Buch lesen: «Vixen In Disguise»

Chapter One

The Autumn Daze Festival in Cottonwood, Texas, hadn’t changed a bit in thirteen years, Wade Hardison thought as he strolled down Elm Street. The usually sleepy town square had been temporarily transformed into a whirling kaleidoscope of sensory overload.

Bands of screaming children streaked past him, their exuberant laughter plucking nostalgic chords in Wade’s mind. PTA mothers and their farmer husbands did good imitations of circus barkers, luring townsfolk and tourists alike to try their luck at the ringtoss or the dunking booth, where Mayor Dilly was currently the victim.

Smells of popcorn, cotton candy and barbecued turkey legs filled the air, reminding Wade he was hungry. He tried to make up his mind what to eat as dusk slowly descended on the crisp fall day. Yards and yards of twinkling white lights flickered to life.

It was good to be home. Wade had left Cottonwood as an angry adolescent, at odds with everybody, unsure of his place in the world, but ready to go out and conquer it. He’d done what he set out to do—he’d carved a niche for himself and become the best at something his brothers knew nothing about. He’d returned far mellower, ready to make peace with his family.

Only problem was, he wasn’t sure his family wanted to make peace with him. When he’d left, he’d been concerned only with his own perceived wounds, positive his family would be happy to see the last of him. He’d had no idea the scars he’d left behind. His homecoming two days ago had been awkward at best, and certainly no one had dragged out the fatted calf.

But at least his grandfather had let him stay at the ranch house.

When he caught sight of a redhead leaning against an ancient live oak, working cautiously at a caramel apple, Wade thought for a moment his heart had stopped. Then he thought he must be hallucinating.

Though he hadn’t seen Annie since last May, he hadn’t forgotten one thing about her—not her laugh or her scent or the feel of her hand in his. He’d had to make do with memories because they were all he had—she’d left him, disappeared without a word.

Now, when he least expected it, here she was, in his hometown of all places. At least, he thought it was her. Same red hair. Same big green eyes. Same luscious mouth, which, as he watched, did intriguing things to the caramel apple she nibbled on. She paused now and then to lick her lips and delicately blot them with a paper napkin.

But some things about her weren’t like Annie at all. Her hair, for instance. The color was right, but Annie’s bouncy curls were wild and barely controlled, a tangle of deep-red silk a man could lose himself in. This woman’s hair had been slicked into a severe knot at the back of her head.

And the clothes were all wrong. Annie had worn tight jeans, a clingy shirt with a low neckline, a vest with rhinestone studs. Her fingers had been decorated with numerous rings, and she’d worn big, dangly earrings. This woman wore a loose turtleneck and a shapeless corduroy jumper, black stockings and loafers. Little gold studs in her ears.

The most dramatic difference between Annie and the mystery woman, however, was in the face. The features were the same, but the expression very different. Annie had smiled and laughed and teased all the time. This woman’s face was tight, with a cautious look to the eyes. And he saw something else in her eyes, too—a sadness that couldn’t be denied.

“See something you like?”

Wade jumped and nearly spilled his soft drink. His older brother Jeff had sidled up next to him, but Wade had been so fixated on the caramel-apple woman he hadn’t even been aware of the intrusion.

Wade couldn’t very well deny he’d been staring. “Who is she?”

“You don’t remember her?”

“You know her, then.” Dumb question. Jeff knew everybody. He’d gone to medical school, then into practice several years ago with their father, who’d been the town’s only doctor for decades. Sooner or later everyone came in to see one of the Docs Hardison.

“Of course I know her. She’s Milton Chatsworth’s daughter.”

Milton Chatsworth, their father’s best friend from college. Wade struggled to fit the memories into place. Milton had retired and moved his family to Cottonwood shortly before Wade had left town, but he remembered meeting him and his family at their fancy lake house.

Then the fuzzy picture snapped into focus. “I remember a scrawny, redheaded girl, all knock-knees and braces.”

“That’s the one. Don’t bother her, okay?”

“What’s her name?” Wade asked anxiously.

Jeff reluctantly complied. “Anne. She just graduated from law school at SMU, following in her old man’s footsteps.”

Wade hardly heard what Jeff was saying. He’d seized on the name, Anne. Annie. And Southern Methodist University was in Dallas, where he’d first met Annie.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. Had to be the same woman. And he wasn’t about to let her get away twice.

“Wade? Are you listening?” Jeff asked impatiently.

“Yeah, sure.”

“She’s got a lot to deal with right now. She doesn’t need any extra grief.”

That comment got Wade’s dander up. He turned his full attention on his brother. “Why do you automatically assume I’ll bring a woman grief? Maybe I could be the light of her life.”

Jeff sighed. “If you’d lose that chip on your shoulder for thirty seconds, you’d realize I’m looking out for your best interests, too. I know Anne Chatsworth, and she’s not your type.”

Wade allowed a slow smile to win over his face. His temper, always quick to flare, just as quickly died away. He was no longer sixteen, and he didn’t have to listen to his brothers or his father or grandfather anymore, telling him how to live his life. Just reminding himself of that fact eased the defensiveness he’d developed to survive as an average kid in a family of overachievers.

He looked his brother squarely in the eye. “I suspect you don’t know Anne as well as you think you do.”

With that he tipped his hat and turned toward Anne Chatsworth, intending to renew his acquaintance with her.

But she was gone.

“WOULD YOU THROW that nasty thing away?” Deborah Chatsworth said to her daughter as they walked along Livestock Lane, where the Future Farmers of America and 4-H Club kids displayed their prize animals in hopes of winning a blue ribbon for their trophy cases. “You don’t have to keep gnawing on it like a dog with a bone.”

Anne Chatsworth paused and looked at her half-eaten treat, then at her mother. “It’s a caramel apple. You’re supposed to gnaw on it.”

“Well, it doesn’t look very dignified.”

“We’re at a county fair, where people chase after greased pigs and the mayor lets himself be dunked in a tank fully clothed. Nobody’s worried about dignity here.”

“You can say that again.”

Attending the Autumn Daze Festival hadn’t been a number-one priority for Deborah. She’d tried to get out of it, but Anne’s father had insisted they go.

“I intend to run for town council next year,” Milton Chatsworth had said earlier that day when both his wife and daughter had been reluctant to fight the crowds of tourists. “How would it look if I didn’t attend the town’s biggest event of the year?”

Anne thought it was kind of cute that her father, after years of insulating himself from the townies, had decided to venture forth from his lake house and get involved. “Come on, Mom, let’s humor him,” Anne had said, and Deborah had finally agreed to come along.

Anne was glad she’d come. Getting out of the house these last few weeks had become a chore for her. She recognized the signs of perfectly natural depression and knew that getting out and distracting herself was the best medicine. So she’d made herself get dressed and come to the fair, to please her father, because she really loved both her parents despite their lofty self-images.

Once she’d arrived at the fair, she’d gotten caught up with it, fondly remembering the festivals of her teen years, when she’d run with a gang of other kids she desperately wanted to fit in with, stuffing herself with cotton candy, riding the Ferris wheel, listening to the bands that played, usually badly, at the bandstand.

Life had been simpler then, and for just these few hours she’d been able to recapture that less complicated time. In fact, today, for the first time in almost a month, she’d felt as if she might be able to get on with her life, instead of just going through the motions and pretending, for her parents’ sake, that she was okay.

“Now where do you suppose your father has gotten to?” Deborah asked.

Anne threw away the core of her caramel apple, thoroughly gnawed, and paused to stroke a cream-colored Shetland pony. “Maybe at the watermelon-seed-spitting contest?”

Deborah glowered at her daughter.

“Okay, I’ll be serious. I think he said he’d been asked to judge something—pies or pickles, something like that.”

Deborah looked exasperated. “The food is all the way on the other side of the square. I’m ready to go home, aren’t you? You look pale.”

“I feel fine, just a little tired.” Her physical stamina was alarmingly low.

“Stay here, then. I’ll go round up your father.” Deborah gave Anne a solicitous pat and headed off in her pumps, her figure still slender and straight despite her sixty-five years. Anne smiled and shook her head. Only her mother would wear heels to a county fair.

The pony enjoyed Anne’s attention, so she continued to pet it for a few minutes, its velvety nose soft against her palm.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.”

That voice.

Anne tensed, then gasped and turned so quickly she startled the pony, which snorted and pranced away. For a few moments all she could do was stare at the apparition standing in front of her—far too close for sanity.

Wade Hardison. What was he doing here? She’d been certain that he was permanently estranged from his family, that the last place he would ever go was Cottonwood, Texas, so she’d never worried about a chance meeting with him.

Anne blinked a couple of times, but he was no hallucination. In fact, he was disturbingly real—solid-looking as a tree trunk, and every bit as devilishly handsome as the memories she conjured up on an hourly basis.

In the next heartbeat she schooled her features, controlled her breathing and decided how she would handle this.

“Excuse me?” she said, trying to look confused.

“If you say you don’t remember me, my heart’s gonna break in two right here.”

“I—I’m sorry. You look slightly familiar, but I’m not good with names.” That was a fat lie. When it came to names and faces, her mind was like flypaper. His face was etched into her memory with the permanency of Mount Rushmore.

Wade narrowed his eyes. “Familiar? Slightly familiar? I guess I’m just one of a long stream of guys you share passionate weekends with, huh, Annie?”

“I beg your pardon, sir, my name is not Annie. You obviously have me confused with someone else.” An alternate persona that would never, ever see the light of day again, if Anne had anything to say about it. Hadn’t her father always told her to be cautious? To never, ever trust strangers? And especially to never let common impulses and unchecked appetites rule her head?

“Anne, then, if you insist. Anne Chatsworth, newly minted lawyer.”

“How do you know that?” she asked with some alarm.

“My brother told me.”

Anne felt the blood drain to her feet, making her suddenly dizzy. Wade’s brother Jeff. Dr. Jeff Hardison, her physician and a close family friend. How naive she’d been to trust that the Hardison family rift would never be healed. She knew Jeff would not reveal her medical details to anyone without her authorization, not for any reason, under any circumstances. He was an excellent doctor, and she had complete confidence in him. But the fact that Jeff and Wade had been discussing her at all…well, that was bad.

“You did me wrong, Annie.”

“I am not Annie,” she insisted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.” He grasped her arm and halted her attempted escape, then slid his fingers up to her shoulder.

“Please,” she said, feeling panicky. He continued to touch her, his hand hot even through her shirt, though his grasp was loose. She could escape any time—if she could only make herself move. But her feet remained welded to the ground.

He leaned closer. “Please what?”

“I’m not Annie.”

“Then why are you standing here about to let me kiss you?”

Lord help her, he was right. She stood in his light embrace, paralyzed like a deer in headlights by the look and feel of him, his scent. He had her mesmerized, just as he had the moment she’d laid eyes on him, when she was twelve and he was sixteen. And again, when she’d seen him for the first time in thirteen years, at the Mesquite Rodeo last spring. He had a strange power over her.

Her body quivered as he slowly closed the distance between them. She knew she should back away, push him, run, scream, anything but kiss him. Yet she stood there, her breath caught in her lungs, and allowed him to touch his mouth to hers, very gently, very sweetly. Like a first kiss, so tender it made her ache. She melted into it. She couldn’t help herself. He tasted like coming home.

It lasted only a few seconds, and when he pulled away, he was smiling triumphantly. “Kisses don’t lie, Annie. Now, are you going to tell me why you ran out on me without a word?”

Anne heard voices behind her. A small knot of fair goers were heading into the parking lot, sending her heart into overdrive. Her parents—what if they saw her? What if anyone saw her? She had to get out of here, for her sanity as well as a whole host of reasons.

“All right.” She disentangled herself from Wade’s warm embrace. Obviously, she hadn’t fooled him into thinking he’d misidentified her. “I do owe you an apology and an explanation, and I’ll give them to you, but not here, not now.” She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder.

“Afraid to be seen with me?”

“Yes!” When his cocky grin slid away, she quickly added, “It’s a complicated situation, but I’ll explain it. Later.”

“When?” he pressed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tonight.”

“Okay, all right.”

“Midnight.”

“Eleven. I’ll be in bed by midnight.”

“I hope so.” Wade’s eyes burned like two hot coals.

She should have known better than to mention the word bed. Anne searched her brain for a private meeting place, but Wade provided one for her.

“At the ranch. The old red barn that’s used to store hay. You know it?”

She nodded.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Again she nodded.

“If you don’t show, I’ll come find you.” He turned and sauntered away.

Anne didn’t doubt him. She also wouldn’t blame him if he was really angry with her. But when she’d left him last May, it had seemed her only choice. She hadn’t counted on an emotional entanglement when she’d set off for the Mesquite Rodeo in her borrowed cowgirl duds, eager to blow off some exam-induced steam.

Eleven. If she left the house late at night, her parents naturally would ask where she was going. The truth would just lead to a whole lot of questions she didn’t want to answer. She would have to slip out under their radar.

She wouldn’t dream of standing Wade up. If she didn’t show, he would probably have the nerve to come knocking on her front door.

Anne’s parents showed up mere moments after Wade’s departure. Her father, looking every inch the country squire, wore an official-looking badge that said Judge. He smiled and waved when he caught sight of her, then immediately sobered.

“Your mother says you’re not feeling well.” His round, jovial face, which disguised a keen intellect that could cut his legal opponents to ribbons, was etched with concern.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” She smiled, reassuring him. “Let’s go home and put our feet up,” Deborah said, sliding an arm around Anne’s waist. “They gave your dad a pie for judging the contest.” She pointed to a shopping bag looped over her arm. “We can warm it up and have it with ice cream.”

“Don’t mention pie,” Milton said with a grimace. “I may never eat pie again.”

“Oh, that’ll be the day,” Deborah said. Anne relaxed slightly as they all climbed into her father’s gold Cadillac. Her parents were good people, and they loved her unconditionally. When they pushed her too hard or tried to impose their opinions on her, Anne had to remind herself that everything they did, they did out of love for her. She had come late into their lives—her mother was forty when Anne was born. They had doted on her her whole life, and they only wanted the best for their daughter.

SLIPPING OUT OF THE HOUSE was easy. When her parents were engrossed in TV, Anne tiptoed down the back stairs and out the French doors to the patio, then around to the garage. Their driveway was at the top of a hill, so Anne didn’t even have to start her car. She put her blue Mustang—a graduation present from her father—into Neutral and coasted into the street, breathing a relieved sigh when no one called to her.

The whole escapade felt a little childish, she thought as she started the car’s engine half a block away. But the previous few months had upset her parents greatly, and she refused to do anything to cause them more worry.

She knew where the Hardison Ranch was. Even if she hadn’t visited there since she was a young girl, everyone knew. It was the biggest cattle operation in Cottonwood, and old Pete Hardison had been one of the town’s first residents. Pete had struggled in the early days. Then he’d struck oil and become a millionaire overnight—and adopted the lifestyle to prove it.

The oil bust in the eighties had all but ruined the overextended Hardisons, but Pete’s grandson, Jonathan—Wade’s oldest brother—had caught the ranching bug. He’d taken hold of the ranch and brought it back to prosperity over the past dozen years.

When Anne pulled up to the Hardison Ranch’s white gates, she found them open. She rumbled over the cattle guard and up the red dirt drive, meandering through some mesquite trees before she saw the old barn, looming dark in the night.

She was five minutes late. The barn looked black inside, completely uninhabited, but she sensed Wade was there. She could almost feel him. He didn’t seem the type to play games—that was her specialty. If he’d said he’d be here at eleven, he probably was here.

She parked and climbed out of the car. The night had taken on a slight chill, and the brisk breeze blew up inside her jumper, making her wish she’d put on jeans. She shivered slightly, but more from apprehension than the cold.

The huge double doors of the old-fashioned red barn were slightly ajar, enough that she could squeeze through. “Hello?” she called out as her eyes tried to adjust to the almost total darkness.

She heard the strike of a match, then saw the flare not ten feet in front of her. She could just make out Wade’s strong features as he lit a kerosene lantern that looked like an antique. The lantern glowed to life, and Anne could see the cavernous barn was full to the rafters with hay.

“Why were you standing here in the dark?” she asked. “And is it safe to have a lantern in here? All this hay…”

Wade hung the lantern on a hook. “Lots of questions. I like the dark. And the lantern is safe, so long as we don’t get so wild we knock it over.”

Anne’s heart did a flip-flop. If he was trying to unnerve her with his innuendo, he’d succeeded.