necessarily in that order.
“Anything else?” The waitress placed the drink in front of him and smiled. Not a thank-you-for-your-patronage kind of smile, but one that became a predatory gleam in her eyes. She was flirting.
“No, thank you.” He paid the lady and turned his attention to his drink. He didn’t need a flirtatious waitress and he damn sure didn’t need two hours in a bar.
He needed work.
Dex almost laughed out loud at that one. What he did wasn’t work, it was choreography. He led a well-rehearsed dance to the sound of money changing hands. The medical degree and license he held were mere icing on the cake of the distinguished position as chairman of the board. Dr. Dexter Montgomery. It had the right ring to it even if it wasn’t for practicing medicine. No doctor with the Montgomery name would dare sully his hands treating patients. Not when there was money to be made.
Dex stopped himself. He always got this way when he spent any length of time away from the office. That’s why he all but lived at the office. Work was his life. He knew nothing else, didn’t even have a hobby. And why should he? He had plans. Plans that didn’t include silly, sentimental musings.
“To profit margins,” he muttered and downed a hefty gulp of Scotch.
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. Frowning again, he tilted his head left then right, stretching to relieve some of the tension. But that little niggling sensation of being watched just wouldn’t go away. He glanced around the room, then did a double-take. A couple of tables away a man, his cowboy hat on the table before him, sat, seemingly paralyzed, the glass in his hand halfway to his mouth.
Dex registered surprise first…then incredulity. The cowboy was dressed differently than he was, no Armani or Cardin, but he looked exactly the same. Same thick dark hair, cropped short. Maybe his was a fraction longer. Same dark eyes…same square jaw…same…everything.
Dex pushed to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping across the tiled floor. Before he had the good sense to stop himself and think about what he was doing he’d crossed to the man’s table, passed his drink to his left hand and extended his right. “Dex Montgomery,” he said numbly.
Apparently shocked himself, the cowboy stared first at Dex’s hand, then at him. “Ty Cooper,” he responded stiffly. His callused hand closed over Dex’s. The contact was brief but something passed between them. Some strange energy that felt alien but somehow oddly familiar.
Dex shook his head in question. “Who…? How…?” This was surreal. The man didn’t just resemble him—he looked exactly like him.
Apparently at a loss himself, Ty gestured to the empty chair on the opposite side of the small table. “Maybe you’d better have a seat.”
Dumbfounded, Dex complied. “This isn’t possible. I mean…” He shook his head again. “I’m a doctor and even I’m at a loss for an explanation.” This couldn’t be. It was like looking into a mirror. It was bizarre.
The other man scrubbed a hand over his chin. “You’re right, partner. It’s a little weird looking at your reflection in another man’s face. Maybe we’re related somehow?” He laughed nervously. “You know, distantly. Identical cousins or something.”
Dex lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. “That’s possible, I suppose.” A memory pinged him. “Did you say Cooper?” he asked, almost hesitantly.
Ty nodded. “Of Rolling Bend, Montana. We have a cattle ranch called the—”
“Rolling Bend, Montana?” A chunk of ice formed in Dex’s stomach.
“Yeah.” Ty swallowed hard. “You know the place?”
Dex’s gaze settled fully onto his. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “My mother’s name was Tara Cooper. She was born in Rolling Bend.”
Ty signaled the passing waitress. “Ma’am, we’re gonna need another round here,” he said, his voice hollow.
She glanced at Dex, then started visibly when her gaze landed back on Ty. “Doubles for doubles,” she said with a giggle. “Are you guys twins or something?”
Dex glared at her and she scurried away. Ty leaned forward as if what he had to say was too unbelievable to utter out loud. “Tara Cooper was my mother.”
A choked sound, not quite a laugh, burst from Dex. “But my mother died when I was three months old.”
“My birth date is May 21, 1970,” Ty countered. “My mother died in an accident with my father when I was three months old.”
“Oh yeah? Well, so did mine. But I don’t have any siblings,” Dex argued, unable to comprehend what he could see with his own eyes.
“Neither do I—well, except for my adopted brothers.”
Dex gestured vaguely. “Maybe there were two Tara Coopers in Rolling Bend?”
Ty moved his head slowly from side to side. “We’re the only Cooper clan in that neck of the woods.”
“I’m certain there’s some reasonable explanation,” Dex suggested. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins making his heart pound. This man couldn’t be his brother. That was impossible.
“There’s an explanation all right,” Ty said flatly. “We’ve been had.”
THREE HOURS and too many drinks to remember later, Dex had concluded the only reasonable explanation. Ty Cooper was not only his brother, but his identical twin. They had both missed their scheduled flights home, but neither cared.
The stories of their parents’ whirlwind courtship, marriage and tragic deaths matched down to the dates. Ty had been told, as had Dex, that he had no other family. Dex could just imagine the reaction of his grandfather when his only son had married a rancher’s daughter. Dex had only been told his mother’s name, little else.
“What I want to know,” Ty said, his speech a little slower, thicker, “is how the hell did they decide who would take who?”
For one long moment the two just looked at each other. Dex wondered briefly what his life would have been like if he’d been chosen by the other set of grandparents, but he couldn’t begin to imagine. Considering his grandfather Montgomery’s penchant for absolute control, Dex couldn’t help thinking how the old man would react when he found out that Dex had learned the truth. He had no doubt that his grandfather was the mastermind behind this whole scheme.
“We should show up together and stage a confrontation,” Dex commented dryly before draining his glass.
Ty grinned. “You may have something there.” Those unnervingly familiar dark eyes twinkled with mischief now. “I say we give ’em a taste of their own medicine.”
A flash of concern found its way through the warm, Scotch-induced haze now cloaking Dex. “What do you have in mind?”
Ty motioned to the waitress and then pointed to their empty glasses once more. “I’m talking about trading places, brother. For just a little while,” he added quickly. “Just long enough to teach our families a lesson.”
Dex
