giant potted palm and as casually as he could—given the circumstances—moved to the parlor door to listen. This was far too interesting to ignore.
Jackson sounded incredulous. “Come again?”
“I’m being blackmailed by a member of this family.”
“Who?”
“I find it difficult to say, as I don’t want to tarnish your image of someone you hold to be nothing less than a saint.” Graham sounded smug. Arrogant. A man who had not one whit of his brother, Joe’s, grace and maturity.
“I find your childish games tiresome, Dad. Why don’t you cut to the chase before I doze off?”
“Can’t have that.” The legs of a chair scraped against the floor. “Perhaps this will wake you up. I’m being blackmailed by Meredith.”
Silence.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Jackson snorted. “Why would Aunt Meredith blackmail you?”
Graham seemed to take great pleasure in dropping this particular bomb. “Because I’m Teddy’s father.” The snick of a lighter sounded and a haze of pungent cigar smoke filtered out to the foyer. “Surprised?”
Silence.
“Son, you seem a little dismayed by the indelicate truth.” Graham’s harsh laughter rumbled. “Having a hard time believing that Joe’s lily-pure wife could take pleasure in my bed? Or perhaps it’s finding out that you have a little brother that’s a bit off-putting.”
A sound of pure disgust issued from Jackson’s throat.
“Not so perfect after all, are they?” Graham sucked on his cigar for a moment. “Still have good old Uncle Joe and Aunt Meredith up on the damned pedestal?”
Wyatt’s mind raced. More than ever, he was convinced that Meredith was not Meredith. Emily’s situation seemed increasingly grave with every tick of the parlor clock. Clearly, Patsy Portman had a dangerous agenda. He couldn’t get to Keyhole soon enough. A sense of urgency had his mouth dry as day-old toast and his heart roaring like a wounded lion in his ears. He’d have to call Rand and Lucy from Keyhole and tell them what he’d overheard.
Outside, a car horn sounded. His cab. As quietly as possible, Wyatt retrieved his luggage and made good his escape. Fresh air filled his burning lungs as he opened the double doors that led out of the house. With a gentle pull, he closed the door behind him, then moved to the portico and handed the cabby his luggage.
“Airport,” he instructed.

As he left the parlor and headed for the dining room, Jackson Colton fought the bile that rose in his throat. His father’s confession disgusted him more than he could ever put into words. Although he couldn’t say he was surprised. His father was no choirboy.
And Meredith. Meredith had changed.
As a child, he’d adored his Aunt Meredith. In fact, he’d looked upon her as a second mother. But in the past years—before the time of Teddy’s birth, in fact—Jackson had noticed changes in Meredith that more than disturbed him. For so long, everyone had tried to pass these changes off as postpartum depression or the accident, but Teddy. was eight years old now and the accident happened a decade ago.
His sister, Liza, had once hinted that she believed something very amazing and unbelievable accounted for the changes in Aunt Meredith. At the time, Jackson had brushed off the wild notion. But now, as he reflected back on Liza’s crazy theory, a chill raced down his spine and he feared there might just be more than a grain or two of truth there.
When he arrived in the dining room, he was dismayed to discover that he was not entirely alone.
Meredith was seated at the head of the table with a cup of coffee, a croissant and the society page. Languidly, she lifted her gaze from the print and trained it on Jackson. A small smile played at her lips, and she sat up a little straighter.
“Good morning, Jackson.”
“Is it, Meredith?”
He could feel her watching him pick up a serrated knife and begin to saw his bagel in half.
“Something wrong, dear? You don’t seem quite yourself.”
Still holding the knife, Jackson turned to face her. “Funny, I could say the exact same thing about you.”
Meredith’s face hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just this—If you don’t stop extorting money from my father, I will go to the police.”
Meredith laughed, playing it light, as if she thought he were joking. “Jackson, honey, what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
Jackson had to hand it to her. She was as cool as the other side of a pillow on a hot summer day. “I’m talking about the fact that my father is paying you hush money because he’s afraid Joe will write him out of his will, if—” his voice grew steely “—Joe finds out that his rotten little brother is really the father of your son.” He ran the blade of the knife across his fingertip, testing its sharpness. “So, since my father is too much of a spineless jellyfish to call your bluff, I guess the dubious pleasure is mine.” Jackson stabbed his knife into the cutting board and turned to look her in the eye. “Back off. Do I make myself clear?”
Meredith blanched and clutched her cup till it rattled against the saucer. “Don’t you dare threaten me, Jackson Colton.”
“Or what?”
“Or you, my precious nephew, will be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry.”
Shaking with rage, Meredith watched Jackson stalk out of the room and frantically wondered exactly what he knew. He couldn’t know that she was an impostor. No one knew that—with the exception of Emily—and soon, that would no longer be a problem.
Meredith reached into the pocket of her robe for her ever-present bottle of tranquilizers. After several botched attempts, she was finally able to shake two into her palm. She tossed them into her mouth and chased them down her throat with a gulp of coffee.
She took a deep, cleansing breath, and waited for the rage to subside and the little voices that shrieked in her head to quiet down.
Breathe in, breathe out.
In…out… In…visualize the peaceful place…out. She focused on the hands of the wall clock and watched a minute dissolve into ten.
Yes. There now. She was fine. She would be just fine.
Better than fine, actually.
A rough plan began to form in the back of her mind. She needed Jackson gone now too, but it would get a little messy if there were too many murder attempts all at once. No, there had to be an easier way to get rid of Jackson.
Too bad she couldn’t send him to jail. That was a good place to go, if you were an annoyance. She ought to know. She’d certainly spent her share of time in jail. The tranquilizers began to kick in, giving her a relaxed and vaguely euphoric feeling. Jail. Hey, now. Maybe she should give this jail thing some thought. Maybe that wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
But for what?
Unless…
Unless she could get him to go for the attempt on his uncle’s life.
A light bulb flashed on in Patsy’s mind.
That was it.
Her heart began to hammer. In fact, while she was going to all the trouble, she’d set him up for both attempts on Joe’s life. A slow smile crept across her lips. Oh, yes, Patsy, honey, she gave herself a mental pat on the back, you are good.
Satisfied as a cat with a bowl of cream, Meredith went back to the society section and her half-empty cup of coffee. After a little nap, she’d get started on her plan to get Jackson out of the picture, and thereby solve a lot of nasty problems.

Annie Summers, her mouth full of bobby pins, looked into an antique, gilt-framed wall mirror with disgust. Her hair. Her lousy, rotten, crinkly, goofy hair was having one of its notorious bad days. The April sun streamed in from a nearby window, creating a rusty halo that gave her a bit of a fallen angel look. She curled an upper lip to enhance the effect. It was hopeless. No amount of spray or gel or relaxer or blow-drying or clippy doo-dads would whip it into submission, either. They hadn’t invented the product that could handle her particular mop, and the day they did, she was buying stock. She’d be a millionaire overnight.
“Moah? Amicks?” she muttered around the hairpins.
“Yeah?” Noah and Alex’s muffled voices came from the back of her shop.
“Mat are oo doing?”
“Playin’.”
“Id oo tut ’er shoes on, yike I asked?” Annie removed the pins from her mouth and crammed them into her makeshift bun and hoped for the best.
“Uh…” Whispered laughter and some scrambling reached her ears. “Yeah, we’re putting our shoes on.”
“Are you putting them on your feet?” She grinned at their giggles. One didn’t live with two five-year-olds and not know when they were up to no good.
“Er, uh, okay,” Alex, self-appointed spokesman for the two, answered.
“Are you putting them on now?”
“Uhh…yeah.”
“Are you wearing socks?”
“Oh…well—”
With a sigh, Annie dropped her brush on a Louis XIV love seat and strode from the showroom of the antique store, Summer’s Autumn Antiques, that she’d inherited from her father. Moving into the play area she kept next to her office for her boys, she stopped short and stared.
“What the—” Exasperated, Annie shook her head. “What are you guys doing in your—” she took in the bare chests and, in one case, bare bottom “—underwear? Alex, where is your underwear?”
“It was his idea,” Alex said, pointing at Noah.
“Was not.”
“Was too!”
“What idea?” Annie asked.
“We were going to put our clothes on the dog and surprise you.”
As Alex explained, Chopper, the aging black Lab, came hobbling out from behind the toy box, his foot caught up in the arm of a sweater. He sported socks and shoes on three of his four feet. His tail, which he wagged pitifully, protruded from the fly of some small body’s—obviously Alex’s—underpants. Chopper looked absolutely miserable.
Try as she might, Annie could not hold back the giggles. Screaming with delight, the boys joined in, doing a little jig that had their skinny little bodies flailing and leaping.
“Why on earth did you think to put clothes on poor Chopper?”
“No shirts, no shoes, no service,” Noah offered.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Annie looked back and forth between the two faces, mirror images of hers, both earnest in their explanation.
“We wanted Chopper to come out to lunch with us—”
“—and he couldn’t go if he was naked—”
“—cause Emma says the sign in the window says—”
Annie held up her hand. “Okay. I get it. But you guys need to know that they don’t serve dogs at the Mi-T-Fine Café. Even well-dressed dogs, like Chopper, here.”
Alex’s face fell. “Never?”
“Never?” Noah echoed.
“Nope.” She gestured to the dog. “And since they don’t serve naked kids either, put this poor animal out of his misery and you two get dressed.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll give you five minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m going without you. And I’m ordering hot dogs.”
“Hot dogs!” the boys shouted with glee and in record time were ready for lunch on the town—or at least at the restaurant next door—with Mom.

Over the glass entrance doors of the Mi-T-Fine Caféin Keyhole, Wyoming, an electronic chime announced Wyatt’s arrival. The restaurant was doing a healthy business and no one in particular looked up to see who’d come in. From inside the kitchen a wonderfully familiar female voice called, “Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
It was Emily. She sounded safe and healthy, anyway. That was a good sign. Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief.
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry,” he called and wandered to an empty booth in the front of the restaurant near a bank of windows that overlooked the quaint main street.
Keyhole was a Mecca for tourists on their way to or from Yellowstone National Park. Nestled in a lush valley, surrounded by spectacular, majestic mountains, the little town ingeniously mixed the new and the old to create a trendy, upbeat feel. Keyhole was known to antique hunters all over the country for its delightful painted lady Victorians, western facade buildings and the historic treasures they held within.
Skiers—both water and snow—hikers, climbers, wind-surfers, hunters and fishermen enjoyed the sports offered by the great outdoors. All around the perimeter of town, hotels were popping up as Keyhole became a mini-Aspen. It wasn’t unusual to see celebrities shopping or skiing in Keyhole anymore. Luckily, growth was relatively slow and Keyhole had managed to maintain its small-town flavor.
Wyatt could see why Annie loved this town. Like Prosperino, it was a bit of heaven on earth.
He plucked a menu from between the sugar container and the salt-and-pepper shakers and studied the special that was clipped to the cover.

At the other side of the café, Annie shushed her rowdy boys and, cocking her head, listened for the mellow baritone again, to no avail.
“No,” she whispered. “Couldn’t be.” Craning her head, she searched the aisle and tried to peer over the high-backed booths and the partitions that blocked her view of the front of the room.
That voice.
Just the sound of it unleashed a plethora of emotion within her, both good and bad. Annie shrugged off the crazy notion as her boys distracted her, wrestling over crayons. Must be someone who sounded incredibly like him, she thought and rubbed the gooseflesh that had risen on her arms.
“Alex, eat the bun too.”
“But I’m saving it for Chopper.”
Annie threw her hands up. Where Chopper was concerned it was impossible to reason with her boys. “Fine. But don’t put it in your shirt pocket. You’re getting mustard everywhere.”
“Okay.” Alex removed the mustard-slathered bread and slapped it into her hand. “Here. Could you put this in your purse?”
Annie exhaled mightily and searched the ceiling for patience. Her crisp white blouse now sported yellow polka-dots in various shapes and sizes. Dabbing at them with a napkin only made them worse.

From inside the kitchen, Emily recognized the familiar voice and openmouthed, flew to the pickup window and craned her neck to catch a glimpse. Wyatt! After seven solid months on the lam, to finally see a member of her family was overwhelming. She blinked back the tears of joy. Help had arrived at last and now, perhaps, someone might just take her seriously.
Reaching behind her, she untied her apron and waved at Roy who was busy over the sizzling grill. Helen was making coffee and Geraldine was out on the floor. They’d be fine without her for a few minutes. “I’m taking a break,” she called and they nodded.
Emily rushed through the restaurant as old fashioned as its name implied. The walls were a rough plank and overhead, shelves were loaded with historic knickknacks and plants. In the background, some easy listening was piped in through speakers in the ceiling. The murmur of voices ebbed and flowed, and underscoring it all, silverware clanked and the grill sizzled.
Wyatt glanced up at the sound of her approach. “Emily!” He held out his hand and pulled her into the booth beside him and gave her temple a sound kissing. Eyes thirsty, he drank in the sight of her, checking her over until he was satisfied that she was all right. He reached up, touching her shock of chestnut-red hair and was once again reminded of his Annie.
Emily plucked a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the table and crushed it to her mouth. “How did you find me?”
“Rand and Austin tracked you down.”
“I would have called, but it’s not safe.”
“I know.”
“You do?” She pushed her napkin to her eyes and cast him a watery smile. “You believe me?”
“We all do.”
“Oh,” she blubbered. “Finally.”
“Better late than never?”
“Oh, yeah.” Smile tremulous, she turned her back to the aisle. Facing him, she leaned on her elbow to create some privacy. “I don’t have much time. This is the middle of the Saturday lunch rush and it can get a little hairy here.”
“That’s fine,” Wyatt said with a nod. “We can talk later. I plan on staying for several days—”
“Really?” Emily heaved a ragged sigh. “I’ve been starved for news of home.”
“Well, I’m loaded with that, and more.” He tapped the envelope that lay in front of him on the table, then slid it over to rest in front of her.
Emily stared. “What’s this?”
“The news you’ve been waiting for. It’ll make some interesting nighttime reading, that I can guarantee.”
“It’s about Mom?”
“And her identical twin sister. A woman named Patsy Portman.”
“A twin. I knew it,” she murmured.
“We’re guessing that you were right all along about Patsy taking Meredith’s place.”
“It happened the day of the accident. I just know it. Remember when Mom went off the road and wrecked the car?”
“Emily, do you have any idea what may have happened to Meredith?”
“I can’t remember,” she whispered. “It happened so fast, and it’s years ago now. I was crying and confused. My head hurt and Mom’s head was bleeding so much. I think I passed out. What I do remember is seeing another woman there who looked exactly like Mom. Then, I don’t remember anything until she brought me into the emergency room. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t bleeding anymore…”
Wyatt slowly nodded. “Meredith must have disappeared between the accident and the emergency room, while you were unconscious.”
Snatching another napkin from the dispenser, Emily scrubbed at her nose. “Mmm. That’s what I’ve always suspected. But no one believed me until now.”
“We believe you, honey. We’re on your side and we’re here to help you.”
“What about Mom?”
Wyatt slipped an arm around her shoulders and brought the top of her head to his neck. “We’re working on that. Austin’s on her trail, as we speak.” He tried to inject a note of confidence into his voice. “What exactly happened the night you left?”
In a halting voice, Emily spoke. “Someone tried to kill me. And, he nearly succeeded.”

Three
Wyatt drew a long, slow breath. Hearing the brutal truth had the bile rising into his throat. “I could use some fresh air. How about you?”
Emily peeked up at the counter. Geraldine and Helen were still busy with customers and no one new had come in since she’d sat down. “Yes. I think that would be okay. If we don’t stay long.” She tucked into her apron pocket the envelope that Wyatt had brought, then waved her hand at the counter. “Geraldine?”
“Yes, honey?” Geraldine took in the tear streaks on Emily’s cheeks and frowned at Wyatt.
“I’m just gonna take a quick break. You guys okay without me?”
Geraldine glanced around, then returned her suspicious gaze to Wyatt. “For a few minutes, sure.”
“I’ll have her back pronto,” Wyatt assured her. “Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”
Geraldine looked skeptical.
The doorbell chimed again as Wyatt held the door for Emily.
“Noah! Alex!” Annie strained to hear above the hubbub of her children’s voices. “Pipe down for just a second, will you?”
“Why?” Alex asked.
“Because I’m trying to hear something,” Annie snapped, flapping her hands and making lip-zipping motions.
Noah found her wild gesticulations most amusing and howled with laughter.
“Whater ya trying to hear?” Alex pressed.
Annie pressed her nose to the window and tried to see around front.
Noah tapped her arm. “Whatcha see?”
Her exasperated sigh fogged the pane of glass. “Nothing.”

Wyatt took Emily’s hand and led her to a bench on the wooden sidewalk just outside Summer’s Autumn Antiques. He pulled her down beside him and once again, slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“Someone tried to kill you.”
Emily’s head bobbed beneath his chin.
Sick at heart, Wyatt pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know it’s probably pretty hard to talk about, but the more you can tell me, the more we can help.”
Emily glanced around. When she was satisfied that no one was listening, she continued. “I was on my way to bed when I noticed that my bedroom door was nearly closed. You remember how Dad would never let us kids close our doors until we were in bed? Even so, normally, I’d have just thought Inez made a mistake, but because of what had just happened at Dad’s birthday party a few months earlier I was still a little wary.”
“Mmm.”
Wyatt knew all about the attempt on Joe’s life. That night, Rand had called from the party, shaken. “Dad made a speech. There was a lot of confusion,” Rand had told him. “Balloons, confetti, sixty white doves flying everywhere. Then, Dad lifted his glass, and there was a shot. His glass shattered…I was stunned. We all were. Then people started to scream. At first we thought…we thought he might be dead, but thank God, the bullet only grazed his cheek. Nobody else was hurt. Dad grabbed Mom’s hand and pulled her to the ground for cover…” That night, Rand’s emotion-packed words had Wyatt’s skin crawling. Just as it was now. It was ironic, Wyatt mused, how Joe may have saved the life of the very person who wanted him dead.
Emily’s shaky voice brought him back to the present. “I tiptoed in my room and before I saw him I knew I was not alone. Someone was there with me and I was scared, thinking that whoever it was had come back for Dad.”
From his hip pocket, Wyatt retrieved a handkerchief and, tipping her chin, dabbed at the tears that ran down her cheeks. Several passersby cast her a curious look.
“Wait until you’re ready, sweetheart,” Wyatt said. “In fact, if this is too painful, you can tell me another time.”
“No!” Emily gave her head a vehement shake. “I’ve been waiting to talk about this for months now. I want to tell you. It’s just…hard.”
“I know.”
“Anyway once my eyes adjusted, I could see a man—a stranger—hiding behind the drapes, near the bed. And, Wyatt, he had a knife.”
Emily looked up at Wyatt and he gave her shoulder a squeeze.
“I thought I was going to faint, but somehow I managed to stumble down the stairs and out the front door. He—” Emily swallowed “—he followed me.” Wyatt closed his eyes. “What’d you do?”
“Kept running until I remembered the alcove where Liza and I would play when we were kids. The entrance is easy to miss if you don’t know it’s there.”
Wyatt was filled with brotherly admiration. “Wow. Quick thinking saved your life.”
“It was instinct. Oh, Wyatt, I’ve never been so scared in my life. I hid in the alcove until sun up. All I could think to do was hide. Somewhere. Anywhere.
“After a while, this really nice older trucker picked me up and told me he was headed to Wyoming. Wyatt, it seemed like a sign. Dad had been harbored here, back when he was a little boy and the McGraths fostered him. So, I climbed into his truck, and here I am.”
Wyatt gestured down the street. “The McGrath farm where Dad grew up in Nettle Creek is only a few miles from here.”
Emily’s smile was wan. “I know.”
“Are you okay now?”
“I still have all kinds of bad dreams. And I’m not using Blair as my last name anymore. Everyone here knows me as Emma Logan.” She blinked up at Wyatt. “But I think I’m pretty safe here.”
“Let’s keep it that way, okay, Emily…Logan?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“I’d better get you back to work now. But listen. I’m staying across the street at that little hotel,” he pointed to The Faded Rose, a quaint, pale yellow building with flower baskets adorning the porch. “Room 102. You call me if you need anything, okay?” Standing, Wyatt pulled her to her feet.
“I will.” She slipped an arm around his waist as they walked back to the grill. “Wyatt, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.”
“I’m glad, too.”
He held the door open for her and Geraldine, noting Emily’s blotchy, tear-stained complexion and red-rimmed eyes, scowled.
“Geraldine, I’ll be back on the floor in five.”
“I’m here, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I don’t think Geraldine likes me,” Wyatt murmured.
“She’ll come around.” Emily moved to the other side of the counter, poured him a cup of coffee and motioned for him to take one of the empty stools. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“Yeah, come to think of it, I’m starved. The special will be fine. And, Em, before you go, listen. I know it’s going to be hard, but you are going to have to continue to lay low until Austin and Rand have enough solid evidence against Patsy to bring to the police.”
“Poor thing. Something awful must have happened to make her this way.”
Wyatt’s admiration for his kid sister jumped up yet another notch. Trust Emily to have compassion for the woman who tried to end her life. Again, she reminded him of Annie. “Oh, and one last thing. I know Keyhole is a growing town, but I just wondered if you’ve ever met a woman named Annie Summers. I heard from Rand that she kept her maiden name when she married. Anyway, he says she owns an antique store in the area.”
Emily nodded. “Of course I know Annie.”
“You…do?” Wyatt felt his stomach clench.
“Sure. Keyhole’s not that big. She owns Summer’s Autumn Antiques, next door. I used to help out there on my days off. Annie and I are friends. In fact, that’s her over there.” Emily pointed to the other side of the restaurant. “She comes in for lunch with her twin boys, Noah and Alex, pretty much every Saturday.”
Wyatt felt a bolt of lightning blast through him the likes of which he’d not experienced since that Valentine’s kiss, so many years ago. Slowly, his gaze followed the direction Emily pointed and, for the first time in years, settled on the wonderful face of Annie Summers. Luckily, she was too busy to notice him and he took the time to look her over.
She hadn’t changed a bit.
She was neither graying, nor age-spotted, nor knock-kneed, or even snaggle-toothed, the way he’d hoped. No, she was still the smooth-skinned, fiery-haired young woman that he’d fallen in love with back in college. In fact, if possible, she was even more attractive than before. Motherhood definitely seemed to agree with her. Even though she had two kids now, she was still as trim as ever. Her facial features had lost their girlishness and were now more angular and womanly, highlighting the enormity of her eyes and the fullness of her lips.
Unnoticed, he watched as she interacted with the two frolicking puppies that were so obviously her sons. Her kids had creased a permanent smile into the corners of her eyes and mouth and she looked content in her new life. More than content. Happy.
A cloud of self-doubt rolled in and settled over his heart. Surely, she wasn’t pining away for him, the way he had been for her. Just by looking at her, he could guess that meeting up with the unresolved past and all the emotions that went with it was not on her agenda for today.
He watched as she dipped a napkin into her water glass and mopped the mustard from her boys’ freckled faces. They resisted her ministrations in a typical reaction for their age. One of them picked up a napkin and dabbed at something on her face, causing her laughter to ring out.
Wyatt closed his eyes and struggled to inhale. The sound of her laughter caused such an explosive reaction in his body, he could barely breathe. For him, nothing had changed. The past seven years evaporated like a puddle on a midsummer’s day and he was vexed to discover that he was as fiercely in love with her this minute, as he’d been the day she said goodbye.
Clenching the countertop, he watched her gather her things and herd the boys to the cash register, only two dozen feet away, to pay her bill. Dressed more sophisticatedly than the simple jeans of their college days, she wore a pair of khaki slacks and a white blouse. Her wonderful hair was swept into a knot at the top of her head, but curly wisps escaped, still defying her attempts to tame them.
After she’d signed her credit receipt, she called her boys and with a bing-bong, was gone.
“Where is she going?” Wyatt wondered aloud.
“Back to work, right next door. The place we were sitting in front of, a minute ago. She works there till five on Saturdays.”
Distracted, Wyatt scooted off his stool and stood. He bent to press his lips against Emily’s temple.
“How do you know Annie?” Emily asked.
“You too,” Wyatt answered and laid some cash on the counter.
“Me too, what?”
“You’ll call me tonight, right?”
“Okay, sure, but—” Emily watched him go, a puzzled frown marring her brow. “Uh, wait a minute. Where are you going? What about your lunch?”
“Thanks, Em,” he called and was gone.

What on earth was that all about? Emily leaned over the counter and watched Wyatt stride past the window after Annie Summers. She pulled her pencil from her bun and thoughtfully scratched her head with the eraser tip. He’d had the strangest look on his face when he’d looked at Annie. It was almost as if they’d known each other. But Wyatt had never lived in Wyoming, so that couldn’t be it.
Her thoughts were distracted by the front door’s bell.
Lean and lanky, Toby Atkins, Keyhole’s resident law officer, pushed through the glass door, his gaze searching for, and immediately landing on, Emily. His boyishly handsome face lit up at the sight of her, and Emily returned his smile.
She moved behind the counter to pour him his usual cup of coffee. “Pie?” she asked, as he straddled a stool on the other side of the counter. “We’ve got your favorite. Lemon meringue.”
“How can I say no?” Toby’s fond gaze followed her as she cut his pie and found him a fork.
“So,” Emily asked, as she set his plate before him, “what’s new, Toby?”
“Nothing much. I did want to mention to you that there have been some reports of petty thievery in the Nettle Creek area. So, I thought I’d swing past your place several times each night on my nightly rounds for while. Thought it might be a good idea, all things considered, but I didn’t want you to worry if you saw me.”
“I don’t worry when you’re on the job, Toby,” she said gently, and meant it.
His fair features flushed a charming shade of red.
Emily knew that Toby believed he was falling for her. It was evident in his smile, the way his gaze followed her as she worked, the interest he’d taken in her.
Even now, she could feel his deep blue gaze protectively following her every move. Emily caught his eye and they exchanged an awkward, bashful moment. He was such a darling. And she was exceedingly relieved and grateful that he was taking such care with her safety.
But that was all. When it came to returning his feelings, Emily wished she could. Toby was a good man. One of the best. Her smile grew melancholy. Unfortunately, she was simply not in love with him.

Annie Summers felt the tips of her ears grow fiery hot and a tingle spread from the base of her spine throughout her entire body. Light-headed, she took several steps backward until she bumped into the ornately carved arm of a settee, which she grabbed onto to keep from slumping to the ground.
The man who stood silhouetted in the door looked exactly like Wyatt Russell, but the shadows that fell across his familiar face made it impossible to tell for sure.
No, she assured herself. It couldn’t be. Wyatt here in Keyhole? Impossible. He was in Washington D.C., making a name for himself as a hotshot lawyer. He had no business here in Wyoming. It had to be her imagination playing tricks on her. She simply had Wyatt on the brain because she thought she’d heard his voice in the restaurant.
Marshaling her powers of concentration, she donned her most professional smile, smoothed her wacky hairdo and forced herself to move to the front door.
“Hi. May I help you?”
“Annie?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Okay, this was just too weird. This guy not only sounded exactly like Wyatt, he knew her name. “Yes?” More rattled than ever, she squinted into the sunlight, slowly sidestepping, looking for a spot in the shade to better help her see.
“It’s good to see you.”
She wished she could say the same. “I—uh—”
“It’s me.”
“Oh.” It was Wyatt. The scar upon her heart tore open again, making her defensive. Vulnerable. Disoriented. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
He took a step toward her into the shadows and she could suddenly see that the person in question was indeed the Wyatt of old. And, except for a few lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, he looked exactly the same as he had the day they’d said goodbye. His still-steely arms were crossed over his still-steely chest, and he leaned against an armoire in that still nearly cocky manner she knew so well.
However, under his confident pose lurked the same uncertainty she was feeling and this emboldened her even as myriad emotions warred within her mind. Extreme joy and, at the same time, extreme agitation. Agitation bordering on fury.
How dare he come waltzing in here after she’d taken so many years to purge him from her heart?
And without calling first?
Her hands traveled to her hair, tucking, fussing, smoothing. The unmitigated audacity. Showing up, out of the blue and still irresistible.
Well, she could resist him now. She’d had plenty of time to fortify her defenses over the years. She wished she would have freshened her lipstick, and changed her mustard-stained blouse, after she ate. For heaven’s sake, she must look a sight. She wanted to run and hide under the little tent in the playroom with her boys. From here, their voices rang out, giggling, bickering, bossing.
Save for the two of them and the boys, the store was empty. Silent. Annie was sure he could hear her heart knocking against her ribs.
“What are you doing here?” she ventured when she finally found her voice.
“Had some business in the area and thought I’d stop in and say hi.”
He had business in the area? Business in Keyhole? “Hi?”
“And to see how you were doing.”
“I’m…uh, fine.” At least she was a minute ago.
“So.” His arm swept the showroom floor of her store. “This is where you work.”
She could only guess that the soft tone in his voice indicated pity. He’d moved on to the big time, and she’d never left Keyhole. Instead of taking the New York art galleries by storm, her paintings hung on the walls of her family’s shop, alongside the work of other amateur artists.
“Yes. I run the store and refinish furniture. And, in my spare time, I still like to paint.”
“You were always good, Annie. Very good.”
“I…thank you.” But not good enough to make it out of Keyhole, he was probably thinking. She licked her lips and squaring her shoulders, tried to appear a little taller. More confident. Put together. Lord only knew how she compared to the sleek, well-dressed career women in Washington D.C.
Wyatt pushed off the armoire and began to wander a bit, looking here and there, pausing to pick up an object and then set it back down. She wondered what he thought of her little shop. Following his movements with her gaze, she tried to see what it might look like through his eyes.
Quaint, to be sure. Smallish. Homey. Creatively decorated. Inviting. Cheerful. Cluttered. Almost too cluttered. Rather messy, actually. For the first time, she noticed that the boys had left toys strewn about, and that Chopper was shedding black Lab hair in fluffy tufts in the aisles where he liked to doze when the kids would let him.
In a shaft of sunlight, the cobwebs that she hadn’t seen before this very minute were quite visible, as was the slight layer of dust that coated…everything. All mirrors from the level of four feet on down sported streaks and fingerprints. Have mercy, didn’t she ever clean this place? She allowed her eyes to slide closed in order to hide her disgust.
Summer’s Autumn Antiques was a pit. A glorified junk shop. Nothing like the places she was sure Wyatt must frequent in D.C.
Once again, Annie wished she’d had time to check her appearance in the mirror. Heaven only knew if there was a chive or something stuck in her tooth.
“You get a lot of business on Saturdays?” he asked conversationally as he turned to face her.
Oh, my. Annie’s heart did a little flip. She’d have thought that by now she’d become impervious to that curl in his upper lip. “Some. It’s late in the winter season and early in the summer season, so we’re kind of…between seasons.”
He wasn’t listening. She could tell. He was staring. Taking in every detail. No doubt noting the mustard splotches and the bad-hair-day thing.
She swallowed and the ticking of several grandfather clocks seemed inordinately loud all of a sudden. But still, they stood. After a moment, some customers came in and moved through the store, murmuring to each other over various objects of interest.
“You were in the café for lunch?” She tried to fill the yawning chasm in their conversation with idle chat.
“Yes. You knew? You should have come up and said hello.”
“I didn’t see you. I heard you. Sort of. I thought. There was a lot of noise.”
From the back room, there was an explosion of five-year-old laughter and Chopper’s loud barkings. In an abstract way she wondered what they were up to now. But, rooted as she was to her spot, there was no way to tell.
“You have children,” Wyatt said, seeming to refocus from the past to the present.
“Yes. Two. You?”
“No. Never married.”
Again, Annie’s heart stalled. “No?”
“Never felt the need. Never found the time. Never—” he shrugged “—fell in love.”
“Oh.” She echoed his shrug with a small lift of her own shoulders. “There is still time.”
“There is always time.”
At a complete loss, Annie stood, her gaze darting about, her tongue searching her teeth for a piece of spinach she just knew was there. It seemed that no matter how they tried, their conversation was awkward and feeling the strain of the years and a messy break-up.
Just when she felt she couldn’t take another minute of the emotional stress, her sons, shrieking with laughter, burst from the playroom, leading poor Chopper by—she stopped and stared in mortification—a bra strap.
“Look, Mom! Chopper’s got a hat!” Alex pointed to the bra cup that they’d pinned over the dog’s head. Poor Chopper, looking quaintly Amish and decidedly miserable, cast a baleful look upon Annie for a rescue. The second cup was strapped under the dog’s chin and, in the style of a good mountain rescue St. Bernard, they’d tucked in a plastic juice bottle.
“It was his idea,” Noah shouted, pointing at his brother.
“It was not. It was your idea!”
“Naa-uh!”
“Uh-huh!”
Noting their mother’s flaming cheeks, they squealed and danced with glee.
Wyatt looked from the dog, to the boys, to Annie, and just like the day they’d met, threw back his head and roared with laughter. At first, Annie did not see the humor in the situation at all, but the harder they all laughed, the funnier it all became, and soon she too was joining in.
“You boys take the dog into the back room and get that thing off him and put it back in my gym bag, where you found it. And,” she directed as they reluctantly capitulated, “straighten up back there, will you?”
Moaning and groaning all the way, they disappeared into the playroom.
Wyatt was still smiling. “They’re cute. They remind me of you.”
“I was much better behaved than they are.”
“I doubt that. You must remember, I know you.”
“Yes, I guess you do.” Annie smiled, the comfort of their old union slipping around her like a favored robe. “Wyatt, why are you really here?”
“I really do have some business here in town. But, at the same time, I have a few things I need to—”
A customer left and Annie called after her, “Thank you. Please come again.”
“—I need to say to you.”
“To me?”
“Ma’am?” Another customer stepped between them. “Do you have old salt-and-pepper shakers?”
“Over there in that glass case.” Annie pointed.
“I saw those. Do you have any more? I’m a collector. I have a set just like those little hens you have there and I paid half of what you’re asking.”
Wyatt’s heavy sigh signaled his impatience. Annie bit back a grin. Just like the old days.
“I have a few in the glass case under the register, but they’re rare and even more expensive.”
“I’ll look.” The collector sniffed.
“I’m sorry.” Annie turned to Wyatt. “What were you saying?”
“Oh. Well, I was just trying to say that…” He ran his fingers over his jaw. “I thought maybe we could talk. Recently, it’s occurred to me that I should apologize for being such an idiot back when—”
“Are these the rare shakers?” the collector called, pointing to a wooden case opposite the register that housed tea sets.
“No. Under the register. Glass case.” She waved a distracted hand, still staring at Wyatt. “I’m sorry.”

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