Which Twin?. Elane Osborn
two years she’d been in the constant company of her mother, always conscious of the inoperable tumor, dictating that Rose’s time with Kathleen Delancey would all too soon come to an end. So, she could hardly claim to have been lonely in the conventional sense. Yet whenever she looked inside herself, she’d felt as if a part of herself was missing, some odd hole in the fabric of her existence.
And now this man was suggesting that someone else felt this way. Someone, moreover, who apparently looked enough like Rose to make everyone she came in contact with think that she was this person. Someone who’d once had an imaginary friend named Rose.
This was all nuts. It was no wonder that her head was spinning, her ears ringing and her legs suddenly wobbly. If it weren’t for the tight grip this Logan maintained on her wrists, she was certain her legs would give way, leaving her to collapse on the floor at his feet.
She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t give in to the whirling eddy that threatened to drag her into unconsciousness. She had to stay alert, on her feet, and somehow find her way out of this nightmarish place. Drawing a deep breath, Rose forced herself to meet the man’s dark eyes and speak as calmly as possible.
“I know this must sound crazy, but I am who I say I am. Let me go, and I’ll prove it to you.”
The man—Logan, she reminded herself—seemed to search her face for a moment before releasing her wrists. Rose continued to stare into his eyes a moment longer, oddly reluctant to look away. Finally she took two steps back, pulled her gaze from his as she slipped her large purse from her shoulder. She reached in and fished out her turquoise leather wallet. Drawing her driver’s license from its plastic sleeve, she handed it to the man. Shivering within her damp sweater, she watched as he studied it.
“Well, I know you use false IDs to avoid the attention that comes with the Benedict name,” he said at last. One corner of his mouth lifted in that half smile of his as his eyes met hers. “But why choose Seattle? Was there a sale on fake Washington State licenses?”
His smile became a mocking grin as he handed the document back, hardening Rose’s frustration into anger.
“For your information, that license is real. And it says I’m legal to drive in the State of Washington because that is where I live.”
“Right. And what about the wallet? This was my Christmas present to you a little over a month ago.”
Again Rose felt the floor begin to shift beneath her feet. The turquoise wallet had been a day-after-Christmas-sale purchase at Nordstrom’s. It was something she hadn’t really needed, but upon seeing it, she’d felt she had to have it—as if it was somehow meant to be hers.
The fact that this Anna possessed the exact same wallet sent another wave of shivers dancing down her spine. Rose straightened that part of her anatomy. This was no time to get giddy over coincidences, she told herself. Such a reaction would only make it more difficult to convince this stranger of her identity.
Not that it mattered if he believed her or not. She knew who she was. What was more, in spite of all the unanswered questions tumbling through her mind regarding this look-alike of hers, she now only wanted to get out of this house, to escape from these people and the vague unsettling sense that she’d seen them before.
“Look, Logan whoever-you-are.” Rose spoke softly as she shoved her driver’s license back in place and dropped her wallet into her purse. Pushing her damp bangs out of her eyes, she glared up at him as she went on, “I’m through trying to reason with you. I am Rose Delancey, just as my license states, and I refuse to be kept in this madhouse one moment longer.”
She pivoted toward the door, but before she could take one step, strong fingers gripped her elbow and spun her back around. The man’s lips twisted scornfully as he asked, “If you aren’t Anna, then how do you know my name is Logan?”
“It’s what that woman called you.”
His eyes narrowed. “That woman is your mother.”
“No. My mother is…dead.”
Immediately Rose clamped her jaw shut, trapping the sob that wanted to follow. She wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not after she’d promised her mother.
It was just that this was the first time she’d actually said the word dead out loud, with all its echoes of finality. The small group that had gathered for her mother’s funeral had all known what had happened, so there had been no reason for Rose to explain a thing. The end had been expected, after all, and Rose had heard several people murmur that the suddenness of it had been something of a blessing. Rose knew, of course, that they’d meant that her mother was now beyond pain, not that it was a blessing that Kathleen Delancey was gone, leaving her daughter truly alone.
And feeling, suddenly, crazy.
Swallowing hard, Rose stared at the lapel of the man’s leather jacket. She should have stayed in the apartment above her mother’s gift shop, should have gone through all her mother’s papers as the lawyer had suggested, then gradually come to terms with her loss. She never should have followed her crazy visions without first putting her life in order and getting her emotions in hand.
“Rose?”
The soft inquiry brought Rose’s head up and hope into her heart. “You called me Rose,” she said as another damp chill shuddered through her. “Does that mean you believe what I’ve been—?”
The shake of Logan’s head left the rest of Rose’s question unasked.
“I tried Anna,” he replied. “When you didn’t look up, I decided to give Rose a try.” He paused a moment, frowning into her eyes as if weighing a decision before he went on. “Look, Anna. You’re wet, cold and probably tired. We can talk after you take a warm shower and get into some dry—”
Now it was Rose’s turn to shake her head, interrupting him to insist, “For the last time, I am not Anna. I don’t live in this house, have never even been in this house, or in this…room.”
Rose shuddered as her gaze slid from his to the hauntingly familiar decor.
“Then why are you here?”
Rose closed her eyes as a sense of hopelessness engulfed her at the thought of telling this obviously cynical man about her recurring dreams of the view from the balcony outside this particular room.
When she felt Logan’s hand gently grasp her upper arms, she realized he must have seen her shoulders slump. Her knees seemed to bend of their own accord. Once she was sitting on the edge of the bed, she opened her eyes. Aware of the man seated next to her, she stared at the bridge through the sliding glass door, realizing that her explanation would sound insane.
“Dreams,” she said anyway. “I have repeatedly dreamed of this particular view of that bridge. I came here to find if this view existed in reality. I needed…”
As her voice trailed off, Logan couldn’t miss the despair shimmering in her dark eyes. The expression on her face was so damned sincere that he was half tempted to believe that this truly might not be Anna Benedict. But he knew Anna’s vivid imagination all too well for that. Like Alice In Wonderland, she was fully capable of imagining “six impossible things before breakfast” and believing each of them completely.
Logan had always suspected that this characteristic was a reaction to her family’s expectations. Keeping an eye on Anna had been a duty he had gladly fulfilled ever since the day that Robert and Elise Benedict brought their new daughter home. The tiny infant’s cry had elicited a fierce sense of protectiveness in his ten-year-old soul that had never waned no matter how she’d tried his patience over the years.
Not, he reminded himself with a twitch of his lips, that he was a paragon of patience, but he understood the introverted young woman’s battle to find her place in a family of over-achievers. In the past six months, though, he’d been so busy overseeing Benedict family legal concerns that he hadn’t spent much time with Anna.
It occurred to him now, as he studied the combination