When her sister came back on the line, it was to say quickly, “I have to go. Listen, just promise me you’ll get out of there. And that you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful?” she repeated. “I’m not the one who’s pregnant and on the run here—you are. You be careful. I can take care of myself.”
Sabrina actually laughed at that. “Oh, yeah. Right. That’s a good one, Rachel.”
Rachel made a face at the phone. “Just tell me one last—”
“I have to go,” Sabrina repeated. “I love you, Rachel. Tell Daddy I love him, too. I’ll call you at your apartment when I can.”
And then the buzz of a disconnected line hummed in Rachel’s ear.
She stood there for a long time with the phone still pressed urgently to the side of her head, somehow feeling a little closer to her sister by doing so. Then an electronic female voice told her very politely that if she wished to make another call, to please hang up and try again. With a sigh, Rachel dropped the receiver back into its cradle, feeling worse now than she had when she’d first arrived at the rented mobile home in Wallace Canyon.
“Well, shoot,” she muttered out loud. For good measure, she kicked the side of the kitchen counter with the toe of her heavy hiking boot.
There was no reason for her to stay here any longer. Sabrina had made it clear that she wasn’t coming back, and whoever was following her was doubtless long gone from here, too. Rachel might as well just do as her sister had told her and go back home to Oklahoma City, where she could wait for Sabrina’s next call. If there was a next call.
But something about going home rankled. Rachel didn’t like feeling helpless, especially where her sister was concerned. There had been a time in the twins’ lives when they’d been inseparable. Where one had gone, the other had followed, as if they’d been joined physically, as well as spiritually and emotionally. And although the leader had always been Sabrina—except, of course, for when the trail had led to trouble—Rachel had followed not out of obligation, but out of trust, out of love.
Sabrina had bailed her out of more tricky situations than Rachel could shake a stick at, and she’d never had the opportunity to return the favor. She owed her sister—big time. Now that Sabrina was the one in need of bailing out, the least Rachel could do was try to figure out some way to help. And sitting in her apartment back in Oklahoma City waiting for the phone to ring just wasn’t going to cut it.
She leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms over the big, baggy, forest green sweater that hung nearly down to her denim-clad knees, cupped her chin resolutely in her palm, and wondered how on earth she was going to help Sabrina out when she didn’t even know where her sister was headed. For long moments, she pondered her dilemma, until a brisk rap of a fist on the front door roused her from her thoughts.
Rachel snapped her head up at the intrusive sound, and riveted her gaze on the frosted glass of the aluminum door barely ten feet opposite her. Beyond it, she saw the silhouette of a big cowboy hat and little else. Something drew tight in her belly, and all her senses went on alert. She straightened, inhaled a few deep, fortifying breaths, and crossed to greet her—or rather, Sabrina’s—visitor.
She gripped the doorknob carefully, inhaled again, then twisted and pushed slowly. But a gust of brutal winter wind snatched the door from her hand and sent it crashing outward, giving neither Rachel, nor her guest, a chance to ease slowly into things.
“Whoa,” the cowboy hat said in response to the clatter of metal slapping against metal.
“Wow,” Rachel gasped at the same time. Not because the wind had surprised her so, but because the cowboy hat tipped backward, and she got a good look at what was underneath.
More brown. But not ugly, dead-looking brown this time. Warm, animated, bittersweet chocolate brown, in the form of laughing eyes that gazed upon her with more than a little interest.
“Ma’am,” the owner of those eyes said as he lifted two gloved fingers to the brim of his hat. “You okay?”
Rachel’s mouth fell open, but no sound emerged. Instead, pretty much oblivious to the cold wind that bit through her sweater and tangled with her hair, she could only stare at the man on the other side of the door. Stare down at him, at that, because after knocking, he had retreated to the ground below the two metal stairs that extended from the side entrance of the mobile home.
His sunken position, however, did absolutely nothing to diminish him. He was easily six feet. And although his big, sheepskin coat hid the particulars of his physique, Rachel got the definite impression of solidity and strength. He was slim, sure, but no doubt every muscle he had, he made count.
Automatically, her gaze fell to the fourth finger of his left hand. It was a bartender’s gesture she always performed, because men always flirted with female bartenders—even though they were often married when they did. This man’s hands, however, were covered with rawhide gloves, so she couldn’t be sure whether he wore a wedding band or not. Somehow, she found herself hoping he didn’t. Then she shook her mind free of the thought and returned her gaze to his face.
Beautiful jumped into her head. He’d no doubt balk at being referred to in such a way, but that was the only word Rachel could come up with to describe him. His dark brown eyes were made darker still by the length of black hair that fell from beneath his Stetson, and by the two slashes of black eyebrows above and a ring of sooty lashes around each. His skin, too, was brown, a deep, smooth umber that was obviously a part of his heritage. His cheekbones were high and well-defined, his nose was straight and elegant, and they were complemented by a sensuously full lower lip that just begged to be tasted.
Oh, yeah. Definitely beautiful.
Great. Just what she needed. Rachel felt that old familiar falling sensation and knew that if she didn’t pull back right now, she’d land in a puddle of ruined womanhood right at the man’s feet. Nothing like falling completely in love with a man you’ve exchanged exactly one word with, she thought wryly. Nevertheless, she knew that was precisely what was happening to her now, because that was what always happened to her whenever she met an attractive man. So she commanded herself to knock it off, to rein herself in, to remember her sister and the fact that Sabrina had told her to be careful. And somehow, she managed to keep from throwing herself—body and soul—right into the beautiful man’s clutches.
“Miss Jensen?” he said, sending a rush of heat right through her.
Shoot, heat was the last thing she needed, in spite of the frigid air buffeting her from all sides. When the man’s voice finally registered in her muddled brain, she sensed by its tone that he must have uttered those two words several times without receiving an answer. Rachel shook her head hard again, to clear it of the muzziness that filled it, then forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Yes?” she replied, proud of herself for forming even that one-word in response.
“Sabrina Jensen?”
A faint alarm bell sounded in the back of Rachel’s head, and for a moment, she felt like the proverbial deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi. It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had thought she was Sabrina, nor would it be the last. That was something identical twins just had to live with—mistaken identity. Normally, a brief, “Oh, no, I’m Sabrina’s twin sister, Rachel,” put a quick and painless end to the error.
But then, normally, Sabrina’s questionable safety and bizarre recent behavior weren’t at issue. Suddenly, with the up-in-the-air quality that Sabrina’s life had adopted, Rachel’s answer to the man’s supposition now took on new importance.
She realized then that she had two choices. One, she could correct him, as she invariably did when one of her sister’s friends or acquaintances mistook her for her twin, and then she and the cowboy hat could share a chuckle. Afterward, he could be on his merry way, and Rachel could go back to Oklahoma City, wait for Sabrina’s call, and pray to God every night that her sister was safe and sound.