“Because I’m a nice guy.”
“That you are.”
Sinclair sat back, gazing around the room, at the ornate moldings, the carved ceiling, the marble bathroom, and the four-poster bed. “But the money must be frustrating. I mean, how can you tell if people like you or not?”
He shrugged. “How does anybody tell? They’re friendly. They don’t jeer at me. They laugh at my jokes.”
“But how can you tell it’s you and not the money?”
“You can tell.”
“I bet you can’t.”
“Most people are terrible liars.”
Sinclair pushed her hair behind her ears. “Not me. I’m a great liar.” She and Kristy had pulled the wool over her parents’ eyes on numerous occasions.
“Yeah?” asked Hunter, his disbelief showing.
“Yeah,” she affirmed with a decisive nod.
He put down the pastry and dusted the sugar off his hands with a nearby linen napkin. “Okay. Go ahead. Tell me a good lie.”
Like she’d fall for that. “You’d already know it’s a lie.”
“Then tell me something that may or may not be a lie, and I’ll tell you if it’s the truth.”
“Oh … kay.” Sinclair thought about it. After a minute, she sat forward, warming to the game. “That morning at the Manchester mansion, I stole something from your room.”
Hunter sat back in apparent surprise. “What did you steal?”
“Is it a lie or not?”
He peered at her expression. “You’re telling me you’re a liar and a thief?”
She shook her head. “I’m either a liar or a thief. If I’m lying about being a thief, then I’m only a liar. But if I’m telling the truth about being a thief, I’m only a thief.”
His eyes squinted down.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “Which is it?”
“You’re a liar,” he said. “You didn’t steal anything from my bedroom.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“You got me,” she admitted.
“Okay. Now it’s my turn.” He folded the napkin and set it aside. “I once wrestled an alligator.”
“A real alligator?”
He nodded.
She was intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? But she wasn’t sold, yet. “Where?”
“A little town in Louisiana.”
“Was it a trained alligator? Like in a zoo or something?”
“Nope. Out there in the bayou.”
“It must have been pretty small.”
“I didn’t measure it or anything, but Jack guessed it was about six feet long.”
“Jack was there, too?”
Hunter nodded.
Sinclair held out her hand. “Your phone.”
“What?”
“I’m calling Jack.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“Oh, yes, I am.” She wiggled her fingers.
Hunter shrugged and handed her the phone.
“You’re so lying,” she said. “Which speed dial?”
He grinned. “Four. And I’m not lying.”
Sinclair hit number four, and waited while it rang. “You are busted,” she said to Hunter.
“Jack Osland,” came a sleepy voice. Too late, she remembered the time-zone difference.
“Hi, Jack,” she offered guiltily. “It’s Sinclair.”
There was a pause. Jack’s voice turned grave. “What did he do?”
She watched Hunter while she spoke. “He claims he wrestled a six-foot alligator in a Louisiana swamp.”
“He told you that?”
“He did.”
“Well, it’s true.”
Sinclair blinked. “Really?”
“Saved my life.”
“Really?”
“Anything else?” asked Jack.
“Uh, no. Sorry. Bye.” She shut off the phone. “You saved his life.”
Hunter shrugged. “He exaggerates.”
Sinclair whooshed back in the chair. “I’d have bet money you were lying.”
Hunter took a sip of his coffee. “I was.”
She stilled. “What?”
He nodded “I was lying. I didn’t wrestle a six-foot alligator. Are you kidding? I’d have been killed.”
She looked down at the phone. “But … Jack …”
“Was lying, too.”
“You couldn’t possibly have set that up.”
“We didn’t have to.” He lifted the phone from her hand. “You started the conversation by saying ‘Hunter told me he wrestled an alligator.’ Jack’s my cousin; of course he’s going to back me up.”
“Tag-team lying?”
“It’s the very best kind. Your turn.”
“I’m not going to be able to top that.”
“Give it a try.”
Sinclair racked her brain. What could she possibly say that might throw him? Something believable, yet surprising.
Aha!
“I’m pregnant.”
Hunter’s face went white. “What?” he rasped.
