rather surprised to find that Dorinda had not exaggerated his physical appeal. Standing at least three inches over six feet, he had that kind of lean, rangy strength about him that many athletes possessed. His hair—though mostly hidden by a dusty gray felt hat with a wide, curly brim and high, domed crown—was a light, biscuit brown and fanned out in undisciplined flips from the nape of his neck. Slightly darker brows slashed straight across his face in two short dashes above light, smoke-gray eyes of startling clarity. It was a strong face, strong enough to carry a square, slightly cleft chin, prominent cheekbones and a long, slender nose that had obviously been broken at least once above a wide, spare mouth.
No wonder Dori had allowed herself to become entangled with him. How easy it must have been for him to slip beneath her defenses after the deep disappointment of her marriage to Bud, and now, clearly, he was ready to resume the affair. Obviously, she should have told him about Dorinda, but she’d been so shocked to see him standing there just as Dori had described him that she’d been tongue-tied. Then to hear her sister’s name on his lips, with a compliment, no less, had been more than Danica could bear. She’d slammed the door in his face and dissolved in tears.
How long ago that might have been, she didn’t really know, but a hollowness in her middle reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She put her head in her hands and contemplated the necessity of it, dredging up the will to rise from her chair and go to the pantry. Fortunately, since the refrigerator didn’t work, the larder was well-stocked with nonperishable foodstuffs. Unfortunately, with neither microwave nor functioning cookstove, she was reduced to eating her irregular meals cold right out of the can, box or bag. At least she had electricity and, therefore, hot water, though why that had not been shut off she had no idea.
Forcing herself to her feet, she went to the pantry and selected a can at random, carried it to the counter and opened it. Corn. She hated canned corn. Fresh or even frozen was much better, in her opinion. With a sigh she picked up the spoon left on the counter after her last meal and carried it to the table along with the can. She got down three bites before a pounding at her door made her start so violently that she turned over the can, spilling the contents across the table top.
“I want to talk to you!”
Him! An uncontrollable anger seized her. How dare he intrude like this again! She balled up both fists and shouted at the door, “Go away!”
“Fat chance, lady! You can’t just brush this off!”
“Go away!” she cried again, but somewhat feebly, her energy quickly waning. She looked at the spilled corn and felt close to tears once more. Just then the door, which she had neglected to lock, opened and Winston Champlain strode through it, waving a folded, blue-backed paper.
“Look,” he said sharply, “I wanted to do this easy after all you’ve been through, but by golly, one way or another, I mean to have my cattle!” He shook the paper out and thrust it in her face, adding, “You’re served! Now what the hell are you gonna do about it?”
Served? Danica stared openmouthed at the paper held to the end of her nose, but her eyes crossed when she tried to bring the words into focus. Irritably, she pushed it away.
“You’re not welcome here, Champlain, so go away.”
“Well, that’s just fine!” he snapped. “First Bud and now you. I guess you’re as much thief as him.”
“I 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
