am not!”
“Yeah, well, what do you call it? I’m out forty producing heifers, and the court says you’re the one who has to reimburse me for them!”
Forty heifers? Holy cow, her dad had never owned so many at one time. Of course, cattle had just been a sideline with him. His cotton crop had been his main concern back then. “Where on earth would I get forty heifers?” she demanded.
“Out of your herd, presumably.”
“My herd?” Oh. Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. As her sister’s only surviving relative, the ranch and the cattle would be hers now. “I don’t even know if I have forty heifers.”
“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he swirled the paper at her. She caught it in midair, crumpling one side in her fist, and turned it right side up. It was, indeed, a restitution order from the circuit court. “Read it and weep, Dorinda,” he said snidely.
She sighed and lifted her wrist to her forehead. “I’m not Dorinda.”
He literally snorted. “Huh! You don’t expect me to believe that.”
She stared at him, suddenly fatigued again, tears filling her eyes as she searched for the words. “Dorinda is…There was a-an a-accident.” She carried the paper to the counter and carefully laid it there, one hand going to her hip, the other to her chest. “I—I didn’t know about this. I would’ve t-told someone if I had.”
“Told someone?” he echoed uncertainly.
“About Dori,” she whispered, holding onto the ragged tail of her composure by a mere thread. “It was only t-two months ago. In Tucumcari. O-on our way h-here.”
“An accident,” he said stupidly.
She pulled a deep breath, blinked and nodded. “I’m her sister, Danica. Danica Lynch.”
He tilted his head, staring at her, and finally concluded, “Her twin sister.”
“Yes.”
“And Dorinda was in an accident.”
“That’s right.”
Concern and regret creased his features. Reaching up, he removed his hat, as if just then remembering his manners. He cleared his throat. “How is she? Where is she?”
Dani tried to tell him and couldn’t. The effort sent fresh tears rolling down her face. Finally, he understood what she couldn’t say; she saw it in his eyes the instant before he blurted, “Oh, my God, she’s dead!”
That awful, final word again. Dead. It pierced her through with such force that it doubled her over. The next thing she knew, she was cradled against a solid chest, long, strong arms wrapped around her.
“Merciful heaven, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Oh, man, I came busting in here like a crazy man, accusing you of trying to cheat me when you didn’t even know what I was talking about! And all the time your sister…” He tightened his embrace and dropped his voice. “I am so sorry. Poor Dorinda!”
Being held like this felt as comfortable as a warm blanket on a cold day. Danica closed her eyes, imbued with a sense of safety and indulgence. For the first time she considered that, eventually, it might be okay, after all.
“I should’ve told you earlier,” she admitted, breathing through her mouth as tears clogged her nose. “I was just so shocked when you called me by her name.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized sincerely, “but you’ve got to admit that you look an awful lot alike.”
She managed a doleful nod. “We’re identical, except for the hair, but you obviously had no way of knowing that.”
His big hand stroked the back of her head, and he whispered, “I do like your hair. Very much. That was no mistake, at least.”
A thrill of pleasure shot through her. She lifted her head to thank him for the compliment, looked up into his rugged face, saw the flare of awareness that warmed his cool gray eyes—and abruptly realized what she was doing and with whom! Jerking back, she broke the embrace. “I, uh, that is…”
His brow beetled with obvious concern, and he reached out a hand to her. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not feeling very well.”
“Maybe you ought to—”
“It’s just a headache,” she interrupted. “It’ll be fine.”
Nodding, he glanced around the room. His gaze settled, and he frowned. She followed his line of sight and lifted one hand to hide her smile. His hat lay right in the middle of her spilled corn. Obviously he had discarded it rather hastily earlier. Remembering why, she cleared her throat and glanced away as he gingerly retrieved the hat and brushed at the stains.
“Listen, I oughta be going,” he said. “We’ll work out the restitution thing later. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“Uh, no, thank you. I don’t need a thing,” she refused firmly, wanting only to get rid of him now.
“If you do, don’t hesitate to ask,” he told her. “My folks were fond of Dorinda. They’re going to be real shocked and saddened by this. I know they’ll want to do something, especially Mom.” He glanced around again, adding, “Maybe you’d like her to come over and help you straighten the place up?”
Danica looked around her, realizing for the first time that she’d let things get out of hand since she’d been here. Garbage spilled out of a full container. The mess on the table was spreading. Utensils and tin can lids littered the kitchen counter. Articles of discarded clothing lay strewn about the tiny living area, including, to her extreme embarrassment, one of her bras!
Coloring violently, she put her hand to her head, hoping to anchor his attention there, and said weakly, “That’s very kind, but I’ll take care of it as soon as I get rid of this headache.”
“Do you have something to take for that?” he asked, voice heavy with concern.
“Of course, I do. I’m a nurse, after all.”
“Are you? That’s good.”
“The thing is,” she lied, “it’s going to make me sleepy, so if you don’t mind…”
“Oh. Right.” He put on the hat and turned for the door, saying, “I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
“No, don’t bother,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, really.”
“No bother,” he assured her, smiling warmly as he opened the door and slipped through it. “That’s what neighbors are for.”
Neighbors. Danica closed her eyes and bowed her head as the door closed behind him. Something told her that as a neighbor Winston Champlain was going to be as much a problem for her as for her sister. But in another way, of course. She certainly was in no danger of becoming enamored of the man. She knew his kind far too well for that.
Dismayed by the lack of reassurance brought by that thought, Danica turned her attention back to the small, L-shaped, living and kitchen area. Why hadn’t she realized how cluttered the place had become? The answer to that was obvious. Disgusted with herself, she straightened her spine and dashed away the last of her tears with the back of one hand.
“All right, Danica,” she told herself aloud. “Time to get a grip. You need order and exercise. No more lying around the house twenty-four hours a day. No more being a slob. No more maudlin self-indulgence.” And no more being charmed by the likes of Winston Champlain, she added silently.
She’d learned her lesson with charming men the hard way, and if that wasn’t enough, she had Dorinda’s experience to consider, as well. True, unlike Bud Thacker, Michael had never stolen so much as a tongue depressor, so far as Danica knew,