A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (14 page)

Thunder boomed overhead this time, and the lightning flashed to my left almost simultaneously. I thought I smelled it. Below me, a line of pitch-black shadows raced across the valley reminding me of a shade being drawn down for the night. In the murkier light, the hacienda made me think of Thornfield, Manderley, the Château de Valmy and every other mysterious mansion gracing the pages of those Gothic novels I'd read as a girl. I thought again of the fact that the mistresses of this mansion had seemed to succumb to untimely ends, and a chill skittered its way up my spine.

Ridiculous, I told myself. If I was ever going to pull this impersonation off, I would have to keep a tight rein on my imagination. This was a working horse ranch, not some Gothic mansion plagued by secrets and long-covered-up murders.

On the other hand, my twin sister who stood to inherit at least half of all of this was missing.
People had been killed for much less than this. Another chill moved through me.

Then the sky opened, and rain poured down so thick and fast that I could barely make out the path as I turned and began to wind my way back to the car.

The good news was I was still wearing the jeans, plain T-shirt and sneakers that I'd worn for my ride out to the McKenzie estate. The bad news was that I was soaked to the bone by the time I'd taken three steps and my new “Cameron” hairdo was destroyed. Pushing the sodden mess out of my eyes, I stretched my hands out in front of me like a sleepwalker. The car was too far away to seek shelter there, so I stumbled toward the darker shape of what had to be one of the boulders I'd skirted earlier. Once I reached it, I moved around to the far side and let it block the wind and at least some of the rain. Then I hunkered down to wait out the storm.

I wasn't sure how long I squatted at the side of the boulder—probably not longer than five or ten minutes. The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The rain stopped first, and gradually the sun began to peek through clouds that were quickly blowing away. As I rose to my feet, I could still hear thunder grumbling in the distance. I'd made my way around the boulder and back onto the path before it finally registered in my mind that
the rhythmic pounding I was listening to wasn't just thunder. It was also hoofbeats.

Realization came at the same instant that horse and rider shot around a curve in the path less than fifty yards from where I was standing. My heart lodged in my throat, my body froze, and my imagination took flight. Burned into my mind was the image of horse and man, all muscle and speed, moving in perfect unity—the mythic centaur in the flesh. In that instant, I wasn't sure which animal was more magnificent—man or beast.

Luckily, the man had quick reflexes. He reined the horse in sharply. The animal reared, protesting loudly. It might have been the sound of the horse's distress or perhaps it was the sight of those powerful hooves that jolted me free of the trance I'd been in, but I finally leaped toward the side of the path. I landed hard on the uneven ground, felt my ankle twist and give out just before I crashed into the boulder.

Behind me I heard the struggle between horse and rider, the horse neighing, a deep male voice talking in a soothing tone. Turning, I saw the horse rear again, but the man's hands remained steady on the rope, and he continued to talk in a firm tone.

“Easy, Saturn. Easy, boy.”

I suddenly realized that this must be the same man I'd seen take the horse out of the trailer and ride him bareback across the fields. Not only had
he kept control of the stallion and saved me from injury, he'd also remained seated. Admiration streamed through me. I had some idea of the skill it was taking to calm the frightened horse.

I was sitting in the shade of the boulder, but the horse and the man were bathed now in sunlight and I was able to take in more details. The man had slid from the horse and stood with his back toward me, talking to the horse and keeping a firm grip on the tether. He and the animal had a lot in common. Both were large and dark and strong—perfectly matched in the struggle that was going on. The man's hair curled around the nape of his neck. He was broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips, and long in the legs. With his jeans and chambray shirt plastered to him like a second skin, I could see the movement of each sculpted muscle as he quieted the horse with patient skill. The horse, still frightened, reared again and pawed the air. The stallion was larger, stronger. But the battle wouldn't be decided on size alone. It would come down to who had the stronger will.

The man let out the rope, then drew it in again, each time getting closer to the horse. The closer he drew, the calmer the horse became. It was like watching a slow, steady dance of seduction. Admiration and something else I was much less familiar with moved through me and settled in a hot little pool in my center. I had the strangest sensation that
I was melting. Then his hands were on the horse, moving gently and firmly over those muscles, while he continued to talk, to croon almost. I had no idea how long I sat there in the shadow of the boulder watching man and horse.

And imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on me.

“Are you all right?” His focus was still on the horse, and since he asked the question in the same tone he'd been using to quiet the animal, it took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me.

“Yes.” My voice was so breathless I didn't recognize it. “I'm fine.” To prove it, I dug my fingers into a crevice in the boulder and pulled myself to my feet. I'd totally forgotten about my ankle, and when I put my full weight on it, I sat right back down with a little squeal.

He turned toward me then. “You're hurt. Did one of his hooves…” His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed. “Cameron? I didn't recognize you at first.”

Of course he hadn't. I could understand that. I hadn't recognized him, either. He'd been intent on calming the horse, and I'd been equally intent on him. It was only now as he quickly tethered the horse and strode toward me that I realized this was Sloan Campbell, my sister Cameron's fiancé.

“You could have been killed.”

The anger in his voice was clear—even though
it was tightly leashed. And the simple truth of his statement had a chill moving up my spine. He was no less intimidating than when he'd been thundering toward me on the top of the horse. There he'd looked mythical. Now he looked tough, arrogant and furious. He'd evidently spent all of his patience on Saturn.

Why had it taken me so long to realize who he was? I'd certainly spent enough time studying his photos. Perhaps it was because the magnetism I'd sensed in the pictures was even more potent in real life.

“How badly are you hurt?” His tone was sharp with accusation.

“I'm not hurt. The horse didn't touch me. I just twisted my ankle. I—”

He dropped to his knees and focused his attention on my ankle.

“It's swollen,” he said. His fingers were as gentle as they'd been on the horse as they moved the wet jeans up my legs. While he probed my ankle, I found myself staring at his hands—the long fingers, the wide palms—and I tried to ignore the warmth that was unfurling in little ribbons up my leg. Other men had touched me, some casually, others intimately, but I'd never felt this kind of intensity before.

Adrenaline. I'd nearly been run down by the horse. That's why I was reacting this way.

“I don't think it's broken.” I heard relief in his tone. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He glanced up at me then.

“No. You handled the horse beautifully. I'm—” Every other word I intended to say slipped out of my mind as I met his penetrating gaze. His eyes…they were dark gray, the color of the kind of fog that could swallow you up and make you lose all sense of direction. I suddenly felt as though I were losing mine.

Then as if he'd satisfied himself that I was all right, he grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick shake. “Where the hell have you been for the past five weeks?”

 

Sloan took a deep breath and clamped down hard on the all-too-familiar emotions swirling through him. Anger, annoyance, relief. Those were the standard feelings that Cameron had been able to pull out of him ever since they'd been kids and his job had frequently been to get her out of scrapes.

But not this time. Five weeks ago when she'd first run off, he'd understood her need to get away and think. The truth was, he'd needed some time himself. But as the weeks had rolled by, understanding had turned into annoyance and finally into anger.

“Five weeks is a long time. Couldn't you have at
least called your father to let him know you were safe?”

“I couldn't. I—”

“Couldn't? Or maybe you expected me to come running after you and drag you back here so that you could save face?”

“Save face?”

He barely kept himself from shaking her again. In spite of the fact that James McKenzie had claimed he was confident that Cameron would return when she'd had time to think everything through, the old man had been worried. Hell, he'd begun to worry himself—and now she'd returned, looking so damned innocent. It had been years since Cameron had tried to use that innocent look on him.

That realization was what had him narrowing his eyes and studying her more carefully. There was something about her…something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Her eyes were that same brilliant shade of green, but they seemed different. Darker. And there was something in them right now. Something that he'd never seen before. Arousal?

The sudden response in his gut was also new. He tightened his grip on her arms. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

H
e thought I was playing a game? I struggled to get my mind around what he'd just said. But as long as I was looking into Sloan Campbell's eyes, my brain felt numb. My body, on the other hand, was far from numb. My senses were operating at full power. Sloan was only touching my shoulders, yet I could feel the pressure of each one of his fingers—hot like a brand on my skin. He was so close that I could catch the scent of rain and horse, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. So close that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could taste him.

Don't move, I told myself. Don't move. But I was shocked at how hard it was not to.

“Well?” He prodded me with another little shake, and it helped.

“I'm sorry.” My voice and my mouth were finally working. Now it was up to my brain. And he was right. I was playing a game, so I'd better make my first move. “I don't remember being Cameron. I am. I must be, but I just don't remember.”

“Come again.” He dropped his hands then, but I could feel those eyes boring into me while I told him my story—the mugging, the fact that my purse had never been recovered so there'd been no way for the police to identify me. When I told him about waking up in the hospital and not having any idea who I was, I had the distinct impression that he could see right into me, that he knew what I was thinking. A little tendril of fear worked its way up my spine. Sloan Campbell might have a gentle side, but I sensed that this was a man who could be hard when he wanted to be.

“You're saying that you don't remember anything before you were mugged?”

His tone was skeptical, but I'd expected that. I could handle it. After all, how many people encountered a person who'd lost their memory in real life? Mostly, it occurred as a plot device in movies, romance novels, or soap operas. “My doctor assures me it's temporary.”

“If you don't remember who you are, how did you get here?”

That explanation I had down pat. I told him how I'd hired Rossi Investigations to find out who I was. “It took them a while because no one ever filed a missing persons report.”

“We assumed you'd come back after you'd sorted things out.” His tone was neutral. I couldn't tell if he was buying the memory loss or not. I wasn't an actress. I just wrote story lines for professionals who could bring them to life.

Then he was quiet for so long that nerves knotted in my stomach. To fill the void, I said, “I drove one of the SUV's up here to see if getting a bird's-eye view of the ranch would stir up some memories.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“Do I look familiar to you?”

I shook my head. “I don't remember you, but I recognize you from the newspaper clippings the P.I.'s gave me. You're Sloan Campbell, Cameron's—my fiancé.”

Tilting his head to one side, he continued to study me. “I'm not sure what kind of game you're playing.”

The man's eyes were mesmerizing, and for a moment, just one mad moment, I was tempted to confess. Then I thought of Cameron and what I'd come here to do. “That's the second time you've said that. Why are you so sure I'm playing a game?”

He touched me then, just the brush of a finger along my jawline. “Because you're all about games. And you're a sore loser.”

“Loser?” I had no idea what he meant. I was finding it very hard to think while he was touching me.

Without warning, Sloan slid his hand to the back of my neck and touched his mouth to mine. I didn't move. I couldn't. The kiss was so soft. He didn't press, didn't demand. He simply tasted very gently. Still a riot of sensations moved through me.

Don't respond, I told myself. But I could feel my lips soften and part. I could feel my whole body melt.

All the time he watched me with those gray, knowing eyes. I had to clench my fingers into my palms to keep from grabbing him. I wanted to use my hands on him, to drag them through his hair, to test the muscles under that shirt. All the while his taste poured into me until I was nearly drunk with it. With him.

When he drew back, I took a minute and prayed that my voice would be steady. Then I said, “What was that for?”

He regarded me for a moment through narrowed eyes. “A welcome back.”

But I knew it had been a test. What I wasn't sure of was whether or not I'd passed.

“C'mon.” His tone turned brisk as he took my
arm and helped me to my feet. “Let's see if you can walk on that ankle.”

I concentrated on doing that. This time I was careful when I put weight on it, but it held. “It'll probably be weak for a few days.”

Without comment, he led me over to where Saturn was still munching grass. Then he cupped his hands. “I'll give you a leg up.”

I didn't pretend to misunderstand. He intended for me to ride the horse. “I drove up here in an SUV.”

“It's your right ankle you twisted. It would probably be better if you didn't drive until it's stronger. I'll send someone up to fetch your car.”

Still I hesitated. I had a feeling that as far as Sloan was concerned, this was another test. I just wasn't quite sure what to do to pass it.

“Once he lets off a little steam, Saturn can be a perfect gentleman. If I'd put him in his stall right after taking him out of the trailer, he might have kicked a hole in one of the stable walls. But he'll be fine now.”

Turning toward the horse, I raised a hand and ran it down his neck. “Hate to be confined, do you? I can sympathize with that.”

To my surprise and delight, Saturn neighed softly and turned his head to nuzzle my shoulder. I laughed as I looked at Sloan. “He's quite a flirt.”

Sloan didn't return my smile. Instead, he just
regarded me with an odd expression in his eyes. “You don't usually flirt back.”

I had a feeling that I'd failed some sort of test, so I figured I might as well go for broke. Placing my good foot in his cupped hands, I grabbed a handful of Saturn's mane and swung myself up onto his back.

When I looked down at Sloan, he was still studying me. “He likes you, Red.”

“Red? Is that what you call me?”

A mocking glint came into Sloan's eyes. “You tell me when you get your memory back.”

I met his eyes steadily. I was going to have to learn to hold my own with this man. “You still think I'm playing some kind of game, don't you?”

Without answering, he swung himself up behind me, then reached around me to gather both ends of the rope into his hands. “The jury's out on that one. I'll let you know when I decide. In the meantime, you'll have to tell your story to your father.” He raised a hand and pointed to the road that wound its way from the main highway to the ranch. “I believe that's his car right now. If we hurry, we'll reach the ranch about the same time he does.”

Sloan urged Saturn down the slope. Then he added, “James McKenzie is not an easy man to fool.”

 

Sloan Campbell wasn't an easy man to fool, either. He loosened the tension on the rope to give
Saturn more freedom to make his way down the slope. He was a man who prided himself on his ability to size up people as well as horseflesh. But “Red”—he'd decided to call her that until he figured out who she was—Red had had him going there for a few moments.

He had to admit that she was a dead ringer for Cameron, but his gut instinct told him that whoever she was, she wasn't Cameron McKenzie. He let his gaze drift to the distinctive red hair, and wondered if hers had come out of a bottle. She had the same slender build, the same surprisingly long legs, considering the fact that she was barely five foot four. In body type and coloring, she could have been Cameron's twin.

Except Cameron didn't have a twin.

Still, whatever annoyance he felt for being taken in by “Red,” however temporarily, was more than matched by the admiration he felt for her guts and her creativity. He'd come damned close to buying her memory loss story. He might have if it weren't for her eyes.

He'd seen something when he'd first grabbed her that he'd never seen in Cameron's eyes. Desire. It wasn't something a man could miss, and it had triggered a response in him. The kiss had been a test, and he wasn't pleased by the fact that he'd wanted for a moment to take it beyond a test. What he'd felt when his mouth had pressed
against hers had been raw and stunning. And for one brief moment, with her taste pouring into him, he'd wanted to go further. The only reason he hadn't was because he hadn't been sure he could stop himself from taking her right there on the bluff.

No woman had ever pushed him that far that quickly before. Certainly not Cameron. The kiss had been the clincher. The slender woman sitting in front of him was not Cameron McKenzie. But that left the questions—who the hell was she? And where was Cameron?

When Saturn finally reached level ground, Sloan urged him into a trot. His annoyance with himself deepened at the fact that he'd never once questioned that Cameron had run away in a snit five weeks ago. James hadn't questioned it, either. No one had. She hadn't taken her car, but she often used a limo service, claiming that being driven allowed her to get work done.

The night before she'd left, he and Cameron had had words, and she'd threatened to back out of the wedding, and he'd told her to go ahead. Not that he thought she would. Though six years separated them, they'd grown up together, and he knew her very well. She was high-strung, used to getting her own way, and he'd figured she'd stayed away five weeks to figure out a way to come back, go through with the wedding and still save face.

She wasn't going to back out of the wedding. She'd given her word to her father. And while she might be spoiled, Cameron McKenzie never went back on her word. He'd convinced himself that she'd stayed away out of pride.

He'd told “Red” nothing less than the truth. Cameron liked to play games, and she didn't like to lose. Had she found a double and set up this little charade by herself? For what purpose? But if she hadn't set it up, he didn't like the alternative explanations.

His gaze shifted again to the woman sitting in front of him, and his glance fell on the delicate curve of her neck right where it joined her shoulder. Arousal bloomed inside of him again, as raw and primitive as it had been when he'd kissed her.

The attraction he felt for her was going to be a problem. And he'd have to handle it.

Because the alternative was that Red was up to her neck in Cameron's disappearance. A missing heiress and a ringer who was trying to take her place just a month before the wedding? He didn't like that scenario one bit.

And Red might not be in this alone. There were groups of developers who would do a lot to get their hands on that strip of land along the Pacific. Sloan frowned. He liked that scenario even less.

He just had to figure out which way to play it.
To play her. He wouldn't let James or anyone else know his suspicions. No need to worry the old man before he had some evidence or at least a clearer idea of what had happened to Cameron. Besides, he might learn something from letting Red play out her little charade. Give her enough rope and she just might hang herself.

One thing was certain. Until he knew exactly what her game was, he was going to keep her on a very short leash.

 

Sloan said nothing more on the ride back to the ranch, but I was intensely aware of him behind me on the horse. When we arrived, we rode past the stables and up a path that led to the back of the house. He dismounted, but before I could follow suit, hard hands gripped my waist and the next second I was on the ground. “Be careful when you put weight on that ankle.”

He didn't step back right away. He just looked at me as if there was some answer in my eyes that he was determined to extract. If I'd known what it was, I would have given it to him.

By the time he dropped his hands, my knees had gone weak so I was very careful as I followed his advice and tested my ankle gingerly. “It's fine.”

“I'm going to leave you in the kitchen with Elena. She'll have an Ace bandage, and you'd better ice it tonight.”

I looked at him then, but his expression was unreadable. I wished that I could figure him out. Then maybe I could control my reaction to him. One minute, I was sure he was mocking me or testing me. The next he was kind and thinking of something like an Ace bandage.

Or kissing me. I was trying very hard not to think of that kiss.

An ancient-looking man, who had the slight build of a jockey, and the wrinkled face of Rumplestiltskin had followed us up the path and now took the rope from Sloan.

“Make sure you walk him in one of the rings and cool him down, Gus.”

The old man snorted. “You're telling me how to handle a horse? I was working them before you were born.”

Sloan laughed as he turned to me. “Ms. Cameron's back, but she doesn't recognize you because she's lost her memory.”

Gus shifted his gaze to me and nodded. “Welcome back, Ms. Cameron.” His eyes were nearly as penetrating as Sloan's, but I saw a twinkle in them. “Lace Ribbons will be happy to see you. I've seen that she's been exercised regularly while you've been gone.” Then with another nod, he turned and led Saturn away.

“He likes me,” I said.

The look Sloan gave me was enigmatic. “He's known you since you were able to get down to the stables on your own.” Taking my arm, Sloan urged me onto the patio where I'd had tea earlier with Cole and Beatrice and then into the house.

“Now that Gus is spreading the word of your return, I want to be the first to let James know. I'll help him get settled in his rooms, and then I'll send for you. It might be too much of a shock if you just walk in.”

“Fine.” I watched him head toward the main foyer. That would give me a reprieve—and a little time out of Sloan Campbell's disturbing presence.

As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard Elena welcoming James—my father. I was going to have to start thinking of him that way, I reminded myself.