Letter to Reader Title Page Acknowledgments About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Teaser chapter Copyright

Powerful, prominent, proud—the Oklahoma Wentworths’ greatest fortune was family. So when they discovered that pregnant mom-to-be Sabrina Jensen was carrying the newest Wentworth heir—and had vanished without a trace—they vowed to...Follow That Baby!

Rachel Jensen: The wild twin with a penchant for scrapes, she’d always found gentle words and comforting hugs from Sabrina. But now her straight-and-narrow sister was alone—and expecting—so Rachel transformed herself into the take-charge twin whose only weakness was...

Riley Hunter: This small-town sheriff craved more than desk duty drudgery, so the prospect of a mom-to-be on the hoof was particularly enticing. But when he met the alleged runaway face-to-face, he discovered he was in way over his head....

Sabrina Jensen: With precious little time before her baby’s birth, Sabrina was still keeping mum about her mystery nest and keeping fit with Lamaze classes, where a fellow first-timer felt moved to alert the mighty Wentworths....

Don’t miss

THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE PREGNANT PAUPER

by Christie Ridgway, next month’s Follow That Baby

title, available in Yours Truly.

Dear Reader,

All of us at Silhouette Desire send you our best wishes for a joyful holiday season. December brings six original, deeply touching love stories warm enough to melt your heart!

This month, bestselling author Cait London continues her beloved miniseries THE TALLCHIEFS with the story of MAN OF THE MONTH Nick Palladin in The Perfect Fit. This corporate cowboy’s attempt to escape his family’s matchmaking has him escorting a Tallchief down the aisle. Silhouette Desire welcomes the cross-line continuity FOLLOW THAT BABY to the line with Elizabeth Bevarly’s The Sheriff and the Impostor Bride. And those irresistible bad-boy James brothers return in Cindy Gerald’s Marriage, Outlaw Style, part of the OUTLAW HEARTS miniseries. When a headstrong bachelor and his brassy-but-beautiful childhood rival get stranded, they wind up in a 61b., 12oz. bundle of trouble!

Talented author Susan Crosby’s third book in THE LONE WOLVES miniseries, His Ultimate Temptation, will entrance you with this hero’s primitive, unyielding desire to protect his once-wife and their willful daughter. A rich playboy sweeps a sensible heroine from her humdrum life in Shawna Delacorte’s Cinderella story, The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish. And Eileen Wilks weaves an emotional, edge-of-your-seat drama about a fierce cop and the delicate lady who poses as his newlywed bride in Just a Little Bit Married?

These poignant, sensuous books fill any Christmas stocking—and every reader’s heart with the glow of holiday romance.

Enjoy!

Best regards,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Sheriff and the Impostor Bride

Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Elizabeth Bevarly for her contribution to the Follow That Baby series.

ELIZABETH BEVARLY

is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. “I really love to travel,” says this self-avowed beach burn. “To me, it’s the best education a person can give to herself.” Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates—people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a four-year-old son, Eli.

For Mom and Aunt Dot—

my favorite set of twins.

One

Lost in thought as he scribbled down his latest report on the notorious howling Barker family, Sheriff Riley Hunter jerked open the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk, felt around blindly, then frowned when his fingers encountered nothing but a stack of Louis L’Amour paperbacks. He pushed his chair away from the desk, shoved his ink black, razor-straight, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes, and gazed down at the drawer. The big empty space beside the battered novels, exactly the size of a box of Lorna Doone cookies, attested to the severity of the crime.

Theft, plain and simple, had come to Wallace Canyon, Oklahoma. What was the world coming to?

Who the hell had run off with his stash of Lorna Doones? Riley wondered, his anger compounding. Virgil, doubtless, he decided. His deputy sheriff had an even bigger sweet tooth than Riley had, and regardless of the fact that Virgil Bybee was sworn to uphold the law, he’d probably figured that a crime like Lorna Doone pilfering would go unnoticed in a dinky little community like Wallace Canyon.

And who had named it Wallace Canyon anyway? Riley wondered further, not for the first time since his self-inflicted relocation here six months earlier. There were no canyons in the Oklahoma panhandle. Wallace Flat would have been much more appropriate. Still, he’d learned almost right away that in Wallace Canyon, not a whole lot made sense. Mainly because not a whole lot happened.

“Virgil!” he called out as he unfolded his slim, six-foot frame from behind his desk. “Where the hell are my Lorna Doones?”

Riley cocked his head to listen for any incriminating sounds of cookie crunching or falling crumb, but the only thing he heard was the faint crackle of Rosario’s radio down the hall, tuned to the only country-western station—hell, the only radio station, period—within earshot of the tiny town. The soft, easy crooning of a female voice soothed him some. Patsy Cline, he realized with a fond smile when he listened harder. Wasn’t nobody singing today who could touch that woman. No, sir.

“Virgil!” he tried again, pushing the thought away.

The slow scuff of boots along the linoleum outside Riley’s office eventually found its way down the hall. Then Virgil Bybee’s head appeared in Riley’s doorway, halfway down, as if the younger man were bent at the waist and unwilling to reveal anything below the neck.

Incriminating behavior if ever there was such a thing, Riley decided, his instincts, as always, unimpeachable. He hadn’t survived almost ten years on the Tulsa PD because of his good luck and good looks alone, after all.

“You bellowed?” Virgil asked mildly.

“Where the hell are my Lorna Doones?” Riley demanded again without preamble.

“Shoot, Riley, how should I know?” But anxiously, Virgil swiped his fingers across his upper lip.

Riley reared his head back, settled one hand on a trim hip, the other on the butt of his pistol, and noticed that Virgil duly noted the stance. For one long moment, he said nothing. Then he stated with all the menace he could muster, “Virgil, I want those cookies apprehended and returned to my jurisdiction—namely this here drawer—” he pointed down at the cookies’ usual resting place “—no later than three o’clock this afternoon. You got that?”

Virgil nodded silently, his shaggy blond hair falling over his forehead with the gesture, his blue eyes widening at the warning. Then, before Riley had a chance to comment further, the deputy flung his arm out, rattling the piece of flimsy paper attached to his hand. “This came in over the fax a few minutes ago,” he announced as he straightened, fairly dancing with excitement.

Riley narrowed his dark eyes as he stepped around his desk. Not much came over the Wallace Canyon PD fax machine. Mostly things meant for other fax machines that the sender had misdialed. “What is it?”

“It looks like an APB,” Virgil said eagerly, finally moving fully into the doorway. “A regular manhunt.”

Riley took a moment to note that there was no evidence of cookie crumbs on the deputy’s uniform—identical to his own—of khaki shirt and trousers, but you never knew about some people. Although Riley’s trusting nature had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, he decided to give Virgil the benefit of the doubt on this one. The man’s agitation was clearly the result of the notice in his hand, and not some sugar-induced rush. Besides, Rosario, their receptionist-secretary-dispatcher was a notorious shortbread lover, herself. There was no end to the list of possible suspects.

“A manhunt?” Riley repeated, crossing the tiny office in a half-dozen long-legged strides.

Virgil nodded his head vigorously, his eyes sparkling. “Actually, it’s even better. A womanhunt. And according to Rosario, the perp is right here in Wallace Canyon.”

Riley shook his head slowly in bemusement. First cookie stealing, and now Virgil Bybee using the word perp. All in one day. Could his decrepit, thirty-two-year-old heart handle all this excitement?

He reached for the bulletin and quickly scanned it, then glanced back up at his deputy with as much patience as he could muster. “Virgil,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, Riley?”

“She’s not a perp. She’s a missing person. And this is all old news. We got a fax about her...must’ve been a few weeks ago. I faxed ’em back and asked ’em to send me some more details, because Rosario told me she saw a woman here in Wallace Canyon who fit the description, but I never heard back so I figured they found her somewhere else. Looks like the fax machine’s running a little slow. Again. This—” he waved the paper in the air again “—is evidently the details.”

Virgil gaped at him. “Old news? It’s the first I’ve heard about it. There’s been all this excitement goin’ on, and y’all didn’t even bother to tell me about it? Why am I always left in the dark this way? Why am I always the last person to know? Y’all never tell me anything around here.”

Riley rolled his eyes. “There was nothin’ to tell, Virgil.” But his deputy continued to pout, so, taking pity on him, Riley clarified, “The first time it came over the fax must’ve been back when you were in Guymon over Thanksgiving. A notice that this woman—” He glanced back down at the fax in an effort to locate her name. “Sabrina Jensen,” he said when he found it. “It said she was wanted by the Freemont Springs Police Department over there by Tulsa. But not because she’s a perp, Virge. She’s been reported as a missing person.” He rattled the paper in his hand for emphasis. “It says so right here.”

The deputy’s lower lip ceased thrusting out so much, but he was still obviously disappointed—probably because they wouldn’t be calling out the hound dogs for a search. “Oh,” he muttered. “I guess I didn’t read that far. I just saw the part about her being wanted.”

Riley continued to read the notice, uttering his observations aloud this time, so Virgil could grasp more fully the reality of the situation. “Says Miss Jensen has been missing for months and is believed to be on the run. But this here’s the part I can’t figure out, Virge. The Wentworth family is looking for her. The Wentworths. And I just can’t understand how she warrants that. I mean, they didn’t even seem to know much about her before, but suddenly, I’ve got all this information. Now how do you figure that?”

“Should I know who you’re talking about?” Virgil asked. “Who are the Wentworths?”

Riley shook his head when he remembered where he was. “They’re sort of famous-slash-infamous in that part of the state, but I can see how Wallace Canyon would have missed out on all the fuss.” Hell, he could see how Wallace Canyon would have missed out on the Cuban Missile Crisis and that whole Tickle-Me Elmo thing.

Aloud, Riley continued, “I know about them because I grew up just outside Tulsa. Big ol’ oil family in Freemont Springs whose reputation, as they say, has always preceded them. Rich. Powerful. Pampered kids. That kind of thing. In fact, I had a runin with the younger boy once, when he was drunk and disorderly at a frat party. Nothing major—just had to give him a stern warning. And I heard the older boy died—real recent, too, if memory serves—during some kind of explosion.”

“But this woman’s name is Jensen,” Virgil indicated unnecessarily.

Riley nodded knowingly. “Yeah, and like I said, they didn’t know that much about her when they sent that last fax. But suddenly, I now know that she’s—” he returned his attention to the fax and read word for word “‘—Twenty-four years old, approximately five-foot-seven, medium build, dark brown hair, green eyes. All departments should be made aware—’”

His voice halted as he realized the answer to his own question was right there in black and white. “Ah-ha,” he said.

“Ah-what?” Virgil asked.

“Looks like the reason there’s all this sudden information about Miss Jensen is because she’s been seein’ an obstetrician who’s just now comin’ forward with the particulars of her situation.”

“An obstetrician?” Virgil asked. “Now, what difference would it make if she wears glasses or not?”

“No, Virgil,” Riley groaned. “Not an optometrist. An obstetrician. A doctor who delivers babies. Says here, and I quote, ‘Ms. Jensen is also pregnant, due to deliver in—”’ he glanced up at Virgil, paper held aloft “—Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.

The deputy sheriff scrunched up his shoulders and let them drop. “That’s all that came over the fax,” he said. “Right after the photo of her.”

“Well, there should be at least another page,” Riley stated. “It’s cut off midsentence here, and it doesn’t even say why the Wentworths are looking for her.”

But Virgil was insistent. “I’m telling you, Riley, that’s all that came over the fax.”

Riley nodded again, sighing heavily. It had happened before. Like everything else at the Wallace Canyon police station, the fax machine was old, moody, unpredictable and in need of either a major overhaul or a total replacement—much like Wallace Canyon itself, he couldn’t help but muse.

“All right,” he finally conceded. “As long as we’ve got her photo and vitals, I guess this is enough to go on. Did Rosario see the photo?”

Virgil nodded. “Yup. That’s why I said the perp...er, the missing person...is here in town. The minute Rosario saw that picture, she said that’s definitely the woman she saw over in Westport. Then she went out to get some lunch.”

Riley thought for a minute. “The only thing over in Westport is the trailer park.”

Virgil’s features wrinkled as he gave that some consideration, though why he should make such an effort, Riley couldn’t imagine. “I don’t think trailer park is the politically correct term, Riley,” the deputy finally said. “I think they call them mobile home communities now.”

First perp and now politically correct. What was Virgil reading these days? “Fine,” Riley said. “There’s nothing over in Westport except the mobile home community. That must be where Rosario saw her, ’cause that’s where her sister lives.”

Riley reached for the chocolate brown Stetson hanging on the coatrack near the door and settled it on his head, then shrugged a shearling jacket over his khaki uniform and began to button himself up. “Where’s the photo of the woman?” he asked.

Virgil jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s out on Rosario’s desk.”

“I’ll take it and head over to Westport myself. Oh, and Virgil,” he added as he passed by his deputy, “don’t forget about those Lorna Doones. Because I sure as hell won’t.”

He wasn’t sure if he imagined Virgil’s seemingly heightened color or not, but Riley figured it never hurt to add a little emphasis. “Three o’clock,” he repeated his earlier admonition. “I’ll be back in the office by then, and those cookies better be waiting for me.”

And with one final tug of the Stetson that brought it down low on his forehead, Riley turned and made his way toward Rosario’s desk.

Rachel Jensen tossed a limp, wayward strand of tinsel back on the little plastic Christmas tree that squatted in her twin sister’s rented picture window, and sighed with melodramatic melancholy. The single string of tiny, variegated lights wound around the tree flickered in an irregular rhythm, off and on, off... and...on...off-and-on, their flamboyant, if meager, celebration of color reflected on the window behind.

The view on the other side of the glass, however, was anything but merry and colorful. To the left, the flat, brown Oklahoma landscape stretched into oblivion beneath a thick, slate sky—not a hill or dale or tree in sight. Every few seconds a dry, fat snowflake interrupted the monotony, swirling up and around, dancing in the gusty wind that buffeted the rented mobile home.

Rachel had traveled all over the country with her truck-driving father, Frank, and her identical twin, Sabrina, from the time that the two girls were tots. But she’d never seen anything more predictable—or more boring—man the Oklahoma panhandle in the winter. Windy. Cloudy. Brown. Day after day. And now here it was, a little over a week before Christmas, and there wasn’t a comfort or joy in sight.

“Merry daggone Christmas,” she muttered to no one in particular.

She shifted her gaze to the right a bit, and was rewarded with a new sight for her trouble. The mobile home next door to Sabrina’s was at least splashed with a bit of color, trimmed in yellow with a green front door, a scattering of plastic red geraniums swinging at regular intervals from its overhang. Having been in Wallace Canyon for less than two days, Rachel hadn’t had the opportunity to meet any of Sabrina’s rented neighbors. But at least one of them sure seemed to be fighting back against the landscape.

She ran a restive hand through her bangs, trailing her fingers back over her straight, dark brown, shoulder-length hair. Then she turned her back on the dubious vista outside Sabrina’s window—not to mention on her sister’s crummy excuse for a Christmas tree.

Had she not already known it, Rachel would have guessed that the mobile home to which her twin had summoned her was a rental, because it was furnished in traditional rental style—ugly. Brown furniture, brown paneling, brown carpeting, brown cabinetry... with a little tan and beige thrown in here and there for good measure. Rachel swore that if she ever got out of Wallace Canyon—and by golly, she would get out of Wallace Canyon, the moment she located Sabrina—she was never going to buy anything brown again.

But until that time came, it looked as though she was going to have to settle for lots of it. And that time wouldn’t come until she figured out just where in the heck Sabrina was, how in the heck her sister had gotten herself into trouble, and what in the heck they were going to do to get her back out again.

Because being in trouble just wasn’t Sabrina’s style at all. Sabrina was the levelheaded one of the twin sisters, the one who had always been focused and certain, the one who knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to go about getting it. Rachel was the one more likely to find herself in things. In dire straits, for example. Or in deep doo-doo. Or in hock. Or in over her head.

Sabrina, from all reports, had been doing great until recently. True, the two sisters weren’t in touch the way they used to be—a two-hour drive one way tended to make it difficult for them to mesh their busy lives enough to get together in person. But they did speak pretty regularly on the phone. Up until a few months ago, Sabrina’s life, by all accounts, had been full and active—and normal. She’d been working as a waitress and going to school at night, and she was this close to earning her degree in marketing. And she had all kinds of plans for after college, opening a chain of Route 66 diners that would no doubt make her a bundle someday.

Rachel, on the other hand... Well, even at the ripe old age of twenty-four, she still wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do with her life. Sabrina’s dream of restaurants and franchises was a nice one, one she had envisioned for a long time now. But it was Sabrina’s dream. Rachel wanted a dream of her own to chase after. She just didn’t know exactly what it was yet. For the immediate future, though, it looked like her dream was to be stuck in Wallace Canyon, waiting for Sabrina to show up. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

The little community, for all its lack of variegation, animation, population and vegetation, was, nevertheless, Sabrina’s last known location. Two nights ago, she’d called Rachel at her job in a bustling, rough-and-tumble Oklahoma City nightspot from this very mobile home. But Eddie, the bar manager, had caught Rachel behind the bar and on the phone in the middle of the conversation—and at the height of the after-work Happy Hour crush. Before Rachel had had a chance to find out the particulars of Sabrina’s situation, he’d jabbed his thumb down on the button to cut the connection short. There had only been time for Sabrina to make Rachel promise to come to Wallace Canyon, to the Westport Mobile Home Community, where she was renting the mobile home on lot thirty-two, as soon as possible.

But when Rachel had arrived at the appointed address yesterday afternoon—losing her job in Oklahoma City in the process, because she’d been scheduled to work yesterday—Sabrina had been nowhere in sight.

The mobile home’s front door had been unlocked, though, and nothing inside seemed to have been disturbed. There was evidence of very recent habitation—a six-pack of yogurt and half gallon of skim milk in the fridge—both far from expired—and some fresh fruit, not quite ripe yet, in a basket by the window. But there were no clothes in the drawers or closets, nothing to indicate that Sabrina had been the one living here. Upon checking with the manager, Rachel had learned that her twin sister had paid her rent through the end of the year—in cash. But Sabrina herself was nowhere to be found.

At this point, Rachel didn’t know whether to stay or go. Whether Sabrina was hiding out nearby, was making her way back home to Tulsa, or had left Oklahoma entirely. All Rachel was certain about was pretty much what she’d been certain about in the beginning, a few months ago. back when Sabrina had first taken off. Squat. She was certain about squat. Except for the fact that her sister was in trouble. And alone. And on the run. And unwilling to tell anyone the particulars of her situation.

Oh, yeah. And she was pregnant, too.

Pregnant. Now that was another completely un-Sabrina thing for Sabrina to have done. If either of them had been voted by their senior class “Most Likely to Be Knocked Up and Abandoned,” it was indisputably Rachel. Not that she slept around or anything like that. But she sure did tend to fall in love—and right back out again—way more often than the average woman did.

Just like her mother, she thought before she could stop herself.

As quickly as the realization erupted in her head, Rachel shoved it back down deep inside again. Instead, she reminded herself that it was Sabrina, not Rachel, who had found herself single and in a family way. Sabrina, not Rachel, who was on the run from some shadowy threat. It was Sabrina who’d landed in trouble this time. Now if Rachel could figure out where her sister was, then maybe, just maybe, the two of them could put their identical heads together and come up with a solution.

As had become an incessant habit over the last thirty-six hours, Rachel stared at the telephone affixed to the kitchen wall and mentally willed it to ring. Then, when mental willpower wasn’t enough, she closed her eyes and started in on the customary verbal mantra that always followed.

“Ring, you stupid telephone,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Ring.”

She had repeated the command four times when the telephone rang and scared the bejeebers out of her. “Hello!” she shouted into the receiver as she snatched it up, her entire body shaking.

“Rachel? Is that you?”

Rachel felt as if someone had come up behind her and hit her hard enough to drive the air right out of her lungs. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Then she gave her brain a good mental shove and cried, “Sabrina! Honey...where are you?”

“Thank goodness you’re there,” her sister began. Her voice sounded so distant, so faint and so scared that Rachel wanted to cry. “I tried you at your apartment first,” Sabrina added, “and when you didn’t answer, I hoped I could catch you at the trailer. And I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you where I am.”

“Of course you can tell me where you are,” Rachel countered, knowing it was pointless. Although Sabrina had called her from time to time over the last few months, she’d never told Rachel where she was. Not until the other night, anyway. “I’m your sister for gosh sakes,” she reminded her twin. “I’ve been worried out of my mind about you, and I don’t know how much longer I can put off telling Daddy that you’re in trouble.”

“I can’t tell you where I am,” Sabrina repeated. “Because I’m only going to be here long enough to make this call. Then I have another bus to catch.”

“Another bus?” Rachel echoed. “Sabrina...” For a moment, she let herself be overcome by the worry, the concern, the fear that had plagued her for months. “Sabrina, what on earth have you gotten yourself into?” she demanded. “All this secretiveness is making me crazy. When are you going to come home? Max said you used his address for mail for a bit, but that you never stayed there. So where have you been?”

There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line, then Sabrina said, “I was in Mason’s Grove for a little while, but I couldn’t stay there.”

“Where’s Mason’s Grove?”

“Between Tulsa and Stillwater. It’s a real nice place, Rachel. You oughta visit there sometime. You’d like it.”

They always did this. Started a conversation one way, branched it off to something else, then wound around to something else again. And somehow, they always kept track. Today, however, Rachel didn’t feel like branching. Today, she wanted to stay on the topic at hand.

“Why didn’t you call me or Daddy to tell us you were there?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?” Rachel repeated before expelling an exasperated sound. “Sabrina...honey, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I mean it now.”

“I wish I could tell you more,” she replied, sounding as anxious as Rachel felt, “but it’s just so complicated, and I’m not sure I know all the details myself, and I don’t want to pull you into it, because it might be dangerous, and there’s just not enough time, and...” She expelled an exasperated sound of her own. “Look, I just wanted to see if you were still at the trailer, and if you were, to tell you I’m not coming back, and you should leave. Do you hear me, Rachel? Leave. I don’t think it’s safe there.”

“Oh, please,” Rachel said. “What are you talking about? Not safe? This town is the most boring place I’ve ever been in my life. What could possibly be not safe here?”

She heard her sister sigh on the other end of the line. Then, in the background, a faint, disembodied voice dispassionately announced the departure of a bus to Lincoln, Nebraska.

“Is that yours?” Rachel asked. “Are you headed for Nebraska?”

“No. I’m going—” Whatever Sabrina had been about to say, she seemed to think better of it. “I can’t tell you,” she repeated.

“Why not? I’ll meet you there. I’ll call Daddy, and we can both meet you there. We can help you.”

“Rachel, honey, there’s something you need to know.”

“Well, no doody, Sabrina.” Momentarily, Rachel gave in to her frustration. “I think there’s more than one thing I need to know. Like what exactly are you running from? Who the heck is the baby’s father and why isn’t he with you? Are you seeing a doctor? Are you eating right? Have you been taking your prenatal vitamins? Have I left anything out?”

Sabrina ignored her sarcasm. “All I can tell you is that I’m fine, and yes, I’ve seen a doctor—more than one, in fact—and everything is going perfectly according to schedule.” After a clear hesitation, and with obvious reluctance, she added, “All I can tell you about the baby’s father is that he comes from a very prominent Oklahoma family with a lot of money, a lot of power and a lot of influence, and...” There was another sigh, this one long and melancholy, followed by a softly uttered, “And...oh, Rachel. I think his family wants to take the baby away from me.”

Rachel actually removed the receiver from her ear long enough to gape at it. Then she replaced it and exclaimed, “They want to what?”

“There’s some guy following me,” Sabrina continued in a rush. “I don’t know who he is or what he wants, but he’s giving me the creeps. I think he might be working for Ja...for the baby’s father’s family, but whatever he’s up to, it’s no good.”

“How do you know? Maybe he wants to help you.”

“Trust me, honey. This guy isn’t the helpful kind. He makes my skin crawl.” After a brief hesitation, she added, “Someone broke into my apartment, Rachel, and tried to run me off the road. I think it’s a safe bet that he was responsible for both. He’s dangerous. And I won’t risk having you and Daddy exposed to him.”

“What?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have told you that,” Sabrina said. “Look, I’m fine now. I’m safe. But I think I should keep moving.”

“And I think you need to be with your family,” Rachel countered. Shoot, Sabrina was going to give her a heart attack with all this woman-in-jeopardy stuff. “Sabrina, just tell me where you are, where you’re going,” Rachel pleaded. “I can meet you somewhere. It’ll be okay with two of us. Even better, if I call Daddy, too. For heaven’s sake, you’re seven months pregnant! You need somebody with you!”

“No.” Sabrina’s tone of voice punctuated her adamant stance. “I’m fine. I knew the minute I hung up the phone the other night that it was wrong for me to call you in Oklahoma City. I was just feeling scared and alone, but I’m over it now. There’s no reason to pull you into this, too. I’m on my own now. It’ll be better that way. Go home, Rachel. Where it’s safe. I’ll call you when I can.”

“But, Sabrina—” She stopped when another tinny-sounding departure announcement rang out in the background on the other end of the line. But the sound was muffled before Rachel could hear what it was, and she knew Sabrina had deliberately covered the mouthpiece of the phone.

When her sister came back on the line, it was to say quickly, “I have to go. Listen, just promise me you’ll get out of there. And that you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll be careful?” she repeated. “I’m not the one who’s pregnant and on the run here—you are. You be careful. I can take care of myself.”

Sabrina actually laughed at that. “Oh, yeah. Right. That’s a good one, Rachel.”

Rachel made a face at the phone. “Just tell me one last—”

“I have to go,” Sabrina repeated. “I love you, Rachel. Tell Daddy I love him, too. I’ll call you at your apartment when I can.”

And then the buzz of a disconnected line hummed in Rachel’s ear.

She stood there for a long time with the phone still pressed urgently to the side of her head, somehow feeling a little closer to her sister by doing so. Then an electronic female voice told her very politely that if she wished to make another call, to please hang up and try again. With a sigh, Rachel dropped the receiver back into its cradle, feeling worse now than she had when she’d first arrived at the rented mobile home in Wallace Canyon.

“Well, shoot,” she muttered out loud. For good measure, she kicked the side of the kitchen counter with the toe of her heavy hiking boot.

There was no reason for her to stay here any longer. Sabrina had made it clear that she wasn’t coming back, and whoever was following her was doubtless long gone from here, too. Rachel might as well just do as her sister had told her and go back home to Oklahoma City, where she could wait for Sabrina’s next call. If there was a next call.

But something about going home rankled. Rachel didn’t like feeling helpless, especially where her sister was concerned. There had been a time in the twins’ lives when they’d been inseparable. Where one had gone, the other had followed, as if they’d been joined physically, as well as spiritually and emotionally. And although the leader had always been Sabrina—except, of course, for when the trail had led to trouble—Rachel had followed not out of obligation, but out of trust, out of love.

Sabrina had bailed her out of more tricky situations than Rachel could shake a stick at, and she’d never had the opportunity to return the favor. She owed her sister—big time. Now that Sabrina was the one in need of bailing out, the least Rachel could do was try to figure out some way to help. And sitting in her apartment back in Oklahoma City waiting for the phone to ring just wasn’t going to cut it.

She leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms over the big, baggy, forest green sweater that hung nearly down to her denim-clad knees, cupped her chin resolutely in her palm, and wondered how on earth she was going to help Sabrina out when she didn’t even know where her sister was headed. For long moments, she pondered her dilemma, until a brisk rap of a fist on the front door roused her from her thoughts.

Rachel snapped her head up at the intrusive sound, and riveted her gaze on the frosted glass of the aluminum door barely ten feet opposite her. Beyond it, she saw the silhouette of a big cowboy hat and little else. Something drew tight in her belly, and all her senses went on alert. She straightened, inhaled a few deep, fortifying breaths, and crossed to greet her—or rather, Sabrina’s—visitor.

She gripped the doorknob carefully, inhaled again, then twisted and pushed slowly. But a gust of brutal winter wind snatched the door from her hand and sent it crashing outward, giving neither Rachel, nor her guest, a chance to ease slowly into things.

“Whoa,” the cowboy hat said in response to the clatter of metal slapping against metal.

“Wow,” Rachel gasped at the same time. Not because the wind had surprised her so, but because the cowboy hat tipped backward, and she got a good look at what was underneath.

More brown. But not ugly, dead-looking brown this time. Warm, animated, bittersweet chocolate brown, in the form of laughing eyes that gazed upon her with more than a little interest.

“Ma’am,” the owner of those eyes said as he lifted two gloved fingers to the brim of his hat. “You okay?”

Rachel’s mouth fell open, but no sound emerged. Instead, pretty much oblivious to the cold wind that bit through her sweater and tangled with her hair, she could only stare at the man on the other side of the door. Stare down at him, at that, because after knocking, he had retreated to the ground below the two metal stairs that extended from the side entrance of the mobile home.

His sunken position, however, did absolutely nothing to diminish him. He was easily six feet. And although his big, sheepskin coat hid the particulars of his physique, Rachel got the definite impression of solidity and strength. He was slim, sure, but no doubt every muscle he had, he made count.

Automatically, her gaze fell to the fourth finger of his left hand. It was a bartender’s gesture she always performed, because men always flirted with female bartenders—even though they were often married when they did. This man’s hands, however, were covered with rawhide gloves, so she couldn’t be sure whether he wore a wedding band or not. Somehow, she found herself hoping he didn’t. Then she shook her mind free of the thought and returned her gaze to his face.

Beautiful jumped into her head. He’d no doubt balk at being referred to in such a way, but that was the only word Rachel could come up with to describe him. His dark brown eyes were made darker still by the length of black hair that fell from beneath his Stetson, and by the two slashes of black eyebrows above and a ring of sooty lashes around each. His skin, too, was brown, a deep, smooth umber that was obviously a part of his heritage. His cheekbones were high and well-defined, his nose was straight and elegant, and they were complemented by a sensuously full lower lip that just begged to be tasted.

Oh, yeah. Definitely beautiful.

Great. Just what she needed. Rachel felt that old familiar falling sensation and knew that if she didn’t pull back right now, she’d land in a puddle of ruined womanhood right at the man’s feet. Nothing like falling completely in love with a man you’ve exchanged exactly one word with, she thought wryly. Nevertheless, she knew that was precisely what was happening to her now, because that was what always happened to her whenever she met an attractive man. So she commanded herself to knock it off, to rein herself in, to remember her sister and the fact that Sabrina had told her to be careful. And somehow, she managed to keep from throwing herself—body and soul—right into the beautiful man’s clutches.

“Miss Jensen?” he said, sending a rush of heat right through her.

Shoot, heat was the last thing she needed, in spite of the frigid air buffeting her from all sides. When the man’s voice finally registered in her muddled brain, she sensed by its tone that he must have uttered those two words several times without receiving an answer. Rachel shook her head hard again, to clear it of the muzziness that filled it, then forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Yes?” she replied, proud of herself for forming even that one-word in response.

“Sabrina Jensen?”

A faint alarm bell sounded in the back of Rachel’s head, and for a moment, she felt like the proverbial deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi. It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had thought she was Sabrina, nor would it be the last. That was something identical twins just had to live with—mistaken identity. Normally, a brief, “Oh, no, I’m Sabrina’s twin sister, Rachel,” put a quick and painless end to the error.

But then, normally, Sabrina’s questionable safety and bizarre recent behavior weren’t at issue. Suddenly, with the up-in-the-air quality that Sabrina’s life had adopted, Rachel’s answer to the man’s supposition now took on new importance.

She realized then that she had two choices. One, she could correct him, as she invariably did when one of her sister’s friends or acquaintances mistook her for her twin, and then she and the cowboy hat could share a chuckle. Afterward, he could be on his merry way, and Rachel could go back to Oklahoma City, wait for Sabrina’s call, and pray to God every night that her sister was safe and sound.

That, of course, was assuming that this man was a friend or acquaintance, which he probably wasn’t, if he were asking her if she was Sabrina Jensen. If Sabrina had met this particular cowboy hat during her brief stint in Wallace Canyon, he’d realize right off the bat that there was something different about Rachel. Namely, the fact that she clearly wasn’t seven months pregnant. In a word, duh.

So if this cowboy, however beautiful, wasn’t a friend or acquaintance of Sabrina’s, well then he might just be anybody. And anybody could be somebody who wanted to do Sabrina harm. After all, Sabrina had just told Rachel that Wallace Canyon wasn’t safe. That someone was after her. That the someone in question had tried to hurt Sabrina and might potentially be trying to take her unborn child. Who knew who that someone might be? And he might not be working alone. It might just be a beautiful man with bittersweet chocolate eyes and a luscious lower lip.

Which brought Rachel to choice number two where mistaken identity was concerned.

She straightened, squared her shoulders and met those gorgeous brown eyes one-on-one. Then she told the man evenly, “Yes. I’m Sabrina Jensen. What can I do for you?”

Two

Riley Hunter had seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, but never one with eyes as clear and green and compelling as Sabrina Jensen’s. A man could get lost in eyes like those, could gladly drown and never regret a second of his life. For a moment, he couldn’t do anything more than gaze into those eyes and feel the world fall away from beneath him. Then the cold winter wind slapped him from the side, reminding him that he had a job to do.

“Forgive me, ma’am,” he said, “but would it be all right if I came inside? It’s fearsome cold out here today.”

In response, Sabrina Jensen only stared at him in silence for a moment, as if she hadn’t heard him, and he wondered if there was something wrong with her hearing. He’d had to ask her three times if she was Miss Jensen before she’d finally answered him. He was about to beg entry into the trailer again when, at last, she seemed to remember herself.

“Uh. no offense,” she said, crossing her arms over her torso and tucking her hands under them in what had to be a totally pointless effort to ward off the cold. “But I’d just as soon we had our conversation right here.”

He nodded, finally remembering that he had yet to introduce himself. Naturally, a woman wouldn’t invite a strange man into her home. Deftly, he reached inside his coat and withdrew his identification. Unfolding the leather case, he held it up for her inspection. Her eyes widened at the sight of the silver star pinned to one side, then she reached out a tentative hand to pluck the entire case from his fingers.

She took her time reading over the laminated card that verified he was Sheriff Riley Hunter, Wallace Canyon PD, but even then, she evidently wasn’t quite satisfied. She glanced first up at him, then back down at the photo, then up at his face again, then down at the photo. Sheesh. Talk about suspicious.

Riley wasn’t used to having his identity or position in the community questioned, much less given this kind of scrutiny. Of course, even after only six months in residence, every single one of Wallace Canyon’s 415 citizens knew him by name. He reminded himself that this woman was new to the community and living here alone, not to mention a woman who’d been reported missing—and a pregnant woman, at that. So he supposed she wasn’t exactly in the position to be trusting. Still, it bugged the hell out of him to have his position, his very integrity, doubted.

As she studied his ID, his gaze involuntarily fell to her belly, which, even under her baggy sweater, offered absolutely no indication that there was a life growing inside her. She must be at the very earliest stages of her pregnancy, he thought. Although, like many men, Riley didn’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ babies, even he suspected that a woman didn’t go much beyond a few months before there was some sign of her condition. Miss Sabrina Jensen probably wasn’t even out of her first—what did they call that thing again?—her first trimester. Yeah, that was it.

Even after she finished inspecting his ID and returned it, she studied his face for some time before she finally stepped aside to allow him entry. Immediately after Riley climbed the steps and crossed the threshold, she closed the door behind him. Then she wrapped her arms around herself again, as if closing the door on the wintry wind outside had done nothing to alleviate the fact that it was goll-danged cold. She didn’t move away from the door, however, and somehow he decided that was because she wanted to be able to make a clean break of it, should he try anything funny.

Women. Man, they just couldn’t trust anybody. And evidently, pregnant women were even worse. In an effort to assuage her fears, Riley took a few steps backward, until the opposite wall bumping into his fanny stopped him. Then, always the gentleman, he removed his Stetson, cradling it easily in one hand.

“Miss Jensen,” he began again, raking his gloved fingers through his shoulder-length tresses to dispel any lingering effects of hat hair. Hey, a guy didn’t want to look foolish when he was interrogating a beautiful woman, after all. “We received a report down at the station that identifies you as a missing person.”

Two bright spots of color suddenly stained her cheeks, and Riley, whose instincts had always been right on the mark, immediately knew that she was guilty of either one of two things: either she was hiding something from him at the moment, or else she intended to hide something from him within the next few minutes.

But instead of calling her on it, he only waited to see what she would do. If there was one thing he’d learned as a law enforcement officer, it was that, nine times out of ten, if left to their own devices, people would do more damage to their own credibility than the police could ever hope to do. So Riley waited, feeding her all the rope she could possibly use in one lifetime to hang herself.

“A missing person?” she echoed, her voice more than a little tremulous.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But...but how could I be missing?” She scrunched up her shoulders and let them drop in a gesture that was way too quick and way too nervous even to be considered a member of the shrug family. “I’m right here.”

Riley certainly couldn’t argue with her logic. Nonetheless, he said, “Well, yes, ma’am, but you’re missing from Freemont Springs, where an APB concerning your whereabouts originated.”

“Now, how could I be missing from Freemont Springs?” she asked. “I’ve never even been there. I live in Oklahoma City and have for years.”

“You’re not living in Oklahoma City right now,” he observed.

Again, that stain of color flooded her face. “Well...um, uh...actually...” Her voice trailed off, but her gaze never wavered from his. “Of course I’m living here now,” she began again. “But until very recently, I was living in Oklahoma City.”

Riley nodded. He didn’t believe for a moment that she wasn’t hiding something, but he nodded anyway. “And just what is it, pray tell, that brings you to our bustling little community?”

She swallowed visibly. “I, um...I needed to get away for a while. A, uh, a friend of mine who passed through here a while back told me what a great place this is, so I had to come and see for myself.”

Oh, well, now he knew she was lying. “A friend told you Wallace Canyon was great?”

She nodded quickly, anxiously.

“That’s like in that movie Casablanca, when Humphrey Bogart says he came to Casablanca for the waters, and then Claude Rains reminds him that Casablanca is in the middle of a desert, and it doesn’t have any waters.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah. So. What’s your point?”

His point was that she wasn’t being truthful, but he checked himself before blurting that out. There were all kinds of things you could learn from a liar, after all. He’d seen that for himself. So aloud, he only said, “Well, to paraphrase Humphrey Bogart, ma’am, you were misinformed.”

She cleared her throat indelicately. “That doesn’t change the fact that I needed to get away for a bit,” she said.

Again, her response seemed unlikely, and he didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “You needed to get away now?” he asked dubiously. “Right before Christmas?”

Still blushing, she nodded again, way too quickly for Riley’s comfort. But she said nothing.

“Excuse me for doubting your word, ma’am, but seems to me this is the time of year when most folks want to be close to their loved ones, not get away from it all.”

She lifted her chin a defensive fraction of an inch. “Yes, well, I think that probably depends on one’s relationship with one’s loved ones, doesn’t it?”

He studied her in silence for a minute, unsure whether to believe her or not on that particular score. So he dropped that line of questioning and returned to his first. “That still doesn’t explain why you’ve been reported missing. If not from Freemont Springs, then from Oklahoma City.”

She gazed at him blankly. “Well, my goodness, Sheriff. Lots of people are missing from Oklahoma City. I’d venture to say that there are a lot of people out there who’ve never even visited Oklahoma City. If you have to round up everyone missing from Oklahoma City, then you better hurry and be on your way.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Riley said, “It’s not my job to round up everyone missing from Oklahoma City, ma’am, only the people who’ve been reported missing. And the Wentworth family of Freemont Springs has reported you missing. It’s my job to find you and let them know where you are.”

She paused for a very telling moment before asking, “Who are the Wentworths?”

“Who are the Wentworths?” he echoed. Well, hell, she should know that better than him. She was the one they were looking for.

“I don’t know anyone by the name of Wentworth,” she said. “sorry.”

He sighed. “You’ve been living in Oklahoma City for years, and you don’t know who the Wentworths are?”

She shook her head.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her on that score. The Wentworths were plenty famous in the state, but he supposed there were a good number of people who might not know about them, especially if they weren’t Oklahoma natives. So, for now, Riley decided to play along, just to see how far Miss Sabrina Jensen was willing to play whatever little game she was playing.

“Wentworth,” he repeated, enunciating the word a bit more clearly, a little more loudly, in case there really was something wrong with her hearing.

But she only continued to gaze at him tepidly, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

So Riley continued, “Joseph Wentworth is a big ol’ oil baron in Freemont Springs, which is not too far from Tulsa. Now, you do know where Tulsa is, don’t you?”

Miss Jensen nodded, smiling eagerly. “Oh, yes. In fact, I have a—”

Abruptly, she stopped talking, her eyes widening in panic, as if she’d been about to reveal something she shouldn’t. Riley waited to see if she’d continue, but she only snapped her mouth shut tight and said nothing more.

“You have a what?” he prodded her.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on now, Miss Jensen, you were about to say you had a...what...in Tulsa?”

“A, uh...” she hedged. “An elderly aunt. Aunt Wisteria. She lives in Tulsa.”

“Hoo-kay,” he said. Might as well just get on with it. “The Wentworth family,” he continued for Miss Jensen, “is real rich, and real famous—or maybe real infamous is a better way to put it. In any case, they’re real popular, real well-known folks. They run Wentworth Oil Works. That ring a bell?”

In response, all Miss Jensen did was squint her eyes a little, as if she were immersing herself in thought, searching the data banks of her brain for the slightest inkling of familiarity. Riley shook his head at what he suspected was a monumentally fake effort, but continued on with his story in the hopes of jogging her memory—or wrangling the truth out of her—for what good it would do.

“Old Joseph Wentworth pretty much raised two grandsons and a granddaughter after their parents were killed in a boating accident, oh...years and years ago. They have a big, beautiful house in Freemont Springs. Rich folks, like I said. Powerful. Stand tall in the community. You following me?”

Another nod from Miss Jensen, but nothing otherwise.

“Everyone in that part of Oklahoma knows about the Went-worths,” Riley continued. “Their activities are covered in the papers and on local TV all the time. I’d even wager to say that folks in Oklahoma City are pretty much aware of the Wentworths of Wentworth Oil Works in one way or another. Even the newcomers. Yet, you’re telling me you’ve never heard of them?”

Miss Jensen’s eyebrows arrowed downward as she processed this information—or at least pretended to. He was about to call her on her pretense when her expression cleared, and she lifted a hand to smack her open palm against her forehead. Hard.

“Oh, those Wentworths,” she said.

Somehow, he managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Those Wentworths.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were talking about some other Wentworths.”

Other Wentworths, he muttered to himself. Yeah, right. “So you don’t know the Wentworths personally?”

She shook her head.

“Well, the Wentworths sure know you. They’re all het up to find you.”

Sabrina Jensen shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea why they’d be looking for me. And as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, so...” She reached for the doorknob. “Will that be all, Sheriff?”

“Not quite.”

She expelled an exasperated breath and tucked her hand back under her other arm. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us.”

Riley inhaled deeply as he studied Miss Sabrina Jensen’s face again. Big mistake, he realized immediately. Because the moment he started looking at her, he found that he didn’t want to stop. No woman should have eyes that beautiful, that compelling, that hypnotic. A woman could do a man serious damage with eyes like those. And this woman had clearly tangled intimately with at least one man recently, given the state of her womb. Who knew what she’d done to the poor sap?

Or what the not-so-poor sap had done to her.

Automatically, his gaze dropped to her left hand, where he saw no ring. Unmarried. Aha. It hit Riley then that maybe Miss Jensen was missing on purpose, because she didn’t want to be found. Especially by the Wentworths of Freemont Springs, Oklahoma. There was a father for that baby of hers out there somewhere, a father who hadn’t yet married her. And Joseph Wentworth had a grandson. Even the older Wentworth boy might have fathered that baby before he died. Hell, for all Riley knew, maybe Joseph himself had a personal stake in finding Miss Jensen. Who knew what the particulars of her situation were?

“Miss Jensen,” he began again, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I thought you already had, Sheriff.”

He nodded. “Yeah, but your answers to those only roused a whole bunch more that we need to talk about.”

Without giving her time to answer, Riley settled his Stetson onto the settee beside him, tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pockets, then began to unbutton his coat. Miss Jensen opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of whatever it was, then closed it again. So he shed his coat and dropped it beside his hat, then he joined both on the settee and made himself comfortable. He slung his arm over the back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and met her gaze levelly.

Miss Jensen only stood staring back at him, as if she were trying to analyze him cell by cell. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers pinned him in place and held him there, assessing him, cataloging him, mesmerizing him. Riley began to feel as if he were a bug under a microscope, and Miss Sabrina Jensen was about to pick him apart. Then, thankfully, she sat down, too, in a chair positioned catty-corner to the settee.

“Can I fix you something to drink?” she asked halfheartedly. “Some coffee or something?”

He wondered for a moment if he should let on how much he knew about her, then decided that maybe she’d be more inclined to surrender information if she thought he already had most of it. So he replied. “I didn’t think pregnant women were supposed to drink coffee.”

The moment he said it, those two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks again, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then she splayed her hand over her flat belly, as if she were trying instinctively to protect whatever life was growing there.

“You, uh, you know about that?” she asked.

He nodded. “It was in the latest APB we received about you. When are you due?”

Something—surely it wasn’t relief—crossed her face, and she swallowed hard. “I, uh...” she began. But nothing more was forthcoming.

“Yes?” he spurred her.

But the only response she offered was another long, drawn out “Uh...”

“Miss Jensen?”

“Uh-huh?”

Hey, she was up to two syllables, Riley noted. Good for her. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?”

She nodded quickly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

Whoa, she was even using real words now, he thought. “When are you due?”

“In, uh, about, um...” She seemed to be thinking about something, then said, “June. I’m due in June. I’m three months along.” To illustrate, she held up one hand, index, middle and ring fingers extended, as if she were a preschooler identifying her age. “This many,” she said, enhancing the image. “Three. I’m three months. Yepper. That’s how pregnant I am. Three months.”

Riley nodded. Hoo-kay. Whatever. Nobody ever said beauty and brains went hand in hand, right? “Well, no offense, ma’am, but I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking coffee. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but—”

“Oh, I’m not, either,” she piped up. “An expert, I mean. This is my first time. Being pregnant, I mean. I’m sure the coffee is... I mean... Gee, I can’t seem to stop saying, ‘I mean,’ can I?” She laughed, a nervous little trill that he found very suspicious. “I mean—oops, there I go again—ahem. That is to say—” She smiled, having conquered her problem by introducing a new phrase. “I know the coffee is decaf. Would you like some?”

He still hadn’t quite recovered from the chill outside—or the prattling inside—so he nodded gratefully. Anything to give her something to do that would calm her down. But aloud, he only said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Even before he completed the sentence, Miss Jensen had shot up from her seat and fled to the kitchen. Of course, seeing as how the kitchen was less than two feet away, it wasn’t much of a flight. Strangely, Riley found that he was grateful for that, too. For some reason, he didn’t want Sabrina Jensen out of eyeshot.

Of course, that was because she was part of a case right now, he assured himself—and not because she was just a good-looking woman he’d like to get to know better. He had no intention of getting to know her better. Not like that, anyway. Not...intimately. She was pregnant, for God’s sake, something that tended to make a man think twice about involvement. For one thing, babies could put a real cramp in all that getting-to-know-you stuff. For another thing, it meant that she had a vested interest in another man.

Riley might have done some foolish things in his life where women were concerned, but he sure as shootin’ wasn’t about to infringe on another man’s, uh...connubial jurisdiction. Of course, Miss Jensen was a self-professed Miss, reinforcing his suspicion that she wasn’t married to whoever had sired that little nipper inside her, but still. The genesis of life tended to be a pretty major bond for people, didn’t it? Even if the baby’s father wasn’t around, it was a good bet she still had fond feelings for the guy, and that the guy likewise still had a thing for her. Hey, baby or no baby, what man in his right mind would let a woman like Sabrina Jensen out of his sight?

“Aha,” she said, bringing his attention around. When he looked up, he saw her standing in front of an open cabinet, a can of coffee in one hand.

“See?” she said, looking triumphant for some reason. “It is decaf. I told you so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, not sure why she should count the observation as such a coup. “You surely did.”

She smiled as she closed the cabinet and moved toward the coffeemaker. And in spite of his earlier admonitions to himself, Riley found that he was more than a little interested in her movements. Everything she did was marked by a graceful efficiency and an easiness of motion that put his mind at peace. At least, her motions were efficient and easy—until she looked up and caught him watching her. Then all hell broke loose. The little plastic scoop full of coffee that she held in her hand went clattering onto the counter, scattering grounds everywhere, and when she scrambled to retrieve it, she bonked her head on the kitchen cabinet beside her.

“Ouch,” she muttered as she lifted a hand to the injury. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the coffee scoop, and she poked herself in the eye with it when she did.

“Ow,” she muttered again.

“Here,” Riley said, jumping up from the settee. “Let me help you.” He did, after all, feel somewhat responsible for what had happened—he was the one who’d wanted coffee.

But the moment he took one step in Miss Jensen’s direction, she leapt backward, an action that propelled her right into the refrigerator. Once again, her head snapped backward and bore the brunt of a blow, and he instinctively moved toward her, hands extended, in an effort to help her. But somehow his foot hit hers, and he, too, went sailing forward. By now, there were coffee grounds everywhere, Miss Jensen was suffering from a full-blown fit of embarrassment, and Riley wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

Ultimately, his hands took the decision, well, out of his hands, because they opted to land flat on the refrigerator door behind her, one on each side of Sabrina Jensen’s head. And then the two of them stood quite literally face-to-face. And torso to torso. And libido to libido. And that was when the most bizarre thing popped into Riley’s head.

He wanted to kiss Sabrina Jensen.

And that, he decided very quickly, would be a truly spectacular mistake. In spite of his decision, though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from her just yet. Not because something in her eyes held him in thrall, and not because the heat of her surrounded him like a soothing balm, and not because she smelled just so damned good—like a field full of fragrant flowers.

But because she had dropped both coffee and scoop into the sink, and now she had her hands bunched fiercely in the khaki fabric of his shirt. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that instead of pushing him away—something he told himself any normal woman would do when faced by a complete stranger in such a way—she seemed to be pulling him nearer. Even more interesting was the way in which she was tilting her head back just a fraction of an inch, parting her lips as if she’d read his mind and, by golly, she wanted to kiss him, too.

“Uh, Miss Jensen?”

She had those luscious green eyes fixed on his face, and she seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time studying each of his features. Though, when he got right down to it, Riley supposed she seemed to be most captivated by his...mouth? Uh-oh. They both really were thinking about the same thing, about how it would feel to—

“Uh, Miss Jensen?” he began again.

But she remained so preoccupied by her study of his face that all she offered in response to his query was a softly uttered “Hmm?”

He swallowed hard. “You, uh... Are you okay?”

Her gaze wandered over his features until her eyes finally met his. But again, all she managed in reply was a quietly murmured “Mmm.”

He inhaled a deep breath and was immediately troubled by the shakiness of it. “Well, then, ma’am,” he said softly, “would you mind letting go of my shirt?”

For a moment, he didn’t think she’d heard him, and he wondered again about the state of her hearing. Then her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushed that becoming shade of pink again, her lips parted more, as if she couldn’t quite get enough air, and...

And she continued to hold fast to his shirt. So Riley circled her wrists with gentle fingers and, with no small effort, pried them loose. Only then did it finally seem to hit Miss Sabrina Jensen exactly what was going on. And it also seemed to hit her just how tenuous the situation was.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry....”

She dropped her gaze to the hands he held in his and awkwardly yanked them free. Then, with quick, jerky movements. she began to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt that her insistent grip had created. And at once, Riley wished he hadn’t released her hands. Because the only thing more unsettling than having her fingers tangled in his shirt was having her fingers skittering lightly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, flattening her palms and pressing harder on his chest in an effort to iron out a few more places. “I have no idea how that happened. The coffee just slipped right out of my hands, and—”

Deftly, he caught her wrists in his hands again, and, startled, she glanced up into his eyes. For one long, lingering moment, he came this close to simply dipping his head to hers and kissing her, a good, solid, why-don’t-we-just-dispense-with-the-formalities kiss, the way his instincts commanded him to. Then, somehow, he came to his senses and set her gently away.

“That’s all right,” he said, the words coming out a bit rougher than he’d intended. “Forget about the coffee. I’m not nearly as...uh...thirsty...as I was a few minutes ago.”

Boy, that had been close. He’d almost told her he wasn’t nearly as cold as he had been a few minutes ago, that being in close quarters with her had just heated him right up, and was she busy this evening, because he really wanted to get to know her and her hands better.

With no small effort, he forced himself to take a step backward in retreat. Then, somehow, he managed to take another. And then another. And another, and another, until he was as far away from Sabrina Jensen as he could be in the tiny confines of the trailer. Unfortunately, what stopped him was the entryway to her bedroom, something he discovered when his shoulder went slamming into the doorjamb, and he turned around to see what had impeded his progress.

“Damn,” he muttered out loud when the sight of the small, intimate-looking bed had him spinning quickly back around. Trailers were just too damned small for a sheriff to be able to properly interrogate a beautiful woman. Now what was he supposed to do?

When he looked at Miss Jensen again, she didn’t offer any answers. Instead, she was staring at him in a way that made his heart pound like a wild animal. Well, shoot. Nothing like being fiercely, irreversibly turned on by a total stranger, he thought. Especially one who was acting mighty suspicious about something and expecting another man’s baby. What the hell was going on? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Hastily, Riley reminded himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be attracted to Sabrina Jensen.

Number one, she was pregnant. That was a pretty major reason in and of itself to keep his distance. But just to be sure, he heaped on a few more. Number two, in spite of that come-hither look in her eyes right now, she was probably in love with whoever had fathered her baby, another very good reason to avoid her. Number three, she’d been acting awfully funny ever since he entered the trailer—she obviously had something to hide. Number four, she’d lied about at least one thing, so who was to say she wouldn’t lie about everything?

And number five, even without all of the above, Riley had sworn a looong time ago that it was going to take more than a beautiful face and a strong hormonal reaction to lure him into a relationship. When he started seeing a woman seriously again, it would be because she had wit, intelligence, integrity, honor and a strong sense of commitment. Miss Sabrina Jensen, so far, was showing signs of none of those things. And he’d be damned if he’d fall head over heels again just because of all that zinging of his heart strings. Hell, it had been bad enough when he was twenty-two, and Miss Caroline Merilee Dewhurst had—

He stopped himself before the memories of that ill-fated chapter of his life began to tumble into his brain. There was no reason to dwell on that right now, he told himself. Or ever again. Especially when the current chapter of his life was fast becoming a real page-turner.

“Miss Jensen,” he said, trying again to jump-start the conversation, “would you mind coming down to the station with me so I can ask you a few questions?”

Her eyes widened in surprise again. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, ma’am.” he was quick to assure her. “But I think the atmosphere at the station is a little more conducive to conversation than your trailer is.”

“Conversation?” she echoed. “Sounds to me like you have something more along the lines of interrogation in mind.”

He shook his head in firm denial. “No, I’d just like for you to clarify a few things for me is all.”

“Then I’ll clarify them right here.”

Riley sighed. She was digging in. He could see it from a mile away. Miss Sabrina Jensen wasn’t going anywhere with him today. “Fine,” he told her. “Then I’ll just give old Joseph Wentworth a call and let him know you’re safe and sound and living right here in Wallace Canyon at the Westport Trailer Park, lot number thirty-two.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “They don’t call them trailer parks anymore,” she said. “This is a mobile home community.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I think Mr. Wentworth will still be interested to know where you are.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Riley moved gingerly over to the settee to retrieve his coat and hat, keeping Miss Sabrina Jensen in his peripheral vision at all times. Hey, you never knew. He had settled his hat on his head and was shrugging into his coat when she took a step toward him. But only one. It was as if she were as fearful as he was that getting too close would create something between them that they couldn’t quite control. Like spontaneous combustion, for instance.

“Sheriff?” she said.

He finished buttoning himself up and looked at her. “Ma’am?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t notify the Wentworths of my whereabouts.”

That didn’t exactly surprise him. “Why not?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come down to the station with me right now and tell me all about it? I don’t have to be anywhere anytime soon. In case you didn’t notice, Wallace Canyon is kind of a small town. Things are a bit slow here.”

She nibbled her lower lip, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to come clean. And God help him, Riley decided he really, really liked how she did that. It made him wonder how it would feel to have those even, white teeth nibbling his lower lip, too. Not to mention some of his other body parts.

“I can’t go into it right now,” she told him, interrupting what had promised to be a very nice daydream. “I, um...I have a...a a doctor’s appointment. In...in thirty minutes. And I can’t miss it.”

“You gonna see Dr. Slater in town?” he asked, already knowing the answer. There was, after all, only one doctor in Wallace Canyon, a general practitioner. The next closest one was an hour away and specialized in podiatry.

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Dr. Slater. That’s who I’m seeing, all right. Ol’ Doc Slater.”

He eyed her warily again. “Dr. Slater is only forty-seven. And she really hates being called ‘Doc.’”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. I see. It, uh...it’s my first appointment.”

He nodded, but still felt that edge of suspicion twisting up his spine. “Okay. Then you can come by the station after you’re finished. You know where the station is?”

She nodded again. “Sure. Sure I do.”

“Then I’ll see you in about an hour?”

She licked her lips. “Uh...better make it an hour and a half,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll see you then, Miss Jensen.”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

For some reason, she seemed to be awfully worried about something. Then again, being summoned to the police station, even for something as minor as questioning, probably roused more than a few concerns in a person.

“I look forward to having my questions answered,” he said, lifting two gloved fingers to the brim of his hat in farewell.

And then Sabrina Jensen said the strangest thing in response. “Yeah. I will, too.”

Three

Rachel closed the door on Sheriff Riley Hunter, Wallace Canyon PD, bolted it as quickly as she could, then leaned against it with all her might. Somehow, she hoped doing so might keep all her problems at bay, and keep all of her lunch in her stomach. But even after shutting her eyes and taking ten deep breaths, even after silently uttering her favorite daily affirmations, even after that...that...that whattayacall...that visualization thingy where she tried to see herself floating peacefully on a raft in the middle of a swimming pool...

She sighed deeply. Even after all that, she was still shaking like a jackhammer, and her stomach was still rolling. Her legs finally buckled under her, and she slid slowly down along the door until she’d crumpled in a heap on the floor. Then she buried her face in her hands and bit back a groan.

She’d just told a pack of lies to a police officer! A really cute one! Now what was she going to do? More to the point, what on earth would bring a really cute police officer to Sabrina’s mobile home in the first place? Why were the illustrious Wentworths of Freemont Springs looking for her, to the point of siccing the police on her?

Rachel covered her mouth with a loose fist and replayed the scene that had just transpired between her and Sheriff Gorgeous, feeling sicker and more confused with every passing moment. Could one of the Wentworth grandsons be the father of her sister’s baby? she wondered. If so, it would answer at least a few of the questions spinning around in Rachel’s muddled brain. Hadn’t Sabrina just said on the phone that the baby’s father came from “a prominent Oklahoma family,” one that had a lot of money and power and influence? And Sabrina lived in Tulsa, not far from Freemont Springs at all. It was certainly possible that she had crossed paths with one of the Wentworths.

That had to be it, Rachel thought. That was the only explanation that made any sense. Somehow, Sabrina must have become romantically involved with one of the Wentworths, and had gotten pregnant as a result of the relationship. And now, evidently, the Wentworths had found out about the baby, and they were looking for the baby’s mother.

Boy, the twin sister was always the last to know.

Then Rachel remembered something else her sister had said on the phone. That the baby’s father’s family was trying to take the baby away from her. Oh, no. Oh, jeez. Oh, man. No wonder Sabrina was on the run. No wonder she was hiding out and didn’t want to tell anyone where she was. Just what had Sabrina gotten herself into?

And just what had Rachel gotten herself into? Not only was she now a part of this whole thing, but she’d just lied to the law like a big dog. That was probably illegal, and was certainly immoral. And no doubt ineffective to boot, because she was a terrible liar, always had been, always would be.

Hoo boy, was she in it now. Deep.

It was just that she hadn’t known what to do. Even on her best day, when she wasn’t worried sick about her sister’s welfare, Sheriff Riley Hunter was the kind of man who would send Rachel into a tailspin. For Pete’s sake, he’d been sooo handsome. And charming. And sexy as all get-out. The moment he’d entered Sabrina’s trailer—or rather, mobile home, she corrected herself— he’d taken over the place, filling it physically, spiritually, completely. And Rachel just hadn’t known what to do. So she blithered like an idiot, told one lie after another, and confused herself so badly that now she had no idea what to do.

She blamed her instincts, which were in no way reliable. Her first instinct had been to protect Sabrina and the baby at all costs—which, now that she thought about it, had probably been a pretty good reaction to have. But her second instinct had been to play her hand close, to feel the sheriff out and see what kind of light he might shed on the situation. Which, too, now that she thought about it, probably hadn’t been such a bad thing to do, either, all things considered.

So it must have been her third instinct that had tripped her up, the one that had urged her to keep mum about her own nebulous part in whatever was going on. Which, on second thought, hadn’t really been all that dishonest, because she didn’t know what was going on anyway.

Okay, so maybe her instincts weren’t that unreliable, after all, she amended. Still...

She really hadn’t known what was going on, she tried to reassure herself. Not when she’d started lying anyway. And by the time she’d begun to get some kind of fuzzy picture regarding Sabrina’s situation, she’d been too far gone into Fabrication Land to find her way back. And now, even though things were starting to fall into place, she wasn’t altogether certain that she should start telling the truth. The father of Sabrina’s baby appeared to be a member of one of the most powerful, most influential families in the state. And evidently, they wanted possession of that baby, to the point of bringing in the law.

Contrary to the act she had attempted to play with Riley—however badly—that she’d never heard of the Wentworths, Rachel, like everyone else in Oklahoma, knew exactly who they were.

Who knew what motivated them, or what lengths they would go to to get their hands on Sabrina’s baby? Who knew who they had on their payroll, or how successful they’d be in their efforts? Oh, sure, they seemed like a nice enough family—on the outside, at least—from what scraps of gossip and chitchat she had heard about them over the years. But the Wentworth kids had been in and out of minor trouble a lot, too, from what she’d also heard over the years. And who could tell what people were capable of? Especially rich people. They always acted as if they were above the law.

Or, at least, Rachel assumed that rich people always acted as if they were above the law. That was what she’d always heard, anyway. She didn’t actually know too many rich people herself. Or any, for that matter. Still, one heard stories about such things. As far as she knew, the Wentworths might very well be manipulating the legal system, and who knew what—or who—else, to further their own interests.

They might very well be looking for Sabrina just so they could take her baby away from her. They had money and resources, and no doubt friends in high places, where Sabrina had nothing but a bartender sister and truck driver father and a dream of self-employment that was anything but fulfilled. If the Wentworths decided to take her baby away from her, they could probably find some way to do it. Hey, it could happen. From outward appearances, they had far more going for them than Sabrina Jensen did.

At this point, Rachel simply did not know what to think or what to do. Without meaning to, she had become involved in this thing, almost as much as Sabrina was. All she could do now was try to see it through to the end, until Sabrina and her baby were assured a lifetime of love and safety and togetherness. Whatever she had to do to ensure that for her twin, Rachel would do it. Even if it meant lying to a cute sheriff. It was for a good cause, right? The ends justified the means, didn’t they?

So then, why did she feel so guilty for what she had done, for what she was about to do?

She pushed the thought away and herself up off the floor, then made her way to Sabrina’s front window. She glanced out just in time to see Sheriff Riley Hunter’s big utility vehicle—brown again, wouldn’t you know, with a beige star painted on the door—turning out of the trailer park...er, mobile home community...and onto the highway. Then she took a deep breath, raked both hands slowly through her dark hair, and reassessed her predicament.

Nothing was going to change the fact that she had just lied to a police officer, so she was just going to have to deal with that. And there was still that small matter of her having agreed to meet with said police officer at the station in an hour and a half, something Rachel was sure she wouldn’t be able to avoid. Not unless she grabbed her bag and returned to Oklahoma City, where she would be totally ineffective in helping Sabrina. If Rachel didn’t go down to the station as she’d promised, then Riley Hunter and his beautiful brown eyes and lush lower lip would just come back to the trailer park—er, mobile home community—to find her. Or worse, he would call the Wentworths and bring them into the whole sordid mess.

So she figured she had two ways she could go. Either she could meet with the sheriff as she’d promised and come clean with the truth—that she was really Sabrina’s twin, who didn’t have a clue what was going on or where her missing sister might turn up, and sorry about all those whopping fat lies. Or she could keep perpetuating the whopping fat lie that she was her missing sister Sabrina, in the hopes of learning a little bit more about the situation, and a little bit more about the good sheriff’s intentions.

If Riley Hunter was indeed nothing more than a small-town lawman who’d been pulled into this thing as innocently as Rachel had been, then maybe, eventually—once she knew she could trust him—the two of them could put their heads together and find Sabrina.

On the other hand, if Riley Hunter was a hired gun of the Wentworths who was supposed to find Sabrina and return her to Freemont Springs for the Wentworth’s nefarious intention of taking her baby away from her, then posing as Sabrina might buy her sister some time and throw her pursuers off her trail.

Because really, when Rachel got right down to it, just who was Sheriff Riley Hunter anyway? How was she supposed to tell whether he was a legitimate man of the law or the mysterious someone that Sabrina said was after her? Oh, sure, he was cute and everything, and he’d been totally polite and sweet, and it had just been so heart-melting, the way he’d kept calling her “Ma’am,” and—

Rachel stopped herself before her capricious heart had the two of them walking down the aisle to the “Wedding March.” It was bad enough that she’d almost kissed the man a few minutes ago. Kissed him, she recalled with mortification. This, when she didn’t even know if she could trust him. Honestly. No woman on earth was as weak-willed as she was when it came to the opposite sex. She didn’t even know who the heck Riley Hunter was, and already she was half in love with him. And that wasn’t going to do Sabrina one whit of good. Or her, either.

Be strong, Rachel, she commanded herself. You can ignore beautiful brown eyes and a lush lower lip. You can avoid going all gooey inside every time you hear him say, “Ma’am” in that smooth, deep, utterly masculine voice of his. Just remember Sabrina. And don’t look at Sheriff Riley Hunter unless you absolutely have to.

Okay, she finished up her little pep talk to herself. She could do this for Sabrina. She could pretend to be her pregnant twin, especially since Riley Hunter obviously didn’t know that Sabrina was seven months along, and thank goodness for that.

She squared her shoulders, inhaled a deep breath and expelled it in a rush of certainty and good intentions. Just this once, Rachel wanted to be the twin who did the right thing. Just this once, she wanted to be the one who got them out of trouble, instead of into it. Just this once, she’d like to do something to help out Sabrina, the way Sabrina had always been doing something to help out Rachel. Just this once, she needed to do something right.

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