Authors: Beverly Barton
"Don't you know, swe-et-he-art? I'm yo-ur prin-ce char-ming, and I've be-en wa-iting for you to wa-ke up from an evil spell so I co-uld co-me ri-ding in on my whi-te hor-se and ta-ke you to li-ve hap-pily ever af-ter with me in my cas-t-le."
Jazzy la-ug-hed. And God, it felt so go-od to la-ugh. She kis-sed him. Just a hap-py-to-be-ali-ve kiss. A pre-lu-de to so-met-hing mo-re. He didn't ta-ke ad-van-ta-ge, didn't press for an-y-t-hing el-se.
In-si-de that ro-ugh and rug-ged ex-te-ri-or be-at the he-art of a true gen-t-le-man.
"I can sle-ep on the so-fa," she told him. "Why don't you ta-ke the bed?"
"No, way. No whi-te knight worth a damn wo-uld let a true prin-cess sle-ep on the so-fa."
"Is that the way you see me… as a prin-cess?" Her he-art flut-te-red wildly, as if it had ne-ver he-ard a com-p-li-ment be-fo-re to-night.
"Actually, Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot, you're not a prin-cess." He ca-res-sed her che-ek with the back of his hand as his ga-ze loc-ked with hers. "You're a qu-e-en."
Tears mis-ted her eyes. "Damn you, McCord. You're not re-al. You know that, don't you? You're too go-od to be true." 'Ye-ah, that's what all the la-di-es say."
With te-ars glis-te-ning in her eyes, she la-ug-hed aga-in, and when Ca-leb put his arm aro-und her wa-ist and led her to her bed-ro-om, she knew he wo-uldn't co-me in and stay. He was simply wal-king her to her do-or. He wo-uld sle-ep on the so-fa. Li-ke the true prin-ce char-ming he was.
Chapter 19
When Ca-leb pul-led his '57 Thun-der-bird, which he had per-so-nal-ly res-to-red a few ye-ars ago, on-to the as-p-halt dri-ve, he saw her put-ting her bag in the trunk of a dark blue clas-sic Mer-ce-des.
No do-ubt when she'd fo-und her-self or-de-red not to le-ave town, she'd sent so-me-one from Chat-ta-no-oga with anot-her car. Odd how that at a dis-tan-ce she co-uld easily pass for Jaz-zy, es-pe-ci-al-ly if her ha-ir was shor-ter and a brig-h-ter red. At the sa-me ti-me, Re-ve Sor-rell re-sem-b-led Jaz-zy less from far away be-ca-use she was pro-bably a co-up-le of in-c-hes tal-ler-abo-ut fi-ve-ten, he'd say-and out we-ig-hed Jaz-zy by a go-od twenty po-unds. He par-ked the car and got out. She ig-no-red him com-p-le-tely as she he-aded back to-ward the ren-tal ca-bin.
"Ms. Sor-rell," he cal-led to her.
She pa-used, but didn't turn aro-und.
He'd ma-de it he-re just in ti-me. Anot-her ten mi-nu-te and she'd ha-ve be-en on the hig-h-way he-aded back to Chat-ta-no-oga. Of co-ur-se, if he'd fo-und her go-ne, he wo-uld ha-ve fol-lo-wed her-down In-ter-s-ta-te 75, all the way ho-me, all the way back to that big fancy ho-use she ow-ned on
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Lo-oko-ut Mo-un-ta-in.
"We ne-ed to talk," he told her.
She glan-ced over her sho-ul-der and pin-ned him with a don't-bot-her-me gla-re. "What co-uld we pos-sibly ha-ve to talk abo-ut, Mr. McCord?"
"Your sis-ter."
"I'm an only child. I don't ha-ve a sis-ter." She wal-ked to-ward the ca-bin.
"You we-re adop-ted," Ca-leb sa-id. "When you we-re an in-fant."
Her body ten-sed for a mil-li-se-cond, ba-rely long eno-ugh for him even to no-ti-ce the pa-use in her qu-ick steps.
"Spencer and Les-ley Sor-rell adop-ted a baby girl who had be-en thrown in a Dum-p-s-ter and left for de-ad in Se-vi-er-vil-le twen-ty-ni-ne ye-ars ago. The bir-t-h-day they ga-ve you is only a few days dif-fe-rent from Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot's bir-t-h-day. Do you re-al-ly be-li-eve it's not-hing mo-re than a co-in-ci-den-ce that you two lo-ok eno-ugh ali-ke to be twins?"
"We are not twins!" Re-ve hal-ted and tur-ned to fa-ce him. "I don't know how you fo-und out such per-so-nal things abo-ut me, but I am not that Jaz-zy per-son's sis-ter. I co-uldn't be."
"I think you are."
''Then you think wrong."
"When Jamie Up-ton told you abo-ut Jaz-zy, you we-re cu-ri-o-us eno-ugh to hi-re a pri-va-te de-tec-ti-ve to check her out. And on-ce he pro-vi-ded you with in-for-ma-ti-on and pic-tu-res, you must ha-ve tho-ught the-re was a chan-ce you two we-re re-la-ted or you wo-uldn't ha-ve co-me to Che-ro-kee Po-in-te to see her, to check her out in per-son."
"I ma-de a mis-ta-ke," Re-ve sa-id. "If you'll ex-cu-se me, I ne-ed to lock up be-fo-re I le-ave."
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I ha-ve be-en de-la-yed he-re for se-ve-ral days aga-inst my will by that bar-ba-ri-an she-riff of yo-urs be-ca-use I be-ar a va-gue re-sem-b-lan-ce to a wo-man who mur-de-red her lo-ver and be-ca-use I don't ha-ve an eye-wit-ness to my whe-re-abo-uts when the man was kil-led." Re-ve's cin-na-mon brown eyes flas-hed with an-ger. He'd se-en that sa-me ex-p-res-si-on on Jaz-zy's fa-ce co-un-t-less ti-mes and co-uldn't help but won-der if, be-ne-ath tho-se gre-en con-tacts Jaz-zy wo-re, her eyes we-re as fi-ery dark as Re-ve's.
''Jazzy didn't kill Jamie," Ca-leb sa-id. "She was with me part of the ti-me that mor-ning. She's be-en fra-med, and she ne-eds a re-al-ly go-od law-yer."
"What she do-es or do-esn't ne-ed has ab-so-lu-tely not-hing to do with me."
"Jazzy's blo-od type is AB ne-ga-ti-ve." He pa-used to al-low that bit of in-for-ma-ti-on to sink in, then sa-id, 'The sa-me as yo-urs."
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She shrug-ged, but he ca-ught a lo-ok of sur-p-ri-se she wasn't ab-le to dis-gu-ise. "So?"
"So that's a very ra-re blo-od type."
"It's just anot-her co-in-ci-den-ce." '’Jaz-zy's right han-ded and you're left han-ded. That's a tra-it many iden-ti-cal twins ha-ve."
"Go away, Mr. McCord. Not-hing you say will per-su-ade me to stay and be-co-me bet-ter ac-qu-a-in-ted with that wo-man."
"Is that why you think I'm he-re?"
"Isn't it?"
He sho-ok his he-ad. "No-pe. Stay. Go. I don't ca-re."
"Then why are you he-re? What do you want?"
"I want you to hi-re Qu-inn Cor-tez to de-fend Jaz-zy if the grand jury hands down an in-dic-t-ment."
She lo-oked at him in-c-re-du-lo-usly. "The Qu-inn Cor-tez?"
"Yeah, the Qu-inn Cor-tez."
"And why wo-uld you think I'd pay Mr. Cor-tez's enor-mo-us re-ta-iner for a wo-man I don't even know?"
"Because she's yo-ur sis-ter."
"She is not-"
"Do you want all yo-ur hig-h-fa-lu-tin fri-ends in Chat-ta-no-oga and all yo-ur bu-si-ness as-so-ci-ates to know that you we-re fo-und in a Dum-p-s-ter as an in-fant? Do you want them to know that yo-ur sis-ter owns a hon-ky-tonk, has a re-pu-ta-ti-on as a lo-ose wo-man, and is now on tri-al for kil-ling her ex-lo-ver? And do you want them to know that you hi-red a PI to check her out and, even af-ter le-ar-ning what sort of per-son she was, you still wan-ted to me-et her?"
"Are you thre-ate-ning to blac-k-ma-il me?"
"I don't think I men-ti-oned the word blac-k-ma-il. I'm just tel-ling you that if so-me-one do-esn't co-me up with the cash to pay Qu-inn Cor-tez, then-"
"What do you want me to do-wri-te you out a check?"
Caleb grin-ned. Fin-ding out how im-por-tant the Sor-rel-ls' so-ci-al stan-ding was to Re-ve-and her own ster-ling re-pu-ta-ti-on as well-had gi-ven him an ad-van-ta-ge. He owed his old buddy Joe for co-ming up with the dirt on Ms. Sor-rell so qu-ickly.
"I'll call Cor-tez," Ca-leb sa-id, "sin-ce I know him and he owes me a fa-vor." When Re-ve ope-ned her mo-uth to say so-met-hing, Ca-leb sho-ok his he-ad. "Long story. No ti-me for it now. An-y-way,
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when I call Cor-tez, I want you to get on the pho-ne, tell him who you are and that you'll be glad to pick up the tab for Jaz-zy. Then gi-ve him a cre-dit card num-ber or wha-te-ver the hell he re-qu-ires."
"I co-uld say no."
"Yeah, you co-uld." Ca-leb's grin bro-ade-ned in-to a wi-de smi-le. "But you won't"
"She must me-an a gre-at de-al to you for you to re-sort to strong-ar-ming me in-to pa-ying you hush mo-ney."
"Don't lo-ok at it that way," he told her. 'Just think of it as hel-ping yo-ur sis-ter."
"I told you that she is not my sis-ter."
"Okay, ha-ve it yo-ur way. Jaz-zy is not yo-ur sis-ter. But you two are de-fi-ni-tely flip si-des to the sa-me co-in. You pre-tend to be su-gar, whi-le Jaz-zy is de-fi-ni-tely spi-ce. You co-me ac-ross as be-ing cold, cal-cu-la-ting, snob-bish, and une-mo-ti-onal. Jaz-zy's the exact op-po-si-te." Ca-leb wal-ked over, gras-ped her arm, and sa-id, "After we go in-si-de and call Cor-tez and you put him on re-ta-iner, you can le-ave Che-ro-kee Co-unty and ne-ver lo-ok back."
"And you won't tell an-yo-ne-"
He ma-de a zip-ping-my-mo-uth ges-tu-re.
"Very well. Co-me in-si-de and let's con-tact Mr. Cor-tez. The so-oner we get this do-ne, the so-oner I can le-ave and put this en-ti-re nig-h-t-ma-re be-hind me."
"Yeah, su-re." Ca-leb lo-ose-ned his hold on her arm and fol-lo-wed her in-to the ca-bin. May-be she tho-ught that on-ce she went back to Chat-ta-no-oga she co-uld for-get all abo-ut Jaz-zy, but he'd bet his old age pen-si-on-if he had one- that so-oner or la-ter Re-ve Sor-rell's cu-ri-osity wo-uld bring her back to Che-ro-kee Co-unty.
Jim Up-ton lay in the qu-e-en-si-ze, pi-ne sle-igh bed, his bre-at-hing calm, his body re-la-xed. For the past ho-ur, he had be-en ab-le to for-get that to-day was the day of Jamie's fu-ne-ral, that this af-ter-no-on he wo-uld bury all his and Re-ba's ho-pes for the fu-tu-re. It was wrong of him to be he-re with Erin, to ha-ve ma-de lo-ve to her with mo-re pas-si-on than he'd felt in qu-ite so-me ti-me, when he was in mo-ur-ning for his gran-d-son. His wi-fe was at ho-me ma-king pre-pa-ra-ti-ons for the af-ter-fu-ne-ral re-cep-ti-on at the-ir ho-me. Not only wo-uld three-fo-urths of Che-ro-kee Co-unty's po-pu-la-ti-on wan-der in and out of the-ir ho-use la-ter to-day, but fri-ends and bu-si-ness as-so-ci-ates-as well as the go-ver-nor and both U.S. se-na-tors-wo-uld co-me by to pay the-ir res-pects.
Erin ca-res-sed him, her slen-der fin-gers twi-ning aro-und the thick whi-te ha-ir on his chest "It's all right, you know," she told him. "You mustn't fe-el gu-ilty abo-ut our ma-king lo-ve. The de-ath of so-me-one ne-ar and de-ar to us ma-kes us ne-ed to re-af-firm that we're ali-ve." She prop-ped her-self up be-si-de him, then le-aned over and kis-sed his mo-uth in that swe-et, ten-der way of hers.
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"I can't le-ave her, you know," Jim sa-id.
"Are you tal-king abo-ut Miss Re-ba?" Sig-hing, Erin lay back down alon-g-si-de him and snug-gled clo-se. "You've told me be-fo-re that you won't di-vor-ce her, so why bring that up now?"
He flip-ped over on his si-de and lo-oked in-to her eyes. 'That mor-ning… be-fo-re I fo-und out abo-ut Jamie be-ing mur-de-red, I ca-me he-re to talk to you."
"You ca-me he-re? Why ha-ven't you sa-id-"
"You we-ren't he-re."
"No, I wasn't."
Where we-re you? Who we-re you with? Did you spend the night in anot-her man's arms?
"I ca-me he-re to tell you that I had de-ci-ded to ask Re-ba for a di-vor-ce. I wan-ted us to ha-ve a few ye-ars-ho-we-ver many I've got left-to-get-her. As man and wi-fe."
"Oh, Jim. I-I don't know what to say."
"That's chan-ged now. You see that, don't you? How co-uld I ask her for a di-vor-ce now that we've lost Jamie? He was all-"J-im clen-c-hed his te-eth. "I don't want to lo-se you, but I'll un-der-s-tand if you don't want to con-ti-nue our af-fa-ir."
Erin wrap-ped her arms aro-und him and la-id her he-ad on his chest. "I'm not go-ing an-y-w-he-re. I lo-ve you. I want wha-te-ver you can gi-ve me."
He ca-res-sed her na-ked back. Soft, pa-le skin, dot-ted he-re and the-re with small, dark mo-les.
He knew every inch of her. Had kis-sed tho-se lit-tle mo-les, had me-mo-ri-zed the-ir lo-ca-ti-ons.
"Whe-re we-re you?" 'The mor-ning you ca-me by he-re and I was go-ne?" She re-ac-hed down and gras-ped his hand.
"If the-re's so-me-one el-se-"
"Don't."
"You're still yo-ung and-"
"I went to Knox-vil-le. I spent the night with a fri-end. And be-fo-re you ask, the fri-end is fe-ma-le.
She's a doc-tor."
Jim ten-sed, fe-ar zip-ping thro-ugh him li-ke a fast-ac-ting drug. "Are you ill?"
"No, my he-ath is fi-ne. This fri-end is a gyne-co-lo-gist. I had cal-led and as-ked her to put to-get-her so-me in-for-ma-ti-on for me abo-ut in vit-ro fer-ti-li-za-ti-on. Abo-ut using a do-nor egg and a hus-band or lo-ver's sperm."
"I don't un-der-s-tand." Jim ro-se in-to a sit-ting po-si-ti-on.
Erin ca-me up be-si-de him, lo-oked him in the eye, and sa-id, "I'm too old to gi-ve you a child, as much as I wish I co-uld. I knew how di-sap-po-in-ted you we-re with Jamie, how much you wis-hed
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the-re had be-en ot-her gran-d-c-hil-d-ren. I tho-ught that if-"
"My sperm, a do-nor egg, and you'd carry the child in yo-ur body." Jim re-ac-hed down and la-id his hand over her flat belly. "You lo-ve me that much?" Te-ars mis-ted his eyes.
"Now I ha-ve mo-re re-ason than ever to want to gi-ve you-"
He cup-ped her fa-ce with his hands and kis-sed her. "You don't know what yo-ur of-fe-ring to try so-met-hing li-ke that me-ans to me. But you're not the only one too old to ha-ve a child. I'm se-ven-ty-fi-ve. Even if I'm not sho-oting blanks the-se days, do you know how old I'd be when our child is ten? Eig-h-ty-fi-ve. Eig-ht-fi-ve fuc-king ye-ars old. It wo-uldn't be fa-ir to the child."
"Yeah, I know." Te-ars tric-k-led down Erin's che-eks. "What ten-ye-ar-old wo-uld want a six-ty-ye-ar-old mot-her?" Jim hug-ged her to him, lo-ving her mo-re than he'd lo-ved an-y-t-hing or an-yo-ne, at this mo-ment lo-ving her even mo-re than he'd lo-ved Mel-va Mae Nel-son all tho-se ye-ars ago. He kis-sed her fo-re-he-ad and as-ked in a whis-per, "Will you co-me to Jamie's fu-ne-ral?"