Wife for a Day (19 page)

Beau stood in the middle of the yard, with a rope in his hands. Rufus ran around, barking
and kicking up dust, as Beau tried his hardest to lasso the creature.

She must have watched him for nearly five minutes, and when he looked toward the window, as if he knew she was there, she waved. Like the cowboys she'd seen in black-and-white Westerns, he touched the brim of his Stetson in greeting, then went back to his roping.

She liked him instantly. Leaving the office, she walked out of the house. The cool air seeped through the flannel shirt she wore and stung her chest and arms, but the sun was shining, and it felt warm when she tilted her face to drink in the clear blue sky.

Rufus jumped up and pawed at her knees and she knelt, taking a moment to run her fingers through silken fur.

“Do you like dogs?” Beau asked, walking toward her.

“Friendly ones. I've never been all that keen on the ones that growl when I walk by.”

She stood, and held out her hand. “I'm Sam.”

Beau's eyes narrowed. “Sam?”

Somehow she laughed, but inside she was berating herself for making the slip. “I wanted to be an actress once and my stage name was Samantha.” Telling something close to the truth was easier than telling another lie. “Your
dad calls me Sam sometimes, too.”

“Yeah, I imagine he would.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He doesn't talk all that much, and Arabella's got too many syllables,” he said, tossing the rope again.

She smiled at his words, at his typical teenage no-nonsense attitude. She picked up a stick and threw it out for Rufus to chase, all the while watching Beau's movements. He and Jack had been apart for sixteen years, but Beau had the same long-legged gait, the same swing to his arms. He even twisted around and stared at her like Jack.

“Dad's not around, if you came out here looking for him.”

“I came out here to meet you. Thought it would be nice if we got to know each other.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Probably.”

Rufus ran back with the stick in his mouth and Sam tugged it from between his teeth, then threw it again. “If you're worried about me coming between you and your dad, that's not going to happen.”

“I'm not.” He looked her up and down. “You're not going to want me to call you mom, are you?”

“I'd rather you just called me Sam.”

She saw the first hint of a smile on his face.

She walked toward the corral and turned,
watching Beau's perfect rhythm as he tossed the rope. “You're awfully good with that.”

“Gettin' to be. Takes a lot of practice.”

“Think you can teach me?”

Beau laughed, sounding so much like his dad. “Women aren't good ropers.”

“And who gave you that piece of misinformation?”

“Crosby.”

“Well, Crosby's full of it.”

He grinned, nodding slowly. “What do you want to learn to rope for? You're not going out on any cattle drives, and I doubt you'll be branding calves in a few weeks.”

“Is there some unwritten code out here that says I can't do those things?”

“I suppose not, but why would you want to?”

“I imagine for the same reasons as you. First, I've never done it, and I like to try new things. Second, I want to be with your dad.”

The revelation hit her smack in the face. She wanted to be with Jack more than anything, and when it was time to leave, she wasn't going to bounce back easily.

“As for you teaching me how to rope,” she said, “it's an opportunity for us to get to know each other. On top of that, if I don't do something constructive, I'll go stir-crazy.”

“You mean my dad didn't give you an
endless amount of chores to do while you're here?”

“No. How about you?”

“I've shoveled shit till I'm blue in the face. I've curried horses, trimmed hooves, learned how to shoe, and polished every piece of leather in that whole blasted barn.”

Sam laughed as the somber kid she'd been talking to loosened up and became the boy she really wanted to know. “Did your dad teach you how to do all those things?”

“Yeah.” Beau tossed the lasso over Sam's shoulders and pulled it tight. “He can shovel shit better than anyone I've ever seen.”

“He's not what you expected, is he?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he's nothing like I expected, either. When I met your dad, I expected some snooty millionaire with half a dozen attendants following in his wake. I thought he'd have an attitude, you know, sort of holier than thou.”

Beau loosened the rope and pulled it over her head. “I didn't know what to expect. I spent nearly sixteen years wondering what kind of man would ditch his kid.”

“So, you came here hoping to find out that he wasn't worth thinking about anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do you think?”

Beau shrugged, then worked the rope into
another big circle and tossed it over Sam's shoulders again. “I don't know if he's worth too much trouble or not.”

“But you haven't left.”

“I like it here. Shoveling shit isn't all that bad.”

Smiling, she worked the rope loose and pushed it over her head. She went to Beau and took the lasso from his hands. “Care to show me how to throw this?”

She tried making a circle like she'd seen him do, but she ended up smacking her head and shoulders with the unwieldy piece of rope. “First you've got to learn how to build a loop,” he told her. “Hope you aren't in any big hurry.”

I've only got a few days
, she could have told him, hating the fact that she was going to leave heaven when she liked it so well. Instead, she said, “I've got all the time in the world.”

They went into the barn to find a rope. Beau told her there were different lengths, different widths, different stiffnesses and materials, and every cowboy had to have a rope that worked just right for him. Then they got down to serious business.

At noon, with blisters rising on her palms and sore arms and shoulders, she begged Beau to take a break. Lauren appeared fresh and
alert from a good night's sleep, and hopped into the Explorer. She'd decided to take advantage of the pretty day to drive the two hours into Sheridan to shop. Sam had declined the invitation to go along, and went to make steak sandwiches and fried potatoes for Beau and Crosby.

They ate at the kitchen table and talked about the cows, about rodeoing, about the changes Crosby had seen on the ranch in sixty-some-odd years, and horses. Beau talked endlessly about the black gelding named Diablo that Jack had given him when he'd first come to the ranch, and Pecos, the dun-colored stallion Jack always rode, who liked the mares and Jack but nothing and no one else.

By one, she'd bundled up in the wonderful coat Jack had given her, and she and Beau were roping again.

At two, several ranch hands came by to introduce themselves, and Sam was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable with the charade. When Mike Flynn rode into the yard on a white stallion, and she saw the gold cross hanging around his neck, she wanted to run and hide. He looked like the Almighty arriving on a cloud of dust to chastise her for her sins.

“Afternoon,” he said. Dismounting, he took off his hat, slapped it against his knee, and
walked toward her with his hand extended. “I'm Mike Flynn. Jack's ranch manager and confidant, the man he shares
everything
with.”

Sam timidly shook his hand, then shoved it into her pocket. “It's
Pastor
Flynn, isn't it?”

He laughed. “It's Mike.” He looked over Sam's shoulder toward the house. “Hey, Cros. You got any coffee on?”

“Yep, but I ain't gettin' it for you.”

Mike slid his arm through hers as if it was the most commonplace thing in the world to do and led her toward the kitchen door. “Mind if we have a little chat?”

“About something in particular?”

A slow grin touched his face. “I imagine you already know what I want to talk about, but I'll save it till we're inside, in private.”

Oh, good
. She'd never been chewed out by a minister before, definitely not by one with jet-black hair, drop-dead-gorgeous green eyes, and the physique of a god. She hoped she wouldn't be struck down by lightning for noticing those things about him, but he didn't fit the classic holy-man mode.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked her when they entered the kitchen.

“Black.”

He set two mugs on the table and filled them to the brim with Crosby's thick brew. “Have a seat.”

His simple statement sounded very much like an order, and Sam plopped down in the chair and picked up the steaming mug, hoping she could hide her discomfort.

“I'm not here to preach,” he said, sitting next to her. He rested his elbows on the table and fingered the cross around his neck. “I take that back. I
am
here to preach.”

“You don't have to.”

“Someone's got to tell you what you're doing is wrong. Lauren isn't the only one whose feelings are at stake here. There's Crosby, the ranch hands, the people in town who are already talking about you, and then there's Beau. Did either one of you think about the effect this would have on others before you put this scheme in motion?”

Right about now, she felt as small as an ant. “I can't speak for Jack, only for myself. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I'm not going to lie to you about that. I'd like for it to end, but—”

“Jack's the only one who can stop it,” Mike interrupted. “And you're the only one who can make him.”

“Me?”

“You could leave. You could go back home and make Jack face the issue.”

Sam pushed up from the table and walked to the kitchen window. She looked at Beau
currying one of the horses. At Rufus barking at his heels. At the barn and the prairie that seemed to go on forever.

The touch of Mike's hand on her shoulder surprised her. “You don't want to leave, do you?”

Sam shook her head.

“Are you in love with Jack?”

“No…I'm not sure.”

“A lie's the thing keeping the two of you together, but it's also keeping you apart.”

She wiped a tear from her face. “Couldn't you tell Lauren the truth. You're a minister. You could break it to her easily.”

“It's not up to me. It's up to Jack, but I haven't been able to convince him.”

Sam turned around. “I've tried, too.”

“Try harder, Samantha. I meant what I said. You're the only one who can make him stop the charade.”

He smiled gently, and put his hat back on. “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully, next time we can be a little more sociable.”

Sam sank down into the kitchen chair and sipped at the coffee. Mike was right. Jack did have to tell the truth, and he had to do it soon. She drew in a deep, shaky breath. What they were doing was wrong, very wrong, and if her leaving was the only way to make things right, then that's what she'd have to do.

She only hoped that God and Mike and everyone else would forgive her, because she wanted one more day and night with Jack, one more chance for memories that would be better than any she'd ever had.

S
am wandered through
the house, capturing memories of Jack's home to store away with one day's worth of delightful experiences. There were the hours she'd spent laughing with Beau, listening to his tales of school, his friends, and most importantly his dad, talk that was underscored by a hint of pride and a certain amount of animosity, not unlike other kids his age. She'd stored away Crosby's cantankerous talk, and Lauren's own special brand of joy and tear-filled woe. These people, in a matter of hours, had become a family she could love.

Tomorrow, they'd be gone—but at least she would have wonderful things to remember.

She touched her lips. They'd never forget the feel of Jack's kiss, nor would her arms forget his embrace. Those two precious things should be enough, but she wanted more. She
wanted to know how it would feel to lie with him in his big old bed all night and wake up with him beside her in the morning. She wanted to know what flavor of ice cream he liked, if he preferred Pepsi or Coke, if he wore boxers or Jockeys when he wasn't wearing a skimpy thong.

But those were the kinds of intimate details that could take weeks, months, even years of togetherness to learn, and her time was running out.

She went into his office and stared out the window, sitting finally in the chair where she could watch life going on outside. Mike sat atop his horse, talking to Beau. When he rode off, Beau went back to roping a fence post, which seemed to be his favorite pastime. Rufus chased the rope's shadow, and farther away, high on a snow-dusted rise, she saw Jack riding slowly back to the ranch.

Behind her she heard the phone ring twice before the answering machine clicked on. “Jack, pick up if you're there.” Sam's first thought was that the woman on the line might be Arabella. Instead it was someone calling about fabric for the chairs and booths in the Houston restaurant.

Jack didn't seem the kind of man who'd be interested in the colors or design of a restaurant. He seemed more interested in spring
roundup and how many head of cattle he could ship to market. But whether or not he enjoyed the nitty-gritty details of his business was something more she wouldn't have the time to learn.

She followed the sway of Jack's body in the saddle as Pecos carried him toward the corral. He dismounted and patted his horse's rump, sending the gelding toward the clumps of grass growing on the farside of the barn.

Beau walked toward him. Father and son laughed together, their body language so similar. They shared a few words, then Jack took the rope in his hands and built a loop so fast and easy that it seemed a natural part of his movements.

She tucked the moment away, along with Jack and Beau going into the barn and bringing out an Appaloosa that looked exactly like the one she'd seen yesterday, grazing in a far-off pasture. Could it possibly be the same? she wondered.

Again the phone rang. Again the answering machine picked up. “Hey, Jack. It's Wes Haskins. Call me. I want to talk about Samantha Jones.”

She twisted around, staring at the phone, at the answering machine. Had she heard the man correctly? Had he mentioned her name? Getting up from the chair, she played back the
message. The man on the phone, Wes Haskins, was someone she'd never heard of, but it was definitely
her
he wanted to talk with Jack about.

Why?

She laughed at her sudden anxiety. She had nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear. She wasn't in trouble with the law. She hadn't done anything wrong. All she had to do was ask Jack about it when she went outside.

She grabbed a blank piece of paper from his desk and rummaged around for a pen so she could write down the man's name. It wasn't common, and she didn't want to forget. She lifted a wrinkled sheet of paper and a sparkling shoe glistened atop a stack of folders.

Why on earth had Jack kept that one rhinestone shoe? Had he been holding on to a reminder of their first night together?
That's silly
, she thought.
Men aren't sentimental that way
. Still, it brought a smile to her lips.

And then the smile faded.

The words
Wes Haskins-Investigator
glared at her from the wrinkled paper in her hand. They were printed in bold block letters. Beneath them were the words:
Subject, Samantha Jones
.

Her fingers trembled as she read the report. Wes Haskins had found out very little about her past, because there was little to tell. But that didn't make her feel any better.

Jack had had her investigated.

That hurt, more than him wanting her to come to Wyoming for Lauren's sake and no other reason.

She leaned against the desk, wondering what she'd done so wrong in her life to deserve this on top of everything else.

 

Jack tightened the cinch on the Appaloosa's saddle and adjusted the stirrups. He tied a bedroll on the back, not that he planned to keep Sam out all night, because it was far too cold. But he thought it might be nice to find a quiet spot where they could sit together and watch the stars.

Teaching Sam to ride was something he'd been looking forward to all day. He'd spent sixteen years enjoying the solitude of his rides on the prairie, yet today he'd felt alone, like part of him was missing.

When he heard the screen door he looked over the saddle and watched Sam walk toward him, already bundled up and ready to ride. She had a smile on her face, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. They normally sparkled. Right now, they looked as if she'd been crying.

“Did you find the coyotes?” she asked, standing a good ten feet away from the horse as if she was afraid to get too close.

“Only their trail,” Jack answered. “I plan on
going back out tomorrow. Care to go with me?”

“We'll have to see what tomorrow brings.”

He folded his arms atop the saddle. “Something troubling you?”

She shook her head.

Jack never had been able to figure out a woman. If you didn't ask what was wrong, they'd get upset. If you asked, they'd say nothing. Why the hell they couldn't give you a straight answer was anybody's guess.

“Beau tells me you spent the day learning to rope.”

“Not too well, I'm afraid.”

“She's okay, Dad,” Beau said, walking out of the barn. “Given a little time she might even be a good cowboy.”

A real smile touched her lips when she looked at Beau. She'd obviously taken a liking to his son during the day; but he, himself, seemed to have fallen out of favor. “I'm afraid a good cowboy has to be able to get the rope over a cow's head,” she said, laughing while she spoke to his son. “I haven't even figured out the basics of making a decent loop.”

“Do you know how to dally?” Jack asked.

“We didn't get that far,” Beau told his dad.

“Wanna learn?” he asked Sam.

“Sure. Why not.”

Jack ignored her noncommittal attitude, fig
uring he'd pry the reason for her gloomy mood out of her when they went on their ride. He whistled, and Pecos lifted his head and came toward him. He mounted, the saddle leather creaking beneath him, and untied his rope. “You mind playing the part of a cow?” he asked his son.

“You gotta be kidding.”

Jack swung a loop over his head as he and Pecos circled Beau. “Seems to me I did it for you a time or two.”

“Can't you use Rufus?”

“He'll just bark at my heels. You, on the other hand, will give me a hard time.”

Within minutes, Beau was trying to evade his rope, laughing as he ran, even when the lasso sailed over his shoulders. Jack showed Sam the basics of dallying the rope around the saddle horn, showing her how easily the line could be turned loose if the roped animal or rider got into trouble. Then he showed her how to tie hard and fast, a maneuver he didn't recommend because the rope couldn't be untied quickly—and that could easily spell danger.

Jack circled his horse around Sam and came to a stop. He rested his hands on his saddle horn and looked down at her pretty face. “Are you ready for your riding lesson?”

She avoided his eyes, but nodded.

“Can I ride with you?” Beau asked.

Jack angled his head toward his son. “I'd rather you rode out to the south pasture to check the fence.”

“Can't that be done tomorrow?”

“No. And when you get back, you've got homework to do.”

“I don't see why that can't wait.”

“Because I promised your grandparents I'd make sure it got done. Because you've got a straight-A average to keep up. Because you might decide one of these days that cowboying's too damn hard and you'll want to be a doctor again.”

“Fine!” Beau stomped off, disappearing into the barn.

“Do you have to be so hard on him?” Sam asked, anger in her eyes. It wasn't the emotion he longed to see, but it was a hell of a lot better than the blank glare she'd aimed at him for the past fifteen minutes.

“I'm not being hard, I'm being a good father.”

“He thinks you're too hard sometimes. He thinks you should lighten up.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Living out here isn't easy, Sam. I'm not going to coddle him.”

“No one says you have to, but where does
love fit into the picture? Have you ever come flat out and told him how you feel?”

“That's my business.”

“If you haven't told him, Jack, you'd better.”

“You're the one who told me actions speak louder than words.”

“Sometimes they send mixed signals. If you love Beau, you'd better tell him—because I don't think your actions are getting the message across.”

She was right. Too damn right. His actions didn't seem to be making any sense to her, either.

Beau led his horse out of the barn, and he looked over the saddle at Jack. “Since I've got to do everyone else's job while you're out having fun, mind if I borrow the truck tonight?”

“You know the rules,” Jack told him. “No license, no driving.”

“I don't want to go all that far.”

“No.”

Beau's jaw tightened. “Fine!” He jumped on his horse and took off at a gallop.

Jack swung down from his saddle, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Beau head halfway up the rise toward the old twisted cottonwood tree. When Beau stopped, he laughed.

“What's so funny?” Sam asked.

“You'll see.”

Beau had a scowl on his face when he galloped back to the barn.

“Forget something?” Jack asked.

“Gloves!”

Beau stormed into the barn, came back out pulling rawhide onto his hands, swung up in the saddle again, and took off.

“What was all that about?” Sam asked.

Pride swelled inside his chest. He might be hard, but Beau was learning fast. “It's about a boy growing into a man.”

 

“Ready for your riding lesson?” Jack asked. He walked toward the Appaloosa and held out a stirrup.

Until that very second Sam hadn't given a moment's thought to being frightened, but the horse looked so big, the saddle looked so high off the ground, and she had no idea how to control the beast once she got on top. She'd nearly forgotten her one and only experience with a horse, nearly forgotten that the beast had tried to take a hunk out of her arm when she'd attempted to mount from the wrong side, nearly forgotten that the casting director at the audition she'd gone to had made her feel like a fool.

Suddenly her hurt feelings about being in
vestigated were eclipsed by her fear of the horse.

“Maybe we shouldn't go riding today,” she said, backing away.

“Scared?” The rise of Jack's brow and the cocky manner in which he'd asked the question made her mad at him all over again.

“I'm not scared of anything.”

“Then grab on to the saddle horn and put your left foot in the stirrup.”

“What if the horse tries to bite me.”

“Belle doesn't bite. She's gentle, that's why I picked her for you.” Jack took hold of her hand and pulled her toward the horse. “Here, pet her,” he said, guiding her fingers over the horse's neck. “Show her you like her. This is one of those moments when actions speak louder than words.”

She smoothed her hand over the mare's sleek coat. Belle twisted her head, and Sam started to move away, but Jack's arms folded around her, keeping her from going anywhere. “Don't let her see that you're afraid.” His fingers pressed against her belly and she felt the strength of his chest against her back. His whispered words were warm against her ear. “Let her know you're the boss.”

He kissed her neck, his lips tender and feeling oh so good against her skin. “I missed you today.”

It would have been easy to rest her head against his shoulder and fall under his spell, but she was confused about what he wanted from her, and until she was certain, she wasn't going to let him get the best of her.

“What do I do next?” she asked, pulling his hand away from her stomach and dropping it off to her side.

“You put your
left
foot in the stirrup,” he said gruffly.

She did just as he told her, not liking the fact that one foot was pretty much tied to the side of the horse. If Belle took off—she'd probably die.

Jack's hands slid over her hips.

“What do you think you're doing?” she snapped, jerking around to stare at him.

“I'm teaching you how to ride.”

“With your hands on my butt?”

She could feel the expelled air from Jack's sigh hitting her temple. “I'm helping you into the saddle, Sam. That's all.”

“Well, don't get any other ideas.”

She could feel his thumbs on her bottom, and even though he said he was helping, she imagined there was more behind his touch than mere teaching.

“Now,” he said, “pull yourself up and throw your right leg over the saddle.”