Royal Protector. Laura Gordon
that in all probability she would be examined by the world’s foremost physicians some time in the next twenty-four hours. A woman like Mo would, no doubt, find that claim incredible. Everything about Lexie’s hostess and unlikely rescuer, from the silver-gray braid that hung down the middle of her back to her well-worn moccasins and faded blue jeans, reflected her utter lack of pretense.
“The paramedics said my vital signs were normal,” Lexie reminded Mo. “And I am feeling much better. Really,” she reiterated, hoping to make up for the lack of conviction in her voice.
The older woman tipped her head to one side and studied Lexie skeptically. “Well…maybe so. But I’ll still feel better once Doc Rogers gets here.” Mo rose from her chair to pace across the room and stand peering out one of the two large bay windows that dominated the west wall. “He ought to have arrived by now. I left the message with his secretary an hour ago.”
“I’m surprised he makes house calls,” Lexie said.
“Doc Rogers spends more time running around than in his office. He not only has a general practice, but he’s the county coroner. I guess he got tied up at the crime scene.”
Lexie filed away that piece of information. She needed to be careful what she said around the doctor. It bothered her that she had to watch her every word. But such was the reality of her life—a life she’d spent shunning the spotlight and yet despite all her precautions, all the scheming and planning, here she was center stage again.
Would it ever be any different? she wondered miserably. Or was she doomed to a life of unsuccessfully playing a game of hide-and-seek with first one pursuer and then another?
A sudden realization of the self-pitying nature of her thoughts brought Lexie up short. A horrible tragedy had occurred. A man was dead. A life had been lost for the sake of preserving hers.
Again.
Knowing she’d caused another man’s death brought guilt crashing down on her from all sides. If only she hadn’t insisted on spending the night on the mountain. If only she hadn’t come to Colorado, in the first place. If only she’d recognized the disaster brewing at Marycrest Prep.
If only Hugh Miller hadn’t died.
Before the depressing thoughts could overwhelm her, she forced herself to deal with the next unpleasant task. “I wonder if it would be possible to use your phone?”
“Of course,” Mo said. “But are you sure you’re up to it? You’re still awfully pale.”
Lexie saw Mo’s gaze taking in her disheveled appearance and she ran a hand through her tangled, shoulder-length hair. “I must look a mess.”
Mo’s smile was genuine. “Honey, on our best day there aren’t many of us who look as good as you do now.”
Lexie dismissed the compliment with a quick, “Thanks. And now, if you could just direct me to the phone…” She started to rise again and was surprised and distressed to find her knees still rubbery.
As if sensing her distress, Mo moved back to the couch and sat down beside her. “Listen, honey. Why don’t I make that call for you. Is it your family? Your mom and dad?”
The older woman’s kindness touched Lexie. From the moment of her arrival everyone at Destiny Canyon Ranch had treated her like…well, like royalty. And no one had been more thoughtful and welcoming than Mo Garrett, herself.
“It’s just my father,” Lexie explained. “My mother died when I was very young.” That bit of personal information slipped out unexpectedly, leaving Lexie to wonder why she’d revealed even that much about herself to someone who was, for all intents, still a virtual stranger.
“Anyway,” she went on quickly, “I think it would be better if I talked to my father myself.” And that, Lexie thought ruefully, was the understatement of the year.
“There’s a phone in the hallway, and one on the wall in the kitchen. My niece, Jolie, has been after me to buy one of those cordless things, but I just haven’t seen the need—until now, that is. Guess we must seem pretty old-fashioned to you. I suppose everyone in Atlanta has a cordless phone.”
With an inward groan, Lexie recalled making up the address in Atlanta when she’d called to make her reservations. The lie had been fabricated on impulse. At the time, she’d just wanted to cover her tracks. Obviously, she hadn’t covered them well enough.
Looking back, she realized the lie hadn’t really been necessary. Even if Boston’s social news story of the year had somehow made it this far west, she doubted Mo Garrett would have been interested enough to read it.
The lie about coming from Atlanta now seemed silly, especially when in only a matter of hours all her lies would be revealed. Besides, the truth about her fictitious Atlanta address would be a minor aside when compared to the truth about her identity, and the awful truth behind why Hugh Miller had been murdered.
Suddenly, Lexie felt utterly heartsick and desperately alone. In an uncharacteristic and unexpected surge of unchecked emotion, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Are you sure I can’t make that call for you?” Mo asked again.
Lexie shook her head and swiped at the pools of moisture gathering in her eyes. “Thanks, but no. I think it would be better if he heard about what has happened from me.” With her emotions so close to the surface, she wondered if she had the strength to deal with the inevitable confrontation that would follow. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until she felt stronger, more in control?
Besides, how could she give her father an accurate report of her physical condition before a real doctor had examined her? Upon further assessment of the situation, it seemed to Lexie not only preferable, but prudent to delay the conversation.
“You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should wait to call my father until after the doctor checks me out.”
Mo’s smile was understanding. “Any father would want to know if something like this had happened to his daughter. But I have a feeling that whenever you call, he’ll just be so relieved to know you’re safe it won’t matter that you’ve waited to contact him.”
“You don’t know my father,” Lexie muttered almost to herself.
“No. But I’m sure your well-being is all he cares about.”
There was no way Lexie could respond to Mo’s observation. It would be nice to think that every father had only his children’s best interests at heart, but in her own case, Lexie knew better. In fact, she’d never had any illusions about her place on her father’s list of priorities.
Of course he cared about her personal safety, but the precious family name, an unblemished public image and positive public perception mattered more. Far more. And that was precisely why the call to him could wait, she told herself resolutely.
With a sigh, Lexie leaned back against the butter-soft leather cushions and closed her eyes. She figured she must have dozed off, because she felt disoriented when she heard footsteps and Mo talking in a low voice to whomever had entered the room.
“Of course, I’m all right,” Mo was saying. “It was all over by the time I got there.”
Lexie opened her eyes.
“Lexie, honey,” Mo said in a gentle voice she might have used to awaken a sleeping child. “This is my brother, Lucas.”
The tall, broad-shouldered cowboy standing beside Mo nodded in her direction. “Miss Dale.”
The whiteness of his western-cut shirt was a dramatic contrast to hair so dark the sun streaming through the window behind him picked up blue highlights. His long legs were encased in dark blue denim. His boots were black, like the Stetson he held in one large, tanned hand.
“Lucas is the sheriff of Bluff County,” Mo said.
Lexie realized she was staring hard and inappropriately