Tell Me Your Secrets...

Though he hadn’t said it outright, James had hinted that Cameron and Sloan were not in love, but had a chemistry between them. I could relate to that. My reaction to Sloan Campbell was pure chemistry.

But he was my sister’s fiancé, her future husband. Big complication! If Mallory Carstairs were faced with the problem, I knew exactly what the “bad girl” diva would do. She’d jump his bones.

Hannibal made a growl-like noise from the head of the bed. When I opened my eyes to check on him, he growled again. Could he read my mind?

I made a second trip to the cabinet and got more treats.

“Don’t worry,” I told him as I tossed one at him. “I’m not Mallory Carstairs.” No matter that I’d like to have her guts. My sister had disappeared, and I’d come here, impersonating her, to find out what had happened to her. If my plan was going to have any chance of success, my best strategy would be to steer clear of Sloan Campbell.

Plopping myself once more at the foot of the bed, I let chocolate melt on my tongue. The problem was he might know more than anyone else about what had happened to Cameron. So I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I was going to have to handle Sloan Campbell very carefully—and at the same time keep my hands off of him.

This time, the sound Hannibal made sounded suspiciously like a snort.

6

WHEN I APPROACHED the door of the main parlor that evening, I felt a little like Cinderella arriving late at the ball. She too must have feared that she’d be exposed for the imposter she was when she’d first entered that ballroom.

I’d slept for two hours. I might have been out even longer except that Hannibal had decided to nudge me awake—and off the bed. I couldn’t help thinking that he knew I didn’t belong in Cameron’s bed. I’d bribed him with another treat and that had settled him as I’d raced around dressing for dinner.

I’d chosen the first dress I’d looked at—a simple black sheath that fit as if it had been made for me. I’d recognized the designer label, and realized that my twin had probably spent more on that one outfit than I would spend on clothes for the next year. The strappy sandals I’d settled on would have taken care of my budget for the year after that. But when I stood in front of the mirror and saw myself, I’d definitely envied Cameron. And I had felt different somehow. More like Cameron?

The memory of that feeling gave me the courage to step into the parlor. The room was large, just short of cavernous. In the wall across from me four sets of French doors stood open to showcase a breathtaking view of the gardens. The scent of flowers mingled with burning candles, and there was music, soft strings beneath the clink of glasses and the buzz of conversation.

Paintings were scattered over ivory-colored walls—scenes of the ranch, I decided. The style was simple and compelling, and the artist had captured the beauty of the land. I wondered who had painted them. Suddenly, I became aware that one by one conversations had halted, and everyone had turned to stare at me.

A little bubble of panic moved through me as I scanned the faces. People were clustered in groups down the length of the room, and there were more than I’d anticipated. Definitely more than family.

“Cameron, there you are. Come in. Come in.” James’s voice boomed down the length of the room. He was seated in a wheelchair tonight but even framed by the huge fireplace that filled one wall of the room, he managed to look larger than life. “Sloan, fix your fiancée a drink.”

Sloan appeared at my side, causing me to wonder if he’d stationed himself near the entrance for just that reason. He wore an open-collar shirt and lightweight blazer with jeans and boots.

“What would you like to drink, Red?” he asked as he led me to the drink cart.

“Wine. White,” I replied.

“White wine?” Sloan asked.

Nerves knotted in my stomach as I glanced at him. “Yes. Do I usually drink something different?”

“No. You even have a favorite vineyard.” He lifted a bottle, and I recognized the label. It was a wine I’d bought for special occasions. Once again, I felt something move through me at the thought that Cameron and I appreciated the same kind of wines.

“Does it stir any memories?” Sloan asked.

“No.” He was testing me again, I realized. And since it was impossible to read his expression, I had no idea whether I’d passed or failed. Maybe it didn’t matter. This whole masquerade was turning out to be much trickier than I’d anticipated. When Sloan handed the glass to me, I had to stop myself from drinking it all at once.

“Who are all these people?”

“A mix of business associates and family. James has told them about your temporary memory loss. They’re a tough crowd, but they won’t bite you. At least not in front of James.” He spoke in a low tone only I could hear.

“I’ll have something to look forward to then,” I murmured.

When he chuckled, I felt some of my tension ease. And in spite of my earlier resolve that I should steer clear of Sloan, I was grateful for his presence at my side as he urged me toward the first group of people.

I recognized the man from the photos Pepper had included in her report even as Sloan said, “This is your cousin, Austin, and his fiancée Marcie Linton.”

They made a striking couple, I thought. The tall blond Austin was the perfect foil for the petite and perky brunette. In stature and appearance, Austin took after his mother with his fair complexion, finely chiseled features and pale blue eyes. He looked like a cross between a Viking and a surfer.

According to Pepper, he had the reputation of a playboy and he gambled. In response to Sloan’s introduction, he raised his glass in a toast. “Long time, no see, cousin. Congratulations. Uncle James has killed the fatted calf for you.”

Marcie Linton sent him a quick frown. Austin didn’t look overly happy to see me. Recalling Pepper’s report, I thought I knew why. In my absence, he’d stepped into my shoes, and he probably wasn’t too keen on stepping back out of them.

In response to Marcie’s frown, he merely shrugged and took another sip of his drink. Marcie Linton was small, and she was even prettier than she’d been in her photos. Her slender body was encased in an ivory-colored linen dress, the perfect contrast to the jet-black hair that fell straight from a center part to below her shoulders and set off her delicate bone structure and porcelain-fair skin. Pepper had said that Cameron had hired her on as her personal assistant, and that when she and Austin had met, it had been love at first sight.

Giving up on Austin, Marcie sent me an apologetic smile and took my free hand in hers. “Don’t pay Austin any heed. In your absence, your father has asked him to fill in for you, and he’s done quite well. One of our new clients is here tonight—the Radcliffs.” She gestured toward the far end of the room where James was seated in his wheelchair. “Austin signed them last week. I’ve assured him that you’ll continue to need his help, at least until you’re up to speed. Perhaps you could even put in a good word with your father.”

“Sis, this isn’t the time to talk business.” I turned to face the man who’d joined us. His resemblance to Marcie was striking. He was taller, but under six feet. His features were more chiseled, the line of his chin stronger. His photos hadn’t done him justice, either. In person, Hal Linton reminded me of George Clooney in Oceans Eleven, one cool charmer. I must have been staring because I didn’t realize that he’d taken my hand from Marcie’s until he raised it to his lips. “Welcome home, Cameron.”

Sloan’s grip on my elbow tightened fractionally. “This is Marcie’s brother, Hal.”

“I’ve missed you,” Hal said as he finally released my hand.

The use of the singular pronoun had me wondering. I could sense undercurrents. Sloan was annoyed and Hal was aware of it. Did the two men have some history? Had Hal used the singular—“I’ve missed you?”—just to tick Sloan off, or did his use of it mean that he’d had some sort of relationship with Cameron?

Or was my imagination merely running wild again?

“I think we’d better talk to James,” Sloan said and drew me away.

As we started down the length of the room, I said to Sloan in a low voice, “I thought my father said he was inviting the family. Who are all these people?”

When he replied, Sloan’s voice was barely audible. “The older couple at the drink cart are the Lakewoods. They’ve done business with James ever since he took over the place from his father. The woman next to them is their daughter Rachel who is concerned about who will run the place after James. The Bolands haven’t arrived yet. They have similar concerns and James will hold dinner for them.”

I wanted to ask why James had invited these business associates, but Sloan continued, “The younger couple standing near your father is Jane and Sandy Radcliff.”

I studied them. They must have been in their midthirties. “They breed horses in Texas, and thanks to you, they’re interested in having us train three of their new colts. In your absence, Austin has done the paperwork, but you’re responsible for bringing them on board.” So Marcie hadn’t told me the whole truth.