Taking on Twins (6 page)

“Annie?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Okay, this was just too weird. This guy not only sounded exactly like Wyatt, he knew her name. “Yes?” More rattled than ever, she squinted into the sunlight, slowly sidestepping, looking for a spot in the shade to better help her see.

“It's good to see you.”

She wished she could say the same. “I—uh—”

“It's me.”

“Oh.”
It was Wyatt.
The scar upon her heart tore open again, making her defensive. Vulnerable. Disoriented. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

He took a step toward her into the shadows and she could suddenly see that the person in question was indeed the Wyatt of old. And, except for a few lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, he looked exactly the same as he had the day they'd said goodbye. His still-steely arms were crossed over his still-steely chest, and he leaned against an armoire in that still nearly cocky manner she knew so well.

However, under his confident pose lurked the same uncertainty she was feeling and this emboldened her even as myriad emotions warred within her mind. Extreme joy and, at the same time, extreme agitation. Agitation bordering on fury.

How dare he come waltzing in here after she'd taken so many years to purge him from her heart?

And without calling first?

Her hands traveled to her hair, tucking, fussing, smoothing. The unmitigated audacity. Showing up, out of the blue and still irresistible.

Well, she could resist him now. She'd had plenty of time to fortify her defenses over the years. She wished she would have freshened her lipstick, and changed her mustard-stained blouse, after she ate. For heaven's sake, she must look a sight. She wanted to run and hide under the little tent in the playroom with her boys. From here, their voices rang out, giggling, bickering, bossing.

Save for the two of them and the boys, the store was
empty. Silent. Annie was sure he could hear her heart knocking against her ribs.

“What are you doing here?” she ventured when she finally found her voice.

“Had some business in the area and thought I'd stop in and say hi.”

He had business in the area? Business in
Keyhole?
“Hi?”

“And to see how you were doing.”

“I'm…uh, fine.” At least she was a minute ago.

“So.” His arm swept the showroom floor of her store. “This is where you work.”

She could only guess that the soft tone in his voice indicated pity. He'd moved on to the big time, and she'd never left Keyhole. Instead of taking the New York art galleries by storm, her paintings hung on the walls of her family's shop, alongside the work of other amateur artists.

“Yes. I run the store and refinish furniture. And, in my spare time, I still like to paint.”

“You were always good, Annie. Very good.”

“I…thank you.” But not good enough to make it out of Keyhole, he was probably thinking. She licked her lips and squaring her shoulders, tried to appear a little taller. More confident. Put together. Lord only knew how she compared to the sleek, well-dressed career women in Washington D.C.

Wyatt pushed off the armoire and began to wander a bit, looking here and there, pausing to pick up an object and then set it back down. She wondered what he thought of her little shop. Following his movements with her gaze, she tried to see what it might look like through his eyes.

Quaint, to be sure. Smallish. Homey. Creatively decorated. Inviting. Cheerful. Cluttered. Almost too cluttered. Rather messy, actually. For the first time, she noticed that
the boys had left toys strewn about, and that Chopper was shedding black Lab hair in fluffy tufts in the aisles where he liked to doze when the kids would let him.

In a shaft of sunlight, the cobwebs that she hadn't seen before this very minute were quite visible, as was the slight layer of dust that coated…everything. All mirrors from the level of four feet on down sported streaks and fingerprints. Have mercy, didn't she ever clean this place? She allowed her eyes to slide closed in order to hide her disgust.

Summer's Autumn Antiques was a pit. A glorified junk shop. Nothing like the places she was sure Wyatt must frequent in D.C.

Once again, Annie wished she'd had time to check her appearance in the mirror. Heaven only knew if there was a chive or something stuck in her tooth.

“You get a lot of business on Saturdays?” he asked conversationally as he turned to face her.

Oh, my. Annie's heart did a little flip. She'd have thought that by now she'd become impervious to that curl in his upper lip. “Some. It's late in the winter season and early in the summer season, so we're kind of…between seasons.”

He wasn't listening. She could tell. He was staring. Taking in every detail. No doubt noting the mustard splotches and the bad-hair-day thing.

She swallowed and the ticking of several grandfather clocks seemed inordinately loud all of a sudden. But still, they stood. After a moment, some customers came in and moved through the store, murmuring to each other over various objects of interest.

“You were in the café for lunch?” She tried to fill the yawning chasm in their conversation with idle chat.

“Yes. You knew? You should have come up and said hello.”

“I didn't see you. I heard you. Sort of. I thought. There was a lot of noise.”

From the back room, there was an explosion of five-year-old laughter and Chopper's loud barkings. In an abstract way she wondered what they were up to now. But, rooted as she was to her spot, there was no way to tell.

“You have children,” Wyatt said, seeming to refocus from the past to the present.

“Yes. Two. You?”

“No. Never married.”

Again, Annie's heart stalled. “No?”

“Never felt the need. Never found the time. Never—” he shrugged “—fell in love.”

“Oh.” She echoed his shrug with a small lift of her own shoulders. “There is still time.”

“There is always time.”

At a complete loss, Annie stood, her gaze darting about, her tongue searching her teeth for a piece of spinach she just knew was there. It seemed that no matter how they tried, their conversation was awkward and feeling the strain of the years and a messy break-up.

Just when she felt she couldn't take another minute of the emotional stress, her sons, shrieking with laughter, burst from the playroom, leading poor Chopper by—she stopped and stared in mortification—a bra strap.

“Look, Mom! Chopper's got a hat!” Alex pointed to the bra cup that they'd pinned over the dog's head. Poor Chopper, looking quaintly Amish and decidedly miserable, cast a baleful look upon Annie for a rescue. The second cup was strapped under the dog's chin and, in the style of a good mountain rescue St. Bernard, they'd tucked in a plastic juice bottle.

“It was his idea,” Noah shouted, pointing at his brother.

“It was not. It was your idea!”

“Naa-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

Noting their mother's flaming cheeks, they squealed and danced with glee.

Wyatt looked from the dog, to the boys, to Annie, and just like the day they'd met, threw back his head and roared with laughter. At first, Annie did not see the humor in the situation at all, but the harder they all laughed, the funnier it all became, and soon she too was joining in.

“You boys take the dog into the back room and get that thing off him and put it back in my gym bag, where you found it. And,” she directed as they reluctantly capitulated, “straighten up back there, will you?”

Moaning and groaning all the way, they disappeared into the playroom.

Wyatt was still smiling. “They're cute. They remind me of you.”

“I was much better behaved than they are.”

“I doubt that. You must remember, I know you.”

“Yes, I guess you do.” Annie smiled, the comfort of their old union slipping around her like a favored robe. “Wyatt, why are you really here?”

“I really do have some business here in town. But, at the same time, I have a few things I need to—”

A customer left and Annie called after her, “Thank you. Please come again.”

“—I need to say to you.”

“To me?”

“Ma'am?” Another customer stepped between them. “Do you have old salt-and-pepper shakers?”

“Over there in that glass case.” Annie pointed.

“I saw those. Do you have any more? I'm a collector. I have a set just like those little hens you have there and I paid half of what you're asking.”

Wyatt's heavy sigh signaled his impatience. Annie bit back a grin. Just like the old days.

“I have a few in the glass case under the register, but they're rare and even more expensive.”

“I'll look.” The collector sniffed.

“I'm sorry.” Annie turned to Wyatt. “What were you saying?”

“Oh. Well, I was just trying to say that…” He ran his fingers over his jaw. “I thought maybe we could talk. Recently, it's occurred to me that I should apologize for being such an idiot back when—”

“Are these the rare shakers?” the collector called, pointing to a wooden case opposite the register that housed tea sets.

“No. Under the register. Glass case.” She waved a distracted hand, still staring at Wyatt. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I was just saying that it might be a good idea for us to discuss the past. You know. Might help us get on with our lives.”

“On with our lives?” Annie peered at him. What was he talking about?

“This case?” the collector called out.

“Yes!” Annie called back, then lowered her voice. “Wyatt—” She shook her head. “I'm not so sure that's such a good idea. I think we've said everything we have to say—”

“These two little crystal and silver shakers? Ah, yes. Okay. I'd like to see them.”

“One moment.” She gave the customer a pseudo smile, then whipped her head back to Wyatt. “It took me a while, but I've come to terms with what happened—”

“But,” Wyatt interrupted, pleading his case, “I was wrong. I know that now. I want— No, I need to tell you. To wipe the slate clean.”

The collector was becoming impatient. “I'm supposed to meet some friends for drinks soon—”

“One damn moment!” Wyatt snapped.

The customer's jaw dropped.

Annie let her eyes slide shut. This much she knew about Wyatt: he'd never leave her alone until she heard him out. And by then, she'd have no more customers left. “Okay,” she whispered. “When?”

“Tonight? Over dinner?”

“Fine. What time?”

“Seven. I'll pick you up…here?”

“I'll be at home at seven.” She strode to the counter where the collector was fidgeting and fuming. Snagging one of her business cards from a silver tray, she scribbled her home address on the back. “I'm just down the block from Mom's place. You'll find it.”

 

That afternoon Patsy put on her most “Meredith” dress and fashioned her hair in her most “Meredith” style, and upon adding some jewelry and a dash of pale lipstick, couldn't have looked more like Meredith than Meredith herself. If Meredith were around, she'd be proud, Patsy thought with a harsh little laugh.

After one last glance at herself and then, into her satchel full of props, she snapped it shut and deemed herself ready to hit the road.

Patsy's sporty black BMW purred down the freeway, making the trip between Prosperino and L.A. a pleasure. In an effort to keep her courage up, she put on some of her favorite hard rock tapes and screamed along with the lead singers. When lunchtime rolled around, she poured herself a glass of fine champagne and lit an expensive gold-tipped cigarette. After all, she was watching her weight and a little liquid lunch was all she really craved.

When Patsy got to L.A., she knew exactly where she was going. She'd been in this neighborhood before to hire that idiot Snake Eyes Pike. The one who was
supposed
to have put Emily away for good. Patsy tucked the cork back into her bottle and exhaled. “Ah, well, can't win 'em all,” she muttered. Besides, Snake Eyes was still on the job, so there was hope.

Consulting her map, she slowed, navigated several tricky lane changes and turns, not easy considering the champagne bottle and crystal stemware in the passenger seat. Ah, yes. There it was. Patsy tapped on the brakes and read the huge sign that loomed over the top of the broken-down warehouse.

 

The Look-Alike Agency
Celebrity look-alikes for movie doubles
Private parties, birthday messages and so much more!

 

Yes, this was exactly what she needed. She parked in the secluded lot in this seedy, industrial section of town and entered the warehouse through the front door. The musty smell of old clothing and mothballs instantly assailed her. Behind the counter, an older woman worked sewing buttons onto a jacket.

“Hello,” Patsy said in that smooth, well-monitored tone that made people know they were dealing with someone special.

“What can I do for ya?” The woman did not pause in her stitching to spare her a glance.

“I need a double to pose as a friend of mine, for a practical joke we're doing for his…his birthday.”

“Okay. What type you need?”

Patsy dug a picture of Jackson out of her satchel. “I need
someone who can look like him with the right hair and makeup.”

The woman stopped sewing and took the photo. “Stu. You need Stu. He can look like anybody and you can't tell him apart from the real guy, really. Stu!” she bellowed. “Stu! Get your butt out here.”

“This Stu is really good, huh?”

“Or your money back. Used to work on Broadway till he ran into a little trouble with the law. Stu!”

Patsy arched a brow. “Could happen to anyone, I guess. How much?”

Stu, an everyman kind of guy, wandered out from the back room. Patsy immediately noticed that he was not the right coloring, but that could be easily fixed. His height and build were perfect.