So Hard To Forget Part 5

Max closed his eyes, then made her laugh when he pressed the tips of his fingers on his forehead. "I'm beginning to see. No, wait. Is it? It can't be, but yes, here it comes. You love chocolate, anything chocolate, but it gives you a headache."

Nicole felt a whisper of a chill slide up her back. Without thinking, she began to slow the truck. "What else?"

"I think I'm getting something .... Yes, here it comes. You're fond of cats, but you're allergic to them."

Stunned, she stopped the truck. How could he possibly know that about her? "What else?"

"Let's see. You love horses, are an accomplished rider and have been riding since you were a kid."

"That's easy. You saw me when you arrived." But although she dismissed it she felt goose b.u.mps rise on her skin.

"You're a strong swimmer?"

She nodded. "That's not hard to figure out. We live and make part of our living from the river. I was raised around it and help with the white-water rafting." "You only eat vanilla ice cream." "I already told you that."

He glanced at her, then dropped his hands with a sigh. "That's all." Turning in the seat, he smiled. "I win, right?"

She was having trouble finding her voice, but managed a whispered, "Yes."

"I think we should start out with a question-first, don't from of losing, but the fact that he knew entirely too much about her for a complete stranger. Maybe he was psychic. Whatever it was it intrigued her. "What did you say?"

Max turned so he was facing forward and he could hide his amus.e.m.e.nt. Then he motioned for her to drive on, which she did. "Nice morning for fis.h.i.+ng, isn't it?" he said. "Remember, I like a little conversation. First question. Tell me, what made you leave Montana for a year?"

She pressed her lips together and scowled at the road ahead.

"You're not a welsher, are you?" He gave her one of his charming smiles. "I'm just trying to get to know you better."

She wasn't about to fall back into his trap of asking why, then end up saying more than she intended. Instead, she deliberately steered the truck through a particularly nasty piece of road that sent him bouncing toward the roof and grabbing for something to hold on to. She'd always found it hard to talk with clenched teeth and figured he wouldn't be any different. But eventually her innate sense of fairness won out.

"I was married and living in Los Angeles for a year."

For a moment he felt like he'd been punched in the gut, then he realized she'd said married, past tense.

"Divorced?" "Yes." "Why?"

She couldn't help or stop the escaping chuckle. Now it was his turn to ask why. "Roger taught European history at Berkeley. He didn't think marriage should put a crimp in his inexhaustible supply of adoring females. I disagreed."

Her explanation told him more than she'd put into words. He decided not to pursue it and changed the subject. "What do you do up here when winter sets in?"

"The lodge is closed, and unless it's an emergency, anyone with half a brain stays away from the moun-ruin."

d.a.m.n, getting her to open up was proving more difficult than he thought. "What about at the ranch? Isn't it hard there, too?"

"Very." She could see he wasn't going to let it go. "There's the cattle to take care of. The ones we've kept from the summer sales. And school--I teach first grade--but when the roads are inaccessible and the ch.o.r.es are done, Dad and I read a lot or watch old movies."

Sandra read a lot and loved old movies, especially comedies. Max forced a smile, but he was shaking inside. If this woman wasn't Sandra, then...? A more appropriate question--how was it possible for two women who were identical in appearance and had the same likes and dislikes not to be the same person? He hated to admit it but she scared the h.e.l.l out of him. Even though she looked like Sandra and had all the right answers, his worst nightmare was that she wasn't Sandra.

All he could do was continue with his less-than-subtle interrogation.

"I bet I can guess what type of movies you prefer," tie said.

Nicole pulled the truck under a shady spot between two trees and turned off the engine, Silently herself for deciding to take him to her favorite spot. !twas farther away, and now she was with his company and his curiosity. He made her uneasy, and not just because he was obviously interested in her. There were too many conflicting signs, not to mention the feeling she was being manipulated, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out the reason. The warning bells kept ringing, but she seemed determined to turn a deaf ear.

"That's not much of a stretch, is it New York? I mean there can only be two guesses, comedies or drama."

"Chicken." He opened the door and got out, then walked to the rear of the truck and picked up his fis.h.i.+ng gear. "I'd have thought you were a better sport. I tell you what. If I lose, I'll help you do your work for a full day."

"And if you win and I lose, what do I have to do?" "Have a picnic lunch with me tomon;ow." The odds were in her favor either way. She didn't trust him, but she couldn't see what harm another bet would do, either. "Okay. What kind of movies do I like?"

He couldn't decide whether he wanted to spend a whole day working for her or have an intimate picnic lunch. His instincts told him he'd be better off if she" thought she was in control. "Drama. Probably those action adventure things with Bruce Willis or Arnold."

"Wrong. Comedies, and I win." The flush of victory was short-lived. She had a moment of uncertainty, wondering if indeed she had won, and if so, why she felt as though he'd actually won. Then she reminded herself that he was, after all, a charming devil. It was hard to resist trouble when it was cloaked in such a s.e.xy package.

CHAPTER SIX.

STREAMS OF LIGHT, tinted red and orange with the onslaught of morning, slipped inch by slow inch across the bedroom ceiling. Max lay with his hands tucked behind his head watching the changing colors, counting the pa.s.sage of time in his head. He knew the exact moment the light reached the overhead fan. Any way he cut it it was just too d.a.m.n early to even think about getting up. Especially for a man who'd spent the last three days vacillating between heaven and h.e.l.l. Peace of mind was like sleep, and both eluded him.

He was drowning in his own uncertainties. The doubts ate at him. His dream of Sandra's still being alive diminished with each pa.s.sing day. He'd grabbed at more straws than could fit in a broom. One moment he thought he was right: Sandra was alive and suffering from some form of amnesia, and everyone at Daw-sows was in on the conspiracy to hide her true ident.i.ty. Of course, after a deep breath and the return of his sanity, he knew how ridiculous that theory was.

For three days he followed Nicole around, fulfilling his commitments after losing his wagers. He grinned. Staging bets so he was always the loser, yet the winner, was taxing his creative resourcefulness. Still he was too d.a.m.n b.u.t.t-headed to give up or give in. had time to talk to JD and PennY, Reed and his brother, Ash. He'd grilled them all about Nicole out them being the wiser--except maybe Penny. No matter how charming he was, she always gave him a long look before she responded to any of his subtle quizzing.

He had to face the truth. As hard as it was to admit Nicole was not Sandra. There was no grand scheme. No lies. No cover-ups. There were no conspiracies, and there most certainly was no amnesia. The only answer, as much as he hated to believe his partner was right, was that everyone must have a double. He knew he had to accept it but there were still unanswered questions--the likes and dislikes the women had in common and, lastly and most importantly, the shared birthmarks.

Questions be d.a.m.ned. In his head he knew he was right--they were doubles. It was his heart that was giving him trouble. He felt a deep well of sadness creeping up from the depth of him to sit heavily on his chest. He sighed long and loud in the serenity of the quiet room. Underneath the melancholy and feeling of loss, a germ of an idea was fermenting and growing in strength. He'd made promises to himself and to Helen Applewhite. Maybe there was a way to keep them. What he needed was a solid plan.

Max kept vigil on the rays of light, watching the once brilliant colors bleach into shades of pastels as they fanned out across the ceiling. When they reached the end and started to slide down the wall, he realized it was close to five o'clock. Why should he be the only one to suffer? He rolled over and picked up the cellular phone from the bedside table. After he punched in a number, he waited. and waited and waited. He was about to hang up when the instrument clicked in his ear and the ringing stopped..

"Doug. Doug, I know you're there. I can hear you breathing. Where the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l have you been? I've tried to reach you for two days." He thought he heard a m.u.f.fled groan, or was it a moan? Concern for his friend brought him to a sitting position. "Doug, is something wrong?

Are you okay?"

"No. If you must know, I'm dying."

Max heard the rusty tone in the voice, and his anxiety leaped with the pounding of his heart.

"Max? Max, please come get me. Take me away from here."

The pathetic timbre of the voice snapped Max out of bed and onto his feet. He started grabbing for clothes. "What's happened? Tell me what's going on."

"The old fart is trying to kill me, Max. I swear he is." The rusty voice grew rougher, deeper with distress, as if he was whispering so as not to be overheard. "I've tried to do as we discussed and keep Charlie under close surveillance. Dammit Max, we've been going flat out for two days and nights. He's hauled me around to every honky-tonk within a him-dred-mile radius. We-finally ended up at a place called the Golden Spur, a country-western dance hall, where I got drunker than Cooter Brown."

Doug's voice dropped lower. "I was line dancing, Max. Me! After that, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Charlie was trying to pick up a couple babes for us. By then, age, looks and marital status didn't matter--anything looked good to us. h.e.l.l, the condition I was in I thought they were Hollywood starlets. Later Charlie 'told me they were ugly enough to make a snake slither away. Max, are you laughing?"

"No." He wondered how he managed to say a word as he collapsed onto the side of the bed, struggling to keep silent.

"Well, you better not be. Charlie and I got the c.r.a.p beat out of us over those two women. We were jumped in the parking lot by the ladies--and I use that word loosely--but we were ambushed by their husbands.

"I think that was two days ago, Max, but don't hold me to it. Since then, I've been in three poker games, dropped a grand to a couple of crafty cardsharps who lost their teeth and hair when we were still in diapers. I've been drunk and sober a couple times. I've eaten fried mountain oysters. I've faced the humiliation of being sick as a dog on the side of the road with the local sheriff--who, by the way, is the size of a grizzly bear--looking on. And if all that wasn't bad enough, Charlie hauled me out to watch a couple of his cowboys while they did some unG.o.dly things to poor little boy cattle. I can't take it anymore, Max. Charlie Dawson has the stamina and libido of a thirty-five-year-old. He's going to get me killed. Even worse, one evening I'm likely to weaken and take the ladies up on their offer, and Sara will kill me, instead. You're my friend, my pal, my partner. You have to help me."

Max didn't, couldn't, stifle his laughter. It felt so d.a.m.n good he just kept it up until Doug's outrageous story and pleas ran out, and he joined in. Finally sober enough to speak, Max wiped the tears from his eyes and said shakily, "I take it you haven't had much time to find out about Nicole, have you?"

"What the h.e.l.l do you think I've been doing---enjoying myself She's not Sandra."

"I know." There was a long somewhat pregnant silence from the other end and Max waited.

"When, might I ask, did you find that out?"

Max chuckled. "A couple of days ago. I've been trying to call you, Doug, to tell you."

"Charlie picked my pocket and confiscated my phone. I'm not exactly sure when. But back up--how long have you known about Nicole?"

"Long enough to have to eat crow." Max was trying to dress one-handed while he held the phone to his ear. "By the way, I now believe in UFOs, alien abductions, Bigfoot and things that go b.u.mp in the night.

Nicole isn't Sandra, but I tell you, Doug, she's not only a dead ringer, she has the same likes and dislikes as Sandra. It's unearthlY. Supernatural is the only word to describe it."

"Maybe not," Doug said. "Nicole was adopted, Max."

For a second Max didn't see the connection. "So? Sandra wasn't."

"How do we know? Did you ask? I don't think it was a question that ever came up with Helen."

""You think since Nicole was adopted, maybe Sandra was, too. And if that's the case, they could be twins? Identical twins?" In his excitement he almost tripped as he stepped into his jeans. But Doug's theory had the impetus to charge his sluggish movements like , a jolt of electricity. He started rus.h.i.+ng around the room, hunting for his shoes and s.h.i.+rt. "Identical twins. Jeez, it could be, Doug. It could very well be."

"It's the only logical answer except--" Doug hummed a few bars of the theme song from the old Twilight Zone series while Max laughed. "except for reincarnation, doubles, or maybe invasion of creatures from another planet who s.n.a.t.c.h bodies and steal their victims" ident.i.ties, Have you checked around for some empty pods?"

"Stop it Doug. This is serious. I'll call Helen." He fell silent for a second, then, "No, you call Helen, but don't tell her anything about Nicole. Nothing." He wouldn't let Doug get a word in. "Don't ask questions. Just do it and call me back as soon as you talk to her and have anything."

"Fine," Doug said. "I'll do that, but why the urgency? We know Nicole isn't Sandra and we'll find out if they're related, but dammit Max, it's over. Right? I've found enough about Charlie and the financial trouble he's in. Enough to satisfy Bedford. You do remember our client, don't you? I want to come up there and get some fis.h.i.+ng in before we leave. Plus, I've got something I think we need to discuss about Bedford and his methods."

Max was too caught up in his own scheming to listen. "Stay put, Doug. I'm working on a plan, but I need to flesh it out first."

"What are you cooking up, Max?"

"When I figure it all out, you'll be the first to know." He hung up before he could be deluged with more questions, then finished dressing and headed downstairs. Unlike the other guests, he'd explored the lodge, been in the kitchen and deliberately made friends with the help. He knew that JD and Penny had a log cabin about a hundred yards behind the lodge and that Reed and Ash were staying with them. Nicole stayed in a suite off the kitchen that was originally the Weavers" quarters until their cabin was built. He also knew that Nicole was an early riser.

NICOLE STOOD directly in front "of the coffee-maker, staring at it keeping vigil, a sentry in the dawn hour. Her shoulders were hunched and her arms were wrapped around her waist. Suddenly she gave a body-shaking s.h.i.+ver, curled her bare toes away from the cold of the kitchen floor and hugged her old pink chenille robe closer. It was the only sign she was alive and fractionally awake as she stood spellbound by the sounds and smells of the seeping coffee. Her mind was just beginning to kick in, but her body hadn't caught up yet.

With a pa.s.sion that bordered on hatred she despised getting up early. There had been times in her childhood when her parents had had to literally drag her out of bed to get her up. They'd tried everything from the sublime to the ridiculous. Like turning on the overhead light, opening the blinds, dousing her with ice water. In the winter they'd opened all her bedroom windows. It had been a constant fight. Adulthood had made many changes. She still hated the early morning, but she managed to get herself up. Nevertheless her family and friends had learned to tread lightly around her until she'd had her first cup of coffee.

"Good morning, suns.h.i.+ne," Max sang out. "It's a wonder're His words were cut off when a mug crashed to the floor. She stood staring down at the broken pieces. Slowly she turned her gaze to him, and he visibly flinched under the fierce glare.

He forced himself to keep a straight face. "Oops. I take it you..." He shut up as he watched her fingers cud around another mug. She was adorable, barefoot and wearing the raggedy old robe, her sleep-tousled hair flattened at the back and sticking up in all directions everywhere else.

Nicole turned heavy-lidded belligerent eyes back to him. "It's not even six yet. What're you doing down here?" " ) He figured since she was talking to him, it was safe to answer. "I was..." He figured wrong. She cut him such a look that the rest of the sentence dried up in his throat. He fought to keep from laughing and leaned against the counter, waiting and watching as she continued to glower at the coffee-maker.

When the brewing did its last spitting and gurgling, Nicole tossed out the grounds and filter, then poured herself a large mug. Without a glance his way she picked it up and headed back to her room. The door slammed behind her.

Max poured a cup and took a sip, paying little notice other than it was hot. His attention was on the closed bedroom door. He gave a mental shrug, figuring he might as well chance having something thrown at him or getting his head bitten off. He pushed open the door, then hesitated, unsure of his decision to intrude on her private sanctum.

Nicole heard the creaking hinge and glanced up. She was curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, her hands wrapped around the half-empty mug. "It's safe now. I'm awake."

Max eased inside, closing the door and glancing around curiously. The room was unmistakably hers with its bright floral chintz-covered sofa, chairs and window treatment. There were pretty crystal vases of fresh wildflowers on the fireplace mantel, bookcases filled to overflowing. In one corner was a large television, a stereo, VCR and stacks of movies. He took all this in, then he joined her on the sofa. "I take it you're not a morning person."

"What gave you the clue?"

He laughed. "Visions of a black eye or broken nose. I imagine you've got a nfight."

"I live and work, most of the year, in a man's world. Something about the wilderness gives them ideas. My left's pretty good, too."

"I've watched you handle the men just fine. Hal hasn't even looked at you crosswise."

She was feeling Max's nearness and sipped her coffee to cover her nervousness. "It was nothing I did or said. Usually after the first day, everything settles down and they realize they came to fish. They're distracted by the allure of Mother Nature and the river, instead of me." It wasn't right that one man should be so d.a.m.n attractive. Sometimes she found him looking at her and would feel her insides tighten in response.

Max frowned at the thought of what she might have to put up with from members of his s.e.x. He found it totally captivating that she made no attempt to tidy her hair or try tomb the sheet imprint from her cheek. Then he reminded himself that she was not Sandra, nor was she like any other woman he'd ever met. She was straightforward and as honest as the day was long. He found that exciting. "Does it happen much--the pa.s.ses and hara.s.sment?"

"Often enough that there are three dead bolts on my door." He glanced at the door and smiled. "Yeah, those'll keep "em out."

"What are you doing up so early and in my room, Max?" She hated the way her heart was slamming against her ribs and wondered if he could see the pulse racing in her neck. She pulled the collar of her robe higher.

He finished his coffee and set the cup on the table,.

"I wanted to take you up on that offer of a picnic today."

She laughed. "My offer. I don't think so. The deal was a picnic if I lost the bet. I didn't lose. You did." "But wouldn't a picnic be race.

She gave it some thought. After the first day, as usual, the men had worked out their own schedule. Most preferred to fish early in the morning, have lunch, then rest during the warmer hours. A couple returned to the river in late afternoon, stopping only when it was getting close to dinner. The guests either spent their leisure time playing cards, sitting on the porch, as did Larry most days, or hiking with Reed and Ash. All in all, it worked out that she had a couple of free hours to herself. She guessed a picnic with Max couldn't hurt--much.

"Come on, we can do a little leisurely fis.h.i.+ng ourselves. I'll even put the lunch together. You won't have to lift a finger. Just enjoy yourself." She looked torn between duty and the desire to have some fun. He rushed on, "I bet I catch the biggest fish."

She had a knack or maybe luck for catching the big ones. She struggled to keep her expression serious. "What's the bet?"

"Five bucks says I win?"

Nicole shook her head. "I don't gamble." "What?"

"I don't gamble."

Max couldn't help but laugh out loud. "What do you think we've been doing for the last couple of days?"