Wife for a Day (16 page)

S
am had never
lived in a house before, and she couldn't picture herself living in the big, beautiful one she saw when Jack pointed his out. She'd expected a millionaire to live in a stone mansion the size of Fort Knox. She'd imagined formal gardens, although they'd be brown and nearly lifeless now, sprawling patios, and a swimming pool. What she saw was little more than a three-story white farmhouse with black trim, a wide front porch, an old red barn, some corrals, and half a dozen outbuildings. She saw nothing fancy, only something comfortable and well loved.

She saw a home, a real honest-to-goodness home.

A black-and-white dog came bounding out to meet the truck, spinning in circles and barking as they drove up the road.

“That's Rufus,” Jack told her. “He pretends
he's protecting the place, but he's never seen a stranger he didn't like.”

“I had a dog like that once,” Sam told him, remembering the dog she'd called Princess. “She had to have been the ugliest mutt ever conceived—half-dachshund, half-boxer, I think. One ear was gone, and she had a scar across her nose, but that didn't matter to me. She kept me company when I was alone.”

“Were you alone a lot?”

“Too much.” She faced him and smiled. “My mama worked at night and couldn't afford a baby-sitter. We had an old black-and-white TV that I'd watch until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. Sometimes it would still be on when I woke up in the morning. That's when I'd know that Mama hadn't gotten home yet, and I'd have to fix my own breakfast before heading off to school. I didn't like those mornings very much.”

“I wouldn't have liked it either.”

“It wasn't being alone that I hated so much, it was being afraid that something had happened to Mama, and…I hated leaving without a kiss good-bye.”

“What about your dad?”

“I never knew him.”

Jack frowned as he brought the truck to a stop right next to the barn, and she wondered if she'd said too much. She'd never told any
one about her past. Not the good times, especially not the bad. But the words had spilled so easily today. Somehow she'd known that Jack wouldn't laugh, wouldn't condemn, or even ask for explanations.

But why should he? Their relationship was temporary.

Sam's door was yanked open before Jack shut off the engine. The man standing beside the truck had at least a week's worth of gray stubble on his face. He was stooped, wiry, and stood as if he had an invisible horse between his legs. “I take it you're Arabella,” he croaked. He scooped the calf, the blanket, and Jack's coat from Sam's lap and offered her a marginal smile. “I'm Crosby, Cros for short. Don't matter which one you use. You'll find I ain't too particular about things, least of all formality.”

“It's nice to meet you, Crosby.”

He looked her up and down and shook his head. “You ain't a bit like I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Someone a damn sight more finicky. Someone who sure as hell wouldn't hold a wet critter in her lap.” He leaned forward and looked at Jack. “You done good this time, boy.”

“I think so.”

The masquerade had begun again. It was time for Jack to make necessary comments like
that. Time for her to put on an act and hope she could stifle the fluttery feelings that crept into her heart every time he uttered something nice.

Crosby boosted the calf higher in his arms, aiming his next words at Sam. “Hope you can cook. I already served supper, so you're gonna have to fend for yourself. Lauren's upstairs primpin' and cryin'. Been doin' that most of the day.”

“What about Beau?” Jack asked.

“He's had a bee up his butt all afternoon. He slammed out of the kitchen soon as the blizzard went through. I imagine he's around somewhere. Sulkin' more than likely. Don't think he's too anxious to meet his future ma.” Without another word, Crosby turned and walked away.

“I don't want to cause any problems between you and your son,” Sam said, realizing that they hadn't talked about the boy at all on their drive.

“Beau and I have a whole hell of a lot of things to work out between us. You're just one of them, so don't worry about it.”

“What about Crosby? How does he feel about me being here?”

“That's the nicest greeting I've ever heard him give anyone.” Jack smiled. “I think he likes you.”

Sam laughed, as she attempted to rub the circulation back into her legs. “Is he family?”

“Closest thing to it. He came to the ranch in the early thirties and hasn't left since. My grandpa told me once that Cros had killed a man in a barroom brawl and came here looking for a place to hide.”

“Do you believe it?”

Jack nodded. “He's never told a soul about what he did before he became a cowboy. If he killed someone, I imagine they had it coming. If he's felt any guilt, he's kept it to himself. I only care about what he is now, and I'd trust him with my life.”

Those were some of the nicest words Sam had ever heard. Jack didn't care about Crosby's past. Maybe hers wouldn't bother him either—if they had a real relationship, which they didn't.

Climbing out of the truck, Jack came around to the passenger side to help Sam out. A gust of wind stung her cheeks as she stepped onto the dirt and gravel, and without warning her legs gave out beneath her.

Jack swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the house.

“Put me down, Jack. I can't have you carrying me everywhere.”

“If I put you down, you'll fall flat on your face.”

“My legs fell asleep while I was holding the calf. That's all.”

“I think there's more to it than that.” His brow narrowed into a frown as he pushed through a side door. “When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

“I had biscuits and gravy at Denny's right after you called, and I ate on the plane. You're not my mother, Jack. Don't worry about my eating habits.”

“Okay, let's talk about your sleeping habits. Had more than a few hours lately?”

She hesitated, trying to remember.

“You work too hard, Sam. That's gonna change while you're here.”

“Don't bet on it. And you'd better start calling me Arabella before you foul up your little game.”

He raised an eyebrow, his look quelling her words. “I'm taking you upstairs. I'm going to run you a bath, and you're going to soak in it. It's about time someone made you relax.”

She liked the sound of a bath. She'd spent too many months cleaning up in the bathroom at Antonio's, or in the institutional-like showers at the KOA. The thought of lazing away in a tub, one filled with bubbles, maybe, sounded delightful.

Better yet, she liked the thought that Jack cared. Of course, there was always the possi
bility that he didn't want anyone seeing his fiancée looking unkempt and definitely unrefined. That seemed the most logical explanation. Still, she wove her arms about his neck and enjoyed the moment.

He was the only man who'd ever carried her, and she had to admit she liked the feeling.

As he walked through the house, she tried to take in the layout and decorations, but she got lost in Jack's even breathing, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the warmth of his lips brushing her cheek when he turned to her and smiled, and the sound of his boots on the hardwood floors and stairs.

He opened a door and carried her into a room that boasted little more than a big brick fireplace with an old, overstuffed tweed chair positioned in front of the hearth. A large, oval braided rug covered the floor between the fireplace and an antique oak dresser. A matching highboy sat on the other side of the room, and against the far wall, with windows on either side, was the bed.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

“I'll start a fire for you. Get this place warmed up.”

She wasn't cold at all. She was nervous. She
didn't like the idea of being in his bedroom—so close to his bed.

“Is this your room?” she asked, hoping he'd say no, because she wanted to sleep in that big old four-poster bed.

“Yeah. I've been sleeping in here for thirty-two years.”

“Well, I'm not going to sleep in here,” she said bluntly. “No way.”

“This isn't a hotel, Sam. It's not some big fancy mansion, either, and I'm afraid I'm fresh out of guest bedrooms.”

“Then I'll sleep in the living room.”

“No you won't. You'll sleep here. You're my fiancée, remember? In case you've forgotten, I paid you to make this look real between you and me.”

“You didn't pay me to sleep with you.”

“I didn't ask you to sleep
with
me, did I?”

“You implied it. You've been doing that all afternoon.”

“I kissed you, damn it! Since when does that mean I want anything more?”

She felt her jaws tighten as she turned away from his heated gaze. “Maybe I was making too many assumptions.”

“You sure as hell were.”

He set her down on the floor, and she fought the weakness in her legs. She wasn't about to collapse and have to suffer through
his picking her up again. He'd just made his intentions perfectly clear. She was here for one reason and one reason only. And that meant when they were alone—she didn't have to put up with his touches.

“Just so neither one of us assumes anything more while I'm here, let me make something clear.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I'm listening.”

“You can touch me when your family and friends are present. You can say nice things to me, and I'll do the same to you—
when
we're in someone else's presence. But when we're by ourselves—I want to be left alone, no touching, no kissing, no nice words. That's the only way I'm going to go through with the rest of this charade.”

“If that's the way you want to play it, be my guest.”

He stormed across the room and grabbed the doorknob. “There's some kind of bubble bath under the sink in the bathroom. Lauren sent it to me a long time ago, and it's never been opened. Take a bath. A long one.” He took a deep breath. “I'll bring up your luggage later.”

“Fine!” she threw back. “Just knock before you come in.”

“That's going to look odd.”

“This whole thing's odd, in case you haven't realized it.”

She could see his chest rise and fall. Could see the angry set of his jaw as he opened the door. “What about dinner?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Doesn't matter. I'll bring up a tray.”

If he said or tried to do one more nice thing, she was going to throw something at him. She had her mind set on being mad—that was the only way she could survive this craziness.

“It's been a long day, Jack. I'm wet. I'm tired. And I'd like to be alone.”

He looked as if he was going to throw back some retort, but he didn't. Instead, he shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

A tear slid from her eye. The very first tear she'd ever shed from a breaking heart.

 

Lauren came bursting out of her room a moment after Jack walked into the hall, but at the moment, he didn't want to talk to her. What he wanted was to get on his horse and ride off some of the steam that had built up inside of him.

Sam Jones was driving him mad. He didn't imagine his sister would help the situation.

“I'm so glad you're home, Jack,” Lauren
said, blowing on what looked like freshly painted fingernails. “I was worried sick.” She started to throw her arms around Jack, then came to a screeching halt. “What on earth happened to you? You're filthy.”

“A slight altercation with a cow.”

“Is Arabella all right?”

“She's fine. A little sore from the accident—”

“Accident!”

“It wasn't anything serious,” he said, continuing his journey down the stairs with Lauren hot on his heels. “She's upstairs getting ready to soak in the tub. I thought she might like resting a bit.”

“What she needs is some wine,” Lauren said.

“What she needs is quiet.”

“Don't worry, Jack, I'm not going to monopolize her time.” Lauren stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchen, turned around, and smiled at Jack. “I just want to say hello, take her a nice glass of that Chablis you keep for special occasions, and maybe some cheese and crackers.”

It was no use arguing with his sister. It was no use arguing with any woman because they always won.

He left the house through the living room instead of following Lauren into the kitchen,
went to the truck, and started grabbing suitcases out of the backseat.

“Need some help with those things?” Beau walked toward the truck, adjusting the new black Stetson on his head.

“Thanks.” Jack handed two of the smaller bags to Beau, shoved the brown, duct-taped suitcase under his arm, and latched on to the two bigger ones.

“I hear you've been in a foul mood all day. Care to talk about it?”

Beau shrugged. “It's no big deal.”

“Does it have anything to do with Arabella?”

“Like I said, it's no big deal.”

Jack hated noncommittal answers and didn't care for Beau's sulking, either. “If you've got concerns about me having a woman in my life, you'd better tell me now.”

Beau was silent a moment, and finally asked, “Have you had a lot of women in your life?”

“Enough. Haven't found too many who liked the ranching part of my life.”

“What about Arabella. Is she going to like it here?”

He already knew Sam liked the country—even if she didn't care much for him. He answered as honestly as he could. “I think so.”

“Are you two getting married soon?”