Pregnant In Prosperino

Raking a trembling hand through her hair, she thought of the dream she’d just had. It was a familiar vision that haunted her more and more frequently.

It always began the same. She and her mother, Meredith, were in the car. In the dream, Emily was no longer twenty, but rather eleven years old and filled with the joy and security of Meredith’s love, love that in a screech of twisting metal and the tinkling of shattered glass had evaporated.

It was never the car accident in the dream that frightened Emily, rather it was always what happened after the wreck that ripped terror through her soul.

Dazed by a head wound, bleeding and frightened, Emily had opened her eyes to see two identical mommies. They had the exact same hair, the exact same features, but one was Emily’s loving, beautiful mother and the other was a mother with hard, gleaming eyes and a wicked, hateful smile. And in the blink of an eye, the good mommy was gone, replaced by the bad mommy.

It had only been in the past year that Emily had begun to realize that the visions that tormented her in her dreams were not really dreams, but rather memories of the events that had occurred on that fateful day of the accident.

And now, almost ten years after the day of that accident, Emily knew the truth. Meredith’s wicked, evil twin sister, Patsy, had usurped not only Meredith’s identity, but her home and her family as well.

Grief ripped through Emily as she thought of the years lost, of the family that had disintegrated beneath the dramatic changes in “Meredith.”

But now Emily knew the truth, the whole truth. The Meredith she’d lost on the day of the accident was in Jackson, Mississippi, trying desperately to regain the memory she’d lost that day.

Once Dr. Wilkes helped the real Meredith cope with the trauma she’d suffered, she would return home and reclaim her life.

Emily left the sofa and went to the window. Staring out into the darkness of the night, she’d never felt quite so alone.

Patsy knew Emily knew the truth and someplace out there was a hired killer whom Patsy had paid to get rid of Emily. He’d nearly succeeded twice before, but Emily had managed to escape.

She shivered, realizing the darkness outside could hide many things, including a killer with a limp and a Fu Manchu mustache and goatee. He could be out there right now, watching, waiting, eagerly plotting the perfect time to make his move on her.

She turned away from the window and shut out the light, then curled up on the sofa, her mind whirling in chaos. She had to do something about Toby. A vision of the handsome young deputy filled her head. When she’d been hiding out in Keyhole, Wyoming, Toby had not only befriended her, he’d fallen in love with her. And how she wished she loved him back…but she didn’t.

The phone call she’d received several nights before replayed in her mind. Wyatt and Annie, friends she’d made while in Keyhole had called to see that she was all right, and it had been Wyatt who had told her that Toby was distraught, upset that she was gone and worried about her well-being. Wyatt had told her that Toby had begged Wyatt to tell him where she was, but Wyatt had respected her wishes and hadn’t told.

She’d disappeared from Keyhole without saying goodbye to the deputy who had cared about her, leaving him with questions and an aching heart. But, what could she do about it now? What should she do about it now?

Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer heavenward. She prayed that Meredith would regain her memory and reclaim her life and that Patsy would be arrested and put behind bars before her hired killer found this place…before he found Emily.

Three

Lana knew she was in bed alone before she opened her eyes. She felt Chance’s absence. It was as if when he’d left the room, he’d taken part of the energy with him.

She opened an eye and reached out to touch the pillow that still held the depression from his head, the heat of his body.

Chance.

She closed her eyes again and thought back over what they had shared the night before.

For just a moment, as Chance had kissed her, as his hands had caressed her and made her body sing, she’d fancied herself just a tiny bit in love with him.

It had been a harmless fantasy, just a game she’d played in her mind to justify the intimacy they’d shared. But now, with the bright early-morning light shining in her eyes, reality stole the fantasy and she knew what they’d done the night before had had nothing to do with love.

In fact, she wondered if Chance was angry with her. Was that what had driven him from bed so early? She left the bed and went into the bathroom.

A moment later as she stood beneath a hot spray of water, she steeled herself for the possibility that she would have to face his ire. She certainly knew he’d been shocked to discover her a virgin. Had he also been angry with her for not telling him ahead of time?

The pain of consummation had surprised her. Even now, she was sore but knew next time would be better. Next time…the thought made a shiver of anticipation race up her spine.

She finished up her shower and dressed for the day, then went into the kitchen where she found a fresh pot of coffee, but no sign of Chance.

Maybe he wasn’t mad at her. Maybe he’d just found the entire experience distasteful. A man like Chance would be used to making love to beautiful women, women who were skilled in the art of lovemaking.

He’d probably been turned off by the fact that she hadn’t known where to touch him, how to kiss him in the ways he was accustomed to being touched and kissed. She had been rather clueless to the whole process of lovemaking.

She sighed and poured herself a cup of coffee and moved to the window. Instantly she spied Chance out by the barn. He was working on the corral fencing and even though it was early and the air was cool, he worked bare-chested, clad only in a pair of faded, worn jeans.

For a moment she enjoyed the opportunity of watching him without him knowing. She could see even from this distance the light sheen of sweat that coated his broad chest.

The morning sun played on the golden highlights of his hair and he looked more like a surfer than a farm equipment salesman. He looked utterly virile, devastatingly sexy and overwhelmingly masculine.

When he’d first arrived at the Colton ranch, sent there to give him and his father a cooling-off period from each other, her mother had warned her to stay away from him.

“That boy is trouble,” Inez had told her thirteen-year-old daughter. “You can see it in his eyes. He’s mad at the entire world and heaven help anyone who gets in his path.”

And for the first couple of days Chance had been at the ranch, Lana had done as her mother had instructed and given Chance a wide berth.

During those first days, Chance had broken the rules, kept himself isolated from the others and wore a chip on his shoulder the size of Los Angeles.

Then slowly, Meredith Colton’s love and Joe Colton’s discipline and affection began to work on him. Some of the rage left his eyes and he broke the rules less and less often. And it was during the next couple of months that he and Lana formed the bonds of friendship.

She’d discovered that beneath the rage was a gentle, caring young man who had a wonderful sense of humor and who longed to belong somewhere.

She watched him now, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, remembering how the muscles of his back had felt beneath her fingertips the night before. The muscles had felt so strong, and yet the skin covering them had been soft and warm.

Turning away from the window, she frowned and tried to shove thoughts of last night out of her mind. Sinking down at the table, she once again thought of the boy Chance had been.

During the year he’d stayed at the Coltons, he and Lana had shared many conversations. Actually, Chance had done most of the talking, sharing with her his thoughts about life, his father and girls. And in those conversations, Lana had developed a tremendous crush for the handsome boy he had been.

But that had been a long time ago, and in the intervening years she and Chance had only seen each other occasionally when he came home for a holiday.

As a young girl she’d fancied herself madly in love with Chance Reilly. And now she was married to him, had spent the night in his arms and felt as if she had no idea what kind of man he’d become.

It didn’t matter what kind of man he’d become, she told herself. After all, this was just a temporary arrangement, a bargain where both got what they wanted, then said goodbye to each other. She’d promised him no binding ties, no messy emotions.

Chance remained outside for most of the day. At noon, Lana took him out a couple of sandwiches and a tall glass of iced tea, which he accepted gratefully. He ate quickly, barely speaking, then immediately went back to work.

Lana returned to the house and spent the rest of the day cleaning the house, moving the rest of her personal items from the spare room into his bedroom and preparing the evening meal.

She liked housework and enjoyed cooking, and the afternoon passed quickly as she busied herself with various chores. By the time Chance walked into the house at six o’clock, she had a hearty beef stew awaiting him and fresh bread just out of the oven.

“Lana, all this isn’t necessary,” he exclaimed as he washed up at the kitchen sink. “I didn’t marry you in order to gain a cook and housekeeper.”

“I enjoy doing it,” she protested. “I’ve always loved to cook, but have been out of practice. It’s no fun to cook just for one.” She motioned him to the table, then moved to the counter to slice the hot bread. As she worked, she was aware of his gaze on her, felt it burning into her back.

She finished slicing the bread, then joined him at the table, knowing it was time to talk about what had happened the night before. “Chance, about last night…”