Deadly Identity by Lindsay McKenna

was startling as well as powerful.
    â€œGood morning,” Rachel called from the stove.
    Cade nodded and saw she had brought Jenny out in a portable bassinet that sat on a chair at the pine table. “Good morning. How’s our girl?” He walked over to see the tyke sleeping soundly. Rachel had changed her clothes and now had her in a green flannel onesie. He tried to pay attention to the baby, but he wanted to stare at Rachel.
    â€œShe just gobbled down about four ounces of warm goat’s milk,” Rachel said, smiling as she put the last strips of the fried bacon onto a paper towel. “She’s doing fine.”
    â€œDone her business?” Cade asked, tucking the corner of the baby quilt down a little.
    â€œOh, yes, that, too. She’s a good girl.”
    Lifting his head, Cade studied Rachel. She looked fetching in a pair of cranberry slacks and a long-sleeved pink sweater, with her sable hair tied up in a ponytail behind her head. His body went tight on him. Surprised, Cade straightened and said, “Good.”
    â€œYou look exhausted,” Rachel said. She pointed to the table. “I figured you’d be up sooner or later. Would you like some breakfast?”
    The table had been set with the white china plates and flatware. The salt and pepper shakers werenearby. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” Cade said. “I never expected it.”
    Shrugging, Rachel opened the carton of eggs next to the stove. “I’m here. I have to eat. Why not cook for two instead of one?” Besides, that was what she’d done in her former life: cooked for two. It felt good to do it again. “How do you like your eggs? And how many?”
    Moving over to the stove, Cade saw she had found a red-and-white checked apron and had tied it around her waist. His mother had sewn that for Abby. “I’ll take three eggs scrambled.” He went to the toaster and opened up the whole-wheat loaf. “Toast?”
    Rachel smiled. “Yes, two slices, please.”
    Cade liked the simple partnership that had naturally sprung between them. “You got it,” he said. Out the kitchen window he could see the new snow across the backyard and beyond into the empty cow pastures. The sun was bright, the sky an amazing turquoise color above the rugged Tetons off to the right. Things were looking up. How could they not after what they’d witnessed yesterday?
    He brought the butter out of the cabinet and placed it on the table. Going to the fridge, he turned and asked, “Do you like jam on your toast?”
    â€œI do. What kind is in there?”
    Searching, Cade leaned down and looked. “Some strawberry and a bit of apricot.”
    â€œI love apricot.”
    â€œApricot for the lady,” he murmured, pulling it off the shelf.
    â€œI’ll bet you’re a strawberry-jam guy.”
    Grinning, Cade said, “Does it show?” He took both jars from the fridge and shut it with a nudge of his hip. When he looked up, her eyes were warm with laughter. There was an incredible ease between them, as if they had known one another forever.
    â€œMmm, you just remind me of a country-boy type,” Rachel said, breaking the three eggs into the black iron skillet. She grabbed a fork, broke the yokes and rapidly mixed them all together.
    â€œAh, I see,” Cade said, his mouth lifting. “What does a strawberry-jam man look like?”
    She grinned. “Like you, I suppose. As an artist I see the colors, connections and symbols between things.” And because of her abuse from Dirk, Rachel had become hyper-alert and missed nothing. Brenda had told her she had post-traumatic stress disorder. It came from feeling so threatened that she feared for her life. And although several years had gone by without such a threat, the hyper-alertness never left. It was always there, like a frightened animal on the verge of running away in order to survive a coming