Dallas, however, was in a talkative mood. “You wouldn’t have lasted until dawn out on the street. I had to find a place to dump you, and Carmen’s apartment was right around the corner,” he continued, then scratched his jaw. “Only problem is, I figured I’d have you outta here before she got home and she’d never be the wiser. It wasn’t until I came back to check on you a little before daylight and saw her leaving the apartment building that I realized she must have come home between shifts.”

  Logan frowned as more pieces of his memory sifted together. “She didn’t seem particularly shocked to find a beat-up man in her bed.”

  “Not just a man,” Dallas drawled. “She thinks you’re me, remember? And she’s patched me up before when the need arose.”

  He grimaced. “Happens often, does it?”

  Another grin. “Often enough.”

  Logan squinted up at Dallas, wondering what other needs Carmen tended for him. His gut twisted with an emotion he didn’t want to define as envy but would be hard-pressed to call by any other name. Lack of oxygen, he decided as he tried a deep breath, then checked it as a stabbing sensation shot through his ribs again.

  “There’s nothing for it, you know, but to haul out of that bed and get moving,” Dallas said with a knowing chuckle. “You took your lumps, now you’ve got to live with ‘em for a while. Coffee’s hot in the kitchen. I figure if you can make it that far, you’ll live to see tomorrow.”

  Logan glared at Dallas’s back as the man whistled his way out of the bedroom. It wasn’t bad enough that he was faced with a clone of himself—he had to listen to his Will Rogers philosophy as well.

  Dallas was right, though. He had to start moving. Gingerly peeling back the covers, he gritted his teeth and inched to a sitting position. Fresh new tortures inspired by the activity wrung a groan from him. He’d been stripped to his boxers, he noticed before he limped to the kitchen.

  Dallas was there with all the sympathy of a drill sergeant when Logan collapsed onto a chair, close to passing out again. Propping his scuffed cowboy boots on the table, Dallas shoved a steaming mug of coffee under Logan’s nose.

  The smell of the coffee helped. It would help even more if he could drink it. Discounting the fact that he hadn’t yet regained the strength to lift the mug to his mouth, the thought of what the steaming hot liquid would feel like on his battered lips gave him the patience to wait until it cooled off.

  Dallas, who had been studying him speculatively, shifted his hips, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a wallet. “Found it this morning near a trash can.” He tossed it on the table. “Figured, from the ID, it must be yours. Figured from the address you’d never heard of this end of town, let alone come a-callin’.”

  In spite of Dallas’s good-ol’-boy drawl and complete lack of hostility, the uncanny resemblance to himself still set Logan on edge. It was like looking in a mirror with a mind of its own—and an attitude.

  “Spooky, ain’t it?” Dallas asked, picking up Logan’s wallet and studying the picture ID. “Put you in a mustache or shave off mine and there’s not a dime’s worth of difference between us. Unless, of course, you start comparing bankrolls. Then I suspect the differences would mount up real soon.”

  Logan eyed him speculatively. So Dallas knew who he was. Not that he was surprised. The Prince name had been high profile in Texas for decades. “It would seem that I owe you.”

  Dallas grunted. “You owe lady luck. She just put me in the right place at the right time. Don’t get any notion that I played hero. If your friends hadn’t lit out of there first thing out of the blocks, I’d have been long gone, and you’d have been vulture meat this morning—not that you look much better than that right now. Lord, if you aren’t one sorry-lookin’ son of a gun.” He chuckled, shaking his head sympathetically.

  “Bankroll or no, man, it would take a hell of a deal to make me want to trade places with your headache today.”

  “Trade places? Now there’s an idea that has possibilities,” Logan said glumly. “At this very moment I’d gladly pay any price to be free of this bitching pain.

  “I could make it worth your while,” he added, taking a feeble stab at prolonging the joke. “Name your price. What would it take to put you in my shoes?”

  Dallas gave a sage snort over the rim of his coffee cup. “Tell you what, you take two aspirin and call me in the morning. If you’re still of a mind to talk trade, I’ll consider it then.”

  Wishing it were that easy, Logan tried for a smile, which he quickly curbed when his split lip protested.

  Trading places. The notion snagged in his thoughts for another moment, holding far too much appeal. And in that moment before he dismissed it as pure nonsense, it settled, big as life and twice as compelling.

  “You know” —Dallas’s voice was pensive, considering— “most people showing their face in the district that time of night are either looking to score, looking for trouble, or not looking at all. I figure I know which category you fall into. Only question now is why.”

  Why? Logan propped his elbows on the table and gingerly lowered his head to his hands. Because he’d been running, that’s why. Because he’d been looking for a way out and not looking where he was going. Because he’d been so desperate for a break in the action, he’d stumbled into hostile territory. He’d made a near-fatal tactical error all because he’d wanted a reprieve.

  He still did, in spite of the beating he’d taken. His head came up when he realized just how much he still did.

  He stared at Dallas with renewed interest. And in that moment, that crystalline, crisp, all-senses-on-overload moment, he realized he not only wanted the reprieve but the means to that end was sitting across the table, staring him in the face.

  He eyed Dallas thoughtfully. It was ridiculous, of course, the idea of trading places. Ridiculous. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t work.

  He gave Dallas a longer, more critical look and recognized some subtle differences that would distinguish one man from the other. The blue of Dallas’s eyes was a shade grayer than his own; Dallas’s hair, a sun streak lighter. He was built more on the slim side, too, with a cowboy leanness acquired from manual labor as opposed to the more sculpted body Logan had honed and molded in an exclusive Houston health club.

  Still, even considering the differences, the resemblance was remarkable. Get rid of Dallas’s mustache, smooth out his rough edges, and it would take a very discriminating eye to tell them apart. And now that he was over the shock of confronting a man who was so close to his exact double, the prophetic implication of their chance meeting was undeniable.

  They actually could trade places and no one would be the wiser. In fact, Carmen Rodriquez, who evidently knew Dallas well, had already been fooled. Granted, his face looked like minced meat, but he’d still resembled Dallas enough that she hadn’t questioned who he was.

  He should be questioning, though, and highly suspect of his reasoning powers. A man in full control of his faculties would not be seriously considering what under ordinary circumstances would have been a totally ludicrous proposition.

  But these weren’t ordinary circumstances, were they? And the fact was, Dallas was the solution he’d been looking for. His way out . . . albeit a temporary one.

  All he needed was a month. One month of anonymity. One month of time out from the crush of Prince Enterprises’ expectations. One month of reprieve before he took over the helm and wouldn’t be heard from again outside a corporate boardroom.

  And in the back of his mind was the niggling notion that trading places with Dallas would provide something else—an opportunity to see Carmen Rodriquez again. To see if reality measured up to the memory of his reluctant angel. To see if she could possibly be as uniquely genuine as he’d sensed she was. To see if a woman would think of him with something other than dollar signs and social position on her mind.

  Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t looking for romance. He wasn’t even looking for sex. Sex was a commodity that had been his for the asking as soon as the lady in question had sniffed out his pedigree.

  He shook off the cynicism provoked by that knowledge and stared at Dallas again. It could work. And what could happen in a month? What did he really have to lose pitted against what he stood to gain?

  His mind raced to explore the possible repercussions. It wasn’t as if Dallas would be calling any shots. He’d let Ben in on the switch. Ben Crenshaw had been Logan’s right-hand man for ten solid years. If push came to shove, Ben could handle just about anything that came up in his absence anyway.

  The conclusion became increasingly obvious. And the plan he was formulating gained more merit by the second. Dallas had been dropped in Logan’s lap. He’d be a fool not to take advantage. All he had to do was get Dallas to agree to the bluff.

  His decision made, he fell back on the knowledge that if there was one thing he’d mastered in his career, it was the ability to manipulate people.

  “So, Dallas,” he began, before he could talk himself out of it. “What piece of blue Texas sky would it take to lure you into considering a business proposition?”

  CHARADE

  Cindy Gerard

  TWO

  It had been remarkably easy, really. From the formulation of the plan to the sealing of the deal, everything had gone smoothly. Dallas had his eye on a little ranch near San Antonio. If he fulfilled his part of the bargain, he would get a loan from Logan to secure the property and enough working capital to get off to a running start. A lengthy phone call to Ben, who, although skeptical, finally agreed to go along with the charade like the loyal employee Logan knew he was, set the wheels in motion. By noon, when Ben arrived to pick up Dallas, everything was in place, and Logan felt confident Ben would cover all the fine points along the way.

  Sputtering orders to Logan to get himself to a doctor, Ben left with Dallas in tow, assuring Logan he’d stick to him like needles on a cactus. One of the things that made Ben so valuable was his expertise at evasion: He would keep Dallas just out of everyone’s reach and everyone’s eye as much as possible. Yes, Ben was a master at dodging suspicions before they even materialized. If need be, he’d plead laryngitis and the need to rest the voice to avoid questions about Dallas’s good-ol’-boy drawl. Dallas was more than willing to cooperate. The only fuss he made was over the loss of his mustache and the need for a haircut—and even that was good-natured.

  For a long time after they’d left, Logan lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. If he could have moved, he supposed now would be the time to jump for joy— or the well-bred, socially acceptable equivalent thereof. His spontaneity had been suppressed for too long, however, behind layers of staunch control aimed at the appearance of glacial indifference. He wasn’t sure how to react . . . or even if he was capable of an honest reaction. And, he suspected, that was really what this was all about.

  He was a lucky man. He knew that. He possessed the wealth and position most men envied. But he needed to get grounded again. He needed to find out who Logan Prince was when he wasn’t cutting deals and calling shots. He needed to know if there was more to the man than the business machine.

  He supposed he should be feeling a little panic, or even a spark of elation that he was actually getting this opportunity. Instead he felt a numb sort of peace.

  Alone, exhausted from the mental effort to absorb all the personal data Dallas had thrown at him and from the disgustingly minimal exertion of pulling on a pair of Dallas’s jeans, he focused on combating his physical pain. It was more than a nuisance. It was the one thing of substance over which he couldn’t seem to gain the upper hand.

  Then he thought of Carmen Rodriquez—and substance took on a whole new dimension. Suddenly he didn’t feel numb anymore.

  He told himself it was only a physical response. Male reacting to female. Nothing more. Simple. Natural. Biological.

  He tried to dismiss his reactions, yet impressions of dark eyes and soft hands wove and blended sweetly as he drifted into a restless sleep, wondering when she’d return and he could see her again, wondering why nothing had penetrated his armor of indifference for years and now merely thinking of her set all his senses humming.

  Carmen Rodriquez was not what this time-out was about, he reminded himself. It shouldn’t be so difficult to remember. It shouldn’t be, but somehow it was.

  Long shadows were playing across the floor by the time the click of a key in a lock woke him. From the dusky darkness of her bedroom, from the intimacy of her bed, he listened to her moving about the apartment. To the rustle of grocery sacks. To the opening and closing of the refrigerator door. To her sigh of fatigue from a long day.

  To the escalating beat of his heart.

  She was tired. He fought a totally foreign twinge of remorse that she still had him to contend with. She’d pulled a double shift, Dallas had said, before filling him in with a quick yet thorough rundown on his sullen angel.

  Angel, it seemed, was the term that best described her. According to Dallas, if a lost child needed tending, if a foolish man needed mending, Carmen was there to carry the load. She was an Emergency Room nurse at Ben Taub Trauma Center. And when she had any spare time, she spent it doing volunteer work at Casa de Amigos Community Health Center.

  That would explain the tidy job she’d done patching him up. It would also afford him the solitude he needed to see this through. Even if he stayed in her apartment for the duration, their paths rarely would cross once he was on his feet again. The woman, it seemed, worked twenty-four hours a day. He thought grimly that their workaholic tendencies might be the only thing they had in common.

  In all other aspects, they were worlds apart. Money, education, social status, cultural heritage were the lines of demarcation drawn through time without their input or awareness.

  As Dallas had so aptly put it, Logan had never “come a-callin” in this part of town before. And on his brief and unsteady sojourn from the bedroom to the kitchen and back to the bedroom again, he’d caught glancing impressions of how modestly she lived.

  According to Dallas, she shared this two-bedroom apartment with her brother, Rico, who was currently midway through a three-month shift on a Gulf oil rig. Dallas was a friend of Rico’s and had the dubious responsibility of looking out for Carmen in her brother’s absence.

  From everything Logan had gathered, Dallas was the one who needed looking after. He was a goodhearted drifter, down on his luck, short on cash, even shorter on common sense. Between women, he shared Carmen’s extra bedroom with Rico.

  Dallas had made it clear that his interest in Carmen was strictly fraternal. Though Logan’s memory of last night was a bit hazy, he remembered seeing something in her eyes and hearing something in her voice as she’d alternately scolded and soothed him while tending to his injuries that made him suspect her feelings for Dallas ran deeper. For some reason he didn’t want to explore, that thought didn’t settle well.

  Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway, bringing him back to the present. A fragrance drifted into the room. He wasn’t hazy where that fresh, delicate scent was concerned. He’d recognize it anywhere.

  He turned his head, much too eager, much too pleased to see her standing hesitantly in the doorway. A swift and explosive excitement surged through his blood as he looked at her. A profound and deep sense of contentment followed when she moved to his side.

  Too stunned by his reactions to fight them, he let them have free rein and indulged a need to simply watch her.

  He searched her eyes, not surprised to find them as soft and as telling as he remembered. A man could get lost in those eyes, in the undisguised caring, in the dark, liquid warmth. He remembered getting lost in them last night. Those eyes spoke for her . . . of longing, quite possibly of love, of a pride that wouldn’t let her confess aloud what she thought her silence protected.

  It protected nothing. He could see it all too clearly. She cared about Dallas; she was as obvious and as vulnerable to attack as a fledgling business was to a corporate takeover.

  Like a physical touch, electric, sensual, soul mending, she projected her feelings with each hesitant caress of her gaze. He felt an unsolicited sting of regret knowing she was looking at him and thinking he was Dallas. On its heels came a swift, explosive anger, another emotion he rarely allowed himself to indulge.

  Dallas was a fool, he decided, and thought it pathetically sad that he, a stranger to this woman, could so easily see what Dallas either refused to acknowledge or simply didn’t care to recognize.

  And he would be a bigger fool than Dallas, he told himself, if he didn’t back away from this encroaching temptation to experience everything her eyes promised. In the first place, the love she offered wasn’t for him. In the second, he knew love was an illusion. He’d learned that particular lesson early on.

  It wasn’t that he was bitter. He was realistic. Women loved the idea of his money. He didn’t fault them for it. Money, after all, was the great motivator. He understood its lure. But he also understood that the concept of “love” was nothing more than a time-honored deception. He was wise enough not to buy into it.

  He watched Carmen Rodriquez’s face as she carefully and skillfully examined his bandaged ribs, and he decided that she had not yet learned that valuable lesson. Her gentle expression told him she was still a believer. He didn’t know whether to pity her or envy her. And watching her, he found himself wishing he weren’t so wise—or so jaded.

  “You need to see a doctor.” Her voice was thick with concern and caring.

  He managed a subtle shake of his head. “You.” He swallowed back the dryness of his throat. “I only need you.”

  The words surprised him. That they were true surprised him even more. He did need her. He needed the openness she projected, but that she wasn’t aware was so special. He needed the compassion she gave, but that he hadn’t been aware was a necessity.