This is crazy! Donovan thought as he knocked on the Hale’s front door a second time. I should be two counties over, riding hell-bent for leather.

But noooo, here he stood with his hat in one hand and a rose in the other. Courting his soon-to-be wife? That is, if he continued to live his dead brother’s life.

And that was what he wanted—needed—more than…anything.

He missed his family, missed the Legacy, missed the life he should have had if he hadn’t been so stupid. He could make this work.

He had to make this work.

To his good fortune, the woman he’d be chained to the rest of his life was easy on the eyes. And if what he saw earlier that afternoon was any indication, she had spunk—and a temper.

His life was about to become very interesting.

Finally, the door opened and the vision in front of him almost took his breath away.

Rachel wore a moss-green dress that brought out the redder tones of her blond hair. Beige lace outlined the low-cut neckline of her bodice. Her hair cascaded down her back in soft wavy curls, tempting a man’s touch.

Hell, all of her tempted him. His fingers itched to trace her pink lips then slowly trail downward to where wispy lace tickled her silky breasts. But mostly, he wanted to bury his hand into her waves of blond hair, pull her against him, and then kiss her until neither of them could remember their names.

“Sullivan?” Rachel whispered, pulling him from his erotic thoughts. “Are you all right?”

Donovan nodded. “Sometimes I forget how beautiful you are. Then I see you again and I’m poleaxed.”

For half a heartbeat, Rachel cocked her head to one side like she might call hogwash on his compliment. Then smiled. “Thank you.”

Donovan groaned inwardly. Did he slather his flattery on a little too thick? How much sweet talk did a man say to his fiancée?

“Do you want to come in?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry I’m late getting back to town. If you’re ready, we should probably get going.”

Rachel nodded as she retrieved her shawl from the coat rack beside the door and stepped onto the front porch. “I’m ready.”

Yeah, but was he?

* * *

An hour later, Rachel caught her breath as the last strands of a waltz faded away.

Sullivan tucked her arm through his as they walked off the makeshift dance floor. “I’m parched. How about some punch?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Sullivan seated her on a hay bale close to one of several fires that had been built to ward off the night chill. The small meadow beside the schoolhouse had been turned into a festive scene of colored lanterns, bandstand, and an overflowing refreshment table. “Sullivan?”

“Yes?”

“This time, please remember I prefer the ladies’ punch instead of the more…um…robust gentlemen’s recipe.”

Sullivan winked at her before he turned and walked toward the refreshment table.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Sullivan had never winked at her before. But then again, he’d never given her a single rose before either.

She touched the rose he’d threaded through her hair when she was unwilling to lay it down earlier. Tiny flecks of anxiety flittered across her mind.

Something felt off.

In the past, Sullivan had been showier with his courtesies. Of course, she’d expected flowers tonight, a big bouquet tied with long streaming ribbons. She anticipated him giving them to her in the middle of the dance floor with all eyes on them.

The last thing she envisioned was the intimate gifting of a single rose, the thorns removed so she wouldn’t prick her fingers, given to her in the privacy of her front porch. Just the two of them under a starry sky.

The gesture had turned her into melted butter. She felt all warm and gooey inside.

Since their arrival at the party, she noticed other deviations in Sullivan’s behavior that bordered on odd rather than endearing. Warm and gooey turned to dubious and watchful.

On the three occasions they’d crossed paths with her father, Sullivan had addressed him as Sheriff not Ethan. From the beginning of their courtship, Sullivan had used her father’s given name. So why had he suddenly switched to the more formal title?

Had the run-in with the Pinkerton man this afternoon unnerved Sullivan that much? Or was this his way of reminding her father of his duty to protect the citizens of New Dawn Springs?

Also, Sullivan had been fifteen minutes early tonight. He was never early for anything—especially spending time with her. But he had been tonight. Only he’d thought he was late. And had apologized for it.

That was when she started noticing his occasional odd behavior.

Sullivan Langley never—ever—apologized to anyone for anything. It was just the way he was.

Maybe he was trying to do better.

Rachel flinched when Sullivan sat beside her on the hay bale. She must have been deep into her thoughts not to notice his return.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he handed her a cup of punch. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Two apologies in one hour? What was the world coming to?

Rachel smiled as she leaned away from him and then gave him a playful evil eye. “Who are you? And what have you done with my Sullivan?”

Donovan choked on his punch. What the Hell!?

“Are you all right?” Rachel asked as she pounded on his back.

Hell no, he wasn’t all right. Somehow, he’d been found out—and by the sheriff’s daughter, no less.

He was in too deep. If he, Donovan, just up and disappeared and Sullivan didn’t ever return to the Legacy, suspicion would run rampant. And if Sullivan’s body was found, even his own mother wouldn’t believe he didn’t kill his brother.

No, he had to stay put. Had to try to fake his way out of this mess.

Running was his very, very, last option.

Coughing one last time for effect, Donovan grumbled, “This is what I get for drinking the ladies’ punch.”

“Really? The ladies’?” Rachel leaned over his cup and inhaled. Smiling, she asked, “Why? You always drink—”

“I thought—” Donovan interrupted, not wanting her to dwell on his latest mistake. Evidently, Sullivan enjoyed his liquor on a regular basis. “—it would show solidarity.”

“Solidarity? Against who?”

Faking it just might work, Donovan thought. At least she was listening to him and not waving her father over to take him to the pokey.

“We’re about to be married. A union of two—me and you against the world.” Donovan shrugged one shoulder. “I had no idea my gesture of support would be damned near fatal.”

Rachel chuckled. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“The tiny changes in your behavior.”

“Such as?” Donovan prompted. If he was veering off Sullivan’s normal course of actions, he needed to know the difference.

“You haven’t left my side, with the exception of getting us drinks, since we arrived.”

“So?”

“In the past, we would dance once, maybe twice, and then you’d deposit me in a knot of women and you’d go mingle amongst the men.”

“You make me sound coldhearted,” Donovan replied, letting righteous indignation leach into his tone. Not that he really felt offended. Maybe Sullivan didn’t treat her as well as he should.

“No, of course not. Once you explained, I understood.” Rachel laid her hand on his forearm. “I still do. Business is done when the opportunity presents itself even if it’s in the middle of a party.”

Good Lord, was she that gullible? Was she so in love that Sullivan could get away with such thinly veiled lies?

At least, her blind acceptance of his every word as truth would work in his favor.

Donovan nodded. “Good, I didn’t want to have that discussion again.”

Rachel blushed. “Me, either.”

The sudden pinkening of her cheeks hinted “discussion” might not have correctly described that particular conversation. Now, he really didn’t want to go farther down that path.

After an awkward silence, Donovan prompted, “You mentioned an explanation.”

He sure as Hell hoped she’d come up with something. He was drawing a blank.

Rachel patted his forearm. “It took you a while, and to be honest, I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen, but you’re finally thinking of us as soon-to-be husband and wife. A team to face the future together.”

Okay, now he felt like a heel. Until now, he’d thought of her as an albatross around his neck, a means to convince the world—and more importantly, Carter—that he was Sullivan.

Sweet mother Mary, he was an asshole.

* * *

Hours later, Donovan stepped off the Hale’s front porch and froze. Someone was watching him, lying in wait.

He’d learned long ago not to ignore the tingling of the hairs on the back of his neck. Oh yeah, someone had him in their sights.

“Langley!” a menacing voice boomed through the night air.

Donovan spun around, not bothering to reach for his gun he knew wasn’t there. But if he got half a chance, he’d pull the smaller caliber pistol he’d hidden in his boot. Keeping his tone even, he spoke into the darkness, “What do you want?”

A medium built man stepped out of the shadows—sure enough—holding a Colt 44 aimed at Donovan’s chest.

He didn’t recognize the man, which meant the bastard was Sullivan’s enemy not his. How in the Hell was he supposed to scramble out of this?

Maybe he could lead the conversation in circles until the smaller man told him what brought on an ambush on the sheriff’s front lawn. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk about this like gentlemen.”

“Not so brave when you’re the one facing the business end of a pistol, are you?” The man stepped closer, but not close enough to grab him or his gun. “How does it feel to know your life is about to end?”

Donovan noticed the stranger’s eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, and his gun hand wavered slightly. The asshole was drunk!

Donovan moved a half-step closer. “Been dipping into the liquid courage, I see.”

“I’ve got all the courage I need, but yeah, I spent some time at the saloon while I waited for you to take Miss Hale home. No need to involve her.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Jackson,” the sheriff said from behind the other man.

Jackson spun around to face the sheriff. Donovan moved a little closer.

Hale made a show of pulling back the side of his jacket and tucking it behind his holster, then resting his hand over the butt of his pistol. “As I said a couple days ago, I doubt Sullivan purposely sold you soured feed. Now put your gun away.”

“That feed killed my prized studhorse.” Jackson turned back to Donovan. “He did it on purpose. That stud’s bloodline would have buyers from across the country coming to me—not the Legacy—for their stock.”

Bad feed? His life had been threatened over a sack of soured oats? Donovan laughed.

Jackson squinted his eyes and gripped his gun a tick tighter.

Donovan sobered.

“You think it’s funny? I sank every penny I had into buying that stud. Now I have nothing.”

“You have your land,” Hale added, obviously trying to divert Jackson’s attention away from his target.

“And no money to work it,” Jackson countered, still focused on Donovan.

“Talk to the bank,” Sheriff Hale encouraged. “Roker’s a good man. Surely, he’d help you out.”

“I did. Roker said the bank wouldn’t loan money to someone who is an enemy of the Legacy.” Jackson turned to face Hale. “Although, he did admit he wished someone would take Sullivan Langley down a notch or two. It just couldn’t be him.”

That didn’t sound like a friendly banker, Donovan thought. At least, not where Sullivan was concerned.

Jackson swayed on his feet, raising his gun hand to his face to rub his chin. “Come to think on it, Tom Duffy, the barkeep down at the Watering Hole, said almost the same thing.”

Taking advantage of Jackson’s blunder, Donovan tackled him, holding the drunk’s weapon above his head. The tussle was over almost before it started.

“I’ll take him to the jail and let him sleep it off,” Hale said as he lifted Jackson to his feet. “You’re not going to press charges, are you?”

“Nah.” Donovan retrieved his hat from the ground. No way was he going to be the cause of another man spending time behind bars. “But I’m going to look into his claims. If I’m to blame, even unintendedly, I’ll make restitution.”

Sheriff Hale nodded. “He’s harmless. Just a good man who’s hit a rough spot.”

Hale and Jackson turned to walk away when Donovan heard Jackson say, “Why are letting that snake in the grass in the same room with your daughter, much less marry the bastard?”

“I have my reasons,” Hale answered. “Now, get moving. I’d like to find my bed before the sun comes up tomorrow.”