The shadow-woman closed the door with visible effort and moved toward them, dumping a shabby backpack on the nearby floor. She stopped just inside the wavering circle of light that fell over the round table where they sat, motionless, stricken to silence. They didn’t even think to stand in the presence of a lady, normally a reflex as automatic as breathing.

Not that any of them drew a breath.

Finally, Trooper bestirred himself, stood at attention, emitting a low, uncertain sound, more whine than growl.

“At ease,” J.P. told the animal, although he didn’t look away from the thin, bedraggled girl hovering at the edge of the light.

Cord, finally over the initial shock, and plenty embarrassed by his reaction, shoved a hand through his hair and pulled himself together.

Mostly.

The girl wasn’t, couldn’t be, Reba, but the resemblance was downright uncanny. She had Reba’s coloring—caramel-brown hair and those remarkable amber eyes, her high, elegant cheekbones, too—but she was impossibly young and a few inches shorter than her look-alike.

That she was related to Reba, and closely, was a sure bet, but she was no ghost back from the grave.

Of course she wasn’t.

She’d given Cord one hell of a turn, though, and shaken J.P. and Eli up, too.

Had Reba had a sister? As Cord recalled, she hadn’t said much about her family; in fact, she’d given the impression that she didn’t have any kin at all.

Like this girl, Reba had just appeared one day, seemingly out of nowhere. Claiming to be eighteen, she’d landed a job cleaning rooms at the Painted Pony Motel, and started building herself a social life—which had consisted of hanging out with high school seniors and turning up at dances, football games and keggers when she wasn’t working.

She’d almost certainly been closer to twenty; Cord had no doubt she’d lied about her age. As far as he knew, nobody had found Reba’s preference for running with a younger crowd odd. She’d had a way of deflecting questions, delicate or otherwise, laughing them off.

Now, here stood this young girl, literally the mirror image of the Reba they’d all known eighteen years ago.

They say everybody has a double.

Cord hadn’t believed that—until now.

The resemblance could be coincidental, he reasoned, but that seemed a lot more unlikely than a biological connection. She had to be Reba’s sister, niece, cousin…

Or daughter.

Was this girl, somewhere in her teens, Reba’s child?

That possibility jarred Cord, colliding with a few other possibilities rolling around in his head at the moment.

Thinking he ought to say something, he opened his mouth, but his brain, busy with calculations, refused to cooperate. He couldn’t form a single rational word.

Finally remembering his manners, Cord got to his feet and, awkwardly, J.P. and Eli stood up, too.