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DECEPTION

  a Romantic Short by Grace Brannigan

  Women of Strength Time Travel Series

  Once Upon A Remembrance Book 1

  Soulmates Through Time Book 2

  Treasure So Rare Book 3

  Women of Character Contemporary Series

  Echoes From The Past

  Once and Always

  Heartstealer

  Wishing on a Rodeo Moon

  Romantic Short Stories

  Deception (a touch of suspense)

  Two Babies, a Cowboy and Sara

  Whisper Me Softly (a touch of fantasy)

  Website: https://www.GraceBrannigan.com

  Facebook: Grace Brannigan Author

  Twitter: @GBranniganWritr

  All Characters, places and events are fictitious and are not associated or inspired by any person living or dead. The author was not striving for historical accuracy as all places and events are purely fiction and not intended to be historically accurate.

  Deception

  Grace Brannigan

  Copyright 2012 Elaine Warfield

  ISBN: 978-1-939061-21-8

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, mechanical, photographic, electronic or in the form of an audio recording or stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or otherwise be copied for public or private use -- other than for brief quotations in articles and reviews without prior written consent from the publisher Questor Books.

  Questor Books, P.O. Box 100, East Jewett, New York, 12424 USA

  Deception

  by Grace Brannigan

  Prologue

  Katharine Garner pulled the door open slowly and looked up and down the hallway, her mind shaken, fuzzy, fearful.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from her eyes. The hall appeared empty. Closing the door carefully behind her, she gripped the doorknob as the floor moved. No not the floor. She was dizzy, and her legs were wobbly.

  Katharine heard footsteps. She turned clumsily, the length of her nightgown tangling around her legs.

  "Katharine!" someone cried out.

  Katharine flattened herself against the wall, lifting a hand to guard her face.

  "Dear God, Katharine."

  Katharine dropped her hand. She squinted her eyes. "Sacha?" she croaked. Sacha, with her own black eye.

  "He hit you..." Her new friend put an arm around her to steady her, and Katharine suddenly felt safe. "Let's get your things," Sacha said urgently.

  "No," Katharine managed. She lifted her hands and pulled hard on the diamond solitaire encircling her finger. It scored her knuckle and then it came free. Katharine gripped the small circlet in her palm, the stone pinching her flesh.

  She opened her hand and the ring tumbled out of her palm. It made a small, hollow sound as it hit the old wood floor, then it fell between the slats and disappeared. "I’ve made a terrible mistake, Sacha," Katharine said thickly. "Help me get out of here."

  Without any questions, Sacha held her.

  Katharine leaned on Sacha. She felt broken. She had never felt this way in her life. She was only twenty-one.

  Chapter One

  Trey Montgomery paused on the gallery's top step, eyes narrowed upon the elegant gold lettering on the glass doors. He sighed, noting the sizeable crowd inside. Apparently Sacha Fortune, a/k/a Katharine Garner, was in the midst of a highly successful art showing.

  He jerked at the worn collar of his denim jacket and ducked under the gallery's awning, barely registering the late spring rain as it trickled down his neck. Opening the ornate door, he walked into a marble foyer with gleaming crystal and brass lights.

  Trey removed his Stetson, noting the rain droplets which fell onto the polished floor.

  He made note of the artwork displayed on the walls, made even more dramatic by the cleverly placed lighting. He found her work breathtaking, the abstract backgrounds vividly blending colors in sharp contrast to the black trees or nature scenes in the foreground. There were about twenty murals in all; fascinated, he took time to study each one in detail. The scenes depicted were of raw, isolated beauty.

  He searched the crowd for her. At the end of a sea of formal black and evening attire, he found her. She stood speaking with several women in a circle, arms crossed; it struck him as an aloof pose. In the last eight years, she’d never bothered to step one dainty foot on Garner property, but it was time for Katharine to stop running. Time for her to come home. Her grandfather was ill and needed her.

  She turned her head, slowly, her gleaming dark hair swinging past her cheek. Her fine arched brows were drawn together as her gaze met his; she was as beautiful as the pictures he’d seen of her. Something hot and volatile flared in that glance, but almost immediately it was shuttered and suppressed. Wariness settled on her pale features before she turned back to her companions.

  Trey thought of the many times Samuel had needed his granddaughter in the last months, the old man's near brushes with death. But Katharine had virtually disappeared one night eight years before. Gone was the blonde-haired cowgirl, and in her place was a sleek, dark-haired woman who'd clearly come into her own power.

  From what Trey had gleaned, that young Katharine had had everything handed to her. Samuel had doted on her, but then, with her marriage barely a month old, she’d run from the mess she’d made of her life. From that point on Samuel had been on a slow downward spiral from which he would probably never recover.

  With clinical detachment Trey studied the wide eyes, heart-shaped face, the expensive fitted suit, long trim legs and spiked heels. Gone were the wavy blonde curls he’d seen in the dated picture Samuel had on his desk. Her dark hair with its rich auburn highlights had been tamed to form a cap around her head, curling slightly on her shoulders. He wondered if life had chased away the devil in eyes green and sometimes hazel. From this angle her face looked a lot slimmer than the picture he'd seen, as if she'd known some lean years.

  Katharine had turned her back on everything that was hers. In sharp contrast, Trey couldn't imagine abandoning anything that was his, and the Rambler Farm was his. He had worked his entire adult life towards making something of himself. He wouldn’t allow Katharine Garner to take what he’d earned, and that was part of what this was about.

  Trey squared his shoulders. It was time to introduce himself to Katharine, Samuel Garner's heir.

  #

  Sacha felt a peculiar ripple of awareness along her shoulders and neck. Moving her shoulders uncomfortably, she tried to shrug away the sensation, but knew it was the man whom she’d caught staring at her. Who was he, she wondered -- and why should she care? she added silently.

  She looked around the elegant and tasteful room. The showing of her art had produced an encouraging turnout. People wanted to know about her. They wanted her art and, judging by some of the spaces on the walls, they were willing to pay. She had worked so hard to reach this point, and when the show had been offered to her, she'd jumped at the chance to prove herself.

  She rubbed her arms in an attempt to generate warmth. As if drawn to watch him, she stared again at the man with a shadowing of beard, dark jeans and a casual denim jacket covering wide shoulders and a deep chest. Taller than most, his dark hair was parted off center and was cut extremely close on the sides. In his hand dangled a well-creased cowboy hat.

  Sacha rejected the immediate jolt of sensual awareness. Sexual attraction, the unexpected and unwanted reaction to a casual meeting of the eyes. Why this man? Why now?

  It had been so long since she’d felt that traitorous sensation. She didn't trust it...she did not want it, and she doubted there was a man on this earth who could change her mind. She saw recognition on
the stranger’s face, as if he knew her. She did not know him, of that she was certain. Nervously, she pressed her fingers against her jacket buttons, instinct warning her he was not a man who would go away if there was something he wanted.

  She gathered her control tightly back into her own court. She wasn't that crazy kid anymore, the one who lived on the dangerous edge of emotion. How many times had she gotten into trouble because of her lack of judgment?

  Sacha watched as several people gravitated toward him. A petite blonde woman drew his attention, the smile he gave her one that made the woman take another step closer. Obviously, a man who liked women. Pretty, beautiful women. Her husband had been like that; a man who left behind heartache. She turned her back on his lazy perusal of the woman’s face, an unaccustomed heat moving from her neck into her face. She gave an inward groan, angry that she'd reacted to a total stranger. Looking around, she noted that Harry, the gallery owner, was rearranging some of her paintings to make up for the gaps left by sales.

  "Sacha, my dear," a soft voice spoke at her side. Sacha turned to the elderly lady. Mrs. Herrington, she recalled. "I absolutely love your art. It's so vividly unique. I would love it if we could talk about placing some pieces in my restaurant."

  Sacha smiled. "I would be happy to discuss your needs, Mrs. Herrington." She reached over to a small glass table that had been set up beside her. "Please take one of my cards."

  Mrs. Herrington took the proffered card. "I will be calling you this week."

  "Katharine?" Sacha stiffened at the huskily uttered query behind her. The voice was rough and sweet at the same time, a lover’s drawl, almost in her ear. Its depth washed over her deep and warm, as if they were old friends, and yet a sort of anguish filled her because no man should have a voice that fell so seductively on her ears. "Katharine."

  She turned and met the full impact of startling blue eyes. The cowboy. Dark as Lucifer and tall, he made her feel, at five-eight, as small as the petite blonde had looked beside him earlier. Something in his eyes, an assessing hardness, warned her they could never be mere friends. She forced her lips into a smile, and it took all her willpower not to turn away again. There was something so powerful in his eyes that it almost felt as if he'd physically touched her.

  "Katharine," he said again.

  He ran a finger along the brim of his hat, the slight movement catching her attention. His fingers were long, nicely shaped, the nails bluntly cut and clean. She wondered how he would touch a woman's skin. The fleeting thought, quickly squashed, clenched her stomach muscles into knots. A shudder jolted through her and she hated the crazy thoughts jumping around in her head. What the hell was the matter with her?

  "Samuel needs you."

  His hard, direct gaze and the aggressiveness about his mouth and jaw told her this man was no one’s fool.

  "I'm sorry?" she said coolly. She didn't extend her hand or thank him for coming, as was her custom with people new to the gallery.

  "I work for your grandfather. I've come in his stead."

  "I'm sorry, you have the wrong person. I'm Sacha, not Katharine." She smiled and turned from him.

  She heard him swear, then he said, "What?"

  Sacha frowned and reluctantly turned back to him. "Listen, I'm sorry but you have the wrong person. Who are you?"

  "Trey Montgomery."

  "I’m not familiar with your name," she said, trying to place his low-pitched voice with its slight drawl. "You’re not from around here."

  He narrowed his eyes slightly and his head went back. "Here -- New York? No, I’m from Texas."

  "Thank you for coming to the showing today, but I can't help you." She stepped back, overcome with the need to escape this rough dressed stranger with the whiskey smooth voice.

  "Samuel mentioned you plenty of times," he said with quiet deliberation. "He showed me an older picture, one where you were blonde," he added quietly.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. "I said I can't help you. You have me mixed up with someone else."

  "Prove it." His tone carried a bite.

  Her entire body stiffened. "Prove what? That I'm not this Katharine you're looking for? That's absurd." A tight feeling gripped her around the chest. "Please leave or I will have you removed."

  His eyes turned a cold blue, the ice in them a threat she felt down to the high heels that pinched her toes.

  "I'm leaving, but we will talk again," he said.

  Chapter Two

  Trey followed Sacha and the tall gallery owner, Harry Scottsdale, into the coffee shop. He'd waited three days until she wasn't alone, not wanting to be branded a stalker, so he'd waited until she and the guy left the gallery together. Time was getting short and he needed to get this figured out right now. Either she was telling the truth and she wasn't Katharine Garner or she was a very good liar. In the meantime, he'd spoken to Samuel, who sounded like he'd had another bad day. Physical therapy was wearing him out, and his usual gruffness wasn't anywhere in evidence during their short conversation. He'd asked about Katharine, and Trey had had to lie, saying he hadn't found her yet. He wasn't sure how much more time the old man had. He knew Samuel's wish was to see his granddaughter once more, and Trey would do whatever he could do to get her there. Time was running out, though. But what if he was wrong? What if he'd chased after the wrong woman?

  Katharine and the man, Harry, sat down with their respective coffees at a corner table. Good, Trey thought. Without ordering, he pulled a chair from another table toward theirs and sat down. He met her startled gaze, for the moment ignoring the gallery owner who sat next to her.

  "You again," she said, her eyes flashing angrily.

  "Sacha, is this guy bothering you?"

  "He was at the gallery the other night," she said.

  "Sacha," Trey said, playing along, "we need to talk. Either with this guy here or not, your choice. I did some background checking." He watched her face go pale.

  "What do you want?" she asked.

  "To talk. I need you to come to the Rambler."

  The man beside her leaned forward, his light blond hair falling into his eyes. "Listen, what is this, a shake down?" He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling the police right now."

  Sacha reached over and gripped his hand. "Harry, don't."

  Harry looked at her incredulously. "Sacha, you don't have to put up with this. Do you know who this guy is?"

  "We can talk here or we can go down to the police precinct," Trey said softly, looking only at her.

  Eyes wide, Sacha looked hunted. Trey frowned, a moment of uncertainty striking him as he stared into her brown eyes. Katharine's eyes were blue.

  "Sacha?" Harry said.

  "Katharine, it's your call." Trey waited.

  She swallowed, her fingers clenched on the table top. She stared at him but spoke to her companion. "Harry, would you mind taking another table for just a few minutes so I can talk to him?"

  Harry lurched to his feet, eyes narrowed on Trey. "I will be right over there if you need me, Sacha." He indicated the direction with his chin, picked up his coffee and walked across the room.

  Trey pulled his chair around and faced her squarely, leaving Harry no doubt to drill holes in his back with his glare.

  "I checked your background. Sacha Fortune has quite a criminal record."

  "All misdemeanors," she bit out. "What is your point?"

  "I'm sure you wouldn't want any of that background to be made public."

  She shrugged. "It was years ago. Who would care?"

  "I see your works are in children's centers, and some corporate offices that sponsor community programs -- maybe no one."

  Sacha hit the table top with her palms. "What the hell do you want?"

  "I need your help."

  "You don't know me." Her eyes darted toward the door. "I -- I've been out of trouble for a long time, I don't need any --"

  "Hang on. I just need your help with a dying old man."

  Tensely, she gripped the table. "Make it f
ast. I'm two seconds away from leaving."

  True, she did look ready to bolt.

  "Samuel Garner owns a ranch, the Rambler. He's sick and wants to see his granddaughter Katharine before he dies. He had an investigator on her -- Katharine's -- trail for almost two years. It's like she dropped off the face of the earth. No credit cards, bank accounts, cell phone bills -- nothing. She was one rich girl before she took off with nothing. It was only by chance I saw the gallery event with your picture in the nationwide Art Fest promotion. You look a lot like her, yet you claim your name is Sacha Fortune, convicted of four counts of welfare fraud."

  "I am Sacha," she said angrily. She looked around. "You want me to pretend to a dying man that I'm his granddaughter?" She leaned back in her chair, eyed him over her coffee cup as she took a deep gulp. "What the hell kind of monster are you?"

  Trey narrowed his eyes. "Believe it or not, I care about Samuel. I want him to have his granddaughter back there at the farm before he dies. He sees you and then you can go back to your life."

  "No." She shook her head. "Seems like there has to be more to it than that. It can't be that cut and dried. What's in it for you?"

  "It's exactly as I said."

  She shook her head. Trey watched her. "I need you to come back, be Katharine for a few weeks, then you can get on with your life."

  "No, thanks."

  "If you don't, I'm prepared to go leak your past history to the papers or whoever will listen."

  "You're a bastard. I think I should call your bluff."

  "From what I've seen you're just getting noticed in art circles, but go ahead and test me if you think you can weather that storm."

  "Do you know how long it's taken me to get this break?" she demanded. Abruptly, she stood. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?"

  Trey remained silent.

  "How could you think this would work?" she demanded, and he read the simmering fury in her eyes.

  "Because you could pass for her twin," he said, as if that settled it. "Your eyes are brown instead of blue." He narrowed his eyes. "The gap between your teeth is gone."

  She made a sound of impatience. "Yeah, and maybe that's because we're two different women."