Free The Pretender by Kathleen Creighton Page A

stroked. Abby obliged, murmuring sweet nothings but fully alert, knowing from experience Pia’s hellcat nature could assert itself at any moment, compelling her, for reasons beyond Abby’s understanding, to bite the hand that petted her.
    She reached for the backpack, opened it and took out the zip-locked plastic bag of dry cat food she’d packed for the trip. Pia rose, stretched,and sniffed with apparent disdain at the bag while Abby opened it and poured a small pile of the kibble onto the bedspread. Then, while Pia sat herself down and began crunching away, Abby closed up the plastic bag and picked up the manila envelope. She stared at it for a moment, then opened it and took out the single black-and-white photo.
    She held the photo in both hands and gazed at it,while the envelope fluttered unnoticed to the floor. Slowly, mechanically, she sat down on the bed, without taking her eyes from the face in the photograph. She touched the image, and although it was only a black-and-white photo of a woman long dead, she could almost feel the warmth of real flesh beneath her fingertips. She could almost hear the whisper of a sultry whiskey-and-cigarettes voice comingfrom the vivid lips. The eyes, gazing up at her from behind thick lashes and a curtain of near-white hair, were dark, and filled with secrets and sadness.
    Sunny’s face.
    And I look like Sunny, so I guess it’s no wonder they think I look like her, too.
    “So, she’s there?”
    “Yep.”
    “Well, what do you think of her?”
    “What does it matter what I think of her?” The edgein his voice surprised Sage almost as much as it did Sam, who greeted the question with a telling silence. Sage drew a breath and sought self-control. “It’s what you think of her that matters. She keeps asking about you. When is she going to meet you…you know.”
    There was a mild grunt, then more silence. Then, “Son, I asked you what you think of her because I really want to know what youthink.”
    Sage pulled in another breath. He stared out the window at the spring-green meadow dotted with yellow flowers and the horses grazing there, and all he could see was a curtain of pale gold hair falling across one green-gold eye.
    “What does she look like?” Sam prompted, when Sage remained silent. “You can tell me that much, can’t you? I know you ain’t blind.”
    No, he wasn’tblind. “Well, she’s pretty,” Sage said, realizing even as he uttered the word that it didn’t do her justice. “Tall… Blond hair…” He paused, then gave a kind of half laugh. “You want to know what she looks like, I tell you what. You go look at a picture of your second wife. Her grandmother. She looks just like her.”
    “What? You telling me she looks like Barbara?”
    “The spittin’ image.”
    “No foolin’?” The old man’s voice had faded almost to nothing.
    “Why are you so surprised? I’ve heard of family resemblances skipping generations. Happens all the time.”
    “Yeah…sure.” Sam coughed, cleared his throat in the way he had that sounded like a love-struck bullfrog, and when he went on his voice still sounded like somebody being strangled. “So what else? What’s the girllike? That’s what I want to know. And don’t tell me I ought to come down there and see for myself. I’ll come down when I’m damn good and ready. I want to know what you think of her, gol-dammit.”
    Sage rubbed his knotted-up forehead, as if that might somehow smooth out the jumbled thoughts inside. What did he think of Sunshine Wells? He wished to God he knew. He exhaled, finally, and wordscame with it. “I don’t know…there’s something…”
    “Yeah? Like what?” The tension in the old man’s voice vibrated across the miles.
    “It’s kind of like…almost like she’s afraid. Of us, I mean. Like she’s not sure of herself—like, maybe whether we’ll like her, or something, you know? Which seems kind of funny, for someone that looks like she does.” He paused. “Just