A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (15 page)

In the meantime, I really needed to figure Sloan out. The fact that I was attracted to him—and there was no use denying that anymore—meant that I wasn't thinking clearly about him. But I knew enough from creating characters that most people were defined by their motivations—the whys. What were Sloan's? My instinct told me that he was not buying my story entirely. But
why
wasn't he?

Did he have some reason to know for certain that I was not Cameron suffering from amnesia? I stopped short in the middle of the kitchen as I
realized one reason he might have for seeing right through my little masquerade. Was Sloan Campbell responsible for my sister's disappearance?

J
ames McKenzie's rooms were at the back of the house, Elena informed me as she led the way along a corridor. After helping put an Ace bandage on my ankle, she'd taken me to Cameron's room and waited while I changed my clothes and freshened up a bit.

It was my first opportunity to dress in my sister's clothes. Pressed for time, I'd settled on a pair of navy cotton trousers with a white silk blouse and pulled on the closest pair of boots. Luckily, everything had fit. I had stories all ready in case they hadn't. “I lost weight after the accident.” Or, “I gained some weight after the accident.”

On impulse, I'd grabbed some of Cameron's scent out of a crystal bottle and dabbed it on. It was more exotic than the kind I usually favored, but I'd thought it might help with the cat. And much to my relief and surprise, it had. When I'd stepped out of the closet room, Hannibal hadn't hissed or attacked. He'd simply sent me a bland look from his little “throne.”

“See. He's beginning to remember you,” Elena had said.

Privately, I figured that Hannibal's more friendly attitude had more to do with his newfound access to cat treats than with memory.

“This is it,” Elena announced as she halted in front of the door at the end of the corridor. At her knock, I heard a voice boom, “C'mon in.”

When Elena stepped aside, I drew in a deep breath, then, opening the door, I walked in.

And froze. The room was impressive to say the least. It was large, nearly thirty feet long and a good twenty feet wide. Light poured in through three windows that stretched from floor to ceiling and nearly filled the far wall. Each one had a balcony with a lacy wrought iron balustrade, and each was topped with stained glass.

Sloan stood leaning against one of the window frames, his face in the shadows. But I could feel that he was looking at me. James was seated in a thronelike chair to his right. There was a large or
nately carved desk in front of him. Through a door to my left, I glimpsed the foot of a bed. The wall to my right was filled with bookshelves. Leather sofas and chairs were clustered on honey-colored wood floors. There was even a game table with a chess set at the ready.

The whole effect was homey and inviting.

“Come closer, gal. I can't see you while you're standing in the shadows.”

The deep voice carried the same authority that I'd noticed earlier in Sloan's, and I moved forward, suddenly and overwhelmingly curious to see the man who'd raised my sister. Pepper had shown me a photo, but as I drew closer, I saw that it hadn't done him justice.

James McKenzie was as impressive as the room. He was a large bear of a man, and in spite of the fact that arthritis had largely confined him to his wheelchair, his complexion was still ruddy, and he was strikingly handsome. Though his hair was streaked with white, I could tell that it had been red at one time. But it was his eyes that held my attention. In the short time that I'd been standing there, I knew that I had been quickly and thoroughly summed up. That ability to cut through everything and see right to the core was another thing that he shared with Sloan, I thought.

Did that mean he was going to be just as suspicious of me as Sloan was?

“Surprised that I'm still alive, are ya?”

“No. I mean…I don't…”

“Remember anything,” he finished for me. “Sloan filled me in on your mugging. It's the only reason that I'm not giving you a dressing-down for putting us through all this worry.”

I glanced at Sloan, but with the light shining through the windows behind him, I still couldn't see his expression.

When I looked back, James was still studying me with an almost hungry look in his eyes. And I thought I saw a trace of sadness, too. Or regret? Wasn't he happy that I was back?

James rose from his chair and extended his arms. “Come give me a hug, gal. I've missed them. And you.”

I moved around the desk and walked into James's outstretched arms. “Welcome home. It's good to have you here.”

The words and the fierceness of his hug warmed me. My parents had never been much for showing affection in a physical way, and I found myself envying my sister. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around James and held tight for a moment. “I'm really glad to be here.” And I was.

When he finally drew back, James studied me for a minute. “You don't remember anything?”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry. I don't even remember how I ended up in San Francisco.”

He released me and eased back down in his chair. “You seen anything yet that triggers a memory?”

“No. I went through my room and my clothes, and I rode up into the hills to get a view of the whole ranch, but it was like I'd never seen any of it before.”

“Good. Keep at it,” James said. “The sooner we get you back to normal the better. I've discussed it with Sloan, and I'm going to contact the rest of the family and summon them here for a dinner party tonight to welcome you home. Your cousin Austin's in Saratoga Springs, but he's got the jet. You up to it?”

“Sure.” My stomach lurched a bit, but what else could I say?

Sloan circled the desk so that he stood with me in front of it. “James's theory is that seeing one or more of them may help you remember. I'm more of the opinion that meeting them all en masse might cause you to run away again.” The two men exchanged a look that held both understanding and humor.

He loves the old man, I thought. It was then that I realized that Sloan had come here to pave the way for me, not out of kindness to me, but because he truly loved James. My admiration for him moved up a notch.

“Don't let Sloan sour you against your kinfolk,”
James said with a grin. “We'll let them do that all on their own.”

Sloan laughed then, and the rich sound filled the air. I found myself smiling at him, and he smiled back. There was no mockery in his eyes this time. But I could see something else, something more intimate and it had something hot spreading through me. The heat kicked up several degrees when he lifted a hand and with one finger traced a little half circle under my eye. “You're tired, Red. You'd better rest so that you're up to handling them and dealing with their questions.”

I couldn't move. I was sure my legs had turned to water. He'd barely touched me, but I felt it clear down to my toes.

He dropped his hand abruptly and turned to James. “I have to get back to work.” Without another word, he strode to the door and opened it.

I stared after him, finally accepting what I had tried to deny before. I was attracted to Sloan Campbell. Big-time. I'd been attracted from the moment I'd first seen his picture, and it had only increased when we'd met face-to-face on the bluff and he'd kissed me. I could no longer blame it on adrenaline. It was lust.

My stomach knotted. I'd come here to learn all I could about my sister, to find a clue to her whereabouts—not to fall in lust with her fiancé. And I couldn't yet dismiss the possibility that he might
have had something to do with her disappearance. These were the kind of plot complications that would be great for
Secrets
. But they should not be happening to nothing-ever-happens-to-me Brooke Ashby.

At the door, Sloan turned back and looked at me. I realized something else. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me.

What in the world had I gotten myself into?

“Take a nap,” he said in that authoritative way he had.

“You'll be here for dinner,” James said to him.

“I wouldn't miss it.”

When Sloan closed the door, I turned to face James and there was a moment of awkward silence between us.

“He's a good man,” James finally said.

“Yes.” So far, I could agree with that assessment.

“He'll make you a good husband.”

I didn't have an answer ready for that. But I sensed that Cameron and he had had this conversation before. “Do you have any idea why I ran away?”

James watched for a moment. “Everyone figured it was bridal jitters.”

I studied him right back. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “And I'm the type of coward who would have run away?”

“No.” I saw a flash of something in his eyes.
Pride? “But you're headstrong and you have a temper. You and Sloan had a little argument the day before you disappeared.”

“About what?”

James shrugged. “You'll have to ask him.”

“So I ran away to punish him?” I could understand that my sister, the woman that I was coming to know, might have done that.

“You ran away to think,” James corrected. “From the time you were a little girl, you liked to get away from everything and think.”

Something moved through me. I'd always done the same thing. Wasn't that one of the reasons I'd borrowed the SUV and driven up into the hills? “So you weren't surprised when I just disappeared?”

“No. I knew you'd eventually get it all figured out and then you'd come home. And I was right.” He smiled at me. “Marriage is a big step. But it's always better when there's love and at least a bit of chemistry involved, right?”

I nodded, not sure where he was going.

“You and Sloan have the chemistry. The love will follow. Now go on and get out of here, gal.” He waved his hands at me. “I'm an old man and I need a nap before the festivities begin.”

 

My thoughts and emotions were still spinning as I left James's suite and hurried back to Cameron's
room. I'd better keep reminding myself of that— Cameron's room, Cameron's family, Cameron's fiancé.

But when I reached the room, I found Hannibal still reclining on the pillows at the head of the bed. The look he gave me was not friendly. I wasn't in the mood for a turf war, so I went to the cabinet and got us both a treat. It wasn't enough to lure him off the pillows, but he didn't give me any grief when I stretched out well away from him on the foot of the bed and bit into chocolate.

For a while, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts spin in my head. This was a technique I often used when I was working on story lines. Complications were great when I was developing ideas for a plot, but they were trickier to handle in real life.

What I'd learned so far about my sister and her disappearance confirmed what had been in Pepper's report. Cameron was a bit headstrong and spoiled, so no one had been very alarmed when she'd disappeared. James thought her sudden flight might have been triggered by a lover's quarrel. I made a mental note to find out what she and Sloan had quarreled about.

Though he hadn't said it outright, James had hinted that Cameron and Sloan were not in love, but had a chemistry between them. I could relate
to that. My reaction to Sloan Campbell was pure chemistry.

But he was my sister's fiancé, her future husband.
Big
complication! If Mallory Carstairs were faced with the problem, I knew exactly what the “bad girl” diva would do. She'd jump his bones.

Hannibal made a growl-like noise from the head of the bed. When I opened my eyes to check on him, he growled again. Could he read my mind?

I made a second trip to the cabinet and got more treats.

“Don't worry,” I told him as I tossed one at him. “I'm not Mallory Carstairs.” No matter that I'd like to have her guts. My sister had disappeared, and I'd come here, impersonating her, to find out what had happened to her. If my plan was going to have any chance of success, my best strategy would be to steer clear of Sloan Campbell.

Plopping myself once more at the foot of the bed, I let chocolate melt on my tongue. The problem was he might know more than anyone else about what had happened to Cameron. So I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I was going to have to handle Sloan Campbell very carefully—and at the same time keep my hands off of him.

This time, the sound Hannibal made sounded suspiciously like a snort.

W
hen I approached the door of the main parlor that evening, I felt a little like Cinderella arriving late at the ball. She too must have feared that she'd be exposed for the imposter she was when she'd first entered that ballroom.

I'd slept for two hours. I might have been out even longer except that Hannibal had decided to nudge me awake—and off the bed. I couldn't help thinking that he knew I didn't belong in Cameron's bed. I'd bribed him with another treat and that had settled him as I'd raced around dressing for dinner.

I'd chosen the first dress I'd looked at—a simple black sheath that fit as if it had been made for
me. I'd recognized the designer label, and realized that my twin had probably spent more on that one outfit than I would spend on clothes for the next year. The strappy sandals I'd settled on would have taken care of my budget for the year after that. But when I stood in front of the mirror and saw myself, I'd definitely envied Cameron. And I had felt different somehow. More like Cameron?

The memory of that feeling gave me the courage to step into the parlor. The room was large, just short of cavernous. In the wall across from me four sets of French doors stood open to showcase a breathtaking view of the gardens. The scent of flowers mingled with burning candles, and there was music, soft strings beneath the clink of glasses and the buzz of conversation.

Paintings were scattered over ivory-colored walls—scenes of the ranch, I decided. The style was simple and compelling, and the artist had captured the beauty of the land. I wondered who had painted them. Suddenly, I became aware that one by one conversations had halted, and everyone had turned to stare at me.

A little bubble of panic moved through me as I scanned the faces. People were clustered in groups down the length of the room, and there were more than I'd anticipated. Definitely more than family.

“Cameron, there you are. Come in. Come in.” James's voice boomed down the length of the
room. He was seated in a wheelchair tonight but even framed by the huge fireplace that filled one wall of the room, he managed to look larger than life. “Sloan, fix your fiancée a drink.”

Sloan appeared at my side, causing me to wonder if he'd stationed himself near the entrance for just that reason. He wore an open-collar shirt and lightweight blazer with jeans and boots.

“What would you like to drink, Red?” he asked as he led me to the drink cart.

“Wine. White,” I replied.

“White wine?” Sloan asked.

Nerves knotted in my stomach as I glanced at him. “Yes. Do I usually drink something different?”

“No. You even have a favorite vineyard.” He lifted a bottle, and I recognized the label. It was a wine I'd bought for special occasions. Once again, I felt something move through me at the thought that Cameron and I appreciated the same kind of wines.

“Does it stir any memories?” Sloan asked.

“No.” He was testing me again, I realized. And since it was impossible to read his expression, I had no idea whether I'd passed or failed. Maybe it didn't matter. This whole masquerade was turning out to be much trickier than I'd anticipated. When Sloan handed the glass to me, I had to stop myself from drinking it all at once.

“Who are all these people?”

“A mix of business associates and family. James has told them about your temporary memory loss. They're a tough crowd, but they won't bite you. At least not in front of James.” He spoke in a low tone only I could hear.

“I'll have something to look forward to then,” I murmured.

When he chuckled, I felt some of my tension ease. And in spite of my earlier resolve that I should steer clear of Sloan, I was grateful for his presence at my side as he urged me toward the first group of people.

I recognized the man from the photos Pepper had included in her report even as Sloan said, “This is your cousin, Austin, and his fiancée, Marcie Linton.”

They made a striking couple, I thought. The tall blond Austin was the perfect foil for the petite and perky brunette. In stature and appearance, Austin took after his mother with his fair complexion, finely chiseled features and pale blue eyes. He looked like a cross between a Viking and a surfer.

According to Pepper, he had the reputation of a playboy and he gambled. In response to Sloan's introduction, he raised his glass in a toast. “Long time, no see, cousin. Congratulations. Uncle James has killed the fatted calf for you.”

Marcie Linton sent him a quick frown. Austin
didn't look overly happy to see me. Recalling Pepper's report, I thought I knew why. In my absence, he'd stepped into my shoes, and he probably wasn't too keen on stepping back out of them.

In response to Marcie's frown, he merely shrugged and took another sip of his drink. Marcie Linton was small, and she was even prettier than she'd been in her photos. Her slender body was encased in an ivory-colored linen dress, the perfect contrast to the jet-black hair that fell straight from a center part to below her shoulders and set off her delicate bone structure and porcelain-fair skin. Pepper had said that Cameron had hired her on as her personal assistant, and that when she and Austin had met, it had been love at first sight.

Giving up on Austin, Marcie sent me an apologetic smile and took my free hand in hers. “Don't pay Austin any heed. In your absence, your father has asked him to fill in for you, and he's done quite well. One of our new clients is here tonight—the Radcliffs.” She gestured toward the far end of the room where James was seated in his wheelchair. “Austin signed them last week. I've assured him that you'll continue to need his help, at least until you're up to speed. Perhaps you could even put in a good word with your father.”

“Sis, this isn't the time to talk business.” I turned to face the man who'd joined us. His resemblance to Marcie was striking. He was taller, but
under six feet. His features were more chiseled, the line of his chin stronger. His photos hadn't done him justice, either. In person, Hal Linton reminded me of George Clooney, one cool charmer. I must have been staring because I didn't realize that he'd taken my hand from Marcie's until he raised it to his lips. “Welcome home, Cameron.”

Sloan's grip on my elbow tightened fractionally. “This is Marcie's brother, Hal.”

“I've missed you,” Hal said as he finally released my hand.

The use of the singular pronoun had me wondering. I could sense undercurrents. Sloan was annoyed and Hal was aware of it. Did the two men have some history? Had Hal used the singular— “
I've
missed you”—just to tick Sloan off, or did his use of it mean that he'd had some sort of relationship with Cameron?

Or was my imagination merely running wild again?

“I think we'd better talk to James,” Sloan said and drew me away.

As we started down the length of the room, I said to Sloan in a low voice, “I thought my father said he was inviting the family. Who are all these people?”

When he replied, Sloan's voice was barely audible. “The older couple at the drink cart are the Lakewoods. They've done business with James
ever since he took over the place from his father. The woman next to them is their daughter Rachel who is concerned about who will run the place after James. The Bolands haven't arrived yet. They have similar concerns and James will hold dinner for them.”

I wanted to ask why James had invited these business associates, but Sloan continued, “The younger couple standing near your father are Jane and Sandy Radcliff.”

I studied them. They must have been in their midthirties. “They breed horses in Texas, and thanks to you, they're interested in having us train three of their new colts. In your absence, Austin has done the paperwork, but you're responsible for bringing them on board.” So Marcie hadn't told me the whole truth.

“Then I'm good at what I do?”

He glanced down at me. “You have a knack with people, and you have a lot of plans for expanding McKenzie Enterprises. The older man standing behind James's wheelchair is Doc Carter. He's widowed now, and he has a house within walking distance on the estate. He's been the family doctor ever since I can remember.”

Doc Carter hadn't been in Pepper's report so I studied him now. He was medium height with a portly build and he wore wire-framed glasses. His mustache and the hair he had left were white.
And when he threw back his head and laughed at something James said, he reminded me a bit of Santa Claus.

“James trusts him implicitly,” Sloan was saying.

Who wouldn't trust Santa Claus, I thought.

“He and your mother traveled the year she was carrying you, and they took Doc Carter and his wife along. Lucky thing because you arrived a month early, and he had to make all the arrangements in a hospital in Switzerland.”

As Sloan's words sank in, I very nearly stumbled. “I was born in Switzerland?”

“Yes. You were about a month old when they brought you back.”

My head was spinning. Was it possible that Cameron had been passed off as James's biological daughter? Didn't anyone here know that Cameron was adopted? Then I did stumble.

“Are you all right?” Sloan asked.

“Yes,” I lied. My mind had jumped ahead to another explanation. What if Cameron hadn't been adopted? What if she and I were both James McKenzie's daughters—only I had been given up for adoption?

And that was ridiculous. My imagination really did run wild at times. Pepper had discovered adoption papers for both of us. Still…it would make a great story line for
Secrets
.

But this new information did leave open the
possibility that no one besides James knew that Cameron was adopted.

“The woman to James's left is—”

“Is my aunt Beatrice,” I finished for him. The Snow Queen. “I met her when I arrived this morning.”

Tonight, she wore a powdery-blue dress, outdated in its design. The filmy material flowed around her and I was once more reminded of a Tennessee Williams heroine—fragile, lovely, but clinging to a bygone day. But when she took my hand, I discovered her grip was surprisingly hard, and I recalled my earlier impression that she had strength that didn't appear on the surface.

“Welcome back, Cameron.” Beatrice's voice was as ethereal as her appearance, and once more I couldn't read anything in her expression.

“Isn't it about time you paid your old father some attention, gal?” When I turned, James took my free hand and tugged it. With a smile, I leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“James has told us what happened to you,” Jane Radcliff said. “It must have been horrible to wake up in a strange place and not know who you are.”

I met her eyes and smiled. Of all the strangers I'd met since I'd walked into the room, I sensed that she was sincere.

“Odd to think that you don't remember us,” her
husband, Sandy, said. “You're the reason that we decided to join forces with McKenzie Enterprises.”

“She'll be up to speed in no time,” James assured them.

“It's a miracle that she's back with us,” Doc Carter commented. “Memory loss, even the kind that's caused by sudden trauma, can last for a long time. You look none the worse for wear,” Doc Carter said. “But James wants me to see you tomorrow and check you out for myself.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Doc Carter continued. “It'll set James's mind at ease.”

“Fine,” I reluctantly agreed.

“The Bolands are late as usual,” James said. “Sloan, while we're waiting, why don't you take Cameron for a stroll in the gardens? Maybe something there will trigger a memory.”

I glanced at Sloan. “I'm sure he'd rather stay here.”

“Nonsense,” James declared. “He's wanted to get you alone since he brought you here. Beatrice and I can hold down the fort until dinner is served. Go.” He shooed us with his hands. “You've been away from each other for over a month. You need some time alone together.”