Vixen In Disguise. Kara Lennox

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      Chapter One

      The Autumn Daze Festival in Cottonwood, Texas, hadn’t changed a bit in thirteen years, Wade Hardison thought as he strolled down Elm Street. The usually sleepy town square had been temporarily transformed into a whirling kaleidoscope of sensory overload.

      Bands of screaming children streaked past him, their exuberant laughter plucking nostalgic chords in Wade’s mind. PTA mothers and their farmer husbands did good imitations of circus barkers, luring townsfolk and tourists alike to try their luck at the ringtoss or the dunking booth, where Mayor Dilly was currently the victim.

      Smells of popcorn, cotton candy and barbecued turkey legs filled the air, reminding Wade he was hungry. He tried to make up his mind what to eat as dusk slowly descended on the crisp fall day. Yards and yards of twinkling white lights flickered to life.

      It was good to be home. Wade had left Cottonwood as an angry adolescent, at odds with everybody, unsure of his place in the world, but ready to go out and conquer it. He’d done what he set out to do—he’d carved a niche for himself and become the best at something his brothers knew nothing about. He’d returned far mellower, ready to make peace with his family.

      Only problem was, he wasn’t sure his family wanted to make peace with him. When he’d left, he’d been concerned only with his own perceived wounds, positive his family would be happy to see the last of him. He’d had no idea the scars he’d left behind. His homecoming two days ago had been awkward at best, and certainly no one had dragged out the fatted calf.

      But at least his grandfather had let him stay at the ranch house.

      When he caught sight of a redhead leaning against an ancient live oak, working cautiously at a caramel apple, Wade thought for a moment his heart had stopped. Then he thought he must be hallucinating.

      Though he hadn’t seen Annie since last May, he hadn’t forgotten one thing about her—not her laugh or her scent or the feel of her hand in his. He’d had to make do with memories because they were all he had—she’d left him, disappeared without a word.

      Now, when he least expected it, here she was, in his hometown of all places. At least, he thought it was her. Same red hair. Same big green eyes. Same luscious mouth, which, as he watched, did intriguing things to the caramel apple she nibbled on. She paused now and then to lick her lips and delicately blot them with a paper napkin.

      But some things about her weren’t like Annie at all. Her hair, for instance. The color was right, but Annie’s bouncy curls were wild and barely controlled, a tangle of deep-red silk a man could lose himself in. This woman’s hair had been slicked into a severe knot at the back of her head.

      And the clothes were all wrong. Annie had worn tight jeans, a clingy shirt with a low neckline, a vest with rhinestone studs. Her fingers had been decorated with numerous rings, and she’d worn big, dangly earrings. This woman wore a loose turtleneck and a shapeless corduroy jumper, black stockings and loafers. Little gold studs in her ears.

      The most dramatic difference between Annie and the mystery woman, however, was in the face. The features were the same, but the expression very different. Annie had smiled and laughed and teased all the time. This woman’s face was tight, with a cautious look to the eyes. And he saw something else in her eyes, too—a sadness that couldn’t be denied.

      “See something you like?”

      Wade jumped and nearly spilled his soft drink. His older brother Jeff had sidled up next to him, but Wade had been so fixated on the caramel-apple woman he hadn’t even been aware of the intrusion.

      Wade couldn’t very well deny he’d been staring. “Who is she?”

      “You don’t remember her?”

      “You know her, then.” Dumb question. Jeff knew everybody. He’d gone to medical school, then into practice several years ago with their father, who’d been the town’s only doctor for decades. Sooner or later everyone came in to see one of the Docs Hardison.

      “Of course I know her. She’s Milton Chatsworth’s daughter.”

      Milton Chatsworth, their father’s best friend from college. Wade struggled to fit the memories into place. Milton had retired and moved his family to Cottonwood shortly before Wade had left town, but he remembered meeting him and his family at their fancy lake house.

      Then the fuzzy picture snapped into focus. “I remember a scrawny, redheaded girl, all knock-knees and braces.”

      “That’s the one. Don’t bother her, okay?”

      “What’s her name?” Wade asked anxiously.

      Jeff reluctantly complied. “Anne. She just graduated from law school at SMU, following in her old man’s footsteps.”

      Wade hardly heard what Jeff was saying. He’d seized on the name, Anne. Annie. And Southern Methodist University was in Dallas, where he’d first met Annie.

      He didn’t believe in coincidence. Had to be the same woman. And he wasn’t about to let her get away twice.

      “Wade? Are you listening?” Jeff asked impatiently.

      “Yeah, sure.”

      “She’s got a lot to deal with right now. She doesn’t need any extra grief.”

      That comment got Wade’s dander up. He turned his full attention on his brother. “Why do you automatically assume I’ll bring a woman grief? Maybe I could be the light of her life.”

      Jeff sighed. “If you’d lose that chip on your shoulder for thirty seconds, you’d realize I’m looking out for your best interests, too. I know Anne Chatsworth, and she’s not your type.”

      Wade allowed a slow smile to win over his face. His temper, always quick to flare, just as quickly died away. He was no longer sixteen, and he didn’t have to listen to his brothers or his father or grandfather anymore, telling him how to live his life. Just reminding himself of that fact eased the defensiveness he’d developed to survive as an average kid in a family of overachievers.

      He looked his brother squarely in the eye. “I suspect you don’t know Anne as well as you think you do.”

      With that he tipped his hat and turned toward Anne Chatsworth, intending to renew his acquaintance with her.

      But she was gone.

      “WOULD YOU THROW that nasty thing away?” Deborah Chatsworth said to her daughter as they walked along Livestock Lane, where the Future Farmers of America and 4-H Club kids displayed their prize animals in hopes of winning a blue ribbon for their trophy cases. “You don’t have to keep gnawing on it like a dog with a bone.”

      Anne Chatsworth paused and looked at her half-eaten treat, then at her mother. “It’s a caramel apple. You’re supposed to gnaw on it.”

      “Well, it doesn’t look very dignified.”

      “We’re at a county fair, where people chase after greased pigs and the mayor lets himself be dunked in a tank fully clothed. Nobody’s worried about dignity here.”

      “You can say that again.”

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