The Sheriff And The Impostor Bride. Elizabeth Bevarly

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СКАЧАТЬ searching the data banks of her brain for the slightest inkling of familiarity. Riley shook his head at what he suspected was a monumentally fake effort, but continued on with his story in the hopes of jogging her memory—or wrangling the truth out of her—for what good it would do.

      “Old Joseph Wentworth pretty much raised two grandsons and a granddaughter after their parents were killed in a boating accident, oh...years and years ago. They have a big, beautiful house in Freemont Springs. Rich folks, like I said. Powerful. Stand tall in the community. You following me?”

      Another nod from Miss Jensen, but nothing otherwise.

      “Everyone in that part of Oklahoma knows about the Went-worths,” Riley continued. “Their activities are covered in the papers and on local TV all the time. I’d even wager to say that folks in Oklahoma City are pretty much aware of the Wentworths of Wentworth Oil Works in one way or another. Even the newcomers. Yet, you’re telling me you’ve never heard of them?”

      Miss Jensen’s eyebrows arrowed downward as she processed this information—or at least pretended to. He was about to call her on her pretense when her expression cleared, and she lifted a hand to smack her open palm against her forehead. Hard.

      “Oh, those Wentworths,” she said.

      Somehow, he managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Those Wentworths.”

      “I’m sorry. I thought you were talking about some other Wentworths.”

      Other Wentworths, he muttered to himself. Yeah, right. “So you don’t know the Wentworths personally?”

      She shook her head.

      “Well, the Wentworths sure know you. They’re all het up to find you.”

      Sabrina Jensen shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea why they’d be looking for me. And as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, so...” She reached for the doorknob. “Will that be all, Sheriff?”

      “Not quite.”

      She expelled an exasperated breath and tucked her hand back under her other arm. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

      “That makes two of us.”

      Riley inhaled deeply as he studied Miss Sabrina Jensen’s face again. Big mistake, he realized immediately. Because the moment he started looking at her, he found that he didn’t want to stop. No woman should have eyes that beautiful, that compelling, that hypnotic. A woman could do a man serious damage with eyes like those. And this woman had clearly tangled intimately with at least one man recently, given the state of her womb. Who knew what she’d done to the poor sap?

      Or what the not-so-poor sap had done to her.

      Automatically, his gaze dropped to her left hand, where he saw no ring. Unmarried. Aha. It hit Riley then that maybe Miss Jensen was missing on purpose, because she didn’t want to be found. Especially by the Wentworths of Freemont Springs, Oklahoma. There was a father for that baby of hers out there somewhere, a father who hadn’t yet married her. And Joseph Wentworth had a grandson. Even the older Wentworth boy might have fathered that baby before he died. Hell, for all Riley knew, maybe Joseph himself had a personal stake in finding Miss Jensen. Who knew what the particulars of her situation were?

      “Miss Jensen,” he began again, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

      “I thought you already had, Sheriff.”

      He nodded. “Yeah, but your answers to those only roused a whole bunch more that we need to talk about.”

      Without giving her time to answer, Riley settled his Stetson onto the settee beside him, tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pockets, then began to unbutton his coat. Miss Jensen opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of whatever it was, then closed it again. So he shed his coat and dropped it beside his hat, then he joined both on the settee and made himself comfortable. He slung his arm over the back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and met her gaze levelly.

      Miss Jensen only stood staring back at him, as if she were trying to analyze him cell by cell. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers pinned him in place and held him there, assessing him, cataloging him, mesmerizing him. Riley began to feel as if he were a bug under a microscope, and Miss Sabrina Jensen was about to pick him apart. Then, thankfully, she sat down, too, in a chair positioned catty-corner to the settee.

      “Can I fix you something to drink?” she asked halfheartedly. “Some coffee or something?”

      He wondered for a moment if he should let on how much he knew about her, then decided that maybe she’d be more inclined to surrender information if she thought he already had most of it. So he replied. “I didn’t think pregnant women were supposed to drink coffee.”

      The moment he said it, those two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks again, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then she splayed her hand over her flat belly, as if she were trying instinctively to protect whatever life was growing there.

      “You, uh, you know about that?” she asked.

      He nodded. “It was in the latest APB we received about you. When are you due?”

      Something—surely it wasn’t relief—crossed her face, and she swallowed hard. “I, uh...” she began. But nothing more was forthcoming.

      “Yes?” he spurred her.

      But the only response she offered was another long, drawn out “Uh...”

      “Miss Jensen?”

      “Uh-huh?”

      Hey, she was up to two syllables, Riley noted. Good for her. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?”

      She nodded quickly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

      Whoa, she was even using real words now, he thought. “When are you due?”

      “In, uh, about, um...” She seemed to be thinking about something, then said, “June. I’m due in June. I’m three months along.” To illustrate, she held up one hand, index, middle and ring fingers extended, as if she were a preschooler identifying her age. “This many,” she said, enhancing the image. “Three. I’m three months. Yepper. That’s how pregnant I am. Three months.”

      Riley nodded. Hoo-kay. Whatever. Nobody ever said beauty and brains went hand in hand, right? “Well, no offense, ma’am, but I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking coffee. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but—”

      “Oh, I’m not, either,” she piped up. “An expert, I mean. This is my first time. Being pregnant, I mean. I’m sure the coffee is... I mean... Gee, I can’t seem to stop saying, ‘I mean,’ can I?” She laughed, a nervous little trill that he found very suspicious. “I mean—oops, there I go again—ahem. That is to say—” She smiled, having conquered her problem by introducing a new phrase. “I know the coffee is decaf. Would you like some?”

      He still hadn’t quite recovered from the chill outside—or the prattling inside—so he nodded gratefully. Anything to give her something to do that would calm her down. But aloud, he only said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

      Even СКАЧАТЬ