A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (17 page)

All that mattered was that she had to be eliminated…again. This time there would be no mistake. And then everything would be perfect.

I
barely bit back a sigh as two servants carried in yet another set of platters from the kitchen. The dining room was every bit as cavernous as the main parlor had been. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and we sat at a huge oak table that looked as if it had been used by Don Roberto Montega, the man who'd built the hacienda. There were small vases of flowers at intervals along the table.

Instead of four or five courses, Elena and another woman had carried in platters heaped with rare roast beef, chicken in a delicate lemon caper sauce and bowls of salads, grilled vegetables and
warm bread. I'd eaten in self-defense because I couldn't very well talk when my mouth was full, could I? Beatrice, who sat to my left, for the most part ignored me and played the gracious hostess, making sure that the meal unfolded smoothly.

Austin was drinking quite a bit. He would have had even more if Beatrice hadn't signaled one of the servants to stop refilling his wineglass. She'd done it in such a subtle and smooth way that I assumed it was something she'd had to do frequently in the past. My cousin still wasn't trying to hide the fact that he resented my presence, and he hadn't said a word to me all during dinner. Marcie tried to compensate for his behavior by inviting me to go riding with them the following afternoon. She and Austin were sure that I would want to reacquaint myself with my horse, Lace Ribbons.

Because I felt a bit sorry for her, I might have agreed anyway, but Doc Carter said, “I think that would be a good idea, Cameron. You love riding. The more you familiarize yourself with Cameron's routines, the quicker your memory might come back.”

“Fine.” I aimed a smile in Marcie's direction. But I couldn't help feeling that I was being maneuvered by her just as surely as James had maneuvered me earlier. I promised myself that I would
get away from all of them in the morning and do a little exploring on my own.

Then because I had Dr. Carter's attention for the moment, I said, “I'm trying to get a feel for what my last day here was like—I mean before I left. Do you remember seeing me that day? Did we talk?”

Dr. Carter studied me for a moment. “That's good. I think it might be a very good idea to try and put together that day.”

“Did you see me? Were you here that day?”

He shook his head. “If I remember correctly, it was a Monday, and I spent the day in my backyard working on my putting. Since I retired, I had a putting green put in, and if the weather permits, I'm out there every day. Golf has become my obsession since my wife passed away. But I did walk over here in the late afternoon to check on James, of course. And we had our usual chess game.” He smiled at me. “And if I played the way I usually do, I probably lost. Does that help at all?”

“No.” I could give Pepper the information, but if Doc Carter lived alone, it meant that he didn't have an alibi. Not that I could believe that Santa Claus could have had something to do with my sister's disappearance.

He patted my hand. “Patience. Your memory will return when you least expect it.”

Sloan. The moment that Doc Carter turned
away, I cut a piece of roast beef off and pushed it around my plate. The evening would have been stressful enough anyway, but my reaction to Sloan's kiss had made it even more so because I couldn't put it out of my mind.

I shouldn't have allowed it to happen. I could have prevented it. But all the should-haves and could-haves didn't change the fact that I hadn't followed my plan to steer clear of Sloan Campbell. Now I was in trouble, and I had a hunch that it was going to get worse.

The good news was that he'd been seated at the far end of the table from me with James, the Bolands and the Radcliffs. I understood the strategy of the arrangement. Sloan was able to finally spend some time with clients, and I was isolated from them, surrounded by family and projecting an image of normalcy.

But that hadn't made it any easier to digest my food. I sliced off another piece of roast beef and rearranged its position on my plate.

The dining room walls were an ochre color and paintings by the same artist whose work had been displayed in the main parlor also hung here. There was something about the stark simplicity of them that appealed to me.

“Do you know who the artist is?” I asked Doc Carter.

He gave me a searching look. Of all the people
in my immediate vicinity, I liked him the best. There was an easy geniality about him, a kindness in his eyes, and not once during the meal had he pressed me about my memory loss, other than to suggest I go riding with Marcie and Austin.

“Do they look at all familiar?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I assume they're scenes of the ranch.”

“They are. Your mother painted all of them,” he said.

My mother. He had to be talking about James's second wife, Elizabeth. My gaze returned to the painting that hung on the wall above Beatrice's head. It was a landscape that must have been painted from one of the bluffs where I'd stood earlier in the day to get my bird's-eye view of the hacienda.

I recalled my earlier suspicion that James had passed Cameron off as his biological daughter. Had my sister been kept just as ignorant of her real background as I had been? The possibility stirred something inside of me. Did we have more in common than I'd thought?

I turned to Doc Carter intending to find out more information about my mother, but he was talking to Jane Radcliff.

“Elizabeth was a very talented painter.”

I turned to Beatrice. It was the first she'd spoken to me since we'd sat down at the table. Not that
she'd spoken much more to Marcie and Austin. She was a quiet, self-contained woman.

“Did she ever sell any of them?” I asked.

“If she hadn't passed away, Elizabeth would have had a show in a gallery in San Francisco,” Beatrice said. “It was all arranged, but after her death, James canceled the show. He couldn't bear to part with any of her work.”

“What did she…my mother die of?” I asked.

There was a beat of silence, then Beatrice replied, her voice even softer, “After she and James returned from Europe with you, she began to have frequent bouts of illness and depression. Each one left her weaker than the last. The doctors couldn't seem to find anything wrong with her.”

“It sounds like postpartum depression.” We'd just run a story line on
Secrets
in which one of the lead ingenues had nearly killed her child. “It could have been treated.”

“It was. Doc Carter tried everything,” Beatrice assured me. “Your father spared no expense, and for a while, the drugs seemed to work. She even began painting again.”

Whatever else she might have told me was forestalled by James, who tapped on his wineglass until he had everyone's attention. “We'll have coffee and after-dinner drinks in the parlor. I have an important announcement to make.”

I rose and followed the procession that was
making its way back to the parlor. But as soon as I stepped into the hallway, Hal Linton, who hadn't spoken a word to me during dinner, took my hand and turned me around to face him.

“I have to speak with you in private,” he said.

I'd thought that Beatrice was behind us, but over Hal's shoulder, I saw that she was headed down the hallway in the opposite direction. A quick glance over my own shoulder told me that Austin and Marcie had already entered the parlor leaving Hal and me alone.

As Hal drew me into an alcove, I had the distinct impression that I had been manipulated again. And I was getting tired of it.

Hal raised my hand and pressed his lips to it. “I've missed you. When can I see you?”

I tried to draw my hand away, but he tightened his grip. “You're seeing me right now.”

He studied me intently. “I need to see you alone. You can't have forgotten what happened between us the night before you left.”

The implication of what he was saying had my head spinning. What had been my sister's relationship with this man?

“I've been so worried about you. When you disappeared so abruptly, I thought he'd gone into a jealous rage and done something to you.”

A sliver of ice worked its way up my spine.
This time I managed to get my hand free. “What are you talking about?”

“Sloan. He's incredibly possessive of you, and he discovered us in the garden that night. We were kissing, and he demanded that you go with him. Everyone knew that you quarreled. And he has a terrible temper.” He had his hands on my shoulders and was drawing me closer. “Do you know what it's been like for me, worrying about you for weeks? And then tonight, seeing you come into the parlor, sitting across from you at the table and not being able to touch you. Please—”

“No.” I put my hands on Hal's chest and gave him a shove that sent him back against the wall of the alcove.

Behind me came Sloan's even tone. “James is waiting for you, Cameron.”

My legs felt like rubber as I turned and walked out of the alcove.

“Can you explain what just happened back there?” I asked Sloan softly as we walked side-by-side down the hall.

“Looked pretty obvious to me,” Sloan said. “Old Hal made a pass and you nixed it.”

What was obvious to me was that Sloan didn't seem to care a bit. There hadn't been a trace of anger or annoyance in either his actions or his voice. Didn't he care if someone made a pass at his fiancée? How could he have kissed me as he
had in the garden and then been so cool when he'd found me extricating myself from another man's arms?

And I couldn't forget what Hal had said. His version of the argument that Sloan and Cameron had had on the night before she disappeared differed from James's version. And Sloan had refused to talk about it at all.

When I entered the parlor, James was sitting near the fireplace, pouring champagne into flutes and the bartender was passing them out to the guests. He'd said he had an announcement to make. Had he and Sloan closed some kind of important deal over dinner?

Sloan took two glasses from the tray he was offered and handed one to me.

“I mentioned an announcement,” James said, “and I don't think it should come as a surprise to anyone. My daughter's disappearance was a harsh reminder of how little time there is and how quickly it passes. As a result, I've decided that her wedding to Sloan, which would have taken place in September, will take place here on Friday evening.”

Friday was the day after tomorrow. I nearly dropped the glass of champagne I was holding. I would have if Sloan hadn't reached out and steadied my hand. “He can't mean that,” I said.

“He means it all right,” Sloan confirmed in a
low tone. “He's a sneaky, manipulating bastard, and it's just like him to pull something like this.”

“I don't have the patience to wait any longer,” James continued. “And I don't think Sloan does, either. Since I've known all of you from the start of McKenzie Enterprises, you're invited. The ceremony will be at five in the chapel, and we'll have a small celebration afterward.” Then he raised his glass in the air. “To the happy couple.”

“If you don't do something,” I said in an under-tone to Sloan, “I will.”

“Be my guest.”

I had the distinct and annoying suspicion that Sloan was enjoying this. That only increased my determination.

I strode forward until I was standing directly in front of James, who was flanked on one side by Beatrice and on the other by Doc Carter. I kept my eyes on James. “I can't do this. I don't remember Sloan. I need more time.”

James took my hand and squeezed it. “Humor an old man, Cammy. Doc Carter is convinced that all you need is a bit more time. Everyone here will help you to get your memory back by Friday. Sloan will see that you get a grand tour of the estate first thing tomorrow. You'll see. You'll be back to normal in no time.”

I turned back to Sloan, still hoping that he'd join me in protest, but he seemed perfectly okay with
the announcement. In fact from the look he gave me, I was sure he'd been anticipating it. I couldn't believe that he was letting James do this.

James squeezed my hand again and drew me down closer. “Please. You and Sloan were meant for each other. Trust me and do this for me. The future of the McKenzie Ranch depends on you.”

Sloan was right. James was a manipulative and wily old man, and he'd staged this on purpose in front of clients. In fact, I was sure that's why the Bolands and the Lakewoods and the Radcliffs had been invited. I could have put up a bigger fight if there'd just been the family. And I would have, I told myself.

“Cammy?” James said.

“Yes. Okay.” I told myself I had two days to talk James or Sloan or both of them out of this. In a soap opera story line that was plenty of time. And I was good at inventing new plot twists. If all else failed I could just say no when I was at the altar. I couldn't be forced to marry anyone. Could I?

“To the bride and groom and to the future of McKenzie Enterprises.”

“Hear, hear!”

As we all raised our glasses and sipped champagne, I scanned the faces of Cameron's family. From what I could see, only James seemed happy with the surprise announcement.

“To the bride,” Sloan said, slipping his hand into mine.

As everyone drank again, I turned to find both amusement and challenge in his eyes. I promised myself that I was going to figure him out.

If it killed me?

T
he moment he got back to the carriage house, Sloan slipped out of his jacket and pulled off his boots. Then he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and walked out onto the deck that offered a view of both the stables and the hacienda. Settling himself in a cushioned chair, he propped his feet up on the railing and took a long swallow of beer.

Taking a half hour to sit down, put his feet up and review the events of the day was a habit he'd developed in his late teens—minus the beer, of course. Sometimes he turned some music on, but tonight he wanted the quiet. He had a lot to sort through. And it all centered on Red.

He'd called her that at first because he wasn't going to call her Cameron. And he had figured it might annoy her or at the very least throw her a bit off balance. But the name seemed to somehow fit her.

And he'd kissed her again. The kiss hadn't been a test this time. He wasn't a man who felt there was anything to be gained by lying to himself. He'd kissed her again because he wanted to. And because he hadn't been able to resist finding out if she'd have the same effect she'd had on him the first time.

And now he knew. He wanted Red with an intensity that he'd never felt for any other woman.

It hadn't done much good telling himself that she might be a lying little, fortune-hunting imposter. The fact remained that he wanted more from her than a kiss. And there was no use lecturing himself that he shouldn't take more. No use at all pretending that he wouldn't take more. Because he would.

Hell, he nearly had.

His gaze dropped to the garden below. He thought he could make out the bench where they'd kissed just a few hours ago. If someone hadn't interrupted them, he would have made love to her right there. He was skilled enough, and she'd been aroused enough. It would have been wild, and crazy…and very dangerous. Everything else
aside, he certainly hadn't gone to James's little dinner party with condoms at the ready. He hadn't been tempted to run a risk like that since he was a teenager in the grip of almost-terminal hormones.

Red could certainly push his buttons all right. And why not? Any man would be tempted by the passion that was simmering just below the surface. One taste of her and all he could think of was having her beneath him, of losing himself inside of her.

That didn't bother him as much as the fact that when he'd seen her in Hal Linton's arms, jealousy had sliced through him right to the bone. He hadn't felt that when he'd seen Hal kissing Cameron in the garden five weeks ago.

Sloan took another swallow of beer. The other thing worrying him was that he was coming to like Red. He thought of the way she'd marched across the parlor to face down James. Even in his wheelchair, the old man had been able to glower at her at eye level. David taking on Goliath, he thought with a smile. And there was that shove she'd given Linton. It had sent him tumbling back against the wall.

Not only was he beginning to like her, he was also more and more intrigued by her. She was dead set against marrying him. Before the party broke up, she'd taken him aside to try and talk him into persuading James to postpone the wedding. His
gaze shifted to the hacienda and the light he could see in James's suite. She was there with him now, trying to plead her case.

Why? If she was the fortune hunter he suspected her of being, why wasn't she happy about the wedding? She had to figure that in two days, James would sign his new will and she'd be a millionairess.

And just what kind of a game was James playing? Had he moved up the wedding because of what he'd said in the parlor or was he involved in something deeper?

He couldn't help wondering what part Cameron might be playing in all of this. Leaning his head back against the chair, Sloan closed his eyes and tried to sort through what he knew and what he didn't.

Fact number one, Cameron had disappeared five weeks ago, and everyone including himself had believed that she'd taken off because she was having second thoughts about the wedding.

He knew for a fact that she had been. Right after he'd caught her kissing Hal Linton in the gardens, they'd argued. He'd told her that it wasn't the kind of behavior he would accept after they were married, and she'd blown up, told him she'd act whatever way she pleased. She'd threatened to call the wedding off, and he'd told her to go ahead.

But there hadn't been any real passion in the
fight. Cameron had been angry, but not at him. She'd been angry with her father, angry that he wouldn't leave the land to her because she was a woman. As a result, their quarrel was more like an argument he would have had with Cameron years ago—the kind that a brother and sister might have.

And that was the crux of the problem. As the wedding date drew closer, both of them were realizing what they would be giving up if they went through with the marriage.

They'd have the land, and he had no doubt that they'd eventually have children. But there would never be anything between them but the kind of love that exists between siblings or good friends.

Opening his eyes, Sloan looked at the hacienda and the stables beyond drenched in moonlight. What he and Cameron shared was a passion for this land, but not for each other. That was why Cameron had asked him to marry her. He wasn't sure whether it had been entirely her idea or if James had proposed it. But he knew why Cameron had gone along with it. She'd been scared when James had had the heart attack. She'd been angry then, too, because James was not going to leave the estate entirely in the hands of a woman. In the will he'd made out after the heart attack, he'd left it to a board of directors he'd personally selected. The board would make all the business decisions.
Cameron would be provided for, but she'd have little control in the daily running of the ranch.

Sloan rubbed a hand over his face. The old man knew how to push the right buttons to get what he wanted. If Cameron was a game player, she'd come by it honestly. Wasn't that why he'd left five years ago—because he'd wanted to decide on his own what he wanted in life? He hadn't wanted to spend his life working for James McKenzie. He'd wanted to run his own ranch.

The proposition that Cameron had made to him at the Derby would allow him to do just that. They would be equal partners. He would be in charge of the horses and the ranch. She would be in charge of client relations and recruiting new business. They'd both have what they wanted. All they had to do was get married.

He swept his gaze over the estate again, lingering first on the stables and then on the hacienda itself. This was what he'd always wanted, from the time he was a kid. He'd accepted Cameron's proposal because of this.

And she wasn't the only one who'd been having second thoughts five weeks ago. He had been, too, and he'd been secretly relieved that she'd taken off and given them both a little time to think.

That brought up fact number two. Red's appearance raised the question of whether or not Cameron's disappearance was voluntary or if someone
else had played a hand in it. To answer that question he was going to have to spend a lot of time with the woman he was calling Red.

And that was going to lead to…having her. He was not going to fool himself about that. In spite of those honest eyes, she was a liar and possibly a fortune hunter. Worst-case scenario, she might be a pawn in some deeper game that James McKenzie was playing. But even that possibility was not going to make a difference.

Realizing that his thoughts had come full circle, Sloan reached down for his bottle and discovered that it was empty. He took his feet off the railing, but he didn't go into the house for a very long time.

 

When I finally let myself into Cameron's room, my stomach was in knots, I had a headache pounding behind my eyes and I very badly wanted to kick something. The room was dark except for the moonlight pouring through the balconied windows on either side of the bed. I moved to one of the tables and flipped on a lamp.

Hannibal was sprawled across my pillows glaring at me through narrowed eyes.

I fisted my hands on my hips. “You don't want to mess with me. I've had a very bad night.”

The cat's expression didn't change. He didn't even blink.

“Okay,” I said. “You don't like me and I don't
like you. But I need some sleep, and I intend to sleep in this bed—not curled up on the foot like a…like a…” Cat, I finished silently.

It occurred to me then that I was taking out my frustration on the poor cat when what I really wanted to do was strangle Sloan.

With a frustrated sigh, I strode to the cabinet and got out treats for both of us. Luckily my sister kept a generous supply. After tossing a couple of cat tidbits at Hannibal, I walked to the window and took a bite of chocolate. I'd learned after the guests had left that Sloan didn't live in the main house. He lived in the carriage house beyond the stables. I could just make it out in the moonlight.

I'd never met a man like him before. Not that I hadn't had to deal with some difficult men in my life. Male soap stars whose careers can depend on what twist a story line takes are not the easiest people to deal with. But at least their ego-driven motivations were always clear. Sloan Campbell's were a mystery to me.

He hadn't seemed at all upset when he'd found me with Hal Linton. What had his relationship with my sister been? Was their marriage strictly a business arrangement? Or was it one of those “modern” deals where, after the knot was tied, the two individuals went their separate ways? Sloan hadn't impressed me as that kind of a man. And I hoped that my sister wasn't that kind of a woman.

I turned back to Hannibal. “Maybe I'm just too much of a romantic. And I'm not rich.” My parents had been able to raise me in a very comfortable house, provide me with a good education, private schools and nice vacations. But they weren't rich, rich. Cameron was. I'd already discovered that there was a world of difference between the contents of my closet and hers. And Sloan Campbell would be rich when he married her and James deeded the estate and the business to the two of them.

I knew enough, had lived long enough to know that the rich
were
different. I turned back to look out over the gardens and the stables. Maybe inheriting a place like this was motive enough to settle for an arranged marriage. Perhaps in Cameron's shoes, I would have agreed to it. I now knew from experience how persuasive James could be.

But Sloan? Somehow, I couldn't picture him allowing anyone to push him into something like that. Not even for money. Unless he was doing it for James. James McKenzie had raised him, and I could see that Sloan loved him like a father.

I frowned and pressed my hands against the headache that was beginning to drum at my temples. Even if Sloan had originally agreed to the marriage out of love for James, that didn't explain why he was agreeing to the rushed wedding now.

Hadn't the man told me that he picked his battles
with James, and that when he went to the mat, he usually was able to make the old man see reason? So why had he allowed us to be manipulated into this wedding on Friday?

He couldn't possibly want it any more than I did. Good heavens, the man thought I'd run away and now was faking amnesia just to save face. Agreeing to the marriage in the first place was one thing. But why in the world would he want to go through with it when Cameron was so clearly ambivalent? His acquiescence contradicted everything that my instincts told me about the man.

Unless my instincts were being clouded by the fact that he attracted me so strongly and on such an elemental level. Or unless there were facts that I didn't know.

Turning, I walked to the bed. I needed to sleep on it. I found that sleeping on problems—knots that I couldn't untie in a plot—often solved them. Hopefully, my unconscious mind would sort through everything, and in the morning I would have a fresh perspective.

Hannibal was still sitting on his throne of pillows at the head of the bed.

“Okay,” I muttered to him. “I'll share, but I'm not sleeping at the foot of the bed. You're going to have to move over.”

After shooting me a bland look, he began to lazily clean one of his paws. Hoping it wasn't a
threat to scratch me, I circled around the bed. It was only then that I noticed my duffel bag. I'd brought it up when Elena had first taken me to the room. It was sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, but I was sure that I'd left it in Cameron's closet. I was equally sure that the zipper had been closed, and it was open now.

I reached in and pulled out my wallet. A quick check assured me that my money was still there. But the bills had been pulled out and stuffed back in carelessly. The few clothes that I'd brought had been rifled through.

Ice formed a hard little ball in my stomach as I sank down onto the bench. Someone had come into my room and searched my duffel bag and wallet, and they didn't care if I found out. Somehow that frightened me more than the fact that someone had searched my things.

Who?

The answer to that was anyone could have done it sometime during the evening with the possible exception of James. After everyone else had left, he'd asked me to accompany him to his suite. I'd gone because I'd thought I might be able to reason with him and get him to change his mind about the wedding on Friday. But he'd looked tired when we reached his room. And fragile. For the first time I'd realized that the evening had been as much of a strain for him as it had been for me.

I frowned down at the wallet that I was still holding so tightly that my fingers had begun to ache. Even Sloan would have had an opportunity to come up here and search through my things before he'd returned to the carriage house.

Deliberately, I willed my hands to relax and set the wallet down on the bench beside me. Why was it that my mind constantly circled back to Sloan Campbell? He'd been the one person to express openly his doubts about my being Cameron.