The Sheriff And The Impostor Bride

She gazed at him blankly. “Well, my goodness, Sheriff. Lots of people are missing from Oklahoma City. I’d venture to say that there are a lot of people out there who’ve never even visited Oklahoma City. If you have to round up everyone missing from Oklahoma City, then you better hurry and be on your way.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Riley said, “It’s not my job to round up everyone missing from Oklahoma City, ma’am, only the people who’ve been reported missing. And the Wentworth family of Freemont Springs has reported you missing. It’s my job to find you and let them know where you are.”

She paused for a very telling moment before asking, “Who are the Wentworths?”

“Who are the Wentworths?” he echoed. Well, hell, she should know that better than him. She was the one they were looking for.

“I don’t know anyone by the name of Wentworth,” she said. “sorry.”

He sighed. “You’ve been living in Oklahoma City for years, and you don’t know who the Wentworths are?”

She shook her head.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her on that score. The Wentworths were plenty famous in the state, but he supposed there were a good number of people who might not know about them, especially if they weren’t Oklahoma natives. So, for now, Riley decided to play along, just to see how far Miss Sabrina Jensen was willing to play whatever little game she was playing.

“Wentworth,” he repeated, enunciating the word a bit more clearly, a little more loudly, in case there really was something wrong with her hearing.

But she only continued to gaze at him tepidly, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

So Riley continued, “Joseph Wentworth is a big ol’ oil baron in Freemont Springs, which is not too far from Tulsa. Now, you do know where Tulsa is, don’t you?”

Miss Jensen nodded, smiling eagerly. “Oh, yes. In fact, I have a—”

Abruptly, she stopped talking, her eyes widening in panic, as if she’d been about to reveal something she shouldn’t. Riley waited to see if she’d continue, but she only snapped her mouth shut tight and said nothing more.

“You have a what?” he prodded her.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on now, Miss Jensen, you were about to say you had a...what...in Tulsa?”

“A, uh...” she hedged. “An elderly aunt. Aunt Wisteria. She lives in Tulsa.”

“Hoo-kay,” he said. Might as well just get on with it. “The Wentworth family,” he continued for Miss Jensen, “is real rich, and real famous—or maybe real infamous is a better way to put it. In any case, they’re real popular, real well-known folks. They run Wentworth Oil Works. That ring a bell?”

In response, all Miss Jensen did was squint her eyes a little, as if she were immersing herself in thought, searching the data banks of her brain for the slightest inkling of familiarity. Riley shook his head at what he suspected was a monumentally fake effort, but continued on with his story in the hopes of jogging her memory—or wrangling the truth out of her—for what good it would do.

“Old Joseph Wentworth pretty much raised two grandsons and a granddaughter after their parents were killed in a boating accident, oh...years and years ago. They have a big, beautiful house in Freemont Springs. Rich folks, like I said. Powerful. Stand tall in the community. You following me?”

Another nod from Miss Jensen, but nothing otherwise.

“Everyone in that part of Oklahoma knows about the Went-worths,” Riley continued. “Their activities are covered in the papers and on local TV all the time. I’d even wager to say that folks in Oklahoma City are pretty much aware of the Wentworths of Wentworth Oil Works in one way or another. Even the newcomers. Yet, you’re telling me you’ve never heard of them?”

Miss Jensen’s eyebrows arrowed downward as she processed this information—or at least pretended to. He was about to call her on her pretense when her expression cleared, and she lifted a hand to smack her open palm against her forehead. Hard.

“Oh, those Wentworths,” she said.

Somehow, he managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Those Wentworths.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were talking about some other Wentworths.”

Other Wentworths, he muttered to himself. Yeah, right. “So you don’t know the Wentworths personally?”

She shook her head.

“Well, the Wentworths sure know you. They’re all het up to find you.”

Sabrina Jensen shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea why they’d be looking for me. And as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, so...” She reached for the doorknob. “Will that be all, Sheriff?”

“Not quite.”

She expelled an exasperated breath and tucked her hand back under her other arm. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us.”

Riley inhaled deeply as he studied Miss Sabrina Jensen’s face again. Big mistake, he realized immediately. Because the moment he started looking at her, he found that he didn’t want to stop. No woman should have eyes that beautiful, that compelling, that hypnotic. A woman could do a man serious damage with eyes like those. And this woman had clearly tangled intimately with at least one man recently, given the state of her womb. Who knew what she’d done to the poor sap?

Or what the not-so-poor sap had done to her.

Automatically, his gaze dropped to her left hand, where he saw no ring. Unmarried. Aha. It hit Riley then that maybe Miss Jensen was missing on purpose, because she didn’t want to be found. Especially by the Wentworths of Freemont Springs, Oklahoma. There was a father for that baby of hers out there somewhere, a father who hadn’t yet married her. And Joseph Wentworth had a grandson. Even the older Wentworth boy might have fathered that baby before he died. Hell, for all Riley knew, maybe Joseph himself had a personal stake in finding Miss Jensen. Who knew what the particulars of her situation were?

“Miss Jensen,” he began again, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I thought you already had, Sheriff.”

He nodded. “Yeah, but your answers to those only roused a whole bunch more that we need to talk about.”

Without giving her time to answer, Riley settled his Stetson onto the settee beside him, tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pockets, then began to unbutton his coat. Miss Jensen opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of whatever it was, then closed it again. So he shed his coat and dropped it beside his hat, then he joined both on the settee and made himself comfortable. He slung his arm over the back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and met her gaze levelly.

Miss Jensen only stood staring back at him, as if she were trying to analyze him cell by cell. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers pinned him in place and held him there, assessing him, cataloging him, mesmerizing him. Riley began to feel as if he were a bug under a microscope, and Miss Sabrina Jensen was about to pick him apart. Then, thankfully, she sat down, too, in a chair positioned catty-corner to the settee.

“Can I fix you something to drink?” she asked halfheartedly. “Some coffee or something?”

He wondered for a moment if he should let on how much he knew about her, then decided that maybe she’d be more inclined to surrender information if she thought he already had most of it. So he replied. “I didn’t think pregnant women were supposed to drink coffee.”

The moment he said it, those two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks again, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then she splayed her hand over her flat belly, as if she were trying instinctively to protect whatever life was growing there.

“You, uh, you know about that?” she asked.

He nodded. “It was in the latest APB we received about you. When are you due?”

Something—surely it wasn’t relief—crossed her face, and she swallowed hard. “I, uh...” she began. But nothing more was forthcoming.

“Yes?” he spurred her.

But the only response she offered was another long, drawn out “Uh...”

“Miss Jensen?”

“Uh-huh?”

Hey, she was up to two syllables, Riley noted. Good for her. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?”

She nodded quickly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

Whoa, she was even using real words now, he thought. “When are you due?”

“In, uh, about, um...” She seemed to be thinking about something, then said, “June. I’m due in June. I’m three months along.” To illustrate, she held up one hand, index, middle and ring fingers extended, as if she were a preschooler identifying her age. “This many,” she said, enhancing the image. “Three. I’m three months. Yepper. That’s how pregnant I am. Three months.”

Riley nodded. Hoo-kay. Whatever. Nobody ever said beauty and brains went hand in hand, right? “Well, no offense, ma’am, but I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking coffee. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but—”

“Oh, I’m not, either,” she piped up. “An expert, I mean. This is my first time. Being pregnant, I mean. I’m sure the coffee is... I mean... Gee, I can’t seem to stop saying, ‘I mean,’ can I?” She laughed, a nervous little trill that he found very suspicious. “I mean—oops, there I go again—ahem. That is to say—” She smiled, having conquered her problem by introducing a new phrase. “I know the coffee is decaf. Would you like some?”

He still hadn’t quite recovered from the chill outside—or the prattling inside—so he nodded gratefully. Anything to give her something to do that would calm her down. But aloud, he only said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Even before he completed the sentence, Miss Jensen had shot up from her seat and fled to the kitchen. Of course, seeing as how the kitchen was less than two feet away, it wasn’t much of a flight. Strangely, Riley found that he was grateful for that, too. For some reason, he didn’t want Sabrina Jensen out of eyeshot.

Of course, that was because she was part of a case right now, he assured himself—and not because she was just a good-looking woman he’d like to get to know better. He had no intention of getting to know her better. Not like that, anyway. Not...intimately. She was pregnant, for God’s sake, something that tended to make a man think twice about involvement. For one thing, babies could put a real cramp in all that getting-to-know-you stuff. For another thing, it meant that she had a vested interest in another man.

Riley might have done some foolish things in his life where women were concerned, but he sure as shootin’ wasn’t about to infringe on another man’s, uh...connubial jurisdiction. Of course, Miss Jensen was a self-professed Miss, reinforcing his suspicion that she wasn’t married to whoever had sired that little nipper inside her, but still. The genesis of life tended to be a pretty major bond for people, didn’t it? Even if the baby’s father wasn’t around, it was a good bet she still had fond feelings for the guy, and that the guy likewise still had a thing for her. Hey, baby or no baby, what man in his right mind would let a woman like Sabrina Jensen out of his sight?

“Aha,” she said, bringing his attention around. When he looked up, he saw her standing in front of an open cabinet, a can of coffee in one hand.

“See?” she said, looking triumphant for some reason. “It is decaf. I told you so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, not sure why she should count the observation as such a coup. “You surely did.”

She smiled as she closed the cabinet and moved toward the coffeemaker. And in spite of his earlier admonitions to himself, Riley found that he was more than a little interested in her movements. Everything she did was marked by a graceful efficiency and an easiness of motion that put his mind at peace. At least, her motions were efficient and easy—until she looked up and caught him watching her. Then all hell broke loose. The little plastic scoop full of coffee that she held in her hand went clattering onto the counter, scattering grounds everywhere, and when she scrambled to retrieve it, she bonked her head on the kitchen cabinet beside her.

“Ouch,” she muttered as she lifted a hand to the injury. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the coffee scoop, and she poked herself in the eye with it when she did.

“Ow,” she muttered again.

“Here,” Riley said, jumping up from the settee. “Let me help you.” He did, after all, feel somewhat responsible for what had happened—he was the one who’d wanted coffee.

But the moment he took one step in Miss Jensen’s direction, she leapt backward, an action that propelled her right into the refrigerator. Once again, her head snapped backward and bore the brunt of a blow, and he instinctively moved toward her, hands extended, in an effort to help her. But somehow his foot hit hers, and he, too, went sailing forward. By now, there were coffee grounds everywhere, Miss Jensen was suffering from a full-blown fit of embarrassment, and Riley wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

Ultimately, his hands took the decision, well, out of his hands, because they opted to land flat on the refrigerator door behind her, one on each side of Sabrina Jensen’s head. And then the two of them stood quite literally face-to-face. And torso to torso. And libido to libido. And that was when the most bizarre thing popped into Riley’s head.

He wanted to kiss Sabrina Jensen.

And that, he decided very quickly, would be a truly spectacular mistake. In spite of his decision, though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from her just yet. Not because something in her eyes held him in thrall, and not because the heat of her surrounded him like a soothing balm, and not because she smelled just so damned good—like a field full of fragrant flowers.

But because she had dropped both coffee and scoop into the sink, and now she had her hands bunched fiercely in the khaki fabric of his shirt. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that instead of pushing him away—something he told himself any normal woman would do when faced by a complete stranger in such a way—she seemed to be pulling him nearer. Even more interesting was the way in which she was tilting her head back just a fraction of an inch, parting her lips as if she’d read his mind and, by golly, she wanted to kiss him, too.

“Uh, Miss Jensen?”

She had those luscious green eyes fixed on his face, and she seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time studying each of his features. Though, when he got right down to it, Riley supposed she seemed to be most captivated by his...mouth? Uh-oh. They both really were thinking about the same thing, about how it would feel to—

“Uh, Miss Jensen?” he began again.

But she remained so preoccupied by her study of his face that all she offered in response to his query was a softly uttered “Hmm?”

He swallowed hard. “You, uh... Are you okay?”

Her gaze wandered over his features until her eyes finally met his. But again, all she managed in reply was a quietly murmured “Mmm.”

He inhaled a deep breath and was immediately troubled by the shakiness of it. “Well, then, ma’am,” he said softly, “would you mind letting go of my shirt?”

For a moment, he didn’t think she’d heard him, and he wondered again about the state of her hearing. Then her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushed that becoming shade of pink again, her lips parted more, as if she couldn’t quite get enough air, and...

And she continued to hold fast to his shirt. So Riley circled her wrists with gentle fingers and, with no small effort, pried them loose. Only then did it finally seem to hit Miss Sabrina Jensen exactly what was going on. And it also seemed to hit her just how tenuous the situation was.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry....”

She dropped her gaze to the hands he held in his and awkwardly yanked them free. Then, with quick, jerky movements. she began to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt that her insistent grip had created. And at once, Riley wished he hadn’t released her hands. Because the only thing more unsettling than having her fingers tangled in his shirt was having her fingers skittering lightly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, flattening her palms and pressing harder on his chest in an effort to iron out a few more places. “I have no idea how that happened. The coffee just slipped right out of my hands, and—”

Deftly, he caught her wrists in his hands again, and, startled, she glanced up into his eyes. For one long, lingering moment, he came this close to simply dipping his head to hers and kissing her, a good, solid, why-don’t-we-just-dispense-with-the-formalities kiss, the way his instincts commanded him to. Then, somehow, he came to his senses and set her gently away.

“That’s all right,” he said, the words coming out a bit rougher than he’d intended. “Forget about the coffee. I’m not nearly as...uh...thirsty...as I was a few minutes ago.”

Boy, that had been close. He’d almost told her he wasn’t nearly as cold as he had been a few minutes ago, that being in close quarters with her had just heated him right up, and was she busy this evening, because he really wanted to get to know her and her hands better.

With no small effort, he forced himself to take a step backward in retreat. Then, somehow, he managed to take another. And then another. And another, and another, until he was as far away from Sabrina Jensen as he could be in the tiny confines of the trailer. Unfortunately, what stopped him was the entryway to her bedroom, something he discovered when his shoulder went slamming into the doorjamb, and he turned around to see what had impeded his progress.

“Damn,” he muttered out loud when the sight of the small, intimate-looking bed had him spinning quickly back around. Trailers were just too damned small for a sheriff to be able to properly interrogate a beautiful woman. Now what was he supposed to do?

When he looked at Miss Jensen again, she didn’t offer any answers. Instead, she was staring at him in a way that made his heart pound like a wild animal. Well, shoot. Nothing like being fiercely, irreversibly turned on by a total stranger, he thought. Especially one who was acting mighty suspicious about something and expecting another man’s baby. What the hell was going on? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Hastily, Riley reminded himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be attracted to Sabrina Jensen.

Number one, she was pregnant. That was a pretty major reason in and of itself to keep his distance. But just to be sure, he heaped on a few more. Number two, in spite of that come-hither look in her eyes right now, she was probably in love with whoever had fathered her baby, another very good reason to avoid her. Number three, she’d been acting awfully funny ever since he entered the trailer—she obviously had something to hide. Number four, she’d lied about at least one thing, so who was to say she wouldn’t lie about everything?

And number five, even without all of the above, Riley had sworn a looong time ago that it was going to take more than a beautiful face and a strong hormonal reaction to lure him into a relationship. When he started seeing a woman seriously again, it would be because she had wit, intelligence, integrity, honor and a strong sense of commitment. Miss Sabrina Jensen, so far, was showing signs of none of those things. And he’d be damned if he’d fall head over heels again just because of all that zinging of his heart strings. Hell, it had been bad enough when he was twenty-two, and Miss Caroline Merilee Dewhurst had—

He stopped himself before the memories of that ill-fated chapter of his life began to tumble into his brain. There was no reason to dwell on that right now, he told himself. Or ever again. Especially when the current chapter of his life was fast becoming a real page-turner.

“Miss Jensen,” he said, trying again to jump-start the conversation, “would you mind coming down to the station with me so I can ask you a few questions?”

Her eyes widened in surprise again. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, ma’am.” he was quick to assure her. “But I think the atmosphere at the station is a little more conducive to conversation than your trailer is.”

“Conversation?” she echoed. “Sounds to me like you have something more along the lines of interrogation in mind.”

He shook his head in firm denial. “No, I’d just like for you to clarify a few things for me is all.”

“Then I’ll clarify them right here.”

Riley sighed. She was digging in. He could see it from a mile away. Miss Sabrina Jensen wasn’t going anywhere with him today. “Fine,” he told her. “Then I’ll just give old Joseph Wentworth a call and let him know you’re safe and sound and living right here in Wallace Canyon at the Westport Trailer Park, lot number thirty-two.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “They don’t call them trailer parks anymore,” she said. “This is a mobile home community.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I think Mr. Wentworth will still be interested to know where you are.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Riley moved gingerly over to the settee to retrieve his coat and hat, keeping Miss Sabrina Jensen in his peripheral vision at all times. Hey, you never knew. He had settled his hat on his head and was shrugging into his coat when she took a step toward him. But only one. It was as if she were as fearful as he was that getting too close would create something between them that they couldn’t quite control. Like spontaneous combustion, for instance.

“Sheriff?” she said.

He finished buttoning himself up and looked at her. “Ma’am?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t notify the Wentworths of my whereabouts.”

That didn’t exactly surprise him. “Why not?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come down to the station with me right now and tell me all about it? I don’t have to be anywhere anytime soon. In case you didn’t notice, Wallace Canyon is kind of a small town. Things are a bit slow here.”

She nibbled her lower lip, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to come clean. And God help him, Riley decided he really, really liked how she did that. It made him wonder how it would feel to have those even, white teeth nibbling his lower lip, too. Not to mention some of his other body parts.

“I can’t go into it right now,” she told him, interrupting what had promised to be a very nice daydream. “I, um...I have a...a a doctor’s appointment. In...in thirty minutes. And I can’t miss it.”

“You gonna see Dr. Slater in town?” he asked, already knowing the answer. There was, after all, only one doctor in Wallace Canyon, a general practitioner. The next closest one was an hour away and specialized in podiatry.

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Dr. Slater. That’s who I’m seeing, all right. Ol’ Doc Slater.”

He eyed her warily again. “Dr. Slater is only forty-seven. And she really hates being called ‘Doc.’”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. I see. It, uh...it’s my first appointment.”

He nodded, but still felt that edge of suspicion twisting up his spine. “Okay. Then you can come by the station after you’re finished. You know where the station is?”

She nodded again. “Sure. Sure I do.”

“Then I’ll see you in about an hour?”

She licked her lips. “Uh...better make it an hour and a half,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll see you then, Miss Jensen.”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

For some reason, she seemed to be awfully worried about something. Then again, being summoned to the police station, even for something as minor as questioning, probably roused more than a few concerns in a person.

“I look forward to having my questions answered,” he said, lifting two gloved fingers to the brim of his hat in farewell.

And then Sabrina Jensen said the strangest thing in response. “Yeah. I will, too.”

Three

Rachel closed the door on Sheriff Riley Hunter, Wallace Canyon PD, bolted it as quickly as she could, then leaned against it with all her might. Somehow, she hoped doing so might keep all her problems at bay, and keep all of her lunch in her stomach. But even after shutting her eyes and taking ten deep breaths, even after silently uttering her favorite daily affirmations, even after that...that...that whattayacall...that visualization thingy where she tried to see herself floating peacefully on a raft in the middle of a swimming pool...