Wife for a Day (14 page)

“I
do
want the money,” she told him, staring at his chin instead of his eyes because she didn't want to see the disgust. “Could I have it now?”

“Do you plan on telling me what you need it for?” He quickly looked her up and down, slowly checking out every inch of her How
Tacky boots. “You're obviously not spending it on yourself.”

“Does it matter?”

“I'm persistent, Sam. I'm going to keep asking until you tell me.”

“All right, I'll tell you. I'm paying off a debt,” she told him, hoping that brief bit of an answer would suffice.

“What did you do?” He laughed sarcastically. “Borrow from a loan shark?”

“Of course not.” She stared down at the floor, astonished that he unwittingly knew the truth. “I wouldn't do anything that crazy.”

Jack gripped her arms, frowning as he studied her betraying eyes. “You did. Didn't you?”

“It's none of your business.”

“I'm making it my business since you've obviously been using me and
my
money to pay him off.”

“I haven't been using you. In fact, it's the other way around. You've been using me. And it's
my
money, Jack. I earned it—every single penny.”

“Okay, then, how much more do you need to earn?”

She jerked away. How could she have made such a big mistake telling him about the debt? She should have known he'd put two and two together. Now he knew how foolish she'd been.

“Look at me, Sam.”

Slowly, she tilted her head toward him. His smile was warm, concerned, and that look took her by surprise. Where she came from, no one looked at you that way. “How much more do you owe?”

“The exact amount I asked you for. Twenty-seven hundred.”

“I should have known.” He reached into his pocket, and handed her a check. “I could make this out for more, if you need it?”

“I don't want more, Jack. I feel bad enough taking this.”

“Don't. You need money, I need to make my sister happy. Consider that check part of a business transaction—nothing more.”

“Silly me.” She kept her hurt and tears hidden behind her smile. “I'd almost forgotten.”

He laughed again, as if all of this was a game to him. “Come on. Let's go home before the storm gets any worse.”

He held Tyrone's duct-taped suitcase in one hand and her arm in the other, and led her outside into the cold.

I should have listened to you, Mama
, she thought.
Men, especially rich ones, are all alike
.

J
ack opened the
driver's side door, and Sam slid across the seat of the old and battered truck, shivering when her nylon-clad legs touched the frigid Naugahyde. She'd expected him to drive a Mercedes or Cadillac or, at the very least, a brand new truck with rich leather upholstery. The old truck was about the same vintage as her bug, and the fact that he drove something that didn't jump out and say “I'm rich” made her like him even more.

Too bad he considered her just part of a business transaction.

After tossing her suitcase into the back, Jack climbed into the cab behind her, slammed the door, and shoved the keys in the ignition. “I'll have it warmed up in here in a minute.” The engine roared to a start, and after revving the motor a time or two, he turned on the heat.

His chambray shirtsleeves and faded blue
jeans were dusted with snow and as the warm air trickled out of the dashboard it turned the flakes of white into damp spots all over his clothes. He rubbed his hands in front of the vents, and when the redness disappeared, he took hold of Sam's and massaged them between his palms.

Jack Remington might be her employer, he might be paying her to do something that wasn't on the up-and-up, but she had to admit he was the most considerate—not to mention the sexiest—boss she'd ever had.

That made it awfully hard to fight her attraction to him. But fight she would.

She worked her hands free of his grasp. “Thanks for lending me your coat.”

“Any man would have done the same.”

“I don't think so.”

He turned toward her, the vinyl seat creaking beneath his bigger-than-life frame, and smoothed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. His eyes were hot, radiantly blue, and were doing a better job heating her up than the warming gust of air coming from the dash. “I think you've known the wrong men in your life.”

She couldn't argue. She hadn't dated much, but the men she had gone out with were definitely all wrong. They didn't open car doors.
They certainly didn't offer a lady their coat to keep her from getting cold.

Then, again, they didn't ask her to play tricks on their family members, either.

Jack reached over the back of the seat, his arm brushing against her shoulder. There was nothing intentionally erotic about it, but the simple touch sent a tingle through her insides. She didn't want those feelings to hit her, but she didn't know how to combat something so powerful, something that came of its own accord.

“I got you a welcome-to-Wyoming present,” he said, pulling a pale gold brushed leather coat with the same soft lambswool lining as his over the seat. “Thought you might need this.”

She touched the leather as if it was priceless. Running her fingers over the off-white stitching, she forced back the tears that threatened. Gifts had been few and far between in her life. A Barbie doll from the Salvation Army. A pink feather boa from Syd. Kisses, hugs, and words of wisdom from her mama. She'd treasured every present, no matter how small.

The coat overwhelmed her.

Jack smiled when she looked up at him. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He nodded over the seat. “There's more in the back.”

Sam twisted around. Beneath the tattered bag belonging to Tyrone, sat a pile of forest green-and-burgundy paisley suitcases.

“Those aren't for me, are they?”

“I figured you might be traveling a little lighter than the real Arabella, so I bought a few pieces of luggage and filled them with things you might need.”

“I know I asked you for clothes, but you didn't have to buy so much. A sweater and a pair of jeans would have been enough.”

His brow rose. “That might be enough for you, but not for Arabella.”

“As far as I can tell, no one knows much about Arabella. Couldn't I just be me, dress like me, talk like me, and only be
called
Arabella?”

“You could, but I'd prefer that you start acting like money's no object. Lauren's already getting nosy about our relationship.”

“Why?”

“She couldn't understand why you felt so damn uncomfortable spending my money.”

“It's
your
money, Jack. Not mine.”

“Then
pretend
it's your money.”

“I
did
pretend, remember? And you got mad when I spent it.”

“It wasn't the money that made me mad, and you know it,” he snapped. “I fully expect the woman I marry to spend my money.”

“Well, you're not marrying me, so don't feel obligated to give me another thing.”

“Fine. I won't.”

The sudden tap on the driver's window brought silence to the inside of the cab.

“Hey, Jack.” John Atkinson and the woman standing beside him peered into the truck. “Are you having car troubles?”

“Ah, hell!” Jack sighed in frustration, then rolled the window down a mere three or four inches. “The truck's fine, John. We're just waiting for it to warm up.”

“That's good,” John stated. “Want to reconsider joining Fay and me at the Holiday Inn?”

“Not tonight.”

A moment later, Fay's eyes came into view. “Hi, Jack.” Her gaze trailed to Sam's face. “You must be Arabella.”

Sam nodded. “It's nice to meet you, Fay. Did you have a nice trip to California?”

“Wonderful. I could show you pictures of my grandchildren if you'd join us for dinner.”

“Can't,” Jack barked. “We've gotta get home before the storm really kicks up. Seems to me the two of you should get in out of the weather.”

“S'pose we should,” John said, looking disappointed that his offer had been turned down.

Jack shoved the truck into drive and popped
the emergency brake. “Thanks again for the invitation. We'll take you up on it some other time.”

“That would be lovely,” Fay said, and turned her smile from Jack to Sam. “Make sure Jack drives carefully. I'd hate to see him getting into another accident.”

“That's enough,” John said, his hand clamping down on Fay's shoulder, pulling her back. “We'll see you around.”

Anger radiated from Jack's eyes when he pulled on his seat belt, stepped on the gas, and headed away from the small airport. “You still want to go to the bank?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, please,” she answered. On the walk from the terminal to the truck, she'd asked Jack if he could take her to the bank and then to FedEx. The sooner she could get a final cashier's check and send it off to Johnnie, the better she'd feel.

Of course, she might be getting Johnnie off her back, but now she had Jack to contend with, and their heated words before John and Fay interrupted made her uneasy. “Could we call a truce, Jack?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the road. “I didn't know we were at war.”

Glossing over the problems between them wasn't a good idea. She wanted to clear the
air, right here and now. Wanted him to know where she stood. “I'm not comfortable with this charade. I haven't been from the very beginning.”

“I know.”

“I've felt guilty taking every dollar you've given me—except the tips.”

A grin tilted his lips, but he didn't comment.

“This is the last time I'm going to come to your rescue, Jack. I'll do my best to help Lauren get through this crisis with Peter, but I can stay only a few days, and then I have to get back to work. You've got to figure out how to tell her the truth because the next time she wants me, I'm not going to be around.”

She could sense his anger in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes narrowed. Let him be mad. She wasn't about to let him go on thinking that she'd be available at his beck and call—not for his sister, not for anything.

 

The studded tires grabbed on to the icy roadway as they left town and headed for the ranch. Sam sat on the farside of the truck, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat, just as she'd done from the airport to the bank to FedEx. Jack sat behind the wheel, staring at the road, concentrating far too much on the words she'd uttered earlier.

She'd be leaving soon. He'd hated to hear
her say it, but he'd known from the very beginning that that was where all of this would end up. The whiskey and flowers hadn't meant all that much to her. As for the clothes and luggage, hell, she'd been more offended by his purchases than pleased.

Why he'd ever thought there could be something between them was anybody's guess.

From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of a pronghorn dashing across the highway. He touched the brakes lightly, and the truck swerved, then straightened. Sam's knuckles had turned white as her grip tightened; her shoulders were stiff, her eyes wide.

“Don't worry,” he told her. “I've driven this road in worse weather.”

“The weather gets worse than this?” she asked incredulously.

“This is mild.”

She sighed, staring out the window at nothing more than snow. “Maybe we should pull off the road and wait till the weather's better.”

“That could be an hour from now, or a week. It's better if we keep on driving.”

“Was the weather like this when you had the accident Fay mentioned?”

“Same time of year, but the morning was beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky.”

Everyone in town knew about the accident.

He should have known Sam would want to know more.

“Were you hurt?”

“A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing more.”

She looked relieved. “No one else was hurt, I hope.”

“My girlfriend,” he told her, every single word hurting him inside. “She died because I couldn't get her out of the car before it…before it blew up.”

Sam's eyes were red when he looked at her. “I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I don't talk about it.”

He stared at the road again. The only person he'd ever talked with about Beth's death was Mike—and that had been sixteen years ago. He'd never talked to his father, to Lauren, or Arabella. He didn't think he could ever tell Beau.

Yet he'd easily told Sam, a woman who planned to be out of his life in a few days, which made no sense to him at all.

From the farside of the truck, Sam watched the play of emotions on Jack's face. Anguish, guilt, heartache. His jaw tensed. His Adam's apple rose and fell as he swallowed his grief, and all she could do was sit there and watch, and wish she could take away his pain.

It seemed as if he stared at the road forever,
but finally he tilted his head and looked at her fingers wrapped around the edge of the seat. “We've got a good two hours before we reach the ranch. Do you plan on holding on tight all the way?”

“I did it for nearly six hours on two different planes. I'm getting kind of used to it.”

“I don't get into wrecks every day, Sam. I don't plan on getting into one today.”

“I'm not worried.”

He raised his brow. “You might be a good actress, Sam. But I know real fright when I see it.”

“Okay, so I'm a little nervous. I'm not used to all this snow.”

“Don't worry. I won't let you get hurt.”

With that said, he concentrated on the road again, but his words reverberated through her mind.
I won't let you get hurt
.

Unfortunately, he'd already hurt her last night, when he'd asked her to continue the charade.

She stared at the falling snow, mesmerized by the never-ending flakes crashing into the windshield and the steady swish of the windshield wipers.

Fifteen minutes must have gone by before she broke the silence. “Fay seems nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you see her and John very much?”

“Occasionally.”

“Have you known them long?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to talk in one-word sentences all the way to the ranch?”

Sam could see a smile just barely form on his lips. “Maybe.”

She turned in the seat, preferring the view of his handsome, slightly rugged profile to the hypnotizing snow. “Is Fay the local gossip?”

“One of them. She runs a beauty shop in town. Don't know why, since John makes more than enough to support them.”

“Do you think a woman's place is in the home?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. His smile turned to a grin. “I kind of like the idea of a husband and wife working side by side, together, to build a dream. The first Remingtons in Wyoming did it when they home-steaded here. So did every generation after that—until my mom and dad.”

He was talking, finally. She could listen all day to the deep timbre of his voice, filled with affection when he spoke about his home. “Why did things change with your parents?”

“They had different dreams. She liked the glamour of Palm Beach, he liked women—too many of them—and they could each have whatever they wanted because there was a
plentiful supply of Remington money.”

“What about you? Are you like your folks, or your ancestors?”

“There were a few years when I wasn't content with life on the ranch. I went away to college, learned I had a knack for making money, and spent some time building a business that even today keeps on growing. One day I woke up and decided I wasn't happy, and realized I could work just as easily from my home in Wyoming as I could in an office in Manhattan. Lauren thinks I'm out of my mind living out here. She says I should at least buy a place in Palm Beach for the winter. But I've got my own dream.”

“What is it?”

“Taking care of the ranch and my family. Being happy with my lot in life. Simple things like that.”

He glanced toward her. “What about you, Sam? What's your dream?”

“It's pretty simple, too. I just want to figure out where I belong.”