Arlene James - So Dear To My Heart

“Told someone?” he echoed uncertainly.

“About Dori,” she whispered, holding onto the ragged tail of her composure by a mere thread. “It was only t-two months ago. In Tucumcari. O-on our way h-here.”

“An accident,” he said stupidly.

She pulled a deep breath, blinked and nodded. “I’m her sister, Danica. Danica Lynch.”

He tilted his head, staring at her, and finally concluded, “Her twin sister.”

“Yes.”

“And Dorinda was in an accident.”

“That’s right.”

Concern and regret creased his features. Reaching up, he removed his hat, as if just then remembering his manners. He cleared his throat. “How is she? Where is she?”

Dani tried to tell him and couldn’t. The effort sent fresh tears rolling down her face. Finally, he understood what she couldn’t say; she saw it in his eyes the instant before he blurted, “Oh, my God, she’s dead!”

That awful, final word again. Dead. It pierced her through with such force that it doubled her over. The next thing she knew, she was cradled against a solid chest, long, strong arms wrapped around her.

“Merciful heaven, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Oh, man, I came busting in here like a crazy man, accusing you of trying to cheat me when you didn’t even know what I was talking about! And all the time your sister…” He tightened his embrace and dropped his voice. “I am so sorry. Poor Dorinda!”

Being held like this felt as comfortable as a warm blanket on a cold day. Danica closed her eyes, imbued with a sense of safety and indulgence. For the first time she considered that, eventually, it might be okay, after all.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” she admitted, breathing through her mouth as tears clogged her nose. “I was just so shocked when you called me by her name.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized sincerely, “but you’ve got to admit that you look an awful lot alike.”

She managed a doleful nod. “We’re identical, except for the hair, but you obviously had no way of knowing that.”

His big hand stroked the back of her head, and he whispered, “I do like your hair. Very much. That was no mistake, at least.”

A thrill of pleasure shot through her. She lifted her head to thank him for the compliment, looked up into his rugged face, saw the flare of awareness that warmed his cool gray eyes—and abruptly realized what she was doing and with whom! Jerking back, she broke the embrace. “I, uh, that is…”

His brow beetled with obvious concern, and he reached out a hand to her. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not feeling very well.”

“Maybe you ought to—”

“It’s just a headache,” she interrupted. “It’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he glanced around the room. His gaze settled, and he frowned. She followed his line of sight and lifted one hand to hide her smile. His hat lay right in the middle of her spilled corn. Obviously he had discarded it rather hastily earlier. Remembering why, she cleared her throat and glanced away as he gingerly retrieved the hat and brushed at the stains.

“Listen, I oughta be going,” he said. “We’ll work out the restitution thing later. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

“Uh, no, thank you. I don’t need a thing,” she refused firmly, wanting only to get rid of him now.

“If you do, don’t hesitate to ask,” he told her. “My folks were fond of Dorinda. They’re going to be real shocked and saddened by this. I know they’ll want to do something, especially Mom.” He glanced around again, adding, “Maybe you’d like her to come over and help you straighten the place up?”

Danica looked around her, realizing for the first time that she’d let things get out of hand since she’d been here. Garbage spilled out of a full container. The mess on the table was spreading. Utensils and tin can lids littered the kitchen counter. Articles of discarded clothing lay strewn about the tiny living area, including, to her extreme embarrassment, one of her bras!

Coloring violently, she put her hand to her head, hoping to anchor his attention there, and said weakly, “That’s very kind, but I’ll take care of it as soon as I get rid of this headache.”

“Do you have something to take for that?” he asked, voice heavy with concern.

“Of course, I do. I’m a nurse, after all.”

“Are you? That’s good.”

“The thing is,” she lied, “it’s going to make me sleepy, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh. Right.” He put on the hat and turned for the door, saying, “I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

“No, don’t bother,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, really.”

“No bother,” he assured her, smiling warmly as he opened the door and slipped through it. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

Neighbors. Danica closed her eyes and bowed her head as the door closed behind him. Something told her that as a neighbor Winston Champlain was going to be as much a problem for her as for her sister. But in another way, of course. She certainly was in no danger of becoming enamored of the man. She knew his kind far too well for that.

Dismayed by the lack of reassurance brought by that thought, Danica turned her attention back to the small, L-shaped, living and kitchen area. Why hadn’t she realized how cluttered the place had become? The answer to that was obvious. Disgusted with herself, she straightened her spine and dashed away the last of her tears with the back of one hand.

“All right, Danica,” she told herself aloud. “Time to get a grip. You need order and exercise. No more lying around the house twenty-four hours a day. No more being a slob. No more maudlin self-indulgence.” And no more being charmed by the likes of Winston Champlain, she added silently.

She’d learned her lesson with charming men the hard way, and if that wasn’t enough, she had Dorinda’s experience to consider, as well. True, unlike Bud Thacker, Michael had never stolen so much as a tongue depressor, so far as Danica knew, and he was a fine physician. That didn’t change the fact that he had professed love to the devoted little wife at home, namely her, then carried on with half the nurses in Dallas as easily as he dispensed pills and treats to the children who came through his examining room, while remaining one of the more likable men she’d ever known.

Winston Champlain was every bit as attractive, charming and likable as Michael—when he wasn’t shouting. If he somehow seemed…stronger, as well, that hardly signified. The man had been involved with her sister. He’d taken advantage of Dorinda’s abysmal experience in her marriage and used her own vulnerability against her.

Danica frowned. Funny, he hadn’t behaved quite like a man who had just lost the woman with whom he was romantically involved. No doubt it had been very casual as far as he was concerned. Obviously Dorinda had been much more emotionally involved. Wasn’t the woman always more engaged emotionally? Well, not her. She didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t care a fig for the likes of Winston Champlain—no matter how good-looking he was or how wonderful he smelled, a unique combination of leather, smoke, mint and something she couldn’t quite define. No, it didn’t matter how safe she’d felt snuggled there against his chest, she knew what she knew, and that was the end of it.

Snatching up a dish towel, she went to the sink and moistened it before beginning to scoop the corn back into the can.

“It’s okay, boy,” Jamesy told the dog, patting the sleek black head between the ears. “I’ll come see you real soon, I promise.”

Win sighed mentally. He’d had no luck getting off without the boy this morning, but once he’d explained that Dorinda’s sister had taken up residence at the Thacker place, Jamesy had known that the dog must go home. When he had bravely offered to tell “Miss Lynch” what the old dog “liked best to keep happy,” Winston had known that he couldn’t leave the child behind. It would have been easier to do this alone, but he felt that he had to honor his son’s generosity and courage by taking him along. After all, since Jamesy could walk and talk, Win had tried to teach the boy the importance of doing the right thing. Now he had to let him actually go through with it. He only hoped that Danica appreciated the boy’s effort.