Dead Ringer & Classified Christmas

by B. J Daniels

  He scowled over at Andi. What did any of us know about each other really? All his instincts told him that Andi Blake had her own secrets—but not for long. At this very moment, his brother was working on finding out everything there was to know about her.

  And Cade was anxious to know. He knew he was looking for some kind of leverage. So far Andi Blake had been holding all the cards.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked impatiently.

  What were they doing here? He’d thought maybe here, in the home that he and Grace had shared, would be proof that Grace Browning had existed. But the only proof was what he felt in his heart and even he was starting to question whether it had been real.

  As Andi had pointed out, the three million dollars was still missing. Apparently someone was looking for it. And Andi Blake wasn’t the only one who knew about Grace being Starr.

  Something had happened in Texas to catapult her to Montana. He’d bet the ranch on it. He had a bad feeling whatever it was would end up being connected to Starr and the Calhoun family.

  He thought about turning around and going back to town. But he’d come this far...

  “Come on,” he said. “You want to know about Grace...” He headed toward the arena, not ready to take Andi inside the cabin, if ever.

  “Where are the horses?” she asked once inside. He’d taken his time showing her around, stalling.

  “I board them during the winter,” he said. The truth was he had boarded them in town ever since Grace died, avoiding the cabin and thoughts of the future they had planned here.

  It was cold in the arena. He could see his breath and Andi wasn’t dressed for winter in Montana. The fool woman was still wearing that lightweight leather coat and high-heeled boots. She was shivering, her teeth practically chattering. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself and looked as if she was close to hypothermia.

  He swore silently. Whatever animosity he felt toward her for coming into his life and blowing it all to hell, he hadn’t meant to let her freeze.

  “You look cold,” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Her teeth were chattering now.

  “Right,” he said. “Come on.” There would be no getting out of it. He’d have to take her into the cabin and get her warmed up before they headed back to town.

  For just an instant it crossed his mind how alike Grace and Andi had been when it came to stubborn determination.

  He quickly pushed that thought away with distaste. Andi was nothing like Grace. At least the Grace he’d thought he’d married.

  * * *

  “WHAT IS THAT?” Andi asked, trying to keep her mind off the freezing cold as they walked toward the cabin. The snow was deep and the ice under it slick. She couldn’t feel her fingers in her leather gloves. Nor her toes in her boots.

  “What?” He stopped to look back at her.

  She pointed in the distance to what appeared to be the skeleton of a house someone had started and abandoned. The wood was weathered gray against a backdrop of rocky bluffs.

  “I was building a bigger place for us when Grace was killed,” he said, following her gaze.

  “You plan to finish it?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re just going to leave it like that? I would think it would only act as a constant reminder of what you’d lost.”

  He turned to glare at her. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, all right? What’s it to you anyway?”

  “Nothing. I was just curious,” she said.

  “Maybe one of these days I’ll raze it. Happy?” With that he turned and strode off toward the cabin.

  She stared at his strong back, the determined set of his shoulders and shook her head. Would she ever understand this man?

  Reminding herself that she didn’t need to understand him, she tucked the information away, already weaving it along with this place into her story as she trailed after Cade, colder than she’d ever been in her life.

  A gust of wind whirled snow into her face as she neared the house. She felt her boot heel slip on the ice and would have gone down if Cade hadn’t grabbed her.

  He shook his head in apparent amused disgust as he took her leather gloved hand and led her up the steps to the cabin.

  She drew her hand back once they were on the porch, angry with herself and with him. She was out of her realm—just as he would be in Fort Worth. So she hadn’t walked on anything but sidewalk most of her life. So she was cold and not as sure-footed on the ice as he was. She didn’t need his condescending attitude.

  As he unlocked the front door of the cabin, she realized she could no longer feel her feet. And she couldn’t stop shaking.

  Cade ushered her inside where the interior of the cabin was only a little warmer than the arena.

  Andi stood just inside the door looking around. She hadn’t been sure what to expect. The outside of the cabin was rustic, appearing to have been built back in the 1930s. It was log-framed with chinking between the logs and a weathered rail porch, all grayed with age.

  So it was a surprise to see that the inside of the cabin was quite homey. She instantly recognized a woman’s touch—this cabin was so different from the apartment where Cade stayed in town behind the bait shop.

  Cade must have noticed her startled expression. “It was all Grace’s doing.”

  The decor was warm and inviting with comfortable furniture and welcoming colors. Also the place was more spacious than she would have guessed from the outside.

  There was a rock fireplace against one wall with bookshelves on both sides to the ceiling. She walked over to glance at the books. They all looked as if they’d been read, and more than once. The variety of topics surprised her given that a cowboy and a bank robber had lived here. She looked up to find Cade’s dark gaze on her.

  “Most of the books are mine.” He sounded defensive. “Or didn’t you think I could read?”

  She ignored that as she moved around, trying to warm up her hands and feet. What had she been thinking moving to Montana in the middle of winter? It was literally freezing up here.

  She pulled several books from the shelves, then put them back.

  “I’ll make us some coffee,” he said, then seemed to hesitate. “Maybe I’d better make a fire.”

  She glanced around as he got a blaze going in the fireplace. All of the walls had interesting black-and-white photographs of what she assumed was the area. They had such a Western feel to them that Andi was reminded of old movies she’d watched as a child with her father. He loved Roy Rogers and Gene Autry films.

  “Grace took those,” Cade said behind her.

  It surprised her that Starr was such a good photographer. “I had no idea Starr was this talented.”

  Cade met her gaze. “There’s a lot you didn’t know about my wife.”

  Apparently so. But a lot he didn’t know, either.

  “She was going to have a show in Great Falls in the spring. She was shy about her work, but I talked her into it.” He stopped as if he realized another reason Starr might not have wanted to go public with her work.

  “Wrap up in that quilt on the couch. You need to warm your fingers and toes slowly otherwise they’ll hurt,” he said as he turned and went into the kitchen.

  Her fingers and toes already ached from the cold. She couldn’t imagine them hurting any worse as she went to stand by the blaze he’d gotten going in the fireplace.

  Within moments, she felt a painful tingling in her fingers. Her toes were starting to tingle, as well. She could hear him banging around in the kitchen. She sat down on the couch, her eyes tearing with the pain.

  Why had he brought her here? She pulled her shoulder bag with the pepper spray in it closer—just in case she might need it, then wrapped the quilt around her, wondering if St
arr had made it as she stared into the flames.

  Cade came out of the kitchen and handed her a mug of steaming instant coffee.

  Her hands and feet hurt, just as he said they would. She grimaced as she wrapped her fingers around the hot mug.

  “Here,” he said. “We need to get those wet boots off.” Before she could protest he knelt in front of her and taking one of her boots in both hands began to unzip them. “If you’re going to live here, you’ve got to dress for the weather.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied and attempted to pull her foot back.

  He gave her an impatient look, pulled off her boot, then reached for the other one. He removed the second boot, put both boots to warm near the fire and began to gently rub her feet.

  “They’re hurtin’, aren’t they?” he said, nodding before she could answer. “They’ll be better in a minute.”

  She’d have to take his word for it. She sipped her coffee, trying to ignore the feel of his strong but gentle fingers rubbing her feet.

  The cabin felt much smaller. Cade Jackson seemed to fill the entire space with his very male presence. She knew how much this was hurting him, being here in his cabin he’d shared with his wife. Clearly he didn’t spend much time here since her death. Andi could tell that he’d been reluctant to bring her here. So why had he? As hard as he tried not to show it, she could see that this was killing him.

  “Better?” he asked after a few minutes.

  She nodded. “Thank you.” The moment he stood again, she tucked her feet under her. Not that she didn’t appreciate his kindness. As she sipped her coffee she watched him. He stood next to the fireplace, the flames playing on his strong features.

  Had Starr fallen so deeply in love with this man that she really had wanted to change? As Andi studied him, she thought it actually possible. There was something so comforting about this man, a strength, and yet an aliveness that drew even her.

  “What now?” Cade asked quietly.

  She shook her head, not understanding since only moments before her thoughts had been on anything but Starr and the news article she would write.

  “I’ve shown you my life with Grace,” he said. “You can do your story. What else do you want from me?”

  There was one thing she needed before she broke the story, but she knew it would be over Cade Jackson’s dead body.

  However, none of this felt as if it was in her hands anymore—if it ever had been. She was being led by whoever was providing her with the information. That person knew her, knew that this was personal for her, knew she wouldn’t quit until she got to the truth.

  “It isn’t about what I want,” she said, believing that to be true. “Whoever is supplying me with the information, wants something.”

  He nodded solemnly. “The money.” He said it with such distaste she didn’t doubt he’d never seen it let alone spent it.

  “That would be my guess,” she said.

  “We already know that.” Cade rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “But I don’t know where the money is. If Starr had it, I was never aware of it.”

  She nodded. “I believe that. The question is, does Starr still have it?”

  “You’re not back to your theory that Starr walked away from that wreck, are you?”

  Her gaze locked with his. “What if she isn’t dead? What if you didn’t bury your wife? Then she is alive somewhere with your child. We need to know if that body you buried is actually Starr’s. You’re the only one who can have her body exhumed.”

  Cade froze, his mug partway to his mouth, his eyes suddenly hard as stones.

  Andi rushed on, “If her DNA matches that of one of her brothers in prison—”

  He threw the mug with enough force that it shattered when it hit the wall. Coffee made a dark stain across the woodwork and floor.

  Without a word, he stormed out of the cabin.

  Chapter Eight

  “YOU CAN GO visit my cousin in Minnesota until the baby is born and then come back,” Arlene said.

  Charlotte looked up at her from the couch where she was eating cold leftover pancakes dripping with syrup. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know I’m pregnant.”

  “What about the father?” Arlene asked, wiping up crumbs from the plastic on the couch beside her daughter.

  “What about him?” Charlotte asked, licking her fingers.

  “Have you told him the baby’s his?”

  Charlotte turned her attention to the last pancake on the plate. She dredged it through a lake of syrup but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “He doesn’t believe me that it’s his.”

  “And you’re protecting this man?” Arlene demanded. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. It’s my baby. I want it.”

  Arlene raised a brow. “Want it? What do you intend to do with it?”

  “Raise it,” Charlotte snapped.

  “You? Raise a baby?”

  “I figure I can do a hell of a lot better than you have,” her daughter said, shoving away her plate. The pancake spilled to the floor in a pool of syrup as Charlotte stormed off to her bedroom, slamming the door solidly behind her.

  Arlene stared down at the pancake and syrup soaking into the rug for a moment, then dropped to her knees to hurriedly clean up the mess. She’d always kept a clean house, prided herself in her neatness. Floyd had hated the way she fussed around the house.

  “Sit down, for cripe’s sake, Arlene,” he’d bark. “You’re driving me crazy with your cleaning.”

  Nervous energy. She’d always had more than her share.

  She scrubbed at the rug, frantic to get the syrup up before it stained the rug, wondering why she’d tried so hard. She’d wanted to be a good wife and mother. Her own mother had been cold and uncaring. Arlene had never been able to do anything right according to her.

  She quit scrubbing at the rug. The dishrag felt sticky in her hands. Her eyes burned hot. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried and was surprised when scalding tears began to run down her face.

  Her body shook with chest-rattling sobs. Through blinding tears, she saw herself on the floor crying as a child, her mother standing over her.

  Her mother had always said Arlene wouldn’t amount to anything. Even when Arlene had kept her house and her kids spotless, her mother had found fault until the day she died.

  But that day, on the floor, her mother standing over her with the leather strap, Arlene had prayed that she could prove her mother wrong as she cried for the father she’d never known to save her.

  He hadn’t and her mother’s prophecy had now come true. Arlene Evans was a disgrace, a failed wife, a failed mother. How could she allow another generation to be born into this mess?

  * * *

  ANDI STARED AFTER Cade as a gust of cold air blew in with the slamming of the door.

  She’d known he wasn’t going to take the idea of the exhumation well. Not that she blamed him. She found she was shaking and wondered if it was from his reaction—or her own. She’d just asked a man to dig up his dead wife, a woman he had clearly loved almost more than life itself.

  She felt sick. Had she no compassion anymore? Not for the Calhouns. And even less for Starr who had obviously broken Cade Jackson’s heart—and Andi feared would completely destroy it by the time this was finished.

  She hated being a part of it. But she was and had been for more years than she wanted to admit.

  Not that she thought the person who sent her the clippings and tape would let her stop now, anyway. How far was he willing to go to get what he wanted? And what exactly did he want besides the money?

  She rose from her chair in front of the fire to retrieve her boots. They felt warm as she slipped her feet into them. As she did, she noticed a ro
w of books—all about the outlaws of the Old West.

  Andi pulled down one with a well-used paperback cover and thumbed through it, stopping on the title page. It was signed: “Grace, I know how much you like these stories. Love, Cade.”

  She heard a sound outside the cabin and put the book back. Now she understood Cade’s expression when he’d found her in the outlaw section at the museum. He’d known about Grace’s interest in the outlaws of the Old West.

  So what did that have to do with anything?

  And where was Cade? she wondered as she took her mug to the kitchen. She rinsed it out and set it on the counter, admiring what Starr had done with the house.

  Why had Starr bothered fixing up this place if she was planning to take off? Or had the decorating just been something to do until she could take the money and leave?

  Andi cleaned up the broken mug and spilled coffee. Past the kitchen was an open door. Through it she could see the bedroom. The colors alone drew her toward the room. An antique high bed with an iron frame sat in the middle of the room. The iron bed had been painted white, stark next to the color-crazy quilt on the bed.

  But it was the photograph over the bed that drew her. She moved closer. The shot was of Cade. Starr had captured the man so perfectly, both his strength and his stubbornness as well as a vulnerability that pulled at Andi’s heart. This was the man Starr had fallen in love with. The man who had changed her into Grace Browning.

  “Are you ready?”

  Andi jumped at the sound of Cade’s voice directly behind her. She’d been so taken with the photograph and what it said about Cade—and Starr—that she hadn’t heard him come back. “It’s a wonderful photo of you.”

  He said nothing as he waited for her to leave the room before he firmly closed the door behind them.

  “I should get you back to town,” he said, taking her coat from where he’d hung it earlier to dry.

  She wanted to tell him she was sorry. Sorry for suggesting the exhumation. Sorry that she was the one who’d brought this to him. But what she was really sorry for was that she hadn’t believed him that Starr had become the woman, Grace Browning, who he’d loved.