her upper arm to urge her toward the side of the truck. She moved quickly, getting away from the contact, and wondered if she should just go back to her car.
She didn’t turn back. Instead, she slogged through the deepening snow, feeling the coldness go up the legs of her jeans and into the tops of her boots. Finally she got to the passenger side of the large truck, and the man was there, pressing against her back to reach around her, grab the handle and pull the door open.
He didn’t have to tell her to get in. She scrambled up and into the high cab of a very old, very used pickup truck. The plastic seats were cracked, the interior showing more metal then upholstery, but the luxurious wave of warmth from the heater was inviting. She slipped onto the seat and the door slammed shut behind her.
She watched through the windshield as the man walked through the beams of light. Dr. Parish? What a joke. She held her purse tightly to her chest. Nothing about the man matched the doctor. Not the clothes, not the ruggedness, not this truck. Parish’s last car in L.A. had been a Porsche, and not just any Porsche, but a prototype delivered straight from Germany. This truck had to be twenty years old and worth maybe a thousand dollars.
She turned as the driver’s door opened and the man climbed in behind the wheel, then turned and took off his hat. As he dropped it on the seat between them, whatever she’d passed off as a hallucination took on hard reality. She met shadowed eyes under a slash of brows, a strong chin and high cheekbones set in an angular face. Mackenzie Parish? Twenty pounds lighter, appearing older than his pictures, more rugged and weathered, with flecks of gray in hair that was carelessly brushed back without any attempt to style it?
Could she really be sitting next to the man she thought she’d have little to no chance of finding out here? Was this the famous doctor wearing the rough clothes of a stablehand? She tried to reconcile his appearance with the pictures she’d seen, but then the door slammed shut and the light was off before she could do so.
She turned, closing her eyes, but keeping that image in her mind. Almost, she could almost believe it was him. It was the right place, just the wrong circumstances. And far too much of a coincidence that he’d stumble on her in a storm. She exhaled a shaky breath. Far too unbelievable that the “doctor to the stars,” in a storm, in some godforsaken area of Montana, had found her.
Her mind raced. If it was him, she had to be very careful and figure this out before she said or did anything that could jeopardize her assignment. He couldn’t be a twin. There weren’t any relatives. The brother had died. She stared out at the night, instead of at the man a foot away from her. But she was totally aware of everything he did. The shifting on the hard seat, putting the truck in gear, carefully inching to the left and away from her car, which was slowly being covered by the drifting snow.
The logical thing to do was introduce herself. Then he’d introduce himself. Then she’d know. Simple. She braced herself, then turned and looked at him. “I’m Katherine.”
He twisted to look over his shoulder and away from her, then they were on the road and the old truck gained traction, along with some speed. The man didn’t say a thing. Maybe he hadn’t heard her? She cleared her throat and repeated herself. “I’m Katherine, but my friends call me Kate.”
His only response was an abrupt question. “What are you doing here?” He looked straight ahead as he spoke.
She blinked at his profile, and it never occurred to her to tell him the truth, that she was here looking for a man who looked remarkably like him. She’d thought about what to say, what her cover would be, and she went with the story she’d thought up on the plane. “I was going to go to Shadow Ridge, and I thought—”
“You’re hell and gone from Shadow Ridge,” he said. “You’re more than a little lost.”
She’d been going to say that she was going to Bliss to spend some time alone before heading out to the ski resort. People in a small town wouldn’t doubt that someone from the city would want to get away for a bit, to take a breather. But he’d made that part of the lie unnecessary. He thought she was lost. So she’d be lost. “I asked the man at the car rental at the airport for directions.” That was the truth, but the directions were for Bliss, not for the ski resort east of here.
“You should get your money back,” he muttered.
“I must have taken the wrong turn after I left the airport.”
That did make him cast a quick, shadowy glance her way, and for a minute she saw the man in the pictures. The softness of the dash lights hid the deeper lines on his face, the tightness in his mouth and eyes. Soft shadows etched the almost movie-star-handsome features, and in that moment she was stuck hard by the same innate sexiness she’d noticed in the freeze frame on the video. In a closed truck cab, that look was more disturbing than she’d imagined it would be. She’d found Mackenzie Parish, and judging from what she’d seen so far, there was plenty to write about him.
“You didn’t even make a turn,” he said, the image gone as he looked back to the road.
Her heart was racing. Luck was ninety percent of life, she’d always been told, and she’d just had a stroke of luck. Dumb, stupid luck, but she’d take it any day. “I guess I didn’t,” she said, trying to think of something to keep him talking so she could ask questions. “You live in Bliss?”
“No.”
A single word. Nothing else. Just no. “You aren’t from around here?”
“Born and raised.”
“But you said you weren’t from Bliss.”
“I said I didn’t live in Bliss.”
It shouldn’t be this hard to get simple information out of him. All he had to say was “a ranch outside of town.” Simple, but she had the feeling that nothing was simple with this man. “Just where do you live?”
“Around.”
Damn him. He wasn’t just in hiding, he was shut down completely. And that only made her more curious. “Around where?”
“Bliss,” he muttered, and shifted gears.
She needed to take a new tack. She felt in her purse, found the phone and cord and pulled them out. “Can I plug my phone into your cigarette lighter to charge it?” May as well be sure it wasn’t dead once she did get a signal. Plus it gave her something to do, for a moment.
He waved at her. “Go for it.”
She shifted, pulled the lighter out and plugged in the phone. “Thanks,” she said, sitting back as she laid the phone by his hat on the seat.
They hadn’t been going terribly fast, but now they were almost crawling along the dark, snowy road. She turned from the man and looked ahead. There were lights, faint and almost swallowed up by the snow, but lights to the right and to the left. “Is this Bliss?”
“Main Street,” he said.
She could barely make out the surroundings, except for a few neon lights that managed to penetrate the storm and night. The Alibi Diner & Bar was to the right; Lou’s Seed & Feed was to the left; then an orange ball that seemed suspended high in the night was to the right. Gas. The truck slowed even more, then swung toward the sign and stopped.
“Carl’s garage,” he said as he put his hat on and exited the
