“Hi,” she greeted her twin. “How was your day?”
Tara smiled, an impish expression on her face. “I had a very interesting afternoon. Walt Nelson hired me to work in his ranch office, and Josh McGregor did his best to end the job before it began.”
“He fired you?” Lauren asked, dismayed. She’d be sick if someone did that to her, but Tara didn’t seem disturbed in the least.
“Nope,” her sister answered cheerfully. “He asked me to quit. I refused and we argued like seven-year-olds grabbing for the same ice cream cone.”
Lauren was amazed her sister could be so nonchalant. She wished she could be equally at ease with confrontation, but she’d learned at a young age how destructive arguments could be. Her adoptive parents had loved her, but they’d also hoped having a second child would heal their marital woes.
She’d been six when they’d taken her in. Her new mother had dressed her in pretty clothing, and her new daddy had proudly introduced her as his daughter. But they hadn’t stopped arguing, and her new family had always appeared to be crumbling. Then when she was in high school, it fell apart completely.
She had responded by avoiding any sort of conflict. Her brother had responded to their parents’ disastrous marriage by becoming a philandering jerk. It was always painful to think about him.
“Do you...er, think Josh is really opposed to you working there?” she asked, trying to push away her memories and the nausea they inspired. Mostly she didn’t like that aspect of the person she’d become, startled by her own shadow and wanting to jump in a rabbit hole whenever someone raised their voice.
“Oh, yes,” Tara said, “he definitely doesn’t want me there.”
“Won’t it be difficult to work for Mr. Nelson if Josh is upset about it?”
“Not for me. I’m going to talk with Walt again to establish guidelines. If he has any concerns, we’ll iron them out then. As for any issues Josh might have, that’s his problem.”
Lauren tried to relax and adopt her sister’s offhand attitude. It hurt to think they could have grown up together, and she had an idea that she might feel stronger if she’d had an ally all those years ago. She’d certainly taken enough psychology classes to see how it could have made a difference.
Silly. That wasn’t the way it had happened, and there wasn’t any point to thinking about the might-have-beens. At least she’d had a family, however troubled, and her parents loved her, regardless of how their marriage had ended. Tara didn’t have anyone and had never had a real home. Maybe that was why she didn’t worry about where she lived and always seemed to be looking at what was over the horizon.
It was odd, the way things had turned out.
* * *
THE NEXT AFTERNOON Lauren’s nerves were tighter than ever. She wanted to ask Tara to come over while she got ready for dinner, except it would have meant revealing her tension over going out with Carl Stanfield.
The phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed the handset, disgusted with herself for hoping it was Carl, regretfully canceling their evening. “Hello.”
“Hey, Lauren,” Emily said. “What are you wearing for the big date?”
“It isn’t a big date,” Lauren corrected automatically. “We’re just going out to dinner. That is, we’ve already gone out a number of times, so it isn’t something to get carried away about.”
“If you say so. What are you going to wear?”
“I thought my black blouse and the matching wraparound skirt.”
“Not bad. Just accessorize with something that makes a statement.” Emily’s parents were clothing buyers and her sister a supermodel, so she knew what she was talking about.
“I’m not good at making statements.”
The doorbell rang. “Sorry, Em, someone’s here. I’ve gotta go,” Lauren said, disconnecting and running to answer it. She found Emily there, grinning at her, cell phone still to her ear. It almost seemed like old times back in LA, except Emily hadn’t been pregnant then.
Emily came inside and settled on the couch, putting her feet on a stool. “I love being pregnant, but my feet swell. Okay, fashion-show time. Go get dressed.”
Lauren put on the black skirt and blouse she’d bought in Los Angeles while shopping with Emily. Her friend helped her choose a silver scarf to wear at her waist and place a large silver pin on her shoulder.
“You look terrific,” Emily said when she got up to leave.
“I can’t compete with Tara’s elegance,” Lauren answered. In contrast to her twin’s sophistication, she felt as if she was a country bumpkin. Before they’d met, Lauren had figured she and her sister would be alike. After all, they were identical twins and she’d read stories of separated twins discovering amazing similarities and parallels in their lives. So far it hadn’t worked out that way.
“Why would you want to compete with Tara?” Emily countered. “Her clothes work for her, but you have to be yourself, and anyone worth knowing would agree with me.”
Lauren choked out a laugh and said good-night to her friend—at least she was going home to a husband who adored her.
The doorbell rang a short time later. It was Carl, deliciously handsome in a tan sports jacket.
His gaze ran over her in what seemed to be appreciation.
“You look amazing,” he told her.
“I had help. Emily came over.”
He smiled. “I’m flattered. You called in a fashion consultant for our evening together.”
His interpretation was nice and she decided not to explain that her friend’s most important contribution had been to calm her shaky nerves. It couldn’t take much longer before he figured out what she was really like, and a dull melancholy went through her at the thought.
WHEN TARA ARRIVED at the Boxing N on Monday morning, Josh McGregor met her at the office and she wondered if he’d make another attempt to get her to quit.
“The building is quite old. It was converted to the ranch office after my grandparents were married,” he explained as they stepped inside. “Before that it was used for guests and as a second bunkhouse during the busy season.”
“Where was the office before?” she asked.
“The house. The ranch hands were in and out a lot, and they smoked cigars. The tobacco made my grandmother ill, so she probably asked if operations could be shifted to another location.”
From the corner of her eye she noticed Walt had come through the open door and was listening.
“The other day I found some historical records, including an invoice from the 1800s,” she murmured.
“Really?” Josh seemed interested. “I wouldn’t want anything like that thrown away.”
She deliberately turned to address his grandfather. “Walt, I don’t dispose of anything unless I’m asked to discard items older than a particular date.”
The elderly man appeared to be assessing the situation.
“Older than a certain date?” Josh repeated.
“There are legalities involved with record keeping, but it’s an owner’s decision what to do with paperwork that no longer has tax or other legal implications.”
“Okay. Put that sort of thing in boxes and I’ll check it over.”
“You