Her Sister's Secret Son. Lisette Belisle

she was Laurel’s twin, which meant she wasn’t for him. He couldn’t let some fleeting physical attraction blind him, or get in the way of common sense. He resisted the urge to apologize again. At this stage, expressing condolences would sound hypocritical.

      “If you’ll excuse me.” She looked pointedly at his fingers that were still wrapped around her slender wrist—as if he was loath to let go.

      Nothing could be further from the truth.

      “My apologies.” There, he’d said it. It was all very stiff and polite, very civil, he supposed. Very correct.

      And yet, it felt all wrong.

      With a rueful smile, Jared released her, unable to deny a small pang of regret. This woman probably needed his protection like he needed to collect one more wounded bird.

      She was physically perfect, capable of holding a man captive, with fire in her hair…and ice in her veins, if she was anything like Laurel.

      Jared winced, realizing how little he actually knew about the pretty young waitress from the Stillwater Inn. They’d shared a bed, but little else. Laurel never mentioned a twin—or much about herself for that matter—except that she’d moved to Stillwater to live with distant relatives. That would have made her an orphan, he supposed. Odd, she’d never invited pity. She was far too busy rebelling against her uncle’s strict rules and her aunt’s efforts to turn her into a lady. At the memory, Jared smiled ruefully.

      There had been nothing remotely refined or ladylike about Laurel Hale.

      Nevertheless, she’d taught Jared a valuable lesson—stay away from women who look as if they promise heaven, but deliver a little taste of hell.

      Once released, Rachel couldn’t walk away. She rubbed the spot on her wrist where he’d held her in a strong unbreakable grip. At a glance, she saw he hadn’t left a mark, but it felt as if he had.

      He was a total stranger, yet this man’s connection to Laurel had opened a door Rachel had thought closed.

      “I’m sorry, I’m not Laurel.” She bit her lip, realizing how that sounded. But at that moment, she wished she shared more than a superficial resemblance to her twin sister.

      She wished some man would look at her the way this one had—before he discovered his mistake. The way men had looked at Laurel. Inwardly, Rachel shuddered.

      No, she didn’t want that.

      Of course, she’d noticed him earlier in the courtroom. His eyes had been sending her X-rated messages all day. At first, she’d found it irritating, now she felt perversely sorry because the hot glances clearly weren’t intended for her. Now, when his frowning gaze swept over her, she felt wholly inadequate, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps the trial had taken more of an emotional toll than she cared to admit. Or perhaps, it was just this man; perhaps she wanted to see his eyes light up for her.

      “I didn’t know Laurel had a twin sister,” he apologized again, stating the obvious. He was shockingly handsome—tall and lean, his skin deeply tanned, his hair longish and streaky blond. But despite the smooth features, his expression was grim, his eyes gray—not a transient storm-cloud gray, but hard, like granite. There was cynicism, knowledge—as if he knew her. Or thought he did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he said, his voice crisp, like dry leaves.

      She drew herself up. “I’m Rachel Hale.” Though not identical, her resemblance to Laurel was striking—an inherited alignment of features that somehow was never as attractive or vivacious as her twin. At one time, Rachel had found that shadow likeness a burden. Men had expected something from her, something she wouldn’t or couldn’t give.

      At the reminder, her words tumbled over each other in a rush to escape. “If you’ll excuse me, I really have to go.”

      Without waiting for his response, Rachel turned and hurried down the stone steps. At the bottom, she pressed her way through the gathering crowd just as Drew emerged from a side door, escorted by the sheriff. A police car waited.

      The motor was running.

      To her surprise, the Pierces weren’t there. Apparently, they hadn’t stayed around to say goodbye to their son. Drew spotted Rachel and reached into his pocket. He tossed her a set of car keys.

      She automatically caught them one-handed. Aware of the attention they were getting—particularly from a cold-eyed stranger leaning against a pillar on the courthouse steps—she stared at Drew in dismay. “I can’t take your car.”

      Drew threw her a mocking look. “You need a new car. I don’t, not where I’m going. Take it—there’s nothing else I can do for you and Dylan.” Nothing.

      Rachel stepped out of the way when the sheriff tugged at Drew’s arm. For a brief moment, the old Drew surfaced. He looked ready to challenge Seth Powers, who simply stared back. The two had once been friends—going way back to their teens—when Drew dated Laurel. Seth was part of the crowd that hung around the Stillwater Inn. Rachel knew him well enough to know this had to be hurting Seth. Drew once mentioned that the sheriff was dating his sister. But all that had ended a year ago when Seth arrested Drew. The explosion had severed so many links.

      Without a backward glance, Drew climbed into the back of the police car—a danger to no one. Except himself. He would always be his own worst enemy, Rachel thought. In addition to hiding his good deeds behind a careless smile, he was impulsive, hotheaded and arrogant. The explosion was an accident, but why hadn’t he acted responsibly? Because he was Drew—always looking for a short cut, a quick fix.

      Watching the police car drive away, Rachel wondered how he would survive in prison. Somehow, she couldn’t see him getting out early on good behavior. She pitied Drew. For the first time since he abandoned Laurel when she was pregnant, the anger was gone. The emptiness felt worse.

      The crowd slowly dispersed. Suddenly aware that she was standing alone, Rachel squared her shoulders. Somehow, she had to get through the rest of this day.

      Earlier, she’d left her nephew, Laurel’s son, at the summer school program. At her approach, Dylan looked up from his artwork and smiled. He was sitting alone at an outdoor picnic table while the other children played water-tag. He was the new kid in town, and Rachel worried about him making new friends. He was eight years old, no longer a baby. She couldn’t shield him from life.

      “Hi.” Rachel smiled. However, her disappointment in the trial verdict must have shown on her face.

      Dylan frowned. “Is Drew going to jail?”

      She sat down beside him. “Yes, honey. He did something very wrong. And the court decided he has to be punished.”

      “But he said he was sorry!”

      “Sometimes that isn’t enough.” She met his troubled eyes with what she hoped was reassurance. “Things will work out, you’ll see. Let’s go home.”

      Rachel stood and helped him gather his paperwork.

      She took his hand, and they walked home—which wasn’t far. They lived in a rented cottage on the edge of town. A line of thick trees started a few feet from the back of the house. The Pierces owned the house, and the woods. In fact, they owned half the town.

      When she opened the front door, the dog greeted them with an excited glad bark. Dylan grinned. Like his dog, he was sunny-natured and eager to please. At times, Rachel worried that he craved acceptance too much. He craved a father even more. She wanted love and security for Dylan—more than she wanted it for herself.

      Dylan ducked his head as the dog licked his face, his ears, anyplace she could reach. “Down, Sunny.”

      Rachel smiled at their antics. Her smile fled when she noticed Drew’s flashy red sports car conspicuously parked in the driveway. Apparently, he’d ordered his car delivered to her doorstep. She found the spare set of keys in the ignition. She could send the car back, but she knew it would only return—just as the new refrigerator, stove and