Wife for a Day (8 page)

“Just shooting the breeze,” Mike stated, as Cros hobbled across the room and plopped down on the bed.

“Talkin' about that boy's more like it.” He aimed his rheumy eyes at Jack. “Spittin' image of you when you was a kid. Sure in hell hope he don't have the same temperament, though. You was a piss-poor excuse for a man at that age.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Jack unloaded a pair of shoes from the bag and tossed them into the closet, wondering why in the hell he couldn't get any privacy in his own home.

“You going to keep him around?” Crosby asked.

“Were you thinking I'd toss him out?”

Crosby scratched the stubble on his wrinkled face. “Your pa and I wanted to toss you out a time or two. If Mike's ma hadn't caterwauled about you being a good kid under all that hate you was carrying around, we might have.”

Mike laughed, and Jack aimed a scowl in his direction. “Seems to me you were a pain in the butt when you were sixteen, and that you might have ended up in jail if you hadn't found God and a good wife.” Jack ripped the
second tux from the bag. “As for you, Cros, I've been thinking about replacing you. Lauren has a cook who fixes eggs Benedict for breakfast. That sure as hell sounds better than burned biscuits.”

“Replace me and you'll lose the only sensible person on this spread.”

Crosby pulled a woman's shoe from the garment bag and dangled it on a bent index finger. “What the hell is this? You cross-dressin' these days?”

Jack snatched the redhead's rhinestone shoe from Crosby's hand and tossed it back into the bag, but not before Crosby got his fingers around the silky white gown. “A dress, too? Your pa told me that Palm Beach was full of crackpots, but I never thought you was one of them.”

“It's a long story, and you're the last man on earth I'd share it with. Besides, isn't it past your bedtime?”

“S'pose.” Crosby struggled to rise. Neither Jack nor Mike helped. They both knew the old man didn't want any fuss. He was eighty-two going on a hundred and ten, but he wasn't ready to be put out to pasture—and Jack was in no hurry to have him go.

“You coming for breakfast in the morning?” Crosby asked Mike.

“Are you serving burned biscuits?”

“The best ones in eastern Wyoming.”

“I'll be here then.”

Jack waited to hear Crosby's boots on the stairs, then turned his head to Mike. “Okay, you saw the shoes and dress, so what questions are on
your
mind?”

“Why are they in your bag and not Arabella's?”

“There is no Arabella.”

“Seems to me you were engaged yesterday morning. What happened?”

“In Arabella's words, I'm self-centered, I have very little class, and I don't have any idea how to treat a woman.” Jack laughed for the first time since last night. He grabbed one of the rhinestone shoes and looked at Mike. “Arabella did have one more thing to say.”

“What's that?”

“I'm a son of a bitch.”

Mike grinned. “Did she tell you all that before or after Lauren's party last night?”

“Way before. She didn't go to Palm Beach.”

Mike glanced at the shoe Jack was holding. “Then where did that come from?”

Jack collapsed in a chair at the far side of his room, took a cigar from the humidor, and aimed his eyes at Mike. “I have a story to tell you, and knowing what an upstanding, ethical, and righteous man you are, you're not going to like it.”

S
am set the
latte-to-go on the bar, counted the handful of change the customer dumped into her palm, and sorted it into the cash register. The work was easy, mindless, and that's pretty much what she needed this afternoon. For the past two weeks, ever since she'd gotten fired from Antonio's, she'd worked six hours a day at the Espresso Nook, and waited tables at Denny's from eight at night until four in the morning, taking on extra hours whenever she could get them. Today, she was bone tired.

Leaning against the counter, she watched her coworker, Maryanne, slice into a decadent, five-layer chocolate mousse cake and decided that's what she would have for lunch. The caffeine in the cake and the three or four mochas she'd drink during the day would help her get by until she could catch a bite of dinner at Denny's.

She was thinking about a well-done patty melt with extra cheese and grilled onions, when Maryanne started talking. “I went out with Sean last night.” Maryanne slid the knife underneath the piece of cake. “Gorgeous guy. Great butt, nice mouth. He says he's a lawyer, but I've got my doubts. He's got a friend if you're interested.”

“Not interested,” Sam told her. Even if she was, how could she squeeze a date into her schedule?

Maryanne eyeballed the customers to make sure no one was looking and stuck her fingers in her mouth, licking off the whipped cream and dark chocolate after she put the piece of cake onto a plate. “Umm. This reminds me of last night. Let me tell you about Sean's mouth…”

Sam closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the soft purr of Maryanne's voice. When she opened them again, the plate of dessert was gone and Maryanne was glaring at her, her arms folded under her double-A breasts.

“Better not let the boss catch you napping.” Maryanne smiled, shoved a cup of steaming coffee in Sam's hands, and stared at her again. “You look awful. How much sleep have you gotten in the past week?”

“Enough.”

“One of these days you're going to collapse,
face first, into one of these desserts, and let me tell you, it's not going to be a pretty sight.”

“If you see me falling, do me a favor. Point me in the direction of something chocolate.”

They both laughed, and Sam went back to work, thinking there were worse ways to die, like falling asleep and drowning while she was cleaning one of the toilets at the KOA campground west of town.

That was another job she'd taken on, although she wasn't earning any money for her work. She'd made a deal with the managers. She'd clean the bathrooms every morning in exchange for a place to shower and change clothes, do her laundry, and park her car. She imagined they knew what else she was doing, but they never said a word, not even when they'd found her in the TV room sleeping through the
Today Show
. Twice she'd taken advantage of the swimming pool and once she'd joined a few vacationing families for a game of volleyball. Sleeping in the bug under the shade of some big old palms, or even dozing in the KOA's TV room, sure beat grabbing a nap in the back room of Antonio's.

With any luck, she'd have Johnnie Russo paid off in two weeks and two days. Of course, luck would have to come in the form of hundred-dollar bills raining down from the sky—thirty-seven of them to be exact. After
sending Johnnie the sixty-one hundred she'd earned for her foolish night with Jack Remington, she thought the payoff on her contract was only two thousand. Unfortunately, Johnnie had a unique way of figuring interest, and she hadn't had the courage to argue when he'd hit her with the new figure over the phone last week.

Of course, two thousand dollars would be just as hard to come by as thirty-seven hundred, but worrying about it now wasn't going to keep her employed.

Noticing crumbs and spilled cocoa on the counter, she took a wet cloth and started wiping up the mess, moving to the front of the baked-goods display case to make sure the glass sparkled from the customer's point of view. When the bell over the door rang, she turned.

“Oh, my God!”

She jerked around, whipped off her apron, threw it and the washcloth at Maryanne, fluffed her hair, and whispered. “You don't know me.”

Maryanne frowned. “What on earth?”

Sam put a silencing finger to her lips. “Please. Pretend I'm a customer.”

Maryanne shrugged.

“I'll have a mocha,
please
,” Sam said, emphasizing the last word and half-frowning,
half-pleading for Maryanne to go along with her charade.

Maryanne leaned against the counter, getting close to Sam's face. “That makes three in the past two hours.”

“I know,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “But—”

“Arabella?”

Sam swallowed her anxiety, and turned slowly when she heard the familiar voice. She forced a smile to her nervous lips. “Lauren!”

A pair of arms flew around her. “Oh, my gosh. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see you again so soon. What on earth are you doing in Florida?”

“It's a long story. Why don't I tell you over a cup of coffee,” Sam said in a rush of words. “My treat.”

“I'd kill for a double iced mocha with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.” Lauren studied the contents of the display case. “One of those éclairs would be nice, too. I've been shopping for hours, and you can't imagine how beat I am. Thought it would be nice to get off my feet for a bit.”

“I know how exhausting shopping can be. As for me, well, I just got out of bed,” Sam lied, coming up with a quick excuse to explain her sleepy-eyed appearance, while trying to think up some reason for being in West Palm
Beach instead of Denver, where the real Arabella belonged. “Why don't you grab a table? I'll get the coffee.”

Lauren walked across the room, all grace and elegance packed into a curvaceous size sixteen. Sam watched her while she absently ordered the mochas and dessert, thinking Jack's sister looked like a zillion dollars in a sky-blue silk shantung pantsuit, not to mention the Richard Tyler beaded satin sandals. Sam made a mental note to check out How Tacky in two or three months—if Johnnie Russo hadn't disposed of her by then—to see if this latest fashion had made it from some rich lady's closet to the discard pile.

“Who's that?” Maryanne whispered, capturing Sam's attention. “And why is she calling you Arabella?”

“I can't explain right now. But please,
pleeeze
,” she begged, “don't give me away.”

“You're not doing anything illegal, are you?”

Sam shook her head rapidly. “Of course not. Now do me a favor and fix the mochas, okay? One other favor. Don't charge me for anything.
Please?
”

Maryanne went along with the game, and while she was working on the drinks, Sam took a deep breath and found a seat across from Lauren.

Her hair was perfect. Soft, light brown tresses hung just to her shoulder in the sleekest style Sam had ever seen outside a copy of
Vogue
. Her fingernails were perfect, not too long, not too short, and were painted a pastel pink. Her eye makeup was exquisite, her skin without flaw, and she was the last person on earth Sam had ever expected to walk into the Espresso Nook.

Tell her about the masquerade
, Sam told herself.
If you don't, you're going to end up in one heck of a mess
. But she couldn't. If Jack hadn't told his sister the truth, he must have had a good reason. He'd paid her good money to play his fiancée. What could it possibly hurt to keep up the sham a little while longer?

Besides, she liked Lauren. The night of the party she'd made Sam feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. She'd treated her like a sister, and she'd always wanted a sister. She'd wanted close friends, too, but she and her mama had rarely settled in one place long enough to make lasting friendships. When she was older, people shied away when they knew her background or met her mother. She didn't hold any of that against her mama; she never would.

Right now, though, she wanted to take advantage of the situation. She wanted to sip coffee and gab with the woman sitting across
from her, a woman who was one of the nicest people she'd ever met, a person she'd want for her sister if she had a choice.

She only hoped by doing so neither one of them would get hurt.

“So,” Sam said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs, as if she hadn't a care in the world, “do you really want to know what I'm doing in West Palm Beach?”

“I have a pretty good idea already,” Lauren told her. “Chip, my first husband, advised me—in strictest confidence, of course—that you have friends in West Palm Beach. He also told me you were very outspoken in sticking up for
those
people.” Lauren smiled warmly. “Chip's a snob. Always has been; always will be. He thinks the main reason we got divorced was because of his preoccupation with horse racing, but the biggest reason is that I got tired of his elitist attitude. What possessed me to marry him is anyone's guess. Where I come from we don't treat people that way, so I'm glad you attempted to put him in his place. Not many people would.”

“It was a pleasure, I assure you.”

“Now,” Lauren said, “tell me why you haven't called.”

Think fast
, Sam told herself, almost letting out a sigh of relief when Maryanne approached, giving her a brief reprieve. For some
reason, pretending to be Arabella didn't seem so easy today.

Maryanne put the mochas and dessert on the table, and Sam swallowed a hot gulp that burned her insides. She looked at Lauren through the steam. As sweet and special as she had been at the party, Lauren had pretty much faded from Sam's mind in the past two weeks. Jack—tall, hard-muscled, sexier-than-all-get-out and the best kisser on the face of the earth—she hadn't forgotten at all.

“I'd planned to call,” Sam finally said, hoping she sounded sincere, hoping Lauren wouldn't hear the anxiety in her voice. “I flew in for just a couple of days, to visit my friend Maryanne. That's her behind the counter. We met in summer camp when we were kids, and we've stayed in touch ever since.” She took a breath, then continued with her hastily made-up tale. “Last night we celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday, and, well, that's the reason I look the way I do right now. Not enough sleep, a little too much celebrating.”

“Champagne?”

“Beer. To be perfectly honest, I prefer it to champagne,” Sam said, although she rarely imbibed either. “I think sometimes Jack finds me a little too unsophisticated.”

“I imagine that's why he fell in love with you. I've met some of his former girlfriends.
They were far too much like the Chip Chasens of this world.”

“They were?”

“Hasn't he told you about any of them?”

“Well, no. I haven't told him much about
my
past, either.”

“How odd.” Lauren frowned. “Oh, well, I doubt Jack cares a thing about your past. I have to tell you, I was a little concerned when he first told me about you. I was expecting a gold digger, someone out to take Jack for half of what he's got—and believe you me, he's got a lot. But I watched the two of you together. So did Peter, and he was one hundred percent positive you were devoted to Jack. As for me, I've never seen my brother look at someone the way he looked at you.”

“What way was that?”

Lauren took a bite of éclair, then slowly licked the chocolate from her lips. “Like you were sweet cream and he wanted to lap up every drop.”

Sam felt a tremor of delight zinging around her insides. It was a fleeting moment of happiness, and then reality set in. Jack Remington had been her employer for a night. Nothing more. Right now, she was an actress, and she should pay attention to her role.

“I noticed Peter looking at you that way, too,” she fibbed, remembering the flash of dis
dain she'd seen in Peter's eyes when he'd looked at his fiancée. If Lauren was a real, honest-to-goodness friend, she might tell her how she felt about Peter, but it wasn't her place.

Lauren's eyes reddened at Sam's comment, and she stared at her plate. Something was wrong in the relationship, Sam decided. But there was nothing she could do.

The pretty smile that seemed commonplace on Lauren's face returned slowly. “Peter was a little out of sorts the night you met him,” she said. “We'd had a small argument before you and Jack arrived at the party, but…” She leaned across the table. “After everyone had gone, Peter gave me the most gorgeous emerald choker you have ever seen, and then he suggested I model it—and nothing else.”

Lauren sat back in her chair and fanned her face. “None of my other husbands ever asked me to do something like that.” She took another bite of éclair. “You know that Jack had Peter investigated, don't you?”

Sam looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. “He'd mentioned something, but only briefly.”

“I could have murdered him. Can you imagine how horrid Peter felt? Maybe he was a playboy once upon a time, but I'm not exactly pure as the driven snow. Of course, Jack
still acts like I'm ten years old and need his protection. He doesn't trust me to make right choices, and he definitely doesn't trust the men in my life.” She stabbed the éclair and sighed. “I suppose I shouldn't be saying all this to you.”

“I don't mind. I like hearing about Jack.”

“Well, he hasn't trusted anyone since my mother and father got divorced. They promised us they wouldn't pull me and Jack apart, but they did. I went with Mother, he stayed with our dad. And then there was that horrible time when Beth died and her parents moved away and took Beau with them, but I'm sure you know all about that.”

She didn't, and she wanted to know, but she couldn't ask about something so personal.

“And I can't forget the fact that his first steak-house partner embezzled a whole bunch of money.”