Wife for a Day (13 page)

T
he plane rattled
around like a pocketful of marbles, and Sam knew for certain it planned to fall from the sky. She clenched the armrests, feeling rather foolish as she watched the other passengers casually reading newspapers and magazines or poring over documents they'd taken out of their briefcases.

Tyrone had told her that flying was a piece of cake. Tyrone, of course, was full of it. As far as she was concerned, plane travel was for people with a death wish. She preferred living, and once she landed in Sheridan she had every intention of staying firmly on the ground—for the rest of her life.

Leaning her head against the seat back, she willed herself to relax, but all she could think of was the jerking motion of the plane as the unexpected storm tossed it around.

And then there was the storm going on inside her.

How could she possibly fool Jack's son and his friends? How much longer could she fool Lauren? This wasn't just a one-night masquerade, this could stretch out for days.

But the real problem had nothing to do with whether she could pull the wool over their eyes, it had to do with the fact that she didn't want to deceive anyone. She wanted them to know the truth.

She wanted a real relationship with Jack, but he wanted something different. He wanted an actress; he wanted someone to make his sister happy. She imagined he'd sent her the whiskey, the flowers, and the big tip to appease her, just in case he needed her services again. Last night, he'd probably thrown in that line about wanting to see her again to take the sting off his invitation. Well, that hadn't worked. He'd hurt her.

She was an employee to him, an accomplice in his charade, nothing more.

But she was tired of acting, tired of pretending that life was perfect, tired of reaching out for something good and having it disappear when her fingers had merely touched the surface.

What was it her mama used to say? “
Be con
tent with touching the clouds, honey. The stars are too far beyond our reach
.”

I want the stars this time, Mama
, she thought.
The clouds just aren't good enough
.

The plane hit another bump, and this time even Sam's fellow passengers gripped the arms of their seats. She stared out the window, but there was nothing to see. They were flying through a heavy blanket of ever-darkening clouds that looked ominous and frightening, kind of like the adventure ahead of her.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. With all her heart, she wished she could blow a hole through the clouds and at least catch sight of the stars.

 

Jack could see the wind. It picked up the powdery snow from the ground and blew it across the runway. Anyone in his right mind would hide at home on a day like this. But Jack couldn't hide. He was waiting for a plane, and the one coming in was doing a hell of a lot of wobbling as it headed for earth.

Even from the terminal, Jack could hear the tires screech as they bounced off the concrete, then hit again. The muscles in his shoulders and neck tensed as he watched the wing lights dip toward the earth. The turboprop veered to the right, then straightened, and finally slowed as it headed for the tarmac.

“Thank God,” he whispered.

He'd flown hundreds of times, sitting back and relaxing while the pilots did their job. He figured if the plane went down he'd die, and there wasn't too much he could do about it. That brand of worrying wasn't his style.

But this was different. Sam was on that plane, and the thought of never seeing her again ate at his insides. Somehow she'd wiggled her way into his thoughts and dreams. In a moment or two he'd see her again. It had been just a few days since he'd left her at Denny's, and it had been over two weeks since he'd kissed her good-bye. It seemed an eternity, yet he could still feel her softness, could taste her lips, could hear her voice.

In a few minutes she'd be real again, no longer just a memory.

For once he was glad Lauren was troubled, glad that she'd been crying and knew what—
who
—she needed to make her happy. Hell, he needed Sam, too.

The drifting snow piled up on the wings and against the wheels of the plane the moment it stopped. Jack tilted his hat low over his eyes and tucked his chin into the collar of his coat as he stepped out of the terminal and watched a string of warmly dressed passengers filing off the plane. They gripped coats and briefcases as the wind and snow tried to
knock them from the steps, but within moments the last commuter rushed past him into the heated building. The only people left on the tarmac, even on the steps of the plane, were the maintenance and baggage crews.

Sam hadn't come. The knowledge hit him with the same force as the hoof of a crazed bronc. He shook his head, trying to deflect the image creeping into his mind of Sam Jones cashing in the tickets and taking off for parts unknown. He didn't give a damn about the money, but he did give a damn about the fact that he'd trusted her to be on that plane.

He should have called the airline to make sure she'd gotten on in West Palm Beach. Better yet, he should have hired a car to pick her up at Denny's and an escort to deliver her safely to the plane. Hell, he should have gone to Florida and escorted her himself.

He was just about to turn away when he caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman peering through a window. Finally, he smiled. He should have trusted her. In the future he'd know better.

Long red hair slapped against Sam's cheeks as she peeked around the doorway, and a hesitant foot, clad in a knee-high, black-leather boot with confoundedly high stiletto heels, moved to the top step. Jack laughed at the sight of her. She'd come to Wyoming dressed
in nothing more than a tight black skirt that barely covered her thighs and a jacket that wouldn't protect her from a sea breeze let alone a prairie blizzard.

Damn fool woman. She was going to freeze her butt off, but hell if she wouldn't look good doing it!

Shoving through the gate, he raced toward the plane. Sam's eyes were wide with something that resembled fear, and her body shivered when she met him at the bottom of the stairs. “I don't like flying,” she shouted at him over the sound of airplane engines and wind. “When it's time to go home, you'll have to drive me there.”

He laughed, tore off his coat, and wrapped it around her. “One of these days I'll teach you how to ride a bull. You won't mind flying after that.”

He drew her close as he led her across the asphalt and into the warmth of the terminal, far away from the doors that opened and closed letting in blasts of icy air. He stood back and looked at her. He'd thought she was gorgeous the night of Lauren's party, but now, with her cheeks reddened from the cold and her nose and hair sprinkled with snowflakes, she looked sweet and young and…Hell!

“Come here!” He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her hard against his chest, took
off his Stetson, and held it behind her back. “I just remembered why I wanted to see you.”

“Mind telling me?”

“Thought I might show you instead.”

He kissed her, soft at first. Tentative. He felt her hands pushing against his chest, an ounce of protest before her lips parted and her fingers slid over his shoulders and wove together behind his neck.

She was perfect. From her curly hair to the tips of her toes. From her wild spirit and boldness to the beguiling innocence that often wrapped around her.

He watched her eyelids flutter, felt her lashes brush lightly over the bridge of his nose, and tasted the saltiness of peanuts on her tongue. He could have kissed her for hours, but she drew back.

With their lips touching just an infinitesimal amount, her eyes opened and she whispered. “Lauren isn't here by any chance, is she?”

“No. Why?”

“I just wanted to know if that was a pretend-you're-my-fiancée kiss, or an I'm-glad-to-see-you kiss.”

“Guess I didn't get the point across.”

He pulled her tight. He couldn't feel her body through the thickness of his coat, but he could easily remember gentle curves and lush breasts, and a fleeting image of her standing
naked in his arms rushed through him as he captured her mouth.

She wasn't warm any longer. She was hot, and he was starting to burn. Her fingers slipped through his hair, cupping the base of his neck and holding him close. Her tongue slid over the back of his teeth, across the roof of his mouth. It danced with his, a sultry, exotic, body-rubbing dance that made him think he was in the tropics instead of standing just a few feet away from a blizzard.

He felt a slap on his shoulder, and all thoughts of a steamy island and Sam in a skimpy bikini came to a skidding halt.

“Afternoon, Jack.”

The voice was far too familiar. He turned slowly. “Afternoon, John.” He drew in a breath, trying to bring some semblance of reality into his mind. “Good to see you.”

The man who owned the spread that butted up to Jack's on the west had a grin on his aging, ruddy-colored face. “I have the distinct feeling I've interrupted something.”

Sam tried to move away, but Jack ran his hand beneath the coat she was wearing and wrapped it around her waist. He dragged her close to his side. “John Atkinson, this is my fiancée, Arabella Fleming.”

A frown swept across Sam's face the moment he uttered Arabella's name, then disap
peared into a smile as John stuck out a large, work-hardened hand and swallowed her slender one in its grasp. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sam said.

“You here to pick someone up?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. Fay's been in Southern California baby-sitting grandkids for a week. She's gonna be surprised to hear you're gettin' married. That's the kind of information she usually brings home from the beauty shop, but she never mentioned a word.”

Hell! Jack hadn't thought about the gossip mill, and with Fay coming home, word about him getting married would be spread around Sheridan in less than twenty-four hours.

“We haven't been engaged all that long,” Jack announced. “In fact, this is the first time Arabella's been to the ranch.”

“You didn't pick the best time to visit our fair state,” John told Sam. “Summer's the best; of course, that only lasts a month.”

Sam slipped her arm around Jack's waist and looked into his eyes with so much love he felt like nominating her for an Oscar. “Jack can keep me warm the other eleven months.”

“I imagine he can. I sure as hell miss Fay when she's gone. She's been warming me up for forty-two years. I hope the two of you have that many good years together.”

“That's our plan,” Sam quipped.

Plan?
Hell! The only plan Jack had was to get Sam out of the airport before they ran into anyone else from town.

He stuck out his hand and shook John's once more. “We've got to get Arabella's luggage and head for home. Looks like a bad Norther blowing in.”

“Fay and I are spending the night at the Holiday Inn. Why don't you and Arabella do the same. We could have dinner tonight.”

“Wish we could, but I've got work to get back to.”

“Well,” John said, slapping Jack on the back again, “be careful on the road.”

“Will do.”

“Nice meetin' you,” John said, smiling at Sam. “Don't forget to invite Fay and me to the wedding.”

“You'll be right on top the list,” Sam tossed back.

The moment John walked away, Jack dragged Sam in the opposite direction. He stopped behind a group of passengers waiting to claim their luggage. “What do you mean you'll invite him to the wedding?”

“What did you expect me to say? That we don't want him and his wife there.”

“I didn't expect you to say anything. We're not getting married, and even if we were, it
wouldn't be some big event where half the town comes.”

“This is your little charade, Jack. I'm just trying to make it work.”

She pulled out of his grasp. “That's my bag,” she said, pointing to an old brown suitcase held together with duct tape. “I had to borrow it from a friend. Better not let anyone see it, or they're going to wonder why your rich and uppity fiancée doesn't travel in a little better style.”

“To hell with the suitcase.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “If something's bothering you, Jack, couldn't you just spit it out? This crazy mix of hostility and lust you're displaying is wearing me out.”

He speared his fingers through his hair and shoved his Stetson back on his head. “I don't like being caught off guard. I don't like the thought of John knowing I'm engaged.”

“You're not engaged.”

“But he thinks I am, and pretty soon everyone else in this town's going to think so, too.”

“Seems to me you've gotten yourself into a pretty big mess. Of course, none of this would have happened if you'd told Lauren the truth.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn't be here now if I
had
told her the truth.”

Jack's reminder hit her like a bucket of ice
water. She'd made a huge mistake falling into his arms when she'd gotten off the plane. She'd been foolish to think there was something more than lust behind that kiss, especially when he'd easily pulled away from her lips and introduced her as Arabella.

Arabella
. Imagine him calling her by some other name but her own. After that kiss!

She straightened her shoulders, and stared him right in the eyes. “You know, Jack, I could always turn around and go back home.”

“You could, but you won't.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“You want your money, don't you?”

His words hurt worse than a slap across the face, worse than calling her Arabella, but she deserved them. He hadn't offered her money to come to Wyoming. She'd
asked
for it, not just last night, but several times before. This was the final time, though. This last chunk of money would pay off Johnnie, and never again would she have to look like a money-grubber in Jack's eyes.