He wasn’t going to agree to anything simply because it benefited this pair. “So you’re suggesting Alex’s disappearance is the result of foul play?” Scrubbing his face and beard, Zane knew he had to voice another concern, although he hated it. “What if Alex is dead? Don’t you think that his killer would know I’m not my brother?”
Please, Lord, let that not be so.
His words affected Rachel, he could tell. She swallowed and her mouth tightened, obviously hating that they had to consider that possibility. Her answer was soft and hesitant. “Then we shall have to pray that hasn’t happened.” She blinked, looking remarkably sincere in her grief concerning the idea, but he refused to believe it. “You’ll have to shave your beard, too, Mr. Robinson. Alex is clean shaven.”
Zane automatically touched it. “Who says that someone else won’t realize that I’m not Alex? You saw the truth almost immediately.”
“Perhaps I can help you be...less unceremonious,” Rachel answered smoothly, not answering his question directly.
“I do not need any help. I know my own brother, and, to be frank, we have switched places before.”
That memory cut into him like the ragged edge of a chipped razor. They’d managed to fool everyone except their mother. It hadn’t been his finest moment. It was curious that the one time in his life of which he was the most ashamed would be useful right now in doing some good—finding his brother.
“Trust me, Mr. Robinson. I am confident I can help you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Quite frankly, Miss Smith, I trust you as far as I can throw you.”
Her gaze brightened as it danced over his frame, a moment of impudence that grated against Zane. “We can’t allow that, can we? You might hurt your back, for I’m not a small woman.” She turned from him. “Mayor Wilson, obviously you must make the final decision.”
Zane glanced over at the man who up until now had watched the conversation with little input. Was he looking for weaknesses? “Miss Smith is right,” the mayor finally said with his mouth becoming a grim line. “It’s risky, but I’m afraid my son is not getting anywhere with his investigation and I want my sheriff back.”
Of course. Your political career is on the line here. Still, Zane scowled, thinking of the three disappearances. In a small town, three persons going missing in a short span of time had to be related. He needed to get into his brother’s office and read his files. Fresh eyes might help. “What if I take on the position as myself and not my brother?”
Rachel shook her head. “You’d have to earn everyone’s trust, which could take time. Assuming Alex’s identity can give you the trust he’s already earned. And—” Rachel glanced at the mayor before once more skewering Zane’s attention “—you would need to be elected to hold any authority in town if you refuse to take Alex’s identity.” A slightly knowing smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. “Do you want to schmooze and glad-hand people all while your brother is missing?”
Zane felt his chest tighten.
Her tone softened immediately. “It’s not an ideal solution, but you’ll have all that’s in the sheriff’s office at your disposal if you take this offer.”
Including Alex’s files and notes, Zane thought. They might include information on the lovely Rachel Smith. He frowned, not liking for one minute that he was even considering such an opportunity when his focus should be on finding Alex. Because learning about her wasn’t as important, not with the sly political machinations she was weaving.
Zane nodded, wondering all the time if he’d just made a decision he would eventually regret.
Exactly thirty-four hours after Zane Robinson had agreed to assume his brother’s identity, and in the light from the lamp outside her front door, Rachel toyed with the telegram she’d just received. The mayor’s young errand boy had brought it over just as she was leaving for her ministry work, as she did most nights. There was no accompanying comment from the mayor, a fact that attested to Mayor Wilson’s sharp disapproval.
Rachel swallowed. The mayor had done the sensible thing. He’d checked on Zane Robinson’s background. The answering telegram from the mayor of Canaan, Illinois, had only taken a day, and its clipped tone told as much as the harsh words of accusation.
Oh, dear. She had erred once more, this time in her assumption that since Alex was a good sheriff, his twin would also be upstanding. Hadn’t he come here to find his brother? He’d been anxious for him. They wrote regularly. Those were good qualities, and Rachel had taken them at face value as testimonials to his character.
In the dim light above the door, Rachel reread the telegram, hoping it wasn’t as bad as a moment ago.
Ref. your inquiry of Zane Robinson, he was released from duties, guilty of theft and bribery. Recommend you not hire him.
Her heart sank again. Proud Bend had taken on a thief as sheriff. Would the mayor dismiss him outright? Or wait until Alex was found? All she could hope for now was that regardless of his reputation, Zane would be sufficiently motivated to find his brother before the proverbial ax fell on his limited career here in Proud Bend. Rachel made a mental note to call on the mayor tomorrow.
And hopefully Zane would find Rosa and her son, too.
Keep them all safe, Lord. Please.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the errand boy in front of her. With a nod, he hurried away, no doubt anxious to be home.
A breeze rose and chilled Rachel’s hot cheeks enough to make her shiver. The weather had turned frigid. Icy air warned of early winter snow, heavier than the skiff that dusted the ground now. Rachel bit her lip, being careful as she stepped down onto the icy gravel that was her home’s driveway. In the yard to her left was her late father’s coupé, sitting abandoned. It was really a silly conveyance, being so small. Mother had wondered if they should sell the fancy little horse-drawn vehicle.
At the thought of her father, Rachel felt tears spring unbidden into her eyes. She blinked them away. She mourned his death, but she knew that Walter Smith hadn’t been the finest citizen of Proud Bend, and had died a victim of his own evil devices.
Father had been accidentally trampled in a stampede just a month ago while trying to blackmail Mitch MacLeod, cousin Victoria’s fiancé, into signing over his ranch land’s mineral rights. Later that same night, Clyde Abernathy had tried to poison Rachel and her mother, Louise Smith.
While they lay dying in their rooms, Abernathy had hoped to force Victoria into marrying him as part of a plot to cheat Walter Smith’s family out of their inheritance. Thankfully, working together, Victoria and Mitch had been able to stop Clyde and save both Rachel and her mother.
Rachel set her basket down on the driveway. From a small pocket, she tugged free her black handkerchief, the only tangible reminder that she was still in mourning. She dabbed her eyes, in part because of the sadness of losing a father and in part because of the sadness of the whole evil affair.
To add to the stress, an hour ago her mother had bemoaned again that Rachel would depart for the evening. It was too soon, she’d complained, but Rachel had told her mother flat out that she had souls
