Dead Ringer

And now, after releasing more information to the press, maybe one of the twins had come forward. Ledger couldn’t help being skeptical. They’d been here before. Except this time, this one had Oakley’s stuffed horse, which had been in his crib the night he was kidnapped. Would his father finally be able to find some peace?

Or, after twenty-five years, had too much time passed? Oakley would be a grown man, no longer that cute six-month-old baby who’d been stolen. He would have lived a good portion of his life as someone else, with other parents. He would have his own life and the McGraws would all be strangers to him.

Ledger feared this wasn’t going to be the homecoming his father was hoping for as he heard a vehicle pull up out front. He looked from his father to his brother and then went to answer the door. Better him than Boone, who already looked as if he could chew nails. It was going to take a lot to convince Boone that whoever was headed for the door was the lost twin.

Unable to wait for a knock, Ledger opened the door. Attorney Jim Waters and the young man, who might or might not be his brother, were at the bottom of the porch steps. His gaze went right to the young man, who looked dressed in all new clothing from the button-down shirt to the jeans and Western boots. He was tall, broad-shouldered and slim hipped like all the McGraw men.

At the sound of the front door opening, Vance Elliot looked up, his thick dark hair falling over his forehead. Ledger saw the blue eyes and felt a shiver.

This might really be his brother.

“Vance Elliot, this is Ledger McGraw,” Waters said by introduction.

“Please, come in,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the young man. “My father and brother are in his office.”

* * *

LEDGER LED THE two men into his father’s office and closed the door. The new cook, a woman by the name of Louise, he’d made a point of learning, was in the kitchen making dinner. Cull and Nikki should be back soon. Unless they decided to stay in Whitehorse and go out to dinner. He still couldn’t believe how hard his brother had fallen for the true-crime writer.

“Please sit down,” Travers said, getting to his feet to shake hands with Vance. He waited until everyone was sitting before he asked, “So you think you might be my son Oakley. Why don’t you start by telling us something about you?”

Vance shifted in his chair. He held a large paper bag on his lap, the top turned under. Ledger assumed the stuffed toy horse was inside. He would have thought his father would want to see it right away.

“I don’t know exactly where to begin. I was raised in Bear Creek, south of Billings, on a small farm. My parents told me when I was about five that I was adopted.”

“Did you have other siblings?” Travers asked.

Vance shook his head. “Just me.” He shrugged. “I had a fine childhood. We didn’t have much but it was enough. I went to college in Billings for a while before getting a job on a ranch outside of Belfry. That’s about it.”

“And how did you become aware that you might be one of the missing McGraw twins?” his father asked.

“I heard about it on television. When they mentioned the small stuffed horse and showed a photo of what it might look like, I couldn’t believe it. I’d had one just like it as far back as I could remember.”

“Is that what’s in the bag?” Boone asked.

Vance nodded and stood to place the bag on the desk in front of Travers. He took a step back, bumped into the chair and sat again.

The room had gone deathly quiet. Ledger could hear nothing but his own heart pounding as his father pulled the bag closer, unfolded the top and looked inside.

A small gasp escaped his father’s lips as he pulled the toy stuffed horse from the bag. Ledger saw the worn blue ribbon around the horse’s neck and swung his gaze to Vance. If he was telling the truth, then this man was Oakley, all grown up.

* * *

WATERS COULDN’T HELP the self-satisfied feeling he had when he saw Travers McGraw’s expression. He’d felt the same way when he’d seen the toy stuffed horse. It was Oakley’s; there was no doubt about that.

Of course, this wouldn’t be a done deal until after the DNA tests were run, but he was on the home stretch.

“Would the two of you like to stay for dinner?” Travers asked, putting the toy back into the sack and rising to his feet. “I’d like to hear more about your childhood, Vance.” It was clear he was fighting calling the young man by that name.

He’d also seen Travers’s face when the two of them had walked into the office. The horse rancher had looked shocked by how much the young man resembled Travers’s own sons.

Waters looked to Vance before he said, “We’d love to stay for dinner. If you’re sure it isn’t an inconvenience.” He thought of the years he’d sat at the big dining room table and eaten under this roof. If this went the way he expected it to, he’d be a regular guest again.

“Wonderful,” Travers said as he came around his desk. Putting an arm around Vance, he steered him toward the dining room at the back of the house. “Where are you staying?”

Vance cleared his voice. “I spent last night at a motel in town.”

“You can stay here on the ranch if you’d like,” Travers said. “I don’t want to pressure you. Give it some thought. We can discuss it after dinner.”

Waters smiled to himself. This couldn’t have gone any better. Vance was in—at least until the DNA test. But if he passed that...

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked caller ID. Patricia, the soon-to-be former wife of Travers McGraw. He was sure his boss would ask him to handle the divorce. It would be his pleasure.

Chapter Four (#u97bb23ed-0d66-5bcc-ae54-a1d606b40d60)

Abby was dressed and sitting in the wheelchair waiting when her husband came into her hospital room the next afternoon. She felt fine, except for a headache and no memory of what had happened to her. But hospital policy required her to be “driven” down to the exit by wheelchair after her doctor came in.

Wade stopped in the doorway. She gave him a smile to reassure him that she was all right. He’d been so worried. She’d never seen him like that before.

He tried to smile back, but his expression crumbled. He burst into tears, dropping to his knees in front of her wheelchair.

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.”

“Wade, this wasn’t your fault. You have to quit blaming yourself,” Abby said, wishing it was true, as he squeezed her hand with what felt like desperation.

“I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” he was saying. “When I thought you were dead... Abby, I love you so much. Sometimes I do stupid things. I lose my temper or—”

“Well, fortunately, you didn’t lose her,” his father said from behind him in the doorway. Neither of them had heard Huck, so she didn’t know how long he’d been standing there.

Her husband surreptitiously wiped at his tears but didn’t get up. Nor did he let go of the one hand he held of hers too tightly.

“In fact, son, she looks like she feels much better,” Huck said as he entered the hospital room. “But you should have gotten those jars from the garage when she asked you to. I’m sure you won’t make that mistake again.”

Wade squeezed her hand even tighter. “No, I won’t,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I swear.”

“Then let’s get this woman home. Can’t let crime run rampant because of peach jam,” Huck said with a laugh.

Wade got up slowly as if he had a terrible weight on his shoulders. Abby watched him use the wheelchair arms to support himself as he lumbered to his feet.

She’d blamed his job at the sheriff’s office for the change in her husband, but as she felt the tension between Wade and his father, she wondered how much of the change in him was Huck’s doing. Her father-in-law often talked about making his son a man. It was no secret that he thought Wade wasn’t “tough” enough.

The doctor came in then to talk to her about her recovery. He still questioned whether she should be going home. She could tell that he was worried about her—and suspicious of her accident.

But Abby found herself paying more attention to what was going on out in the hallway. Huck had drawn Wade out into the hall. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but just from her husband’s hunched shoulders, she knew that Huck was berating him. Talk about the kettle calling the skillet black, she thought.

* * *

“STOP YOUR DAMNED BLUBBERING,” Huck said, taking Wade’s arm and halfway dragging him down the corridor. “You didn’t do anything wrong, remember? So quit apologizing.”