Texas Baby. Kathleen O'Brien

was your life, though. Your ranch.”

      “Apparently. But you just swallowed the story whole? You didn’t check him out? You didn’t even ask for identification?”

      “No. It never occurred to me. Some things you just take for granted, don’t you? You can’t go around suspecting everyone of fraud. Do you check out every single person you meet?”

      “Absolutely. Especially if it involves business, or anyone who will be granted…a degree of intimacy.” He took a step closer. “Like sleeping in my guest room, for instance. Stilling is downstairs doing a LexisNexis search on you right now. If you have a criminal background, he’ll find it. And if you do, then believe me, Miss Whitford, you’ll be out of that bed in a hurry.”

      She frowned, stung by his tone. “And you can believe me, Mr. Clayton, that I have no intention of being your guest one second longer than is absolutely necessary.”

      She felt herself flushing. “I’m not sure what you suspect me of, Mr. Clayton. I’ve already admitted, in front of witnesses, that I made a mistake. That I’m not accusing you of being the man who…the man I…”

      Over by the window, Susannah stirred. “Chase, Dr. Marchant said she needed to rest. Don’t you think…” She let the sentence dwindle off.

      Chase looked at her for a minute. Then he took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right, Sue.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, mussing the golden waves of hair that curled around his collar. “You’re right, darn it. You always are.”

      He smiled. It was just a one-sided, self-mocking smile, and it wasn’t even directed at Josie, but it was enough to make the soles of her feet tingle under the covers. Wow. She could only imagine the sex appeal if both sides were in play.

      Susannah Everly was a very lucky woman. But then Josie had known that from the moment she glimpsed the woman’s beaming face in the paper.

      Chase turned back toward the bed. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitford. I’m being a jerk. If my mother were alive, she’d tan my hide. You are my guest, and I’m not doing a very good job of being a host. And honestly, I don’t always see a conspiracy behind every shrub. It’s just that—”

      “I know. I embarrassed you in front of your guests. I’m very sorry. Your reputation—”

      He waved his hand. “I don’t give a damn what the guests think. Most of them are my friends, and they’ll understand. The rest of them don’t matter. And, just for the record, the only reputation that matters around here belongs to my horses.”

      “Yes, your quarter horses. They’re considered the best in Texas. Especially Alcatraz, right? And you almost didn’t buy him, which would have been a terrible mistake. His stud fees alone—”

      “Damn! He knew everything about me, didn’t he?” He narrowed his eyes. “Who is this guy? What can you tell me about him? Did he look like me?”

      She gazed at him. “No.”

      “What did he look like? Tell me everything you remember. If he knew me that well, I might recognize him.”

      She hardly knew where to begin. Looking at this man, trying to think of him as Chase, was as disorienting as looking into a fun house mirror.

      Her Chase had been handsome, with a slight, but well-muscled body and a face so pretty it was almost feminine. The day he sauntered into the café, his rosebud lips and china-blue eyes had turned every female head. He was a little girl’s childhood dream come to life, a fairy-tale prince with a charmingly cocked Stetson hat and sexy snakeskin boots.

      This Chase wasn’t anything that simple. He was too ruggedly male, too intimidatingly real, to have stepped out of any kind of dream. He was a good six inches taller than her Chase, with double the shoulder span. His whole body seemed to have been carved from a much-harder material, and his energy radiated out, creating a force field that she imagined few could resist.

      His face was full of fascinating contradictions. His square, don’t-mess-with-me jaw came to a sweetly dimpled chin. His bedroom-blue eyes were fringed in black lashes so long that when he shut them they brushed the prominent, knife-blade cheekbones below.

      His upper lip came to a sharp bow. Not like her Chase’s lips. This mouth wouldn’t ever make a woman think of rosebuds, because she’d be too busy thinking of… other things.

      “He was smaller,” she said, though she knew it was woefully inadequate. “Several inches shorter, and…more wiry all over. He had blond hair and blue eyes, but paler than yours. Less intense.”

      “Was he my age?”

      “He said he was thirty-one. He looked about that, I’d say. But again, I didn’t check his ID.”

      “That could be a million guys in Texas alone, including me. Is there anything else that might help? Did he have an accent? Any scars? Tattoos? Injuries? Anything unique?”

      She thought hard. It was strange, but her mental image of Chase—her Chase—had grown fuzzy, like someone seen through a fog. What had done that, she wondered? The discovery that he was not merely a garden-variety love-’em-and-leave-’em heartbreaker, but also a first-class fraud and a liar?

      Or had he just been obscured by the sheer force of the real Chase?

      “Well…he had a slight Texas accent, a nice voice, well-educated East Texas. But that could have been fake, too, I suppose.”

      “What else?”

      She shut her eyes and tried to summon up a clear image. “Nothing else, really. Nothing unique, anyhow.”

      “There must have been something special about him.” Chase sounded impatient. “You met him only three months ago. Dr. Marchant says you’re almost three months pregnant. So I repeat. There must have been something special about him.”

      “Chase.” Susannah left the window and came toward the bed. “I don’t think this is the time to—”

      “It’s all right,” Josie said. She squared her shoulders and looked at Chase. “I don’t mind the question. It wasn’t that simple, Mr. Clayton. I didn’t fall for him because of the way he looked. It was the way he acted. It was the way he made me feel. He was nice to me. He was friendly and had a good sense of humor, and he knew how to have fun. He took me out to expensive dinners, and he listened to me when I talked. He rubbed my feet when they hurt after work, and he bought me things. Not flowers and perfumes, but things I needed. A teapot. A clock radio. New sheets.”

      Susannah moved even closer, her hand outstretched. “Miss Whitford, you’re very tired. It’s been a terrible day—”

      “No,” Josie broke in. She didn’t want pity. Especially not from this woman, who had everything Josie would never have—a healthy, golden life with the real Chase, the sexy rancher with gentle hands and a tender heart.

      She hadn’t told them how the fake Chase had really seduced her—using the sweet, corny stories of a little boy who loved his home, his horse and his dog. The little boy who sold a baseball card to buy his mother chocolates, but ate them all before he made it home.

      She had believed her heart—and her body—were safe in the hands of a man like that.

      She tried to speak. To her horror, she realized she’d begun to choke up again.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m all right. I think being pregnant does a number on your hormones, that’s all. I’m not crying. At least not…not because of Chase.”

      Chase gazed at her, unblinking. “I’m Chase.”

      “Of course.” She wiped roughly under her eyes with the knuckles of her index fingers. “You know what I mean. I’m not crying because of him. I’m anxious about the future, and of course the baby. And I’m shocked to discover how completely I was conned. But I’m not heartbroken.”