Double Identity. Diane Burke

her God never closes a door without opening another one. Sophie had prayed so hard for someone to help her find her father, to help her solve the puzzle of his disappearance and maybe even discover her true identity. Was Cain an answer to her prayers?

      She stared at his profile, the firm set to his jaw, the perfect line of his nose. A hunk of errant hair refused to stay in place and fell on his forehead, drawing attention to his newly blackened eye, which came from his earlier superhero rescue. This morning he had been nothing more than a name in a church business directory. This afternoon he was not only the man who had saved her life but a man who was quickly becoming a friend.

      The miles flew by and Sophie was surprised when the car pulled to a stop. Cain shut the engine off, hurried around and opened her door. She tried not to laugh. When was the last time anyone had held a car door open for her? Duh, never.

      “Thanks for everything, Cain.” She climbed out and smiled up at him, the door between the two of them. “Just the thought of what could have happened to me today if you hadn’t done what you did…”

      “Glad I could help.”

      When he started up the sidewalk with her, she said, “You don’t have to come in. I’m fine. I know you have to get back to your office.”

      “Trying to get rid of me, are you?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re safely inside.”

      Sophie preceded him up the sidewalk to the small but picturesque cottage and drew in a sharp breath. The door was standing ajar.

      FOUR

      The flashing strobe lights of the police vehicles pulsated through the curtains and danced along the walls of the room. The sheriff and other officers strode through each room as though they thought it was a public arena instead of the private confines of her home. Sophie never knew you could feel violated by both the criminals who ransacked through your personal belongings as well as the police officers who went through the same belongings, taking pictures and dusting for prints.

      She kept in the background and waited. Waited for the techs to finish gathering their evidence. Waited for the police to finish their reports. Waited for the reality of the broken and strewn pieces of her life to sink through the fog that enveloped her. Why was all of this happening? Each minute this living nightmare worsened.

      A shadow fell across her lap. Sophie looked up, stretching her head back so she could look into the eyes of the large, solidly built man looming over her.

      “Ms. Clarkston.” He tipped his hat. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon.”

      “Ditto on that one, Sheriff.”

      “I need to ask you a few questions. Are you comfortable here or would you like to move into the kitchen?”

      “Here’s fine.” She unwrapped her legs and scooted over to make room for him on the sofa. The sheriff remained standing.

      “I make it my business to know the people in this town, Ms. Clarkston. How come I don’t know you…other than from the episode earlier today with that hit-and-run?”

      She glanced into the man’s hard, steely gaze and felt like she’d just been slapped. “I…I don’t know, Sheriff. I’ve only been in town a couple of weeks. I guess our paths just haven’t crossed.”

      “Is this your house, ma’am?”

      Sophie nodded.

      “To my knowledge, no one’s lived in this place for years.”

      Sophie squirmed beneath the accusatory tone in the man’s voice. “My father and I don’t come here very often. Maybe once or twice a year. My father pays someone to keep an eye on the place and keep it cleaned and stocked since we never know when we’ll be coming home.”

      “Home?” The sheriff removed his hat and ran a hand through his thin, graying hair. “To my recollection this cottage belongs to the Weatherly family. Christopher Weatherly was one of the original founders of our town. Back in the late eighteen hundreds, I believe. And his family have been pillars of our community ever since.” He put his hat back on his head. “So pardon me, ma’am, if I find it right peculiar that all of a sudden there’s a young lady living in this residence. Your name’s not Weatherly, now, is it?”

      Sophie’s stomach cramped with anxiety. How was she going to explain this to the sheriff? She didn’t have any papers to prove this was her home, only a key. And when she told him her name…or at least the name she had always believed was her name…he’d run a check, if he hadn’t already, and he’d find out her entire life as she knew it was all a lie. Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but a stubbornness she knew she’d inherited from her father refused to let them fall. She would not show weakness or defeat in front of this sheriff—or anyone else.

      “Elizabeth Weatherly was my mother, Sheriff. I believe that counts for being a member of the Weatherly family.”

      The sheriff’s mouth opened. “Little Elizabeth Weatherly? She’s your mama?” The sheriff studied her intently. “Of course, I see the resemblance now. I didn’t notice it sooner because I haven’t seen Elizabeth since high school.”

      A smile split his face. “Where’s your mama now? I can’t wait to catch up on old times. Don’t worry. We’ll have this property ownership thing cleared up just as soon as I talk with your mama.”

      Sophie had a difficult time remaining patient. Why wasn’t the sheriff out chasing the bad guys instead of wasting precious time worrying about her right to be in her own home? “That’s going to be a little difficult, Sheriff. My mother died shortly after my birth.”

      The sheriff threw back his shoulders, straightened to his full height and stared back at her.

      “That so?”

      Sophie nodded.

      “Well, that’s too bad. I would have enjoyed speaking with her again after all these years. If I remember correctly, she left shortly after graduation. Ran off with some fellow her granddaddy was gunning for and no one’s seen or heard from her since.” He scratched the gray stubble on his chin and stared hard at her. “I have to admit you’re as pretty as your mama was.”

      He plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll check with the title company and see if the cottage is in your mama’s name or if your grandfather sold it off after she left town. Cain Garrison over there said your name is Sophie Joy Clarkston. Give me your daddy’s full name and where he’s staying. I’d like to talk to him. As soon as he produces a marriage license, that’s all the proof I need that this place belongs to you.”

      Sophie’s stomach turned over and bile clung to the back of her throat but she fought hard not to show any outward signs of turmoil in front of the sheriff. “Don’t you have your priorities a little out of order, Sheriff?” Although she kept her tone of voice light and ladylike, there was no mistaking the hostility in it. “Shouldn’t you and your men be concentrating on finding the people who broke into my home, instead of worrying about real estate titles and marriage licenses?”

      The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you can rest assured, little lady, I’ll find the person who trashed this house and at the same time I’ll find out if this is your home in the first place.” He placed his hand on his belt, thrumming his fingers against the butt of his gun. “Meanwhile I’d try to keep a low profile if I were you. You’ve already caused enough excitement in this town with your near hit-and-run. Now this. If the incident at the diner this afternoon wasn’t enough to clue you in, let me remind you that your grandfather was a highly respected and loved member of our community.”

      Sophie blinked hard but remained silent. She shouldn’t be surprised that the sheriff had already heard about the altercation with Charlie in Holly’s diner. Gossip in a small town travels faster than a brush fire after a drought.

      “A lot of folks won’t be happy to know Elizabeth Weatherly’s daughter is