The Right Twin

Her pale complexion was flushed and the afternoon’s heat had dampened the tendrils hugging the nape of her neck where she’d pulled back her hair. “That was tough,” she added.

“I’d have thought you’d be an old pro at a simple lunch,” Heath said.

“Oh, sure,” she replied. “I just didn’t get much rest last night. But now that my right-hand person has finally gotten here, I’ve got time for a breather.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, he leaned forward, toying with his blue napkin. “Not that it’s my business, but why’d you get a lousy night’s rest?”

“Why do you care?”

“No reason,” he said. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make small talk, but maybe my question came out as invasive.”

“No,” she said, staring at Heath straight on, and then sighing. “Truthfully, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night for a fairly simple reason—you.”

Dear Reader,

On the topic of twins, seeing as how I have a set of my own, I’m a bit biased. I love twin stories, which is what makes Heath and Sarah’s tale extra dear to my heart.

I suppose my fascination with twins started with Disney’s The Parent Trap (both the Hayley Mills and Lindsay Lohan versions). The whole concept of being able to exchange lives with someone is very intriguing! Alas, unless Mom and Dad are hiding a deep family secret, I’ll never get to discover how much fun this could actually be. And seeing as I was blessed with boy/girl twins, there won’t be any switcheroos going on at our house. Meaning my only shot for twin mayhem is in the pages of my books.

I so hope you’ll enjoy taking Heath and Sarah’s wild ride with me as they both try to convincingly fill their twins’ shoes—usually failing miserably in every area but love!

Best,

Laura Marie ;-)

The Right Twin

Laura Marie Altom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After college (Go Hogs!), bestselling, award-winning author Laura Marie Altom did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy/girl twins. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.

When not immersed in her next story, Laura enjoys an almost glamorous lifestyle of zipping around in a convertible while trying to keep her dog from leaping out, and constantly striving to reach the bottom of the laundry basket—a feat she may never accomplish! For real fun, Laura is content to read, do needlepoint and cuddle with her kids and handsome hubby.

Laura loves hearing from readers at either P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or e-mail: BaliPalm@aol.com. Love lounging on the beach while winning fun stuff? Check out www.lauramariealtom.com.

Books by Laura Marie Altom

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

1028—BABIES AND BADGES

1043—SANTA BABY

1074—TEMPORARY DAD

1086—SAVING JOE*

1099—MARRYING THE MARSHAL*

1110—HIS BABY BONUS*

1123—TO CATCH A HUSBAND*

1132—DADDY DAYCARE

1147—HER MILITARY MAN

For my precious Hannah—you asked for it, you got it!

P.S. Buddy Love, you get the next one!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

Thursday

“Pop quiz. What’s the difference between Italian meringue and standard?” When Sadie Connelly’s sister Sarah’s only reply was a deer-in-the-headlights stare, her stomach fell more sharply than a jostled soufflé. “Sweetie,” she said with a moan, “this is elementary stuff. If we’re to have a chance at pulling this off, you’ve got to pay attention.”

“I am,” her twin said, fidgeting in her seat in the Blueberry Inn’s sumptuous dining room. A gleaming maple floor inlaid with cherry was softened in spots by colorful Persian rugs. Walls covered in a navy-and-white toile were accented by Sadie’s extensive collection of Blue Willow china and her nineteenth-century pastoral prints. Tall windows draped in navy velvet brought in the midspring morning sun and the heady scents of a freshly watered garden that was already riotously in bloom. In the distance, Blue Lake shimmered with the breeze.

All her life Sadie had dreamed of running such a fabulous inn. Maybe the desire had arisen from watching too much of that old nighttime TV soap Hotel, but years later, when their grandmother died and left Sadie the means to not just work in a country inn but actually own one, she’d jumped at the chance.

And jumped and jumped to restore the faded Queen Anne property to its former glory. Five long years later, sweat equity had turned the inn, an hour south of St. Louis, into the ultimate in refined elegance.

“All right then,” Sadie said, not sure her sister Sarah realized the gravity of this situation. “If you truly have been paying attention, name it.”

“What?”

“The difference.”

“In what?”

“Meringue,” Sadie said, slapping her palm on the linen tablecloth. “Meringue, meringue, mer—”

“Chill,” Sarah interjected. “Seriously. Your second-in-command will soon be here, hovering over me with her beady eyes.”

“Helga isn’t the least bit ‘beady,’ in fact, she—”

“Relax. When it comes to supervising me in your sainted kitchen, she’s not only beady-eyed, but she’s got that creepy stare that she does. As an added bonus, she’ll keep all of your other worker bees in line, too. And on top of that, you’ve laid in enough frozen dinners and pastries to feed ten times the amount of guests you’re expecting.”

“Yes, but…”

Sadie’s twin sighed, then reached for her hands, giving her icy fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I know how much this weekend with Trevor means to you. Trust me, I do. Otherwise you’d have never in a million, trillion years entrusted me with this pile of wood and bricks that you’ve made your life’s work.” Releasing her hands from Sadie’s in order to raise her right one, Sarah added, “That’s why, as my most solemn oath on the Royal Order of Cookie Thieves, I hereby promise to make each of your guests this weekend fall wholly, completely and madly in love with your inn and also you.”

Sadie’s throat tightened at the reference to the to secret club she and her twin had formed back in fourth grade for the purpose of launching stealth missions to nab the heavenly cookies their mother baked for wealthy St. Louis clients. Whereas Sadie had taken after their mother, Sarah had chosen their father to look up to and was now climbing a corporate ladder instead.

“Well…” Sadie said, biting her lower lip. “I very much want everyone to adore the inn, but they don’t particularly even need to like me—just see that I run a tight ship. And you know there’s still a chance the Zodor’s reviewer could show. Otherwise I wouldn’t have needed to involve you. But if by chance he or she does make an appearance and I’m not here…”

“Gotcha,” her twin said, executing a saucy salute.

For the umpteenth time since Sadie had formed the plan that would—if all went well—allow her to be in two places at once, she actually dared a normal breath.

For nearly two years now, she’d been engaged to Trevor.

The man was tall, dark, handsome and charming and yet he seemed utterly incapable of setting a wedding date.

Which was why, when he’d accused her of being responsible for the holdup on their trip down the aisle, she’d agreed to give up minding her inn this weekend and accompany him to his sister’s wedding in Tulsa in exchange for his promise to set a wedding date of their own. Sadie had to take the chance.

In Trevor she would have the perfect husband, as well as a superb host for her guests. Gorgeous, easy to talk to and successful in his own right, Trevor was a great catch. As much as she loved her inn, she loved Trevor even more. Otherwise she’d have never asked her twin to agree to such a drastic stunt.

For most inns—most innkeepers—it wouldn’t matter if they took time off even while they were being reviewed. But Sadie had worked so hard to get where she was and she took great pride in personally greeting each guest.

Granted, they probably didn’t care quite so much if they met her, but she did.

On each bit of advertising was a likeness of Sadie, promising guests that she personally guaranteed they’d enjoy their stay or she’d gladly refund their money. And now, with the chance of being reviewed by a national publication in the wind, there was even more than usual at stake.

Bottom line, she wouldn’t have a bit of fun with Trevor if she spent her time worrying over whether or not her inn’s reputation was suffering due to someone feeling they hadn’t received top-notch personal service.

As for Sarah successfully replacing her, it was Sadie’s sincerest hope that she’d arranged enough help so that all her twin would have to do was stand around, smile and be charming.

“Trust me,” Sarah said. “Before the weekend’s over, you and Trevor will be more in love than ever. While I’m stuck here, coated in flour and slaving away.”

Seeing past her sister’s teasing grin to the sincerity that shimmered in her mossy-green eyes, Sadie swallowed hard.

Yes, it was sappy and stupid and sentimental, but the inn was like a child to her. A demanding spoiled child that she knew she’d have to relax her grip on one day. Until that day, however, she would be enormously grateful to her twin. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“Nope. American Express will do nicely, though, to get your point across.”

“I’m serious,” Sadie said, giving her sister a gentle swat. “Thank you. Nobody but you could’ve ever pulled this off.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

“For what?”

“Trusting me. I promise I won’t let you down. This weekend will be perfect.”

With a lifetime of reading each other, they rose at precisely the same time, wrapping each other in teary hugs.

“For the record,” Sarah added, “Italian meringue is made by whipping a boiling syrup into the egg whites.”

And with that remark from her sister, Sadie finally relaxed. Her inn would be in excellent hands. As for the odds of a reviewer showing up? Nonexistent.

Chapter One

Friday

“Help!”

Heath Brown—identical twin to Hale Brown, who was the renowned food critic for Zodor’s International Country Inn Review Guide—rushed across Blueberry Inn’s reception area to aid a wobbling stack of towels that happened to have great legs. Dropping his black weekender on the floor, Heath grabbed the bulk of the folded laundry, in the process revealing a lovely surprise.

“Thanks, Kim.” The bearer of towels had been grinning, but now she frowned. “Er, you’re not Kim. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies,” Heath said. “We can all find ourselves in a laundry crisis now and then.” He repositioned his pile. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh…” Laughing, the woman lurched into action, setting her stack on top of an intricately carved walnut reception desk, then turning to face him again. “Here will be fine.”

Heath cozied his stack alongside hers.

“Thanks. I hadn’t realized I’d grabbed quite so much and I thought that Kim—the housekeeper—was right behind me.”

“Again, not a problem.”

“Now, how can I help you?”

“I just need to check in.”

“Then you’re in the right place.” Long, buttery hair eased over her shoulders, and her friendly smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. Intriguing eyes. Olive-green. As easy to lose himself in as one of the martinis Heath favored after a long day’s work. “Welcome to Blueberry Inn. I’m the owner, Sadie Connelly.” She held out her hand for him to shake. Which he did. And when the brief touch struck him as not too hard and not too soft but oddly just right, he was almost reluctant to let her go. Ludicrous in light of what he’d been through with Tess just six months earlier.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shane Peters.” But for only one weekend. “I should, uh, have a reservation.”

“I know.” She winked and then rounded the desk’s nearest corner. “I recognize the name—only, isn’t your reservation for two?”

Heath’s heart lurched. To avoid suspicion, Hale always attached a fictional girlfriend to his fictional name. But for the life of him, Heath couldn’t recall the backstory Hale had told him to deliver to explain what had happened to the poor girl. “Um, yes, well, at the last minute Susie had something come up.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie responded. “Hopefully even without her you’ll still manage to grab plenty of R & R.”

“That’d be great,” Heath replied. After meeting his hot innkeeper, he now gave the weekend at least a chance of being more entertaining than the two-day nap he’d imagined it would be.

“If you’ll give me a sec, I’ll find the—here it is.” She brandished a navy leather volume about the size of a high school yearbook. Embossed in elegant silver script across the front was Blueberry Inn.

“Now, if I could just find a pen…”

“Got one,” Heath said, reaching into the pocket of the sports jacket his brother had insisted he wear over his usual casual fare of jeans and a T-shirt. He handed over the pen, in the process, inadvertently brushing his fingers against Sadie’s. Instant chemistry tightened his stomach.

“Thanks,” his hostess said, her shaky grin somehow leaving him with the impression that all wasn’t quite right. Had she felt the same electricity? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She tapped herself on the forehead. “I can’t seem to pull it together—I haven’t even had time to dress myself properly.” She gestured to her frayed cutoffs and snug pink tee. She looked proper enough to Heath.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, charmed by the warmth of her smile and her ability to laugh at herself. “I’ve had a few of those days myself.” Which was part of the reason he’d agreed to this stunt with his twin. Sure, there’d be some work involved in reviewing the inn, but mostly it offered Heath the chance for a much-needed break.

“Thanks for understanding,” she said, rifling through the desk drawers. Registration forms? “I know they’re here somewhere,” Sadie murmured to herself with a cute furrowing of her eyebrows.

Time for a reality check: the fact that Heath had even noticed her eyebrows, on top of her many other charms, could cause him nothing but trouble.

Heath was at Blueberry Inn for only one reason, and that was to bail his brother out of a jam. He owed his twin for the way Hale had ultimately opened his eyes to Tess’s deception. The least he could do was cover while Hale was off chasing his secret career dream of becoming a champion drag racer. Sure, most guys would just take time off work to pursue their dreams, but Hale’s boss was a hard-nosed taskmaster. He didn’t permit moonlighting, and when he made an unusual assignment such as this one—for Hale to go into an establishment ASAP—he meant business. Apparently that same boss’s wife—also the money behind the publication—had been so enchanted with the inn during a recent stay that she wanted it featured in a special pullout section on entrepreneurial women in the next edition. According to Hale, the inn’s perfection made the awarding of a top rating of five silver spoons a mere formality.

All of which was well and good for Heath’s brother to say, but insofar as Tess had taught Heath to despise liars, he hated the thought that his every word and action—even his name—over the long weekend would have to be false. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

Besides which, Heath’s falsehoods wouldn’t harm Sadie Connelly. Unlike Tess’s lies, which had cost him and his company millions through corporate espionage. If Sadie Connelly was even half as talented in the kitchen as his brother claimed, she had nothing to sweat.

As much as possible, Heath would relax and be himself, relishing the rare time away from what his brother referred to as his obsession of a career—video game designing. Heath would be the first to admit he’d put in hellacious hours of late, but what else did he have to do?

It wasn’t as if he had anyone waiting for him at home. He didn’t even have a pet. Just himself. And another in a long line of lonely nights, a bowl of ramen noodles and whatever happened to be on ESPN.

Boo hoo. Cry me a river.

After what Tess had put him through, why would he even want more? The question was logical enough. Trouble was, he very much wanted more. He wanted a wife and kids and a family to call his own so badly that the yearning brought on an embarrassing ache.

What was wrong with him?

As a relatively good-looking and successful bachelor, he should’ve been having the time of his life. Not moping about what might have been. Certainly not about whether or not he’d ever find a woman—or love—again. But for as long as he could remember, his mom had always called him her sensitive son.

Clear in his mind was the memory of riding his bike one flawless July afternoon when he’d been nine. Not a breath of wind, locusts troubling dusty weeds on either side of the dirt road and their monotonous hum. Riding along, counting the licks on a cherry Tootsie Pop, he’d come upon a bird, fluttering on the powdery shoulder. Pulling alongside to investigate, he’d seen that the small brownish-gray bird wasn’t indulging in a dust bath but was struggling at a far more solemn task. Its mate had been crushed.

The little bird tried and tried to wake its companion, thrusting its beak under a broken wing, urging the female to fly.

Fast as he could, Heath rode home to get his mother. She’d climbed on her own bike and dutifully followed. But now, as an adult, Heath knew there was nothing she could have done.

By the time they’d returned, the male had exhausted himself and he sat alongside his mate shuddering with each breath.

Heath had started to cry, begging his mom to do something, and she’d held him close, smoothing his hair and telling him love wasn’t easy. She’d promised him that one day, like the bird, he’d find a special girl, and when he married her, there’d be no guaranteeing forever. He’d just have to savor each day for the jewel it was.

In meeting Tess, Heath had thought he’d found his jewel, only to discover, instead, cold, unyielding stone. Hardening his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder to an eight-paned window. He hated to think that the woman still held emotional power in his life.

“Aha!” The innkeeper had found a stack of forms and now she took one from the top, shoving the rest behind the counter. “Once you fill this out, I’ll take you to your room.”

Heath made quick work of his assignment, glad for the distraction from memories he’d just as soon forget.

When he’d finished, Sadie retrieved a brass key ring with the number nine engraved on it, then stepped from behind the desk. “Want me to get that?” She nodded toward his bag.

“No, thanks.” A chivalrous streak had him reaching for it himself.

“Okay, then,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away so you can relax before lunch.”

Considering the caliber of the present view, Heath was pleased to oblige. The woman his brother had described as one of the premier hostesses in the country, well-rounded in all types of cooking and the genteel manners of the sort to instantly put the most disgruntled guest at ease, was also a serious looker. At least five-ten with an abundance of curves.

Heath had been so busy admiring her endless legs that it had barely registered how tough a time she’d had checking him in. Not that it mattered—it just seemed odd.

Up curved stairs and then down a wide hall lined with antique side tables and chairs and bucolic landscapes. His guide stopped before a door, easing the key into the lock.

“Here you go,” she said, turning the latch and door, then stepping back with a flourish. “This is the Mark Twain Suite and features whitewashed walls in honor of Huck Finn and memorabilia of the author’s life. One of our most prized acquisitions is this letter to his daughter, Clara, written in 1904.”

“Um, thanks,” Heath said. Not that he wasn’t impressed with the room’s overall ambience, but Sadie’s delivery style sounded rushed—as if she’d been up all night memorizing the description. “How long have you been running this place?”

“Five years.” She flashed him a smile. “This inn’s my pride and joy.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say. Something about her mannerisms struck him as off—especially for someone who’d been following the same routine for so long. But then, lord knew he’d had a few off days himself at the height of his Tess fiasco. Maybe Sadie had just argued with a member of her staff? The other half of her towel team?

“Anyway,” she said with an awkward flap of her hands, “lunch will be served in the dining room at one. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will.”

“And don’t hesitate to tell me or one of the staff if you need more towels or a snack—or whatever.” She flashed another of her cute toothy grins and then she was off, shutting the door behind her.

IN THE HALL, RESTING her shoulders against Shane Peters’s door, tightly shutting her eyes, Sarah finally exhaled. What a mess that had been. She’d expected him to arrive with a girlfriend in tow. Sadie had warned her to be on the lookout for single guests who could possibly be from Zodor’s, but the way Shane had leaped to her aid with the towels hardly made him seem the snooty reviewer type. Besides which, he’d planned to arrive with a weekend date. It would hardly be professional for a reviewer to bring a date, now would it?

Pulling herself together, she hustled down the hall to the back stairs. In Sadie’s room, as Sarah should have done an hour earlier, Sarah exchanged her comfy clothes for sharply creased khakis and a white blouse. The bulk of the inn’s guests would be arriving within the hour, and now that she’d worked out the registration process with gorgeous Mr. Peters, she hoped that from here on out her check-in duties would be smooth as silk.

Sarah added a string of her sister’s pearls and matching earrings to her ensemble, then swirled her hair into a French twist. With a spritz of a light floral scent and fresh lip gloss, she was good to go.

Mmm…Mr. Peters. Truth be told, her quick change had more to do with that one new guest than with the other anticipated arrivals. Had she only imagined the electricity between them when they’d touched? It had been so sweet of him coming to her rescue in the lobby. Then he’d been so patient while she’d fumbled for the registration forms.

All in all, he seemed like a nice guy—a drastic departure from Greg. It was even a relief that her attraction meter still worked.

Her cell chirped out the Gilligan’s Island theme song.

She glanced at the caller ID, only to roll her eyes. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just checking in. Have any of our couples arrived?”

“Half of one.”

“What do you mean half?”

“On Peters-plus-guest, the guest backed out on him.”

“You don’t think he could be the reviewer, do you? Pulling something sneaky?”