Wife for a Day (22 page)

Damn!

He grabbed hold of her, flipped her onto her back, and plunged into her body. Every nerve ending screamed with pleasure as he moved in and out, faster and faster and faster.

Her fingernails dug into his back, scraping his skin.

“Don't stop!” she begged. “Oh, God, Jack. Don't stop.”

He moved his hand between her thighs and teased her soft, warm wet flesh, finding the spot where the friction and heat of his fingers would drive her crazy.

“Stop, Jack! Oh, God, please. Stop!”

His mouth swept over hers, swallowing her plea.

When her breathing became pants, when her moaning rumbled in his throat, when he felt the scream inside of her, he thrust one more time, and stilled, memorizing the moment, the feel of her throbbing around him, the sensations that were far more fantastic than anything he'd ever known.

 

Jack woke tangled in Sam's hair and legs. The sheet covered her only to the waist, and her soft creamy flesh was right there at his fingertips, ready to explore.

He rolled over on his side, propped his head up with his hand, and played connect the dots with the freckles on her chest.

She purred in her sleep, and he enjoyed the sound. He could see the movement of her eyes beneath the almost transparent skin of her eyelids, and when he lightly swirled his fingertip over her nipple, enjoyed watching it wrinkle and harden under his touch.

“I could lie here and let you do that for hours,” she whispered.

“That's what I had in mind. It's Sunday—time to relax. Everyone should be leaving for church when the sun comes up, and the house will be quiet, except for the sound of you moaning.”

She smiled. “I've never been to church,” she confided, her voice soft, hesitant, as he rested his hand on her belly and watched the play of emotions on her face. “Well, that's not exactly true. I did go once.” She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “Mama didn't come home one Sunday morning. I'd heard what sounded like gunshots during the night, and I was afraid something had happened to her. She'd taught me how to pray when I was little,
but I had the feeling that praying in bed wasn't as good as praying in church—and I wanted God to hear my prayers to keep Mama safe. I put on my best dress—one that Mama had gotten for me at the Salvation Army—and walked to the closest church I could find.”

She turned on her side, tucked her hands under her cheek, and watched his eyes when she spoke. “An old lady came up to me. I remember everything about her. She had on a pink sweater with a fur collar and a matching pillbox hat. Her skin was dark brown and wrinkled and she had circles of rouge on both her cheeks that was nearly as red as her lipstick. “I don't think you belong here, honey,” she said. “This church is for colored people.”

Jack swept a curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Did you stay?”

She shook her head. “They were singing and praising the Lord and shouting hallelujah and I knew the lady was right. I didn't belong there. Besides, my prayers had always been rather quiet, and I decided maybe Mama was right.”

“About what?”

“That going to church didn't matter all that much. That being good inside was what really counted.”

“I would have liked your mother.”

She scooted close and kissed him. “She would have liked you, too.”

Jack slid an arm under her waist and pulled her on top of him. He felt himself swell and harden and watched her sit up and lower herself until he was sheathed tight inside. He didn't consider himself a very religious man, but right now he was having a very heavenly experience.

She smiled as she rode him, slow, easy, teasing the hair on his chest and belly with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, her head fell back as her breathing deepened, and she tested different angles, getting the most pleasure out of every up and down stroke.

Rolling her beneath him, he took over, making soft, sweet love with her. This wasn't fiery like before, this was tender, joyous, a time for watching the different degrees of delight sweeping across her face. And then he kissed her, holding her tight as they exploded together, sharing a moment in time that was so phenomenal that he wanted to rise up and shout hallelujah!

J
ack shot up
in bed when he heard the coyote howl. It was close. Too damn close.

“What's wrong?” Sam asked, rolling over in bed, sliding her arms around him.

“Coyotes. Listen.”

He heard the howls again, and this time the chickens raised a ruckus. When the horses started kicking at the fence, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his jeans and shirt, and ran down the stairs. He grabbed a rifle from the mudroom, shoved his feet into his boots, and burst through the back door, out toward the corral.

Pecos, Belle, and Diablo were lit by the moonlight. They were restless, their eyes wide with fright as they ran around the enclosure.

“Damned coyotes!” Crosby muttered, pushing open the gate. He closed it behind himself and walked up to Diablo, calming the gelding
with gentleness and inbred horse sense.

“Are you going to go after them?” Sam asked, standing at Jack's side, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans to keep them warm.

“Yeah. They're getting too damn brave, thinking they can come around here in the middle of the night.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I might be gone for a day or two. Think you can stand it here without me?”

She looked at him and grinned. “I'm going with you.”

Jack frowned, and shook his head. “You're not doing any such thing. You barely know how to ride, and you definitely don't know how to shoot.”

She rose up on the toes of her boots and looked him in the eye. “I know how to keep you warm, and if you're out all night, you just might need something more than a bedroll.”

“Sounds tempting,” he said, wishing right now they were back in bed, learning a few more ways to please each other. “But…I was thinking about taking Beau.”

Crosby closed the corral gate and limped toward Jack. “Beau ain't here.”

“What do you mean?”

“He left a good hour ago. Long before sunup. I was in the kitchen fixin' coffee and
he told me you'd said he could take the truck.”

Jack shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn't do any such thing.”

“Well, take it out on him, not me.”

What was the kid thinking? Jack had told him no—but he hadn't listened. He shot a scowl at Crosby. “Did he tell you where the hell he was going?”

“No, and I didn't ask.”

Anger mixed with fear washed through Jack as the events of sixteen years ago rushed out of his memory. He'd taken a truck, too. It was the middle of the night, and he'd been told to stay at home—but he hadn't listened.

He felt Sam's hand on his arm. “Are you going to look for him?”

“Yeah, for what it's worth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think hunting him down and dragging him back to the house, then putting him on restriction for a month will make an irresponsible kid stay put?”

She looked toward the corral, far from his angry eyes. “I suppose not.”

“That's right, it won't. As soon as I get my hands on him, he's packing his things.”

Sam grabbed his arm. “You can't send him away.”

“I can, and I'm going to.” Jack looked at the
disgust in Sam's eyes. “I don't want a kid around who can't obey the rules.”

“All he did was take the truck. Is that any reason to send him away?”

“It's reason enough.”

“Did your dad send you away every time you got in trouble?”

“No, but this is different.”

“Why, because Beau hasn't lived here all his life?”

“Drop it, Sam.”

“If you think I'm going to let you off the hook where Beau's concerned, you're dead wrong. Someone's got to talk some sense into you, Jack Remington, and it might as well be me.”

 

Jack tossed a brown bag full of sandwiches Crosby had concocted into the backseat of the fancy Dodge pickup he'd bought last year but rarely drove. He preferred his old Ford—but there was no telling what part of the country it was in now.

He had every intention of finding it—and his foolhardy son.

He'd called all the ranch hands he could reach, sent two of them out looking for coyotes, and asked every one to keep an eye out for Beau. If they saw him, they were to make him stay put until they got hold of Jack. He'd
give the kid a talking to that he wouldn't soon forget. If his own dad had done that to him a few times, Beth might not have died, and he might have spent the past sixteen years raising his own son.

Now all he could do was worry.

The morning was cold, the ground covered with frost. He thought about black ice on the highway, and a kid driving on roads that weren't familiar. He pounded his fist against the side of the truck and tried to push away the worry of all that could go wrong.

Behind him he heard light footsteps in the gravel and felt Sam pressing her hand against his back. “Want some coffee?”

He turned, took the cup she offered him, and watched her through the steam. Her hair was braided, and a few curls hung over her brow. Her cheeks were red, making the freckles across her nose and cheekbones almost disappear. The dark circles she'd always had beneath her eyes were gone. Wyoming was good for her.

She was good for him. She couldn't take away his fears for Beau's safety, but she could ease them a little, just by being close.

He took a sip of coffee and set the white mug on top of a fence post. “You ready to go?”

She nodded as she slid into the truck. Driv
ing into Sheridan was probably foolish. The boy could have gone toward Cheyenne, or joy-riding on old cattle trails. But he'd exhausted every other possibility he could think of, calling the people he knew in town and on the surrounding ranches. He'd even called the sheriff, but no one had seen Beau or the old familiar Ford. Driving two hours into town seemed his final option.

Jack was just climbing into the truck when Mike turned into the drive and pulled his pickup to a stop next to Jack.

“Mornin',” Jack said.

Mike tipped his best Sunday hat to Sam, and smiled, then aimed his eyes at Jack. “Heard anything from Beau yet?”

“No. Sam and I are driving into Sheridan. Don't know if we'll find him, but I'll go crazy sitting around here waiting for him to show up.”

“I got a call from Tom Donovan a little while ago. I don't know if this means anything or not, but he asked me to tell you to keep Beau away from his daughter.”

“What's Beau done to Tynna?”

“Probably nothing—but Tom's protective. He told me Tynna and Beau have been on the phone most every night—all night—and Tynna wasn't around this morning. He's afraid Beau's going to get her in trouble.”

Jack closed his eyes, and all he could see was Beth's father delivering similar words to Jack's dad. “If you see Tom at church, tell him not to worry. Beau's leaving—probably tomorrow.”

Mike frowned. “That's a message I won't deliver, Jack. You've been wanting that kid for sixteen years; don't let one incident blow the chance you've got to finally be together.”

“Save your preaching for church. I've already made up my mind.”

Jack jumped into the truck and slammed the door. He rolled down the window. “If you see Beau…” Jack shook his head. “Make him come home with you, okay? He doesn't have a license, and I don't feel comfortable with him driving all alone.”

Mike smiled, fingering the cross around his neck. “He'll be okay, Jack. Put this in God's hands. Please. And don't worry.”

Worrying about Beau came easy. He'd been doing it for sixteen years. Even if he did put it in God's hands, he'd still go crazy until he found his son.

Gunning the pickup's engine, Jack drove away from the ranch and headed toward the highway. Sam moved to the middle of the seat, fastened her lap belt, and put a comforting hand on his thigh.

They drove in silence for the longest time.
It was nearly 8:00
A.M.
and sunrise had long ago come and gone. The sky was cloudless, beautiful, the same perfect kind of morning when Beth had died. He couldn't bear to go through another day like that.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Sam said.

They were too grim to repeat. “You don't want to know.”

She squeezed his leg. “Mike's right, Jack. Beau
will
be okay. I know it.”

“Life doesn't come with any guarantees.”

“I didn't think it did.” She stared silently at the road ahead, watching the sights, watching for the truck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her look toward him again.

“Do you really want to send Beau away?”

He shrugged. “I don't want him getting Tynna pregnant and screwing up both their lives. I've been there before, and I know what trouble it causes.”

“He could get a girl pregnant just as easily in LA.”

“He could, I suppose, but at least in LA he'll have other distractions besides girls. He could play sports again. Go to a good school.”

“That's not what he wants, and you know it. He came here because of you. All he wants is your attention—and love.”

Jack laughed. “I've been trying like hell to
figure out why he'd want to be with me, especially after I abandoned him.”

“Because there's a special connection between the two of you. Probably the same kind of connection there was between me and my mother.”

“You
lived
with your mother. There's a big difference.”

“Is there? My mother was a drug addict with a very expensive habit. She may have had a heart of gold, but she sold herself for whatever she could get on the street.” She sighed and looked away. “I never knew my dad because Mama didn't know which one of her clients had gotten her pregnant.”

He could see her biting her lip, and when she turned toward him her eyes were red. “I'll tell you what real abandonment is, Jack. It's when your mother is too high on drugs to remember which hooker friend she left you with. It's when your mother goes out with a rich john and forgets for two or three days that she even has a daughter. Don't tell me you abandoned Beau, because you didn't. You gave him up to people you felt could give him the best home.”

“Because I didn't have the guts to care for him myself.”

“You were sixteen, Jack. Give yourself a break.”

“Did anyone give your mother a break?”

“No, but she didn't have a good family to give me to, either. She did what she thought was right. Just as you did. She wasn't always around for me, Jack. When she was, it was wonderful. When she wasn't, well, I still knew she loved me. Beau knows you love him, too. I imagine he's always known.”

“So why did he take off with the truck?”

“Because he's a teenage boy who wants to see just how far he can push you.”

“I think he's reached my limit.”

Sam smiled. “He'll push further, Jack. Just wait.”

Put it in God's hands
, he told himself, and prayed God would hear his pleas.

 

Sam spent the next half hour counting hawks on the fence posts and the myriad herds of pronghorn scattered across the prairie. Hardly a car had passed them, but Jack continued to hope.

“What's that over there?” Sam asked, pointing east of the highway.

Jack saw the downed fence posts, the old lean-to that had been knocked over, and then he saw the sun hit the chrome bumper of his old Ford.

He slammed on the brakes as he pulled off the road, set the emergency brake, and shoved
out of the truck. He jumped the ditch, the downed barbed wire, and ran toward the overturned truck. The cab was flat, and all Jack could see were torn jeans and a bloody leg.

Twisting around, he shouted at Sam, “Call nine-one-one. Oh, God. Tell them to hurry.”