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Chapter 1
Rylie Malone breathed in the brisk March air as she waddled like a duck, lugging her heavy burden in front of her. She should’ve stopped when she felt something dripping on her leg. She should’ve realized the overloaded trash bag was about to rip open. Instead, she ignored the leak and hefted the weighty sack, straining to get it up and into the outdoor trash can.
With a cacophony of crashes, bangs, clatters, and thuds, the entire contents spilled out into a stinking sodden pile on her feet. She gasped, standing in drop-jawed shock, the torn plastic hanging from her hands, rippling in the morning breeze. A three-foot wide pile of spilled garbage littered the sidewalk against the garage wall, reeking of something spoiled. Had anything made it into the can? Probably not.
Rylie screamed silently at her sister. Carlie had only been living with her for five days, but Rylie was already fed up with her. A half-full container of yogurt rolled down to splat on the concrete. More than one convenience-store cup had made the fateful crash with part of the liquid contents still in the bottom. Plastic, glass, and aluminum containers were mixed in with the rest of the trash.
Because Carlie couldn’t possibly walk all the way out to the garage to put something in the recycling bin.
Yet another reason why Rylie didn’t like being called her sister’sidenticaltwin. They might look alike, but they were far from the same.
With a groan, she worked her feet from under the refuse pile and bent to sort the contents. She tried to breathe through her mouth to avoid smelling the stench, yet the fumes brought tears to her eyes.
Rylie loved her twin. In fact, they talked almost every day. Carlie was her best friend and closest confidant. But if they were going to live in the same house, something had to change.
Always focused on honing Carlie’s talents to make her a star, their parents had failed to teach her the basic duties of running a household. It wasn’t Carlie’s fault she’d become a prima donna, expecting someone else to handle common chores she viewed as “beneath” her. When their parents had moved from their house in Denver—the only home the twins had ever known—to west Texas to take care of her mom’s parents, Rylie hadinheritedher sister.
Not that Carlie, at thirty-three years of age, still lived with their parents. No, for the past nine years, she’d been living in Nashville. She’d recorded several hit songs and gone on national tours. She’d earned a fortune, but her husband/agent had mismanaged her money. By the time her popularity had taken a nose dive, he’d left her with debt up to her eyeballs and nowhere to turn but her family.
“Please let me stay with you,” Carlie had begged when she called. “I can’t live with Mom and Dad in that dustbowl in the middle of nowhere.”
Secretly, Rylie agreed with her sister’s assessment of Dry Gulch, Texas, but it didn’t change the fact that her sister was difficult to live with. The garbage disaster was only the latest in a long list of complaints.
“I’m going to need some gloves for this,” Rylie mumbled, using two fingers to lift an aluminum can from the pile while attempting to avoid whatever brownish goo was clinging to its surface.
At least no one was around to witness the garbage fiasco. Rylie had purchased this place on the outskirts of Denver a month ago, moving from her downtown apartment, and hadn’t seen a single neighbor, which suited her introverted personality to a T.
Rylie spied another aluminum can in the back of the pile close to the garage wall. Spreading her feet wider, she leaned forward, extending her arm as far as possible, her other arm behind her for counter-balance. The can lurked a bare inch away from her fingertips.
“Looks like a minor disaster,” said a male voice behind her.
Rylie jumped at the sound. Her balance faltered. Flapping her arms in desperation, her body seemed to fall in slow motion. With a cry of dismay, she fell onto her hands and knees in the slimy garbage. Something wet soaked into the knees of her jeans.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay!”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, though there was nothing fine about her situation. Which was worse—falling in garbage or having a stranger witness it?
Please let him be the mailman. No… it needs to be someone I’ll never see again. Let him be a… a… a door-to-door salesman. That’d be perfect! And let him be old and gray and missing some front teeth. The more hideous, the better. And make him someone who hates country music, so he doesn’t know my sister.
“Let me help you up.” The voice was close and vaguely familiar. A large sneaker stepped beside her, compressing a plastic carton that oozed brownish green avocado dip. Then a well-muscled arm came into view on her left, fingers extended. “Here, take my hand.”
Even a cursory glance confirmed her fears—the arm didn’t belong to an old man. Typical. She was always consistent… even where bad luck was concerned.
At least don’t let him be good-looking.
She took a deep breath for courage and immediately regretted it, as nasty fumes accosted her tongue and throat.
“Thanks,” she croaked out, following up with a hoarse cough.
She kept her head down as she picked up her left hand, vainly wiping the grime on her t-shirt, and locked fingers with his. The sizzle was instantaneous and electric, probably because Rylie hadn’t had a date in over a year. She’d had a few boyfriends, but none of her relationships had ever lasted more than a couple of months.
Not that she cared. She couldn’t help comparing them to the one man who’d made her heart speed up, just walking into the room. No one else was as brilliant, as kind, as jaw-droppingly handsome. Unknowingly, Jarrett had set an impossible standard, ruining her for every other man… an unfortunate situation, since he’d never considered her anything more than a friend.
They’d met when he was a grad student instructor for her computer engineering class. But she’d made the mistake of introducing him to her sister, who’d snatched him like a ripe peach. Carlie had dated Jarrett for almost a year before she’d dashed off to Nashville, never looking back.
“I’m so sorry I startled you.” The stranger’s voice jerked her back to the present. “I thought you saw me wave to you when you came out the door.”
“I’m kind of oblivious to my surroundings. Unless you waved a flag the size of Great Britain, I wouldn’t notice,” Rylie murmured, using his grip for balance while she straightened to her knees, then snatched her hand back to safety. She refused to look any higher than his legs, which were encased in some loose pants.
