Something Wild (6 page)

Because he couldn’t tell anyone the truth, that he’d played God and because of his foolishness his wire had died. “Jessie’s dead. I’ve talked to God every day for the last six years. Do you really think things will get better for me if I talk to you, or Sam, or Lauren, or anyone else, when talking to God hasn’t done a damn bit of good?”

Jack didn’t flinch. “You can wallow in self-pity all you want. But Jessie’s not coming back.”

Mike knew that all too well. The things he’d loved about Jessie, the good things they’d shared in their short time together, didn’t even come to him in dreams anymore. He’d tucked her deep in his heart, the place she’d always stay, cherished and loved forever. It wasn’t grief he was suffering from. It was guilt.

Guilt for taking his wife off of life support.

Guilt for being alive when Jessie was dead.

Guilt for wanting another woman, for wanting Charity Wilde, who wasn’t anything like the wife he’d loved.

He took a long, deep breath, and looked down at his friend, the man who’d been at his side when he’d married Jessie and when he’d buried her, too.

He’d shared everything with Jack, but not this.

“Do me a favor, Jack.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t preach.” He made a half-hearted attempt to smile. “Leave that to the experts.”

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Charity crept, with a decided limp,
down the stairs at five
a.m.,
careful not to make any noise that might wake her friends and family. One step. Two. Three.
Squeak
!

She froze when the screech of the wooden step reverberated up the stairwell. Jerking her head around, she quickly checked to see if any bedroom lights flicked on, but all was silent. One would think that with all his wealth Jack Remington could do something about squeaking stairs, but Sam had told her yesterday that Jack had liked the noise when his oldest son Beau was still living at home. It let him know what time the kid got home—or didn’t come home, which had often been the case.

But she wasn’t a teenager, merely a woman who wanted to sneak out of the house to see Mike, and she didn’t want anyone trying to finagle an answer out of her about what she was up to.

There wasn’t anything scandalous in her plan, although there was no telling what people might think, especially if they knew the good pastor had been in her bedroom last night. No, Mike said he was going after Satan first thing this morning and Charity was dead set on stopping him.

He wasn’t going to like her intrusion—again— but Satan’s plight and Mike’s resolve to capture the stallion had been on her mind all night. She couldn’t let him imprison the magnificent beast and try to turn him into a fat, placid farm animal that did nothing but laze around a pasture munching on grass.

And if Mike
was
lucky enough to get a rope around Satan, Charity firmly intended to be on hand to help the mustang escape.

All hell would break loose afterward. Mike would be livid and she could easily imagine the intensity of his green eyes as they turned on her— hot, impassioned, murderous. Without a doubt, he’d never again give her a sensual, luxuriating, heart-palpitating foot rub. She’d survive, of course, and really, it was best if he never touched her again.

He was all wrong for her. They had nothing— and far too much—in common. He was a minister; she was a showgirl. He was stubborn and probably butted heads with everyone he met. So did she, and that spelled big-time trouble for both of them if they ever tangled.

Still, she couldn’t get Mike out of her head. Not his radiant eyes, not his splendid physique, and definitely not the tender way his arms had held her safe against him as they’d ridden across the prairie.

But after she helped Satan break out of Mike’s clutches she’d see the real Mike Flynn, the stern and unyielding control freak she was sure she’d caught a glimpse of last night. When he showed his true colors he’d be just like every other man she’d ever met, and she’d find it much easier not to think about him again.

Then she could enjoy the rest of her short vacation, go back to Vegas, get her life straightened out, and get back to the business of becoming a star.

Another board at the base of the stairs whined beneath her boot and when she stilled, she heard the laughter—Lauren’s and Sam’s—streaming from the kitchen. A strip of light shone under the door. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected anyone to be up and about so early.

It wouldn’t be polite to not at least say good morning to the women who had become her dearest friends, in spite of all the miles that separated their homes and their lives. She really needed to get to Mike’s, but she was hooked by the laughter, by the scents of cinnamon and sugar and good strong coffee wafting from the kitchen.

What could it hurt to take a few minutes for herself, a little time to enjoy the feeling of warm family ties, something that for many years had been as foreign to her as the wide-open plains.

Ignoring the dull throb in her ankle—so the ladies of the house wouldn’t nag about her staying off her feet all day—Charity pushed through the swinging kitchen door. “Good morning.”

Lauren flashed one of her bright and lovely smiles. “Oh, dear, I hope we didn’t wake you.”

“No, I couldn’t sleep.” Charity’s comment elicited another smile from her sister-in-law, a sly grin this time that said, “I know what you were up to last night.” Luckily Lauren didn’t tease her about the incident.

“Pull up a chair,” Sam said as she flitted about the kitchen. “The cinnamon rolls will be ready in a minute, but if you’re starving, try one of the éclairs left over from yesterday.”

Sam looked prettier than ever, Charity thought, as she sat at the round oak table across from Lauren. Not many women could appear stunningly beautiful in an over-sized chenille robe and floppy slippers, but Sam had an aura about her that made her stand out in a crowd. It was hard to believe she’d once lived in a Volkswagen or that she’d had a loan shark at her back.

It was even harder to believe that Sam, with Lauren’s help, administered a charitable organization for the homeless, wanted to start a breeding facility for Tennessee Walkers, was the mother of twins, not to mention stepmother to a nineteen-year-old son,
and
ran her multimillionaire husband’s household without a lick of help. In fact, Lauren had told Charity that Sam balked every time Jack mentioned getting a housekeeper or cook.

Sam Remington was totally amazing. Independent and in control of her own destiny—exactly what Charity wanted to be.

“The coffee’s fresh,” Sam said, cradling her daughter, whose tuft of shocking red hair peeked out from under a fluffy pink blanket. She shifted Hannah into the crook of her left arm and lifted a brimming glass coffeepot. “Would you like a cup?”

“I’d love some. But why don’t you sit down and let me pour.”

“Nonsense.” Sam grabbed a mug from a cabinet and expertly maneuvered toward the table with a full load in her arms. “I’m pregnant,” she added, setting the cup on the table and filling it with steaming coffee, “not disabled.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lauren said, feeding a bottle of formula to Tyler, Sam and Jack’s-other twin. The towhead was swathed in blue, and Lauren balanced him gingerly on what remained of her lap. At eight-months pregnant her stomach stretched halfway to her knees, but the lady was a picture of perfection in Pamela Dennis maternity wear, capped by a zillion-dollar haircut, with fat diamond studs in her ears. In spite of her obvious wealth, Lauren Wilde was a bundle of generosity and charm.

“Goodness,” Lauren said, rubbing her belly, “Max Jr.‘s been kicking all night long. I swear this little one’s going to come out riding a Harley bigger than his dad’s, and let me tell you, it can’t happen soon enough. Of course”—she reached across the table with great effort and grabbed a chocolate éclair—“as soon as the doctor gives us the go-ahead, Max and I plan to put every effort into having our second.”

“Did you plan Junior?” Sam asked, lowering her own pregnant body into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Of course we did.” Lauren licked chocolate from her smiling lips. “We planned to have him two years from now.”

Sam laughed as she rubbed her own swollen belly. “Jack and I planned to have this one, too— of course we were planning to wait until the twins were out of diapers. Eleven months apart was a little unexpected. I suppose we should have taken precautions, but where’s the fun in that?”

Charity put an éclair on a napkin and licked the yummy chocolate from her fingers, absorbing every word of this bizarre conversation. In her day-to-day world, women talked about auditions, boyfriends, bounced checks, and love affairs gone sour. Babies were the last thing anyone wanted to talk or think about, and every step imaginable was taken to make sure an accident didn’t happen. Accidents meant you were out of a job because no one wanted to see a long-legged, big breasted, heavily pregnant showgirl prancing across a stage in a sequined thong.

Charity had taken precautions, too. Foolproof precautions—like absolutely no sex—and she didn’t plan to change her routine any time soon.

Of course, watching the way Lauren and Sam smiled and cooed while keeping up a mile-a-minute conversation about Lauren’s avant-garde wedding business, a continuation of yesterday’s chatter about Max’s biker buddies, the ranch, the horses Sam wanted to breed, and the outrageous lives of Lauren and Jack’s mother and father, Charity thought she could get used to the coziness—for a while.

A steady diet of this would surely bore her and in no time at all she’d hightail it back to Vegas. Right now she imagined she could put up with another four or five days of prattle.

“I know this is none of my business,” Sam said, drawing Charity back to the conversation, “but...” She took a sip of coffee and stared at Charity over the brim of her mug. “Well... I couldn’t miss the voices coming from your room last night.”

Had she and Mike really been that loud? Had everyone heard?

Instantly, as if she were a young girl living under her father’s roof again, she felt the need to defend what had gone on. “Mike and I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Worried?” Lauren chimed in. “Goodness, no! We just wanted to make sure you’d brought a box or two of condoms with you. You can’t always count on a man being prepared. And, well, Mike’s not the type to walk around with one in his pocket. I imagine most ministers don’t.”

Charity was certain her mouth had dropped open. Were they really suggesting that she might want to have that kind of relationship with Mike?

“I don’t keep any condoms around,” Sam added, as if the conversation needed to go any further, “and I know Lauren doesn’t, either, which is really quite obvious. It’s a long trip to the store, but we’ll head there this afternoon if... well...” She smiled coyly. “If it’s necessary.”

“Mike’s a minister,” Charity blurted out. “For heaven’s sake! You don’t think I’d sleep with him, do you?”

“Well,” Sam said, drawing out the word, “maybe it would be a little unorthodox considering his vocation and the fact that the two of you aren’t married, but he is a man, an awfully good-looking man even though he can be a bit highhanded at times. And you know perfectly well, Charity, that things sometimes happen when you least expect them to.”

“Nothing’s going to happen with Mike. Not now. Not ever.”

Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, dear, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that you might not be interested in men.”

“I’ve never met one I wanted to be interested in.”

“But you’ve noticed how good-looking Mike is?”

“Of course I’ve noticed. What woman in her right mind—or out of her mind, for that matter— wouldn’t notice a man who’s drop-dead gorgeous? But he’s a minister, and ... and I’m not interested.”

Sam stretched a hand across the table and squeezed Charity’s fingers. “I think you protest too much, but maybe we’re teasing too much, too.”

“It’s just that we’d like to get you out of Vegas,” Lauren added, shifting Tyler to her shoulder and patting him gently on the back. “One of those bullets that hit your friend Josh could have hit you.”

“But it didn’t,” Charity interrupted. “It was a fluke. A once in a lifetime thing. What all of you seem to forget is that I’ve worked long and hard to get where I am. I don’t know anything else, so what would I do if I left Vegas? Sing and dance on a street corner somewhere and hold out a hat for tips? Go to New York and try to get a job on Broadway, which is nearly impossible, and while I’m fighting a million other singers and dancers for a slot in a chorus line, hold down a waitressing job?”

“Max has asked you a dozen times to come to Florida and work with us,” Lauren said. “It would mean the world to him, and me, too.”

“I know you mean well, but Max would hover over me far more than he already does. My dad hovered and I hated it. I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Then move here,” Sam said. “No one would hover.”

“What could I possibly do here?”

“I know I’ve told Jack over and over again that I don’t want him hiring someone to help me, but when I really think about it, I know I won’t be able to handle everything when the new baby comes.”

“You need a nanny. A cook. A housekeeper. You don’t need a showgirl.”

“What I need is a friend,” Sam said. “There aren’t many women out here, and as much as I love Jack, there are times when I just want to chat with a girlfriend.”

A pleasant feeling wrapped around Charity’s heart and hugged it warmly. But as nice as Sam’s offer sounded, she knew she’d need much more than friendship with this woman to make her give up the life she’d worked so hard for in Vegas.

“I’m just a phone call away,” Charity said, but she knew that talking across the miles could never be as good as sitting across the table from each other. It was, however, the only thing that made sense. “Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve got an audition coming up for the job of a lifetime. It’s a singing role, as well as dancing. It’s what I want more than anything else.”

“Then go for it,” Sam said, her smile infectious. “My mama always told me I should reach for the stars and far be it from me to tell you something different. But there are millions of stars out there. Don’t be afraid to latch on to one that’s shooting in a different direction. It might just take you where you really want to go.”

* * *

The frigid air hit her like an impenetrable wall of ice, but Charity tucked her chin into her wool scarf and trudged toward the barn. There weren’t any stars there, but that didn’t matter. The only star she wanted to latch on to was in Vegas. That’s where she’d set her sights, and the few setbacks she’d had of late weren’t going to dissuade her.