This book made available by the Internet Archive.
Books by Barbara Boswell
Silhouette Desire
Rule Breaker itSSS
Another Whirlwind Courtship #583
The Bridal Price #609
The Baby Track msx
License To Love #685
Double Trouble #749
BARBARA BOSWELL
loves writing about families. **I guess family has been a big influence on my writing/' she says. '*I particularly enjoy writing about how my characters' family relationships affect them."
When Barbara isn't writing and reading, she's spending time with her own family—her husband, three daughters and three cats, whom she concedes are the true bosses of their home! She has lived in Europe, but now makes her home in Pennsylvania. She collects miniatures and holiday ornaments, tries to avoid exercise and has somehow found the time to write over twenty category romances.
Prologue
^^Kayla, please! All you have to do is go to the dinner tonight and pretend to be me for a few hours. There's absolutely no chance that anyone will suspect a thing. Nobody who's going to be there even knows that I have a twin. Kayla, if you do this for me, I promise never to ask you for anything again."
Kayla McClure stared at her twin sister's flushed face. Looking at Kristina was Uke looking into a mirror. Their features were identical: large hazel eyes fringed by dark lashes, slightly upturned noses and wide, generous mouths. Even their hairstyles were similar, with long thick light-brown curls flowing over their shoulders. Right now, Kristina's jaw was set and her eyes glittered with a determination that Kayla knew well.
Kayla sighed. When she'd arrived from her home in Washington, D.C., to visit her twin in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania this weekend, she hadn't expected anything but a
quiet sisterly visit. Kristina, it seemed, had a different agenda.
''Kristina, I want you to ask me to help whenever you need it, but when it comes to masquerading as you tonight, well, forget it. Twin-switching was cute in grade school and fun in junior high, but the few times we tried it after that were unmitigated disasters. I vowed never again. We're twenty-eight, Kristina, not eight," Kayla added reprovingly.
"Kayla, let me explain why I need this favor so desperately." Kristina bit at her thumbnail, a nervous habit she'd been fighting to break since childhood. ''Boyd Sawyer called me yesterday. He's in Philadelphia—he presented some paper to a medical group—and he wants to see me tonight. He's flying back to Atlanta tomorrow afternoon so if I don't see him tonight..." Kristina's voice trailed off and she looked at the ground.
When she raised her head, Kayla saw that her sister's eyes were filled with tears. "I made such a mess of it with Boyd, Kayla," Kristina whispered. "It's all my fault that we broke up. I've been regretting it—and missing him—for the past two years."
Though Kristina had never confided the particulars of her breakup with Boyd Sawyer, Kayla knew how deeply in love her sister had been with the handsome, hardworking research physician. Kristina had been on the verge of hysteria the night she'd called Kayla to tell her that the romance was over. Boyd was taking a new job and moving to Atlanta. "It's all my fault," Kristina had said then, just as she continued to maintain now, two years later.
"I have to see Boyd, Kayla," Kristina said, her voice husky with urgency. "I have to! But, unfortunately, I'm also committed to attending this stupid fund-raising dinner tonight. If there were anyone else from the trade association available to attend, I'd arrange for it but there isn't. I have to show up.''
''In Other words, you have to be in two places at the same time tonight."
''With your cooperation, it can be done, Kayla," Kris-tina said eagerly. "If the real me is in Philadelphia with Boyd and you're at the dinner here in Harrisburg pretending to be me, I really can be in two places at the same time!"
Kayla felt her resolve weakening. What if she were to impersonate Kristina this one time? Would that really be so bad? Kayla grimaced. She knew the answers to those questions, of course, but this was no time for common sense. Swapping identities didn't allow for it. "Who is the fundraiser for?" she asked resignedly.
"A state senator from the Johnstown area. His name is Matt Minteer," Kristina told her. "He is his party's unanimous choice to fill the seat of an ancient congressman who is finally retiring from the U.S. House of Representatives. In that area of the state, the party's endorsement is tantamount to being elected. Minteer is kicking off his campaign tonight with the fund-raising dinner and all his party's important state politicians will be there along with a big contingent of lobbyists, of course."
"Of course," Kayla repeated, amused in spite of herself. She knew very well that wherever politicians gathered, the presence of lobbyists was a given. And Kristina was a lobbyist. "So I guess I'm a lobbyist tonight," Kayla said wryly. If attending a political fund-raising dinner while masquerading as her twin could benefit her sister's future happiness, it was worth the aggravation. Wasn't it? Once again Kayla firmly suppressed the niggling doubts assailing her.
"You're going!" Kristina shrieked joyfully and wrapped Kayla in a bear hug. "Oh, thank you, Kayla! Thank you!"
Kristina's jubilant thanks gave Kayla the impetus to ignore the nagging voice in h^ head that kept repeating one of their stepmother Penny's favorite axioms: "No good deed goes unpunished." She tried to think of another, more positive maxim as she arrived at the downtown Hilton Hotel shortly before seven that evening. Something about good deeds being their own reward, perhaps?
A sizable crowd was already gathered in the well-appointed ballroom. Fortunately, name tags were de ri-gueur and Kayla plastered one to her oyster-colored suit jacket, id^tifying her as Kristina McClure, PITA, an acronym for Pennsylvania Independent Telephone Association.
People approached her to chat. Kayla read their name tags and pretended that she knew them. The only conversation required in the noisy, jostling crowded room were the most superficial comments and responses, and Kayla had no
trouble faking it. She was certain that nobody suspected an impostor in their midst.
A waiter came by, taking orders for drinks from the open bar. When Kayla declined to have one, he offered to fetch her a glass of fruit punch instead. She accepted gratefully and continued her conversation with Don Exner, a balding, middle-aged lobbyist who'd been chatting genially with her as ''Kristina," of course.
And then, "Say, there's Matt now," exclaimed Exner. '^Matt!" he called.
Kayla suppressed a groan. It was unfortunate that she happened to be standing with Don Exner when Matt Min-teer happened along. But Kristina had assured her that she'd only met State Senator Minteer twice before and always in the company of others, so it shouldn't be too hard to fake the acquaintanceship.
The crowd seemed to part to make way for the tall, rugged figure. Kayla stood stock-still and stared. The towering man striding toward them seemed to have cornered the market on charisma. He fairly radiated that intangible quahty, a priceless asset for a politician. And for a man.
Kayla gulped. Matt Minteer had also been blessed with an abundance of masculine good looks. He was very tall, about six foot three, and his strong muscular frame was pure masculine viriUty dressed for success in a navy suit. He had a shock of thick black hair and his eyes, a deep dark blue, gleamed with alert intelligence. His smile, easy and open with perfect white teeth and firm sensual lips, emanated friendliness and a kind of insistent sincerity that was invaluable to a political candidate.
At that moment, Matt Minteer joined her and Don Exner. The lobbyist grabbed the younger man's hand and shook it enthusiastically. ''Matt, good to see you! Great turnout tonight. A real tribute to you."
'*Glad you could make it, Don," Matt replied. His gaze went
beyond the lobbyist and connected with Kayla's. A disconcerting hot streak raced through her.
"Hello there, Kristina," Matt Minteer said in a deep resonant voice that had an embarrassingly potent effect upon her. Kayla automatically took the big strong hand that he offered her to shake. The warmth of his fingers, the strength of his grip sent her reehng. She wracked her fogged brain for something clever to say.
Alas, all she could come up with was a lame, '*It's nice to see you. Senator Minteer." Hardly original, definitely not memorable. If she'd deliberately chosen to be boring and bland, she couldn't have been more successful. Kayla winced.
Caught up in her own misgivings, Kayla was unaware that Matt Minteer was experiencing some definite discomfort of his own.
He tore his gaze from her alluring hazel eyes to her name tag. Kristina McClure, PITA, it said, just as he'd known it would. He didn't need a name tag to identify her. Gifted with a phenomenal memory for names and faces, he was able to remember everyone he'd ever met. It was an invaluable natural blessing for a politician, one that all the memory tricks or practiced word-associations could never rephcate.
He recalled having met Kristina McClure before, but he knew he hadn't experienced this fierce spasm of desire now spiraling through him at the sight of her. Certainly he'd never felt this stunning and extremely inopportune surge of heat in his loins before, when he'd taken her hand in his.
Don Exner's impatient sniff penetrated the strange, private cocoon enshrouding the couple. Exner was miffed that the senator was giving so much time and attention to another lobbyist. Both Kayla and Matt suddenly realized that they were still holding hands. They quickly sprang apart,
looking like a pair of guilty schoolkids confronted with their misdeed by the principal.
Then one of those obsequious waiters appeared, and Matt was glad of the diversion. '*Sir, may I get you something to drink?"
**ril have a beer," he said distractedly.
''Very good, sir." The waiter hurried off.
'*A beer?" Kayla echoed, without thinking. She was accustomed to the sophisticated and rarefied atmosphere of D.C. politics where one's choice of drinks almost amounted to a political stand. Beer was not the statement that trendy, on-the-rise politicos aspired to make.
''Hey, Matt, at a top-drawer gathering hke this, you're supposed to ask for something fancy. You know, hke a frozen fruit daiquiri," Don Exner said jovially. "Think you could get one of those concoctions at Minteer's Tavern?"
"You have a choice of drinks at Minteer's Tavern," Matt replied dryly. "Beer, or a shot of whiskey or a shot-and-a-beer. Don't ask for anything else because if the bartender doesn't evict you, the rest of the patrons will."
He turned to Kayla. "I don't know if you've ever been to Johnstown, Kristina, but Minteer's Tavern is sort of a legend there. As famous as the Johnstown Flood, my grandfather likes to brag. Local lore has it that the original Minteer's Tavern was swept along in the flood waters back in 1889 but the patrons kept right on drinking and the bartender went right on serving until they washed up on the banks of the Ohio River in Pittsburgh, seventy-five miles to the west."
It was obviously a tall tale and an oft-repeated one at that. Kayla didn't know why she found it so funny, but suddenly, she simply couldn't stop laughing.
Matt was laughing, too. The sight of Kristina McClure tonight had bowled him over, but her laughter and her animation knocked him out. Her laughter wasn't forced, he
could tell. Nobody but a skilled actor could fake the spasms of laughter that were shaking her.
She thought he was funny; he'd made her laugh. Matt was delighted. In the Minteer family, his younger brother John was known as the great raconteur whose comedic timing and delivery unfailingly produced genuine belly laughs. Matt was considered too serious and intense to be funny. And though he did try to insert a few humorous little asides in his speeches to liven them up, they usually ended up sounding urgent and earnest, a cause for concern, not fun. At best, his comic efforts might produce a smile or polite chuckle.
Exactly the sort of sound Don Exner had emitted at his tavem-in-the-flood tale. The old^ man's puzzled grin at the couple's continued hilarity soon turned into an irritated grimace. Finally, he murmured a polite excuse and drifted away.
Kayla and Matt exchanged dismayed glances. "Oh dear!" Kay la tried vaUantly to pull herself together. '*I didn't mean to exclude him but I was so tickled by your funny story."
Tickled. Matt felt another frisson of heat surge through him. Just hearing the word make him want to act on it. To start tickling Kristina McClure. To touch her. He recognized a startling, powerful urge to become very physical with her.
What was going on with him? he wondered, a little fran- -tically. She was a lobbyist! He didn't interact with lobbyists; except in the most professionally correct way. Yet tonight with Kristina McClure, he had a perverse desire for immediate, intimate interaction.
"I, uh, I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmured. He should move away from her, right now! By spending so much time with her, he was running the risk of slighting the other lobbyists who would not appreciate someone else having such exclusive access to him. And then there was the other, more dangerous risk she presented—the shattering,
sexual, and extremely inconvenient effect she was having upon him.
But he couldn't seem to make himself take the necessary steps to leave. Instead, he found himself scrounging around his mind for conversation. '*So what's new with PITA?" he heard himself ask and instantly suppressed the urge to groan aloud. Using a political approach to open a conversation made him realize he'd been without a social life for too long.
Kayla froze. He couldn't have asked her a more unnerving question. Her knowledge of PITA affairs could be written on a postage stamp. "Well, we're still the independent phone companies," she said, striving for a humorous note to disguise her lack of facts. "We're still not AT&T."
To her relief Matt laughed appreciatively. "I'll keep that in mind." It appeared that he didn't want to talk shop, after all.
And then the waiter returned, handing Matt a tall, foaming beer and Kayla another glass of fruit punch. They thanked him and sipped their drinks. Once again, it became imperative to talk or to move on. This time Kayla took the conversational initiative. "Are you looking forward to changing your base of operations from Harrisburg to Washington?"
"My base of operations will always be the district that elects me," Matt replied at once. "Whether I'm serving in the Pennsylvania state senate or the U.S. Congress, my intentions and my priorities will always focus on my constituents."
"Oh, that's good!" Kayla said admiringly. "Very good. You didn't even miss a beat. And nothing pleases voters more than the notion that the candidate is theirs and eager to serve them."
Matt's smile dissolved. "You sound like one of those creepy political handlers who makes a living reinventing people who run for office."
Uh-oh. Kayla tensed. ''You don't approve of hiring media consultants or political handlers? They can be quite effective and helpful to both candidates and elected officials," she added nervously.
She should know; she was one, though she hoped she didn't qualify as "creepy." Nor did she "reinvent" p)eople. The way she saw it, she helped qualified candidates enhance their natural assets and assisted them in how to best present their message to the voters. And since opening her own consulting agency two years ago, she had steadfastly refused to take on anyone she wouldn't vote for, regardless of the financial incentive.
"What an image consultant actually does is make a pile of money giving lessons on how to hoodwink the public," Matt countered scornfully. "I hold that slick army of consultants, pollsters and media advisers largely responsible for the mess politics is in today. Voters don't trust their elected officials and no wonder, with those money-grubbing charlatans turning candidates into unctuous, media-slick phonies who are all form and no substance."
"I agree with you on some points," Kayla said quietly. She'd left the well-know
n wizardry of Dillon and Ward Consulting Associates because she was disillusioned and disgusted by their lack of ethics. In her own agency she could provide a service without chicanery.
"You should agree with me on every point when it comes to opposing those slick vultures." Matt wasn't ready to let the subject drop. Like all Minteers, he enjoyed a good argument and was just revving up. "Let's dissect what I said earlier. If, as you said, I didn't miss a beat, it's not because I've been rehearsing some pretty words written for me by a smooth operator with a degree in marketing and a feel for advertising. It's because I know my own mind and I speak it. And I also know my priorities, which are exactly that— priorities—not crowd-pleasing notions."
'*If there were more politicians like you, the so-called image consultants would cease to exist," Kayla said wryly.
**And what a blessing that would be!"
*'Then again, the most unflinchingly frank politicians often end up needing a media consultant more than anyone else," Kayla couldn't resist pointing out to him. "These days, no one in public life can afford to be too outspoken. You Ve be^ in a relatively sheltered pohtical climate—a favorite native son in the majority party in local and state poUtics. Things change on the national level. It's entirely different."
"Honey, I could be running for president and I still wouldn't hire a media guru."
Kayla's eyes widened in horror. "Never, never call a woman *honey.' It's practically instant political death."
"I wasn't being sexist." Matt scowled. "I was being... ironic."
"You're too blunt to be ironic. Anyway, irony is difficuh to convey. It usually doesn't work in print and can be misinterpreted on the air."
"So if you were an image consultant, you'd steer your clients away from irony and outspokenness?" Matt shook his head. "Maybe you'd better stick to lobbying for PITA, Kristina. Your image and media advice is pretty lame."
Kayla thought of her paying clients; if they shared Matt Minteer's opinion, her business would be pretty lame. Which wasn't the case at all; she was making a comfortable living in a field that fascinated her. And she had the strangest need to share some of that with this disapproving stranger, Matt Minteer.
Double trouble Page 1