The Invitation (25 page)

W
hen morning came, I was glad this was going to be my last day on the trail ride. I hated being a failure, but I hated being hated more. For a few minutes I lay in my sleeping bag and thought about the entertaining stories I'd tell my editor when I got back to New York. I'd get my revenge by making an entire publishing house laugh at my escapade in the wilds of Colorado. Better yet, I'd write a book that would make the
world
laugh at the big cowboy and his lust for the two-faced woman.

Feeling a great deal better about myself and about life in general, I got out of the hated sleeping bag, tugged at my jeans—is there anything worse than sleeping in your clothes?—picked up my kit of toiletries, and headed for the stream to see if I could scour some of the grunge off my face. With the way my luck was running, I'd probably pick up a fungus from the clear mountain water and die a terrible death.

I'd just finished scrubbing when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. It was either our fearless leader or the last remaining dinosaur.

As usual he stopped near me, no doubt glaring down at me, just waiting to tell me I was doing something wrong. I ignored him as long as I could, then turned to look up at him, but was surprised to find standing there a man I'd never seen before.

“Oh!” I said, startled. “I thought you were someone else.”

This seemed to surprise the man. They sure grow them dumb in Colorado, I thought. Big, beautiful, built, but definitely dumb.

“Who did you think I was?” he asked.

I stood up and looked at him. “I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you look a bit like our…our guide.”

The man grinned at me as though I'd said something he'd waited all his life to hear, and I thought, This is great. I couldn't say or do anything to please one man, but this one seemed to be pleased by even a casual comment. Of course, being compared in looks to our cowboy leader might have seemed flattering to this man.

He extended his hand to me. “You must be Ruth. I'm Kane's brother, Mike.”

I shook his hand, then set him straight. “I am
not
Ruth. I'm Cale Anderson, and your brother hates me.”

I don't know whether it was the “hates me” part or the fact that I wasn't the beauteous Ruth, whom he'd obviously heard a lot about, but something seemed to bother him. He stood there opening and closing his mouth so that it looked like a pumping human heart on one of those PBS programs.

“But Ruth is—Ruth and Kane—I thought—”

Wow, I thought, a real intellectual here.

As though he could read my mind, he stopped flailing about and smiled at me, and he kept holding my hand even when I tugged on it.

“Look,” he said, “I'm sorry about the mistake. Kane told me that he and Ruth were an item, so when you didn't know who I was, I assumed you were Ruth.”

Now
everything was clear. Now everything made sense. If I meet a man I've never seen before, then I must be Ruth Edwards. Of course. That made perfect sense to me.

Mike laughed, released my hand, and we sat down. He began to tell me a long-winded story about how he and his brother were identical twins. Yeah, right, and I'm Kathleen Turner's twin. I guess he could see my skepticism, but I started to laugh when he said that for the next twenty-four hours he was going to pretend to
be
Kane. This made as much sense as my saying I was going to impersonate O. J. Simpson.

I listened to his whole story, told him congratulations on his new babies, and even asked after Kane's sons, but I still thought he was crazy if he believed anyone was going to mistake him for his brother.

When he got through, he laughed at my expression and reassured me that he could pull it off. By the way, he said very seriously, “Who's better looking, me or my brother?”

I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but the truth is, Kane is in a whole different class of men when it comes to looks. As tactfully as I could, I said, “It's not that you aren't a very handsome man, Mike, but Kane—” I didn't finish my sentence because Mike laughed out loud, then kissed both my cheeks soundly. I don't know what had pleased him, but something had.

Since he insisted that he could indeed impersonate his brother, we spent about half an hour by the stream discussing how he was to treat each person on the trail ride. I told him about Winnie-Maggie, and when he laughed at my jokes, I knew I had an audience, so I began to pour it on. At first I was cautious about saying anything about Ruth, but Mike's laughter and his grin—the more he laughed at my jokes, the better looking he got—encouraged me. He encouraged me so much that I ended up doing a little impromptu parody of Kane and Ruth that sent Mike falling to the ground laughing.

“By the way,” I said, while he was still laughing, “I was telling the truth when I said that Kane hates my guts.”

He tried to look shocked, but I could see a little flicker in his eyes that told me Kane had warned him about me. Mike had thought I was the “good” one; therefore I must be Ruth.

“Why does he hate you?”

When he spoke, his tone told me that he couldn't believe that anyone could possibly hate me. It was very gratifying, very, very gratifying, and I smiled at him with nothing short of love. “You may not be as good looking or as sexy as your brother, but I think I like you better. Why don't you stay for the whole trip?” Somehow, that seemed to please him again, and when he got up, he offered his hands to help me up.

You know, I wish someone could explain sexual attraction to me. Why is it that you can put two equally good-looking men side by side and one will turn you on and the other won't? Here I was, alone in the woods with a dream of a man, a man who laughed at my jokes and obviously liked me very much. But I felt only sisterly toward him. Sure, he had a wife and a couple of brand-new kids, but since when has marriage prevented attraction? On the other hand, Kane Taggert did nothing but frown at me at best, shout at worst. He hated me; I hated him. But too often my thoughts wandered to questions about whether his skin was that lovely golden color all over or was his stomach the color of a frog's belly?

Mike and I walked back to camp arm in arm while he told me how much his wife loved my books. When Sandy's campfire was in sight, we separated, and I stood back to watch him make a fool of himself as he pretended to be Kane.

It's difficult to describe how I felt when I heard those people refer to Mike as Kane. Even Sandy grumbled that Kane had been in the woods too long and wasn't helping. I nearly giggled when Mike winked at me conspiratorially. It was heaven to be the one who was liked!

Everything went smoothly as the two men saddled the horses and all of us prepared to move out. Mike came over to check my stirrup, which was fine, and asked me how Ruth's horse's neck came to be burned. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't. Too many years of elementary school with kids chanting, “Tattletale, tattletale,” made me keep my mouth shut. I said that I had no idea, but my face turned red, and Mike snorted. “Somebody ought to give you some lessons in lying,” he said.

It felt good to be vindicated.

We rode for a couple of hours, and Mike gave all his attention to Ruth. We'd reached the wide section of an old road so he could ride next to her. Behind them were her handmaidens, both of them holding the pommels of their saddles as though they were going to fall off. Sandy and I brought up the rear, neither of us talking much and both of us watching Ruth and Mike.

By late afternoon my early happiness had worn off. I shouldn't have been jealous, but I was. It looked as though Ruth had made yet another conquest. Mike was smiling at her, laughing softly over things she said, and in general adoring her.

We reached the falling-down town of Eternity at sundown. There were several buildings of weathered gray boards with a few signs falling off the buildings. One that said “Paris in the Desert” made me smile. Silently we rode down the wide main street, tumbleweeds blowing around us, heading toward a big house at the edge of town where Sandy said we'd camp.

Tired and aching, I dismounted when we reached the house, then looked up to see Mike coming toward me, Ruth's saddle across his arms.

“Ruth is everything you said she was,” he said just to me as he walked past.

I cheered up immediately. Cheered up and got a spurt of new energy.

An hour later I'd helped Sandy and Mike cook up hamburgers. It was at dinner that I blew it. “Would you hand me the mustard, Mike?” I asked.

Of course everyone stopped and looked at me, so I gave a little laugh and said that Kane reminded me of someone I knew who was named Mike so I'd mixed up the names. The women paid no attention to me, but I was sure that Sandy knew what was up. I felt bad for messing up Mike's secret and wanted very much to apologize.

After dinner I helped clean up, but I couldn't get Mike alone—Ruth seemed to be permanently attached to his left side—so I went for a walk.

I'm a good walker, and I find that hiking helps me think, so I guess I walked some miles down an old weed-infested road before I reached what had once been a pretty little house. It was set all by itself in what was once a lovely garden. A couple of roses were still blooming beside the porch.

“An ancestor of mine used to live here.”

Mike spoke softly, but still I jumped.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you wanted to be alone, but I didn't want to lose you.”

I smiled at him. In the moonlight he was almost as handsome as his brother. “About this evening…” I began, but Mike just laughed and said Sandy was used to twin tricks, and he was fine once Mike had explained.

“I brought a lantern. You want to look around?”

Mike was heavenly company. He told me about his ancestors who'd lived in the house, including one who was an actor so good he was called the Great Templeton. Being a lover of stories, I was thrilled with the house with the faded wallpaper covered with fat roses.

“Cale,” Mike said when we'd finished the tour, “whatever you do, don't tell Kane you know we switched places.”

I had no idea why it would matter, but I laughed.

“I'm very serious about this,” he said. “Don't make a mistake and say ‘Mike said,' or ‘Mike did.' It's important, Cale.”

“All right. Scout's honor.” All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was like my books.

“I have to go now and meet Kane's truck. The next time you see me, I'll be someone else.”

I guess that was twin humor. I reached out to shake his hand, but he gave me a sisterly hug and kissed my cheeks and made me promise to visit him and his family. Then he was gone, and I felt as though I'd just lost someone who could have been a lifelong friend.

I had no desire to leave the house. It had a good feeling to it, as though the people who'd lived in it so long ago had had a lot of love and laughter inside them.

Holding the lantern Mike had left behind, I wandered around the rooms on the ground floor, climbed into the loft, then back down again. I knew it was getting late and I should start the long walk back to that lovely group of women, but I was postponing leaving.

It was when I'd procrastinated until the last minute that I looked up to see Kane Taggert standing in the doorway. And in each arm was a little boy about five years old. They were asleep, snuggled against their father in complete trust, and they were the most beautiful things I'd ever seen in my life. And I wanted them.

Once I saw a $30,000 table I loved. I dreamed about it the way men dream about owning the fastest cars or a woman dreams about a man. But I had never in my life coveted anything as much as I did those two sleepy-eyed little boys.

I knew that Cowboy Taggert and I were mortal enemies; I knew we hated each other; but I also knew I had to touch those delicious creatures. Reaching up, I stroked a black curl that was as soft as angel's hair.

“Are they real?” I whispered.

Amused, Taggert said, “Very real.”

I moved my hand down to touch a soft cheek. “But they look too perfect.”

He snorted. “I don't know about perfect, but at least they're clean now. Give them about two hours and they'll be filthy again.”

“What are their names?”

“Jamie and Todd.”

I knew he was looking at me oddly, but I ignored him as I touched the other sleeping child. “Which is which?”

“Not that it matters, but this one is Jamie and this is Todd.”

Not that it matters, I thought. What a very odd thing to say, and then I thought: twins. Mike and Kane were supposed to be twins, Mike's baby sons were twins, so no doubt someone thought these children were also twins. It didn't matter to me if the whole Taggert family was nuts. If Kane wanted to pretend that his children looked alike, far be it from me to tell him otherwise.

As I looked at them, they began to wake up. I was truly amazed they had enough strength in their eyelids to raise that thick crop of eyelashes.