by Brenda Joyce
There were other photos of Marni on a snow-white pony that Kait felt certain was far too large for a four-year-old. In one of the photos she was actually going over a tiny jump in a riding habit at a horse show.
Kait lifted another photo, this one clearly of Trevor’s daughter from his previous marriage. In her letter Lana had mentioned that Sam was now sixteen, but in the two photos on his desk she appeared a bit younger. She was a beautiful blonde with a sunny smile and hazel eyes, but both photos were portraits, and there were no shots of her on horseback. Kait wondered at that.
And where were the photographs of Lana?
Kait suddenly turned. A bookcase was catty-corner to the wall of windows behind the desk, and sure enough, there on one shelf was a wedding photo of the bride and groom, both wreathed in smiles and looking like candidates for Mr. and Mrs. America. There were other photos of the once happy couple, including one of Trevor in a tuxedo, looking incredibly elegant and virile, with Lana in a daring evening gown that dripped over her every curve. His arm was around her, he was smiling and content, while she was laughing, undoubtedly at something he had said. What a perfect couple they made—in appearance, anyway.
Surely they could work things out.
If they had been that happy once, surely they could find that happiness again.
Kait swallowed, having to turn away from the photos of her sister and her husband when they had been so enamored of one another. She glanced briefly at a half a dozen photos of Lana astride at horse shows.
They brought back so many memories. Lana was a natural athlete, and a very competitive one. While they had both worked at a local stable in return for riding lessons, Lana had started winning top ribbons at the local shows from her very first time out when they were seven and in second grade. Kait had hated showing—she’d only done so once or twice and found the pressure of being the center of attention far too much. When their mother had passed away they had been thirteen, and their father had bought them both large ponies, and Kait now knew he had been hoping to distract them from their loss. Lana had continued to show, successfully; Kait had ridden for pleasure. Kait still rode on the weekends in Central Park or sometimes in Westchester, but she hadn’t had a clue that Lana had become so deeply involved in the horse world. That fact only added to the argument that Lana was eminently suited to be Trev Coleman’s wife.
Kait brushed her eyes. There was no denying the sadness in her heart now, but she was aware too of the emotion being much more complicated than it had any right to be, and she refused to analyze it or herself.
Kait turned her back to her sister’s photos and lifted the phone, her intention to try to reach her sister. She quickly dialed her own number, and as she waited for Lana to pick up, it crossed her mind that it might not be fair to tell Lana that Trev wanted a divorce, not when she was incapable of doing anything about it, not when she would be back in two days. Then she thought about how unfair it was for her to have been put in this position. She desperately needed Lana’s advice.
But Lana did not pick up. Instead, Kait’s voice mail came on.
As Kait hadn’t been given the opportunity to give her sister her PIN code for retrieving voice mail, she hung up with a terrible sinking sensation. She might not reach Lana at all; she might not be able to speak with her until she actually returned home to Fox Hollow in two days. And that meant that she would have to manage the divorce and Trev Coleman all alone.
She shuddered.
Kait hated the idea of facing Trev Coleman before she had a chance to speak with her sister; nevertheless, she had better think through the best way to deal with the current situation. Could she somehow help Lana salvage her marriage? That seemed to be the only possible course of action.
She took one last look around the study, but had no excuse now to be lingering there. And, frankly, something about Trev Coleman had unnerved her—she had no wish to be caught in his office, or to be accused of prying or anything else. She walked back into the hall. Her purse was gone.
She stared at the empty windowsill. She had set the Gucci bag down there—hadn’t she?
Kait felt certain that she had. Panic rose. Kait tried to recall if there was anything incriminating in her bag—she simply did not think so, but the panic did not abate. Kait hurried into the living room, but her bag was not in sight.
She could not have misplaced it. But she was alone in the house. Wasn’t she? Elizabeth had left to fetch Marni, and she had also seen Trevor driving off.
But Max Zara was upstairs. Kait realized now that she hadn’t seen him come down, and if he had, it had been by a back stairs or when she was engrossed in the study. He was odd and suspicious to begin with. He seemed to really dislike her sister. He seemed to have an ax to grind. But why the hell would he lift her bag?
Kait glanced at the stairs, calling, “Max?” There was no answer. She found her way to the kitchen easily enough—beyond the living room was the dining room and through that the kitchen. She ignored the spacious room with its sunny breakfast area and stainless-steel refrigerators, hearing a noise from another room. She passed a pantry and then stepped into the room with the washer, dryer, and a spare utilitarian sink.
Max was on his knees, tools on the floor beside him, the washer pulled out from the wall. He did not look at her.
Her heart pounded. Did she dare ask him if he’d taken her bag? Did she dare be that direct?
He said, “You want something, Mrs. Coleman?” But he did not look up.
His tone insinuated something dirty and Kait recoiled. “I seem to have misplaced my handbag,” she said carefully.
“Maybe you left it in the car,” he said, finally settling back on his haunches and gazing at her. Again she noticed his huge, bulging biceps and thick, powerful hands. And the worn undershirt revealed his wash-board abs. He could probably snap a watermelon in two with his bare hands, Kait thought uneasily. He had probably been in the marines as a youth.
She didn’t like the way he was looking at her—she said, breathlessly, “I took it with me. I guess it just walked off on its own accord.”
He made a disparaging sound.
Kait turned and hurried across the kitchen, past a wood center isle and a stainless-steel stove. She swept through the dining room, where Elizabeth had left a set table, with a salad in a glass bowl and a platter of seared tuna steaks. Kait continued through the house and up the stairs.
Max had to have taken her bag. But why?
Just then, it was very hard to think clearly.
Kait rushed up the stairs, passing four bedroom doors and entering the last room on the floor. She quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, aware suddenly of extreme exhaustion.
It competed with her frayed nerves for her attention. Calm down,she told herself. There had to be other people employed at Fox Hollow—a housemaid, grooms, who knows? Someone might have taken the bag simply because it was valuable item in itself. The bag’s disappearance did not mean that someone was on to her.
She fought to relax, an impossible feat. She told herself that even if Max had taken it, he wasn’t going to realize that Kait was a fraud. Lana had written in her letter that no one knew she had a twin, so no one would ever suspect their deception.
She wasn’t relieved. But she started to look around, incapable of tamping down her curiosity.
She stared at the king-sized bed in the center of the room.
The bed had a massive dark oak headboard and footboard, and a paisley quilt spread in black, red, and gold covered it. Three sets of pillows in contrasting hues and fabrics made the bed luxurious and inviting. A dark red Oriental rug covered the oak floors, an orangey tweed sofa was in front of the fireplace, and various antiques filled the room. How was she going to share a bed with Trev Coleman?
And Kait was suddenly furious for being put in the position she was now in. What was she supposed to do, lie there sleeplessly all night, right beside him? Surely he wouldn’t become amorous—a
fter all, he wanted a divorce. But if he did, was she supposed to claim a headache? And that didn’t solve the real issue—there was simply no way she could share his bed even if he never tried to touch her, not even once.
It was absolutely impossible.
And Kait refused to even consider why.
Kait backed away. She didn’t even want to share this bedroom. But she wanted to smooth over his anger now, for her sister’s sake, so suggesting separate bedrooms was not the right tack to take. Kait felt as if she were stuck between a rock and a hard place—worse, she felt as if she were slowly but surely drowning. In that moment, she felt like throttling her sister.
She reminded herself that Lana’s life was in danger, and so, maybe, was Marni’s. And if she had to share the bed, so be it, she’d keep a pillow between them. It was only for two nights, and a small price to pay if Lana paid off Corelli and got herself out of the mess she was in.
Kait couldn’t quite recover her composure.
And as Kait hurried from the bedroom, entering a huge walk-in closet the size of most people’s bedrooms, she realized that the master bedroom completely lacked her sister’s touch. It was almost as if she didn’t live there.
Perplexed, Kait paused in the walk-in, which was evenly divided, with Trev’s clothes hanging and folded up on shelves on one side, Lana’s on the other. Kait stared at a row of exquisite suits, then at piles of jeans and sweaters. She glanced down at several pairs of designer loafers side by side with high show boots and running sneakers. She could not help herself.
She walked over. She touched the top sweater, a soft blue, and found that it was cashmere. She touched a pile of cotton tees that were as high a quality and as finely woven as the sweaters. She saw a pile of running clothes—shorts, tights, pullovers. She glanced at the gleaming show boots—he had two pairs. His sneakers were well worn and muddy.
She gave his wardrobe one last glance, disturbed, and she quickly stripped off her trousers and twin set, and took off the red lipstick with a Kleenex.
Clad only in her own underwear—a pale pink cotton bra and pale pink cotton bikinis, she went to Lana’s side of the closet, hoping to find something comfortable—and comforting—to put on. Lana had insisted in her letter that Kait only use Lana’s clothes, makeup, and jewelry, which made sense. Of course, as no one was ever going to see her in her skivvies, Kait had used her own underwear. Her sister had actually left a tiny, lacy scrap of La Perla thong and a matching bra in the bag she had given her, but Kait drew the line at sharing underwear, and at the discomfort she felt certain the garments would provoke.
Kait rifled through designer wool suits; black, tan, and gray trousers; leather pants; Ralph Lauren blazers; expensive sweaters; and silk blouses. There was simply nothing to her liking. She eyed Lana’s gym clothes—tights and a loose woven top would certainly do, except Lana would never be caught dead out of a gym clad like that and Kait knew it. There was not a single pair of jeans to be found. Lana had always been extremely well dressed, ever since they were children. Clearly, that had not changed.
Suddenly, Kait couldn’t cope. Suddenly, the failure to find sweats and a tee brought tears to her eyes. Two days loomed ahead as if it were an eternity.
“Let’s get this over with,” Trev Coleman said.
Kait jumped three feet high and faced Lana’s husband, clad only in her panties and bra. She felt her cheeks flame, and somehow did not run for cover. As she stood there, mostly naked, facing him, her heart going wild, she reminded herself that he thought they were married. But for a man bent on divorce, he was not very oblivious. In fact, damn him, he was staring.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, unsmiling.
Then she gave up. They were not married, she was not his wife, and while she thought she had decent thighs, he had just seen every inch of them. And his green eyes remained mesmerized by her cotton panties. “Would you mind? I’m getting dressed,” she said through her teeth. And she heard them chatter.
His gaze jerked up, to her face, her mouth, her eyes. His color seemed to rise. “What happened to your underwear?” he said as tightly. His eyes jerked downward again.
She felt like throwing something at him. Instead, she grabbed a pair of pants off a hanger and hopped into them. “Nothing,” she snapped. Damn it! She should have worn her sister’s sexy designer underwear.
He now studied her carefully, from head to toe. Kait didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if he was calculating the cotton underwear and her new haircut. He finally said, his tone terribly neutral, “Are you on a diet or something?”
“I had the flu in New York. I didn’t eat for a few days. I’m still feeling weak.”
He finally lifted his gaze, and she saw that he was not unaffected by her; in fact, she saw a glitter in his eyes.
He turned abruptly and walked out of the dressing room. “We need to talk,” he said from the bedroom. “Come down to my study when you’re dressed.” His tone was oddly polite.
Kait sagged against the wall, but there was no wall there, just two racks of clothes, which she fell into. She landed with a thump, grabbed a rack, and righted herself. She was quivering like a leaf and her cheeks remained on fire.
Was she attracted to this man?
She told herself that it was simply impossible.
He was good-looking and sexy, but that did not mean she found him desirable. He belonged to her sister. In fact, barring instructions otherwise, Kait intended to do her best to help Lana salvage her marriage and her entire wonderful life.
Her spirits suddenly crashed and she sank down on the floor. “Damn it,” she said, hugging her knees. How had she ever gotten herself into this?
She could come clean now, before it was too late. But then Trev Coleman would want to know why she was pretending to be Lana, and what would she say? He’d also want to know just where his wife was— and Kait couldn’t betray Lana that way. Not without her permission. If she did, Kait knew it would be another ten years, if not more, before she ever saw her sister again.
No, she had promised to help her, and she had to keep that promise. More importantly, when this was over, they would be real friends and she would have a real family. In fact, when this was over, not only would Marni be her niece, but Trev Coleman would be her brother-inlaw.
Kait cursed again, still hugging her knees. Now she felt sick to her stomach, sick enough to retch.
Resigned—and fearful of what Trev wanted to discuss—as if she didn’t know!—she got up and pulled on a black V-neck sweater over the gray trousers. She had had enough of heels for one day and she went downstairs in her bare feet, trying to banish the expression she had just seen in Trev Coleman’s eyes from her very treacherous mind.
He was attracted to her, too.
No, he was attracted to Lana, his wife.
In Kait’s silly, plain cotton underwear.
His door was open; still, she knocked. He was standing before the fire and when he turned to face her, she saw that he was a man very much in control of all of his feelings; a cool gaze swept over her. He saw her bare feet. “What’s that?”
She tilted up her chin. “My feet hurt,” she said.
He stared at her with the same calculating look he had given her before.
“I’m really tired,” she said, and it was the truth. She had the urge to go upstairs and throw the covers over her head, just to escape him for a while.
Or was it to run from herself?
“Yeah.” His smile was twisted. “Me, too.”
She became alert. She did not like the sound of that, and she did not like the suddenly weary look in his eyes.
“This is a done deal, Lana,” he said softly, his regard unwavering. “I have made up my mind.”
Dread filled her. What should she say? What should she do? “You can’t make a decision like this unilaterally.”
“Unilaterally?” His brows drew together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Uh-oh, Kait thou
ght. “We can work this out,” she said.
“Are you nuts? Have you changed your mind? We’ve been speaking about—no, arguing about—this for months.”
Kait went into shock. Lana had known that this was coming—and she hadn’t said a word. How could she have deliberately put her in such a position? And did his words mean that Lana had agreed to the concept of a divorce?
“Why are you acting so dumbfounded?” He sat down, moving some legal pads about as if looking for something. Then he looked up, his green eyes skewering her. “This is hardly a surprise. You knew this was coming.”
Her mind was overactive now. How could Lana have asked her to switch places when her marriage was on the brink? And the answer was so easy—because she was in terrible trouble, and desperate enough to ask anything of her twin sister. And it was only for two days. Kait began to shake. Was her sister nuts? Surely she didn’t think to throw her marriage away!
Should she still attempt to salvage Lana’s marriage for her?
He was regarding her intently now, apparently having given up his act of searching through the papers on his desk. She said slowly, “Marriage is not something one throws aside lightly.”
He leaned back in the leather swivel chair. “Lightly?” His expression hardened. “I am not the fool you took me for when we first were married, Lana,” he said, low and dangerous.
She remained numb, but not numb enough to avoid flinching. “I have no idea what you mean,” she whispered truthfully.
“No? Please! I suspected the truth a long time ago, but didn’t want to see it—I refused to see it. Because of Marni. That, and because you are so damn beautiful and you had your hooks in me.” He grimaced. “Six months ago I finally did what I should have done a long time ago—I sat down and faced some cold, hard, ugly facts about our marriage, about us.” His expression was disgusted now.
Kait could only stare at him. What the hell was he talking about? What facts had he faced? Why was she filled with dread?
“I know now that I refused to see what was happening right under my nose because of Marni,” he said harshly. “And I have spent the past six months coming to grips with the knowledge that Marni will be better off without you.”
