by JoAnn Durgin
“You are pathetic,” she said under her breath.
Checking out at the front desk, she was surprised to learn Landon hadn’t yet settled the bill. Without a second thought, she plopped down her credit card. No doubt this fiasco would cost her a pretty penny, but it was worth it not to feel any more indebted to him than she already did. Thanking the woman behind the desk, she folded the receipt and stuffed it inside her purse. If she looked at it now, she might faint, and she couldn’t risk that happening. She left her bags with the concierge and promised to retrieve them within the hour.
Glancing at her watch, Amy noted she still had a few minutes until he arrived. The night before, she’d noted all the paintings in the lounge area of the mezzanine outside The Driskill Grill. Might as well go take a look at them—something to kill time while waiting for what’s-his-name. Anything was better than dwelling on her muddled love life. From no love life to a big old mess the size of Texas. Heading toward the grand staircase, she paused a few steps above the lobby floor and lifted her eyes to the likeness of Colonel Driskill.
“Hey, Jesse,” she whispered with a wink. “Be good.”
She climbed the remaining steps, lost in thought. Wandering from one painting to another, she admired the western landscapes and cowboy scenes. A striking piece in an alcove caught her eye, different from all the others. Slinging her purse over one shoulder, she moved into the alcove to study it at close range.
The vibrant hues and textures were outstanding. A young woman walked in a field under a bright blue sky dotted with a few puffy white clouds. She wore no wedding ring, no shoes. Splashes of vivid blue on the apron tied over her plain brown work dress were shocking by contrast. Wildflowers in purplish blue—most likely Texas bluebonnets—as well as yellow, orange and red, bowed and danced at her feet. With her face raised to the sun, a hint of a smile curved her lips and her dark hair cascaded in waves to her waist. A brown bonnet, its ribbons fluttering, dangled from her fingertips.
Captivated by the lovely painting, she read the gold engraved plaque mounted on the wall beneath it. Finding Amelia. Jackson Hawley, 1991. Amelia? “I think I’m in the Twilight Zone,” she muttered. Hearing a familiar grunt behind her, Amy drew in a deep breath and turned. Try as she might, her pulse sputtered at how ridiculously gorgeous Landon looked in his jeans, red shirt and that jacket she’d come to appreciate more than she should. Likewise the brown Stetson he held in his hands. Not fair.
If she bombarded him with all the questions fighting for precedence in her scattered mind, she’d take a running leap and pummel the cowboy. That wouldn’t be the best publicity for the hotel. She could see the headline now: Crazed woman attacks local man at the historic Driskill Hotel. Calling Sam or Josh for bail money wouldn’t wash; she’d never live that one down. So, for now, she’d hear what the man had to say for himself. And then pummel him.
“Good morning, Amy.” His gaze—warm with appreciation—slid over her before settling on the sapphire pendant visible between the opening of her blouse. She’d fastened—then taken off—the necklace several times, but didn’t dwell on her motivation for leaving it on. What a situation.
With a slight nod, she turned back to the painting, unsure whether to call him Cooper or Landon. If the former, it’d heap more guilt on him. If the latter, it’d put him on the immediate defensive. Why should she care? Like it or not, you do. Discussing a work of art seemed a safe enough way to draw him into a conversation.
“Finding Amelia. Interesting,” he said, raising a brow. “I don’t suppose you’d consider it another coincidence?”
“Not at all.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like ‘Amelia’s’ uncommon.”
“Neither is it common, especially for the woman I’m looking at now.” Blue eyes sought hers and softened.
“It’s by Jackson Hawley.” Turning back to the painting, she avoided his gaze. “Maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“Enough to know he died this past year and the value of his paintings skyrocketed. I’m sure this one is worth a pretty penny now. You’re right. It’s terrific.”
When he stepped beside her, bringing the familiar scent of Irish Spring and all that rugged masculinity, Amy tried not to breathe in. You’re hopeless. Keep talking. “I admire an artist who’s true to his vision and paints with honesty and confidence,” she said. “In this piece, for instance. Notice the faint lines on her forehead and around her eyes and mouth. The drabness of her gown reflects her life, but look at her face, raised to the sky and the warmth of the sun. There’s hope in her expression. The way she’s holding her bonnet is significant, too. The ribbons flying in the breeze symbolize freedom, a break from the past perhaps.”
“I’m impressed. You got all that from this painting?”
She circled a finger around a small cluster of multicolored wildflowers with one finger. “Sure. Take this area, for example. What do you see?”
“Try as I might, other than the bluebonnets, I see nothing but scraggly little flowers. Love the colors, though. Did you know the bluebonnet—our state flower, by the way—is as important to Texas as the shamrock is to Ireland?”
“I don’t doubt it. They’re beautiful, but in this piece, they hold particular significance—wild, free, uninhibited.”
Landon tilted his head and stepped back a few paces. “Unlike the woman?”
“Exactly,” she said, stealing a glance at him.
“Another thing.” He pointed to the woman. “The way she’s postured, her arms out, the relatively long stride, it seems to me she’s gaining confidence as she walks. Like she’s embracing her future.” His voice was low, contemplative. “I’m sure Jackson had his reasons for making her barefoot, too.” When he caught her wary glance, he added, “In terms of being free without anything constraining her feet.”
“I think you have a greater appreciation for art than you realized.” Why she was talking with him in a civilized manner was another matter altogether.
“It’s the company I keep. She inspires me.” He captured her gaze. “Tell me, are you like the woman in this painting . . . Amelia?”
“In some ways, yes. In other ways, no.” Leave it up to him to make the differentiation.
“We need to talk, Amy. It’s important.”
“I know.”
He shifted and averted his gaze, but not before she caught his look of surprise. “I’m sorry it’s later than we planned on leaving. There was someone I needed to see this morning. My . . . dad. He’s in a prison about thirty miles from here. Minimum security, not that it matters.” Based on the tightness in his facial muscles, it was a difficult admission.
No wonder he seemed pained whenever the subject of his father arose. “I had no idea,” she said. “I’m . . . sorry.” She stopped herself as she was about to call him by his real name.
“Well, don’t be. He has no one to blame but himself.” Landon ran a hand over his brow as unspoken questions lingered in the air between them. The sadness in his face tugged at her heart. Resisting the strong urge to wrap her arms around him, Amy crossed them over her middle instead.
“He committed fraud and embezzled millions from his own company, but he was an even bigger fraud to his family.” Landon glanced at her before his gaze flickered to the carpet with the hotel’s “D” insignia beneath his boot-covered feet. “You’ve got to love the irony.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “He’s not the only fraud in the family. Amy, I’m not the man you think I am.”
Chapter 37
“There’s a balcony over here.” Landon angled his head toward the Brazos Street side of the hotel. “If it’s not too cold, we can go out there and talk.”
Amy nodded, thankful she wore her new jacket. The one he wanted you to have.
Leading her around the mezzanine, he opened the balcony door and waited. Thankfully, no one sat in the rattan rockers or on the bench. Crossing to the balcony railing, she peered over the ledge to t
he quiet street below, gathering her thoughts. Behind her, she heard his boots on the red tile floor followed by the door closing. Taking a deep breath, she turned.
He dropped his Stetson on the bench. “Care to sit?”
“No, I’ll stand, thanks.” Chilled—pretty much numb from the heart outward—she ran her hands up and down her arms. Never in recent memory could she remember being this nervous. Being summoned to Juliet’s office couldn’t compare.
Landon shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and walked forward a few steps, planting himself a foot away from her. “It’s difficult to know where to begin.” What sounded like remorse and guilt laced his words, and he ran a hand through his hair.
“The beginning usually works just fine. Why don’t we start there?” Inspiration seized her. Turning the tables on him might speed up the exposure of his little charade. Although she hadn’t taken a turn on the stage since high school, she’d inherited a few of her grandfather’s acting genes. Time to draw on what she’d learned from him, however limited or rusty her skills might be. “Okay, I’ll start. Is Landon your twin?”
He snapped up his head and narrowed his eyes. “No.”
She feigned a look of surprised innocence. “You’re so much alike. Brother then? Surely you’re somehow related.” She stopped tapping her foot in its incessant rhythm.
“No. Not a brother either.”
“Then tell me what I’m missing here.” Taking a step backward, she bumped into the balcony railing. She moved her hands behind her and leaned against them. Slow down, wayward heart.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you have very good instincts.”
Guarding herself against the intensity in those eyes, Amy turned her head.
He took a slow step toward her. “About people. About a young waitress, a runaway dog, a little girl at summer camp. Shall I go on?”
“Please do.” She fought to calm her breathing, but it proved an exercise in futility.
“You like sharing a blanket in a hansom in Central Park and chocolate cake at midnight. Daffodils in winter, coffee with two creams and four sugars, slow dancing at Scully’s—”
“Stop right there.” Amy raised her hand and planted it firmly on his chest, preventing him from coming any closer. “How did you—? How could you—?” Her eyes widened as she glared at him. “Who are you?” She brushed her fingers over the crescent moon scar, so perfect in its imperfection.
Wrapping his fingers over hers, Landon drew her hand away. “You know me, Amy.”
“This is maddening,” she said, shaking off his hand. “I don’t know what to think. Who do you think I think you are?” What an absurd question.
“I’m Landon. Landon Cooper Jared Warnick, to be specific.” When she didn’t speak, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he held it in front of her and pointed to his New York driver’s license. “Exhibit A.”
She leaned closer. “I can’t see it. Your thumb’s in the way.”
Giving her a look, he yanked it out and held it up in front of her. “Now can you see it?” He looked about ready to spit.
She darted a glance at the photo. “Ye—es,” she said. “Very flattering photo for a mug shot.”
“Not the picture, you beautiful nutcase. The name.” He shoved it at her again.
“You’d be well-advised to lower your voice and not resort to name-calling.” The indignation in her voice wasn’t lost on him based on the lines furrowing his forehead as he tucked the license back in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket.
“You know,” she said slowly, drawing out her words for maximum effect, “for a man who’s all about being upfront and honest from the start, I find it interesting how you couldn’t be straight with me.” She crossed her arms. “It’s about time you finally got around to your little confession. I wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep up this ridiculous farce.”
He grunted something unintelligible and the muscles in both jaws worked furiously. “You knew?” The pacing started again, back and forth a few times before he stopped. “You knew? Have you known all along, and you’ve been waiting for me to dig the hole deeper?”
“Get over yourself, but yes, you had me fooled and I must be the world’s most colossal fool not to have seen it coming. Sure, there were hints here and there pointing me to the truth, but I didn’t dwell on them because why on earth would I believe you’d ever do such a thing in the first place? Winnie and another of the TeamWork girls thought your last name was Warren and everyone was calling you Cooper. As soon as I saw you at the front of the church, I knew you were Landon even though you looked different enough with the tan, the haircut, the scar on your forehead. Then when the phone message from Landon was delivered a few days late, I was—”
“Discombobulated?”
“Yes, to say the least.” Their eyes met. “Then there’s the accent. I think that’s what really tipped the scales. Care to explain?” Powerless to stop it, she tapped her foot in a rapid staccato. Staring at the ground, Amy shuffled her boots and shot him a look of disgust. “I studied my junior year in London, but I didn’t come back home and call everyone ‘love’”—those last few words were spoken in a feigned British accent—“say it’s half past five instead of five-thirty, hold my fork upside down and shovel food onto my fork with my knife!”
Landon shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “The way your mind works is fascinating. In answer to your question, when I come back home, the accent comes right back and I don’t even think about it. If you’ll remember, I told you that during our date in Manhattan.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, blowing out a breath, “you said a lot of things that night. You made me dizzy with all the things you said.”
“Dizzy good or—”
She stared. “You really are incredibly infuriating, you know that?”
“Come on, Amy. No jury in the world would convict me of premeditated deception.”
She snapped up her head. “Fraud. That’s what it’s called.”
The way his lips thinned and his eyes hardened, she knew she’d pushed him too far. Admittedly, it was a low blow, but the man deserved it. He’d brought up the irony of it all in the first place.
“Fair enough.” Pushing the Stetson aside, Landon dropped onto the bench and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When I saw you coming down the aisle at the wedding, you were so beautiful. I’ve never known a woman who makes me crazy like you do.” Catching her look, he added, “I mean that in all the best ways. After our date in Manhattan, I couldn’t wait to get back to the city so I could spend more time with you. Get to know you better. Dancing with you at the wedding and then that kiss . . . . Every single thing in my life paled in comparison to that moment.” He shook his head. “Can we please put this behind us, have a good laugh, chalk it up to a great story and ride into the sunset together?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Is it really that easy for you to sweep deception under the rug? Sweep, sweep,” she said, moving her hands back and forth as though holding a broom. “You lied to me!”
“Haven’t you ever—at least once in your life—wanted to be someone you’re not?”
“I can’t say I haven’t ever thought about it, no, but you took it too far. Way past acceptable boundaries, Landon. A minute’s too long for deception. You kissed me knowing full well I thought you were Landon the night of the wedding. Then you made me doubt my sanity the very next morning when I thought I’d kissed a perfect stranger!”
He shook his head. “How does your mind work? I hate to point out the obvious, but I am Landon. And, for the record, you didn’t really know Landon that well when you went to the wedding and kissed him.”
She stared. “You really are nuts, aren’t you? Talk about sanity. Make that insanity. You’re walking a very thin line here talking about yourself in third person. I suppose now I should start spouting things about how Amy feels?”
> “I started to tell you I was Landon in the lobby of the inn in Baton Rouge, but you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise—”
“I did—” She stopped and clamped her lips together, motioning for him to continue.
“I tried to tell you last night, but you stopped me. I should have blurted out my name right then and there, but like you said, the night was too perfect and I didn’t want to spoil it. Tell me, how did you figure it out?”
“Mitch. Good thing he’s looking out for my best interests since I’m apparently incapable of it myself. What a fool I’ve been.”
His shoulders slumped. “You’re not a fool. This whole thing started out because of what you’d call my male pride.”
When he paused, she nodded. “Go on.”
“You insulted me personally, and that was bad enough, but when you started in on my magazine, you crossed a line.” Those blue eyes were gorgeous even as they sliced through her with the force of his anger. The man was really fired up now and it infuriated her.
She could contain herself no longer. “Ooohh! Then why didn’t you just leave? Climb into that rental car and drive off into the sunset in Nowhereville, Texas all by your lonesome? Were you so mad because I insulted you—and your magazine—that you wanted to get back at me by dragging me along in your crazy charade? Because you had something to prove?”
“For starters, yes, I needed to find out if you really meant those things you said or if you were only . . .”
She waited, but he hesitated for a long moment. “Only . . . ?”
Rising to his feet, he walked toward her. Catching the look in her eye, he stopped a good two paces away. “Let’s look at the facts here. I had a situation where a woman I wanted to get to know better completely enchanted me with her wit, humor, beauty and everything else about her. But then she told me straight to my face she couldn’t trust me. You have a brother, so you should have a modicum of understanding of how men love a challenge. Can’t resist them, as a matter of fact. You bruise a man’s ego big time by saying you can’t trust him, sweetheart. Call it misguided, but I think I did a pretty fair job of convincing you.” Landon leaned close. “These last few days? That—this was me. More than the guy in the fancy suit in Manhattan is or ever will be.”