by B. J Daniels
“My pleasure. Please let me know if you need anything.” He seemed to hesitate. “Good night…Molly. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you saw that photograph in the paper and came here.”
She smiled, wondering if he would feel that way when the fingerprint results came back. “Good night.”
But as she started to turn away, she saw him move toward her. Her body anticipated his touch, warming, skin instantly hypersensitive, pulse pounding, a breath catching in her throat.
His fingers brushed her arm, turning her back to face him. He looked into her eyes and she felt something inside her melt as if touched to a flame.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him kiss her. A lover’s kiss would give her away faster than fingerprint results from the FBI.
But she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t bear the thought that he might change his mind.
He cupped her cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving hers as he drew her closer. His other arm slipped around her, pulling her to him.
She looked into all that blue, lost in the wonderful feel of being sheltered in his arms. She could feel the thump of his heart beneath the soft fabric of his uniform shirt as he drew her closer.
He leaned toward her. She should have drawn back. She should have stopped him.
His mouth dropped to hers. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. It was a lover’s kiss, full of pleasure and passion, desire and heat. Her lips parted, opening to him, her body alive with sensation.
It felt so right being in his arms that she forgot who she was. Forgot her promise not to let this happen. Forgot that he thought he was holding Jasmine, the woman he’d loved, not her. Not Molly Kilpatrick.
She pulled back. She was starting to believe her own lies, starting to care for a man who was in love with a ghost. “I…I’m not Jasmine.” Her voice broke and she felt hot tears. What was wrong with her?
“No,” he said, his voice rough with emotion as he let go of her and stepped back. “You’re Molly. Molly Kilpatrick.”
She stared at him, her eyes burning with tears. At that moment she would have given anything to be Jasmine. She swallowed, realizing the horrible mistake she’d made. He had to have known that she wasn’t the woman she was pretending to be. The kiss had given her away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
No sorrier than her. She waited for him to call her on her lie. He knew now that she wasn’t Jasmine, didn’t he?
“I promised myself I wouldn’t do that,” he said.
She nodded slowly, unable to speak.
“Please say you’ll still go with me out to the ranch tomorrow. I won’t kiss you again.”
He still wanted to take her to his family ranch?
“I wanted you to kiss me,” she said.
He raised a brow.
“I had hoped it might trigger a memory,” she said quickly. She was tired. And foolish. And she couldn’t remember the last time a man had kissed her like that.
“But the kiss didn’t trigger anything?”
She shook her head, waiting for him to say something about the kiss. He didn’t.
“Good night again,” he said instead. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m just right down the hall.”
“Good night.” She hurried to her room before he could see how shaken she was.
The kiss had stirred surprising emotions in her. She didn’t want to feel anything for Cash McCall. It was bad enough what she was doing to him by pretending to be Jasmine. She didn’t want to start liking the man. Or worse.
Too late for that. Who wouldn’t have liked him? He was a nice guy.
All the more reason not to get any more involved than necessary.
She’d known it wouldn’t be easy, pulling this off. But she hadn’t expected Cash McCall. Not this gentle, loving cowboy who’d waited seven years for the woman he loved.
She could just hear her father saying that Cash was nothing but a small-town sheriff. How wrong her father would be. There was more to Cash McCall than any man she’d ever met. And he was in love with the woman she was pretending to be. Just her luck.
And as luck would have it, he was also the kind of man who wouldn’t take being duped lying down.
CASH WASN’T SURE what had awakened him at first. He’d had a terrible time getting to sleep, unable to forget the kiss and the emotions it had evoked.
He’d thought once he kissed her, he would know for certain whether or not she was Jasmine. Instead, the kiss had only further confused him. He hadn’t expected to feel anything. Not after seven years. Not after everything that had happened.
But he’d felt more than just something. The kiss had knocked him off his feet. He had never felt anything like it. Certainly not with Jasmine.
But if this woman was Jasmine, what kind of sense did that make? Even more to the point, what if she was a complete stranger who evoked this kind of passion with her kisses like no woman he’d ever known?
He heard a floorboard creak outside his door. Old houses settled constantly. He’d come to know the house’s unique sounds. This wasn’t one of them.
He quit trying to identify the woman he’d kissed and slipped on his jeans. Whomever she was, she was up, walking around his house.
This woman had…passion. He realized that was the word that best described her. She not only had passion, she also stirred it in him. That made her very dangerous, he realized.
Another floorboard creaked. She was headed down the hallway. He stood perfectly still, listening as the footsteps retreated down the hall toward the stairs.
He waited until he heard the third stair from the top groan, then moved quietly to the door. Carefully, he opened it and looked out just in time to catch a glimpse of her blond head in the moonlight from the window over the stairs.
Maybe she was going downstairs to get a drink of water. Or find those brownies he’d told her about earlier.
Or maybe she was looking for something.
He sneaked down the hall in the dark, trying to avoid the spots on the floor that creaked.
A lower step creaked under her weight. He slowed at the top of the stairs and waited for her to finish her descent. From where he stood out of the light, he could see her dark shadow creeping down the remaining steps as if trying hard to be quiet.
He waited to see which way she went next, hoping she would head for the kitchen and the brownies.
Instead she moved down the hall to his den.
He frowned. Maybe she was sleepwalking and didn’t know where she was going.
Right.
She opened the den door and quickly stepped inside. He descended the stairs, stepping over the creaky ones. A thin gold line of light shone under the den door by the time he reached it.
He didn’t think sleepwalkers turned on lights or closed doors or made phone calls. He could hear her dialing the phone. She either didn’t have a cell phone or it didn’t work in Antelope Flats.
He listened but heard only the click of the phone as she hung up.
The light went out under the door. He hurried back down the hall to duck into the dark living room, flattening himself against the wall where he had a view of part of the hallway, the opening to the dark kitchen and the stairs.
She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen as if undecided about something. He heard her say, “No,” firmly, then start up the stairs.
He held his breath, afraid she would turn and see him, knowing he would have no explanation for sneaking around in his own house. Her call could have been innocent. Uh-huh.
She didn’t get far up the stairs when she stopped, sighed, looked down at her feet and shook her head, then turned and came back down the steps. She disappeared into the dark kitchen.
The light came on. He heard her opening and closing cabinet doors, obviously trying to be quiet. She was looking for the brownies.
He smiled in spite of his concern about the phone call. He heard her find the brownies and the silverware. He heard h
er open the fridge, pour a glass of milk, close the carton and pull out a chair at the kitchen table.
He peeked around the corner. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her back to him. He eased his way out of his hiding place and crept up the stairs, the sight of her branded into his memory.
Molly sitting cross-legged on the chair in her baby-doll pajamas, her blond hair still wet from her bath, her feet bare, her toes painted with pale pink polish, her legs tanned and long. Nothing about her reminded him of Jasmine just then. And he was surprised that it didn’t upset him.
The cop in him reminded that she’d just sneaked down to make a phone call in the middle of the night. His smile faded. The woman had a secret. Probably more than one.
He hurried to his room. A few minutes later, he heard her return to hers. He could assume she was in for the night. He picked up the extension in his bedroom and hit Redial.
A long-distance number came up on the caller ID screen. He waited as the number rang.
“You’ve reached the answering machine of Lanny Giliano. Can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message. I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up and checked the area code. Las Vegas, Nevada. That’s where she’d said she’d been most recently.
And apparently she’d called a man there. Of course there would be a man in her life, he thought ruefully. Especially if she was Jasmine.
Chapter Ten
Friday
Antelope Flats, Montana
Molly woke to the smell of fresh-perked coffee and cinnamon rolls and the sound of a soft tap on her door after the best night of sleep she’d ever had.
It helped that she hadn’t had to get up early to evacuate the room so she wasn’t caught by some energetic hotel maid. The brownie and glass of milk she’d eaten in the middle of the night hadn’t hurt either.
But her call to Lanny had produced no news. Had the police found him? Was it possible he was still alive?
She’d climbed into the bed last night, the sheets smelling of sunshine, after soaking in the claw-foot tub and had dropped right off. Her last thought before she’d fallen asleep was Cash, followed quickly by the admonition, Don’t get used to this.
Then she’d woken in the middle of the night thinking about Lanny. Needing to know what was happening. Last night though, she’d just hung up, afraid she’d made a mistake calling Lanny’s again.
She sat up now, pulling the covers to her chin. “Come in,” she called. Her heart took off at the memory of their kiss, but she rounded it back up. Remember, he thinks you’re Jasmine.
The door opened and he came in with a tray. A cup of coffee for himself, a large glass of milk for her and two huge warm cinnamon rolls cut in slices and buttered. There was also a small bouquet of flowers.
She couldn’t help the smile that burst out at the sight of him—and the tray of food and flowers. No one had ever brought her breakfast in bed. Certainly no one who ever looked like Cash McCall. This was like a dream she never wanted to wake up from.
He dragged up a chair. “Sleep well?”
She nodded eagerly, feeling only a little guilty about her middle-of-the-night phone call. She wanted to tell him the truth, hated that she was deceiving him. But she couldn’t chance that Vince and Angel were still on the loose and looking for her. And she didn’t want to leave here. Not yet.
He handed her the glass of milk and she helped herself to one of the slices of cinnamon rolls. She groaned, closing her eyes and licking her lips. She heard his soft laugh and opened her eyes again.
“My sister-in-law Cassidy made those,” he said of the cinnamon rolls. “She owns the Longhorn Café. Best cook around.”
She heard the admiration in his voice. “She’s married to your brother….”
“Rourke. They just got back from their honeymoon.” He looked down into his coffee cup as if uncomfortable. If Jasmine hadn’t disappeared he would have been married now too.
They ate in a companionable silence. It felt odd having a man in her bedroom. Probably because it had been so long since she’d even had a date. And then there was that kiss they’d shared last night. She’d sworn she’d seen fireworks.
She studied him from under her lashes, worried that after the kiss last night he knew she wasn’t Jasmine.
But as they finished the rolls and he drained his coffee cup, he rose and said, “I thought we’d head out to the ranch this morning as soon as you’re ready.” He seemed shy, hesitant.
She flashed him a smile. “Thank you for breakfast. It was wonderful. I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.” She caught herself. “At least not that I can remember.”
He smiled. “I’ll see you downstairs. Wear something comfortable.”
When she was dressed in jeans, a shirt and tennis shoes, she went down. “Cash?” No answer. “Cash?”
As she passed the closed den door, she heard him in there on the phone. She wanted to get a hat she’d left in her car. The garage was separate from the house, so she opened the front door and stepped out.
The day was beautiful, the sky crystalline blue, the mountains in the distance snowcapped. Closer, a breeze stirred the boughs of the pines around the house. From here, she couldn’t even see another house, and only the glimpses of other buildings toward town through more trees.
She walked out to the garage and had just started to open the door when she heard someone behind her.
Turning, she came face-to-face with Kerrington. She hadn’t seen his car. But she should have smelled his cologne. It was a nauseating scent that had mixed with his sweat. He looked as if he had either slept in his clothes or hadn’t been to bed at all.
“We need to talk,” he said gruffly. “The sheriff isn’t here, so you can drop the act.” He glanced toward the house, then grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side of the garage, away from the house under a large old pine.
Beyond the trees there was nothing on this side of the house but open land to the west, red sandy bluffs, sagebrush and a few dark pines against the horizon. A thought sped by: could Cash hear her in the house if she screamed?
“What did you tell him?” Kerrington demanded, her unease growing at the agitated look in his eyes.
“What?” Cash would have no idea where she’d gone. And Kerrington was scaring her.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” he said as if it were her fault.
She’d slept like a baby, once she’d put the kiss out of her mind. And once she’d had that brownie and milk. “What is it you want?”
“When are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“About us,” he snapped.
Us? “I told you. I’m not Jasmine and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was obviously angry and she didn’t like being alone with him. She started to step past him but he grabbed her arm and jerked her to him. She slammed into his chest, his grip on her arm tightening.
“You and I both know your…engagement to Cash McCall was a sham and not the romantic love story that’s been in all the papers,” Kerrington said with a sneer. “You were seeing me behind the sheriff’s back. You love me.”
Jasmine had been having an affair with Kerrington while engaged to Cash? “I don’t believe you,” she snapped, jerking her arm free and stepping back from him.
“There is no one here but the two of us,” he said, almost pleading now. “What’s going on. Please, Jasmine.” His gaze met hers and Molly saw pain there. He really had loved Jasmine. Was it possible Jasmine had felt the same way about him? “You can’t have forgotten what we had together.”
An affair. Behind Cash’s back. That part she saw wasn’t a lie. She felt sick with the knowledge. “I’m not Jasmine. Now, let me pass.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said through gritted teeth as he stepped closer.
“You’re the one making the mistake,” said a rough-edged male voice behind Kerrington.
Kerrington whirled aroun
d, his face blanching at the sight of Sheriff Cash McCall behind him. He stepped back, obviously seeing the fierceness in Cash’s eyes, the set of his jaw, the clenched fist.
“Jasmine and I were just…talking,” Kerrington said.
“Really? It almost sounded as if you were threatening her,” Cash said. A muscle jumped in his jaw and Molly could see that it was taking every ounce of restraint in him not to attack Kerrington physically.
He shot her a glance. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but he would have been a fool not to see that she was shaken. And Cash McCall, she was learning, was no fool. She wondered how much of the conversation he’d overheard. And hated the thought that he might have heard about the affair.
Cash turned to Kerrington again. “I think you’d better leave.”
Kerrington nodded in agreement and shot her a look she couldn’t read. She just knew she didn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. He turned and walked down the street toward Main Street without looking back.
A silence fell between her and Cash. She didn’t know what to say. But she could see that he was still angry. She prayed he hadn’t overheard all of their conversation. He’d loved Jasmine. Hadn’t been able to move on with his life even after all this time. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt. Especially by Kerrington.
She couldn’t help but think about what Cash had said about Jasmine leaving the gas station with someone she knew. Kerrington? Had he gotten away with murder?
If that was the case, no wonder he was so upset at seeing a woman he thought was Jasmine.
Molly was beginning to realize the danger she’d put herself in. Kerrington believed she was Jasmine. Was it possible that if he’d thought he’d killed Jasmine, that he might do just as Cash has feared and try to finish the job before she remembered?
She shivered, remembering the look in Kerrington’s eyes.
