Switched At Birth

by Christine Rimmer

  “Famous last words,” he muttered under his breath and turned into the Safeway parking lot.

  “One more thing,” she said as he pulled into a space and switched off the engine. “How likely are we to run into someone you know?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a small town. It could happen.”

  “If it does, introduce me as Mallory Malloy.”

  “Sounds fake.”

  “It is fake. That’s the point. But if you don’t like it, make up something else. Just give the fake name and say I’m your tenant. I’ll make friendly noises and then suddenly remember there’s something I forgot. I’ll rush off for another aisle and not come back.”

  “And then we meet here, at the truck?”

  “That’s it. We’re set.”

  Inside the store, she had him push the cart. He happily followed along behind her, admiring the sweet sway of her hips as she tossed in produce and groceries, humming to herself as she went.

  “What’s that song you’re humming?” he asked, when she stopped to grab pimiento-stuffed olives and a big jar of dill pickles.

  “‘I Love to Love.’ Tina Charles sang it. Big disco hit in England way back in the day. It’s essentially the theme song of the BBC series River.” She leaned close and whispered with great enthusiasm, “Did you see River?”

  He got a whiff of petunias and lemongrass and realized that right at this moment, he felt ridiculously happy about every little thing. “Sorry, didn’t see that one.”

  “You should.” She tapped his shoulder with the jar of pickles. “Murder. Love. Loss. And Stellan Skarsgård. Does it get any better?” She held up the pickles in one hand and the olives in the other and busted a few disco moves, singing that same song under her breath. An old guy down at the other end of the aisle stopped to watch, but quickly moved on when Sten gave him the evil eye.

  And the old guy wasn’t the only one who noticed her. A wig and sunglasses couldn’t hide the sheer energy that radiated from her, or the infectiousness of her laugh. He didn’t think anyone realized she was Madison Delaney, though. They just appreciated a pretty girl in tight jeans with a great laugh.

  At the rear of the store, she found a straw-hat display stuck back with the metal racks of deep-discount merchandise. She went nuts over those and chose four of them to take home.

  “Because who knows how long I’ll be here?” she whispered to him. “What if I never work up the nerve to call the Bravos? I’m going to want to go shopping again just for the sake of getting out of the house and I’ll need more than one good disguise.”

  “Just do it,” he said.

  “Do what, buy some hats?”

  “Make that call. If you don’t want to try one of your brothers or sisters, call Percy Valentine. He’s a sweet old guy.”

  “What? Now? Right here in Safeway?”

  “Yeah. I’ll drive you to Valentine House, where Percy lives with his sister. The house is older than they are and they’re both in their eighties. You’ll love it.”

  “Don’t get pushy,” she commanded, and tried on a wide-brimmed red sunhat. “What do you think? I love this one.”

  He wanted to grab her and kiss her, but settled for giving her a hard time, instead. “You are having far too much fun. You know that, right?”

  “You can never have too much fun in Safeway.” She tossed the red hat in the cart and plunked a porkpie-style creation on her head. It looked good with her short, reddish wig. “Let’s move on.”

  She wore the porkpie hat through the bakery area and on to the wine section and the deli.

  By the time they made it to checkout, the cart was full to overflowing. She had to take off her hat for the checker, a twentysomething with word tattoos scrolling up and down her arms and Fearless Dreamer written in Gothic script on the side of her neck.

  “Thanks.” Madison took the hat back once the checker had scanned it and plopped it on top of her wig again.

  “You know,” said the checker, frowning thoughtfully, “you look a lot like Madison Delaney, the actress?” She leaned in to get a closer look and then, with a gasp, she covered her mouth with her hand, her dark eyes going wide. The people in line behind them were watching now. “Omigod,” said the checker in sheer wonderment. “You are her, aren’t you?”

  Chapter Four

  Did Sten expect his favorite movie star to freak?

  Yeah, maybe. A little. He got ready to distract the checker so that Madison could sprint off down the paper goods aisle never to return.

  But then Madison just laughed and clapped her hands. “Really?” she squealed in what sounded exactly like sheer delight. “I look like Madison Delaney?”

  The checker squinted hard at her—and then relaxed. She grinned. “Yeah. You really do. Had me going there for a minute.”

  “Wow.” Madison shook her head, as though stunned at the very idea that she might bear some resemblance to America’s Darling. “Thank you.”

  “No, really,” said the Fearless Dreamer. “You do look quite a bit like her.”

  “I wish,” sighed Madison. “And I have to tell you, I love your ink.”

  The checker blushed. “It’s just, you know, stuff that means something important to me.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Madison, with feeling.

  The checker beamed—and then seemed to realize that other people were waiting. She checked and bagged the rest of their purchases quickly.

  Sten whipped out his credit card and paid before Madison could offer hers. Even if the card only showed her first initial, the sight of her last name would probably give the game away to the checker, who had recognized her once already.

  “Good move with the credit card,” Madison said, once they’d loaded the bags in the back and climbed into the quad cab. “I’ll write you a check when we get home.”

  “You were brilliant.” He backed from the space and drove them out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road again, he said, “I knew we were in big trouble, but you turned it right around.”

  “People see what they expect to see.” She flipped down the visor and fiddled with her hat in the mirror, tipping it this way and that. “If they do happen to spot something they never imagined they would find in a particular place and time, it’s not that hard to lead them back around to seeing what they think they should be seeing.”

  She continued to surprise him. “Did you learn that in acting school?”

  “Sort of.” She snapped the visor back up. “But there’s a lot more to learn about acting than what you get in acting classes. You need voice—both spoken and singing lessons. You need dance—a little bit of everything, tap, modern, ballet.”

  “Disco?” He sent her a smirk.

  “Absolutely. And mime. Improv. Stand-up. And I worked with a magician for a part I did a few years back. He taught me about misdirection—getting people to look where you want them to look, to see what you need them to see. That’s essentially what I did back there at the checkout stand.”

  They rode without speaking for a while. She rolled down her window and braced her arm on the sill.

  He broke the silence. “Did you really like that checker’s tattoos?”

  “I loved them.” She took off her sunglasses and turned to him.

  They shared one of those looks that stole his breath and had him thinking of kissing every inch of her, of waking up in the morning with her beside him, the sheets smelling of petunias and sex.

  Reluctantly, he broke the hold of her gaze to focus on the road ahead.

  She stared out the windshield, too. “But even if I hadn’t loved that checker’s ink, I would’ve said I did. And she would have believed me. I can be very convincing. Plus, she loves her tattoos, so why wouldn’t some woman at the checkout stand who looks kind of like some famous actress love them, too?”

  “You sound
sad,” he said, and resisted the need to take her hand and weave their fingers together.

  “I am, a little. But only because I feel like I’m running in place.”

  He had to reach out then. She met him halfway and put her hand in his. It felt good there. Just right. “Call a Bravo,” he suggested softly.

  She squeezed his fingers and then let go. “Don’t nag. It’s not attractive.”

  * * *

  For razor clamming the next day, Madison wore rain pants, a zip-up hoodie and Karin’s spare rain boots. The weather was cool and misty, with a brisk wind that blew the wet sand into weird, otherworldly ripples. She kept her hood up to stay warm and reasonably dry and to help hide her identity.

  Clamming was a hoot. Sten taught her how to look for the “show,” the doughnut-shaped dimples in the sand that appeared as the tide retreated and indicated a razor clam in residence. He even let her try his PVC-pipe clamming gun, but only one time—because, he said, the rules were that you had to be licensed, you brought your own bucket and your own shovel or gun and you dug your own limit in clams, with nobody helping you.

  “You’re such a straight arrow,” she teased him when he made her give him back his gun.

  “You better watch out,” he warned in a dire tone, grinning at her from under the headlamp he’d yet to switch on.

  “Because...?”

  He leaned closer, as though he had some big secret to share. “Your brother Matt is a game warden. He might come and arrest you.”

  The wind tried to blow her hoodie back. She pulled the drawstring tighter and retied it. “Matthias.” She’d memorized all the names on the stick Jonas had given her. “Second-born after Daniel, recently married to Sabra Bond of Astoria.”

  “That’s him. But most of us call him Matt. And you’ll make a bad impression if you have to introduce yourself while he’s booking you for poaching.”

  “Oh, come on. The most I would get is a citation, I’ll bet.”

  He chuckled. “Just trying to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

  “And even if he did arrest me, at least I would be meeting him.”

  He leaned closer. His breath warmed her cheek. “A phone call. How hard can it be?”

  “You’re nagging again.”

  “Think of it as encouraging.”

  Coco, in a purple slicker and red rain boots printed with dinosaurs, came running up. She skidded to a stop in the wet sand. “Madison,” she stage-whispered and then darted a glance around her at the scattering of strangers digging nearby. No one seemed the least interested in the little girl or the unknown woman in the turquoise hoodie gazing down at her. “Want to go to the truck and play? Mommy says if you pour it for me, I can have hot chocolate from the thermos she brought.”

  It wasn’t full dark yet, but all down the beach as the tide continued to retreat, the clam diggers were switching on their headlamps.

  Sten looked up from working his gun into the sand. “Go. Have fun.”

  The next half hour was perfect. Madison sipped hot chocolate and made rubber band bracelets with Coco in Sten’s truck, watching the waning moon hanging over the water and the bright headlamps bobbing as the clammers hustled to take their limits.

  Later, at Sten’s house, Madison got a lesson in cleaning the catch. Then she helped Karin and Sten with the cooking. They dredged the tender parts in flour, egg and panko, fried them up fast and ate them with lemon wedges and tartar sauce.

  Sten walked her back to the cottage at ten. She pulled him inside with her and kissed him. He tasted of the single malt Scotch and dark roast coffee he’d had after dinner. She longed to ask him to stay.

  But she sensed that he wouldn’t and why go hunting rejection?

  When he said good-night, she let him go.

  Even after a long, hot bath it was hard to sleep. She really was here for a purpose and getting absolutely nowhere with it. Sten annoyed her when he kept bugging her to reach out to old Mr. Valentine or one of her long-lost siblings—mostly because he was right. Damn it. She needed to make her move.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sten tapped on the sliding glass door at seven dressed in ripped-out jeans, flip-flops, a long-sleeved T-shirt that had seen better days and a serious case of bedhead. He had a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand.

  She opened the slider. “What’s up?”

  “Got any eggs?”

  “Of course, I have eggs. You saw me buy them the other day.”

  “Scramble me some?” Why did it feel like he was up to something? “Please?” he asked hopefully.

  “Uh, sure. Come on in.”

  After refilling his mug, she fixed eggs for both of them. Sitting across from him as they ate, she couldn’t help thinking that no man on earth had a right to look that effortlessly hot. The old T-shirt clung lovingly to his wide shoulders and lean arms.

  It just wasn’t fair.

  He set down his empty mug. “What?”

  “Why do I feel like you’re up to something?”

  “Because you’re naturally suspicious?”

  She glared at him. Suspiciously. “I know you have eggs at your house.”

  A slow, killer grin. “Yeah, but you’re not at my house.”

  She grunt-laughed. “Can’t stay away, huh?”

  “You think you’re joking, but yeah. That’s about the size of it.”

  So he was here to seduce her? Somehow, she didn’t quite buy that. She challenged, “Is this it, then? Is it happening at last? Are you finally going to give in and deflower me?”

  “Damn. Deflower. Where did you come up with a word like that?”

  “Hmm. Not sure. Shakespeare, maybe. Any number of really juicy historical romances, definitely—and you notice how you failed to answer my question?”

  He studied her. She felt his gaze as an actual caress, tender. Purposeful. Arousing. “I just need to be sure that you’re sure.”

  She got up, grabbed her plate, carried it to the sink and dropped it in there. It didn’t break, but it landed with a clatter. She whirled on him. “Do we have to analyze it to death? Can’t we just do what feels right?”

  He picked up his own plate and came to her. “Madison.” Without so much as a hint of a clatter, he set his plate down on top of hers. “Listen to yourself.” He took her shoulders, turned her and made her face him. His eyes searched hers and his hands were so warm and strong as he held her in place. “I don’t think you’re sure.”

  She braced her hands on his lean hips, easing his T-shirt out of the way so she could hook her fingers in his belt loops. “You’re making me crazy.”

  He bent close. She felt his breath, warm and sweet on her lips. “Is that such a bad thing?” And he kissed her.

  With a hungry little cry, she flung herself hard against him. He wrapped those lean, strong arms around her as his lips played over hers and his hot tongue delved in. She felt him growing hard against her belly and her heartbeat throbbed, insistent and deep.

  It was glorious. His big hands glided down her back to cup her bottom and pull her into him, closer. Harder. He smelled so good and he tasted like everything she’d been missing out on for way too many years—someone who really did like her just for herself. A guy with no agenda beyond what any guy has with a girl he’s attracted to.

  When he lifted his head, he said, “Go for a ride with me?”

  She stared up at him, dazed in the loveliest way, her body humming, the world soft and blurry around the edges. “Sure.”

  “I’ll put on some boots.”

  “And I shall formulate an effective disguise.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, she had on a chin-length black wig à la Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, a straw boater and a great pair of retro tortoiseshell sunglasses. She ran around the back of Sten’s house and found him right where h
e said he’d be, waiting by the open garage door.

  They jumped in his truck and headed up the road that led out of the cove. He took Third Street south into the heart of Valentine Bay, where a pretty park appeared on the left.

  A minute later, he was steering to the side of the street and pulling in at the curb. The engine went quiet as he switched it off.

  She turned to him. “We’re going for a walk in the park?”

  “Look over there.” He pointed at a rambling, three-story Queen Anne monstrosity across the street, on the edge of the park. It was a gorgeous old house in its way, with an excess of dentil moldings and several balconies rimmed in fussy iron lace.

  “The big pale green one, you mean?”

  “Yep.”

  It came to her then. She knew who that house belonged to. Whipping off her hat and the sunglasses, too, she whirled to confront him. “No.”

  “Maddy.” He said the nickname so sweetly, for the very first time. It sounded so good. Only her mom and dad had ever called her Maddy. Unfortunately, he’d called her Maddy while trying to push her to do what she wasn’t ready for. “I’m almost certain Percy Valentine will be at home,” he coaxed. “Just go up and knock on the door—I’ll go with you, if you want. You said he’s been waiting for you to contact him. The old guy is going to be so happy to see you.”

  “Take me back to the cottage.”

  “Come on, take it easy.” He lifted his hand to touch her, to soothe her and coax her some more.

  She knocked his arm away. “Take me back or I’m out of this truck.”

  “Mad—”

  “Stop.” She unhooked her seat belt and grabbed the door handle. He caught her other arm. “Let go,” she demanded.

  He released her. “Nobody’s forcing you. Just take a deep breath.”

  “You don’t get to do this, okay?” She spoke to the dashboard. “I’ll make a move when I’m ready.”

  “I just thought—”

  “I do not want to hear it, what you thought, why you brought me here when I never asked you to. It’s my life and my call and you just...no. Uh-uh. No. So just answer me. Are you taking me back or not?”