by Patti Berg
But there was more to her than that. Sitting in front of the sewing machine like a symphony pianist caught up in her recital, was a woman with circles under her eyes. She’d tried covering the darkened skin with makeup, but hadn’t succeeded. Her cheeks were a little too hollow, as if she didn’t eat often or enough, and her jaw bore the traces of a small, jagged scar.
What had happened to her? he wondered. And why?
Shoving the contract into his briefcase, he walked across the room and leaned against the wall in a place where he could see the concentration on her face. Her gaze lifted from her labor again, and her smile met his stare. One flick from those hot green eyes could set a prairie on fire, he thought, or reduce a man to cinders if he didn’t stay on guard.
As if she’d heard his thoughts and knew it was time to turn off her smile, she focused once more on the trousers.
He knew he should go back to his work, knew he should ignore the tailor, who was there to do a job and nothing more, but he was restless.
Arabella entered his thoughts again, an ounce of remorse flowing through him. Maybe he should have tried to meet her halfway, but he didn’t want to live in Denver any more than she wanted to live in Wyoming. He didn’t want to spend any more time with her society friends than she wanted to spend with his ranch hands, the people who were his extended family.
In the past few weeks, their conversations about the future had ceased. Long phone calls became a rush to see who could come up with the best excuse for hanging up. Their engagement had been a mistake, and he knew it.
The only one who thought it was wonderful was his sister Lauren. Over the years she’d introduced him to one socialite after another, hoping her big brother would find a wife. She’d been ecstatic when Jack had found the perfect wife-to-be all on his own, and she’d been anxiously awaiting their first meeting tonight.
How on earth could he tell Lauren that his engagement was over?
Poor Lauren. Her mother and father had a bad habit of disappointing her, and now he was going to do it, too. He sighed, letting out some of his frustration.
“Is something bothering you?” the redhead asked. She’d stopped sewing. Her head tilted toward him again and all he could see were luminous freckles bridging her nose and soft, warm eyes that were the color of good whiskey. “You may not believe this, but I can listen as well as I can talk.”
“I don’t make a habit of sharing my troubles.”
“Too bad. My mama always told me that storing trouble makes you feel all constipated inside.”
“I take it your mama’s a pretty wise lady.”
“She was,” she said fondly. “She used to laugh at trouble, and believe you me, she used to laugh a lot.”
“What about you?”
She smiled, and Jack could swear the room brightened. “I’ve been constipated a time or two.”
The phone rang, interrupting the first light-hearted moment in his day. He answered on the second ring. “Remington.”
“Thought for sure I’d miss you.” It was Mike Flynn, his ranch manager. A call from Mike, when he was away from the ranch, could only mean trouble.
“Something wrong?” Jack asked.
“I suppose that’s something you have to decide.”
“Don’t beat around the bush, Mike. You wouldn’t have called if there wasn’t a problem.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally, Mike cleared his throat. “Beau is here.”
The name hit Jack like a bull kicking him in the gut. He’d seen his son only once in sixteen years. He’d given up all hope of ever getting to know the boy, and now he was at the ranch.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked but didn’t stop talking long enough for Jack to answer “no.” “I hated to spring it on you so suddenly, but I didn’t know what to say.”
Jack didn’t know what to say, either. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Positive.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yeah.”
Jack plowed his fingers through his hair. “How’d he get there? Hell, how’d he find out about me? There’s no way his grandparents told him.”
“He found his mother’s diary, saw your name in it, and put two and two together. Then he hitched all the way from LA.”
“Hitched? Damn it! He could have gotten lost. Killed.”
“He’s safe, Jack. He just wants to see you.”
Jack crossed the room, poured a glass full of whiskey, then ignored the drink. “Why didn’t he call first?”
“I didn’t ask, but my guess is he was afraid you wouldn’t want to see him.”
“I would have seen him every day for the past sixteen years if his grandparents hadn’t told me to stay the hell away!”
And he had stayed away—for Beau’s sake. The boy’s grandparents had taken good care of him, he wouldn’t dispute that. But he’d stayed away only because they’d promised a messy custody battle when Jack turned eighteen and asked for his child. He had enough money to fight for his rights, but there was no way he was going to drag his son through the courts and the press.
He didn’t regret that decision; he only regretted giving up his son in the first place.
“Jack,” Mike said, his voice low, solemn, “the past is over and done. This is your chance to make up for all that happened.”
“How much time do you think his grandparents are going to give me? A day? Two?”
“Talk to them.”
“I tried that years ago. They ignored my phone calls. They sent back every penny of support money, every birthday card. They love Beau. They’ve given him the best of everything, but they don’t want me interfering in his life. You know damn good and well they won’t listen to me now.”
“Try again. He’s your son, Jack. If you don’t do something about it now, you’ll lose him for good.”
He couldn’t lose him. Not again.
Jack looked across the room. The seamstress was watching him, her eyes narrowed to a frown. He could imagine the same kind of frown on Mike’s face. Preaching on Sunday wasn’t enough for Mike. He had a habit of doing it all week long, and Jack was the one he targeted most. He had the feeling the tailor would do it, too, if she had any idea what was going on.
He turned away from the redhead and ended the silence between himself and Mike. “Tell Beau I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”
“Anything else?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, tell him there’s a lot we need to talk about.”
Jack could picture the smile of satisfaction on Mike’s face. “I’ll tell him.”
“And make sure Crosby doesn’t run Beau off with one of his lousy dinners,” Jack said, forcing himself to laugh.
After hanging up, he went back to the sofa and his contract, but he thought about Beau instead. Did he look like his mother, Beth, who’d been pretty and petite, or was he tall and skinny like he’d been at sixteen? Was he just as much trouble?
What could he possibly say to a teenage boy, especially the son he hadn’t seen since he was one month old? Could they build a friendship? Could he actually be a father to the boy? Where could he begin? So many doubts filled his mind. He’d failed at far too many relationships, but, for his son’s sake, he had to make this one work.
Tomorrow, when he returned to the ranch, he’d start a new life with his son. Tonight—Hell! Tonight he was faced with disappointing his sister. He’d spent a lifetime trying to make Lauren happy, endeavoring to make up for their mother’s forgetfulness, thoughtlessness, and genuine disinterest in being a mom.
It wasn’t his fault that Lauren had gone with their mother after the divorce, while he’d remained with his father on the ranch. But he’d felt awfully guilty staying with a dad who doted on him, when his sister was stuck in Florida being raised by nannies and servants. He’d always felt the need to make things right.
Tonight was no exception.
The redhead’s humming, her movements, were the perfect distraction from thoughts that were weighing heavy
on his mind. She’d gotten up from the sewing machine and stood beside the ironing board that had been delivered earlier. He watched her find the creases at the front and back of each trouser leg and smooth the pants out on top of the board.
“Have you always been a tailor?” he asked, leaning back on the sofa, once more enjoying his cigar and the view.
“Not always. A few months ago I was a waitress. Five months ago a Hollywood actress. Variety’s the spice of life, or so I’ve been told.”
“Which do you prefer? Taking orders from hungry people, nipping and tucking men’s clothes, or acting.”
“They all have their plusses, but acting’s what I always wanted to do.”
“Why’d you give it up?”
She pressed the iron to the trousers, focusing on her work. “Hollywood and I didn’t see eye to eye. Most people thought I did my best work lying on a dinner-theater floor playing a corpse.” She looked up, her radiant smile giving no hint at all about how she truly felt about leaving Hollywood. “Dead actors don’t make much money,” she said. “I was penniless when I got to Hollywood and in the hole when I left. Right now I’m trying to dig my way out of the mess I got myself into.”
“I take it you make good money doing this?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“How big a tip I get.” Her smile was infectious.
“That’s the second or third subtle hint you’ve dropped.”
“There’s nothing subtle about me, Mr. Remington.”
He’d already noticed and might have told her he didn’t like subtlety in people, but the phone rang again.
“You’re a popular guy,” she said. “You’ve had more calls in the last half hour than I had in my entire Hollywood career.”
“I don’t like ringing phones. They bring nothing but trouble.”
But his sister’s voice on the other end of the line was the welcome exception. Rich women, especially those who’d been married and divorced twice, weren’t always bundles of joy. Lauren defied all the rules.
“Thank goodness you’re in town,” she said. “I watched the Weather Channel and saw nothing but white over the eastern half of Wyoming. I was sure you wouldn’t be able to get a flight.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. I’ve watched you tame a dozen wild stallions. It’s an obsession that used to keep you from eating, from drinking, and even from women.”
“My days of taming wild horses are over. We’re supposed to whisper to them now.” He watched the redhead’s wild eyes peeking up at him through her lashes. She seemed the kind of woman no man could tame, the kind of woman no man in his right mind would want to tame. The kind of woman he had no business thinking about taming.
“There won’t be any horses, wild or otherwise, at the party tonight,” Lauren admitted. “I hope it won’t be too boring for you.”
“Stick a glass of whiskey in my hand, and I’ll be fine. Dance with me a time or two, and I’ll be even better.”
“You’ll be here on time, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“If you’d stayed here with me, I wouldn’t have had to call you to make sure. I would have gotten to see you sooner, too.”
“I would have, but—”
“You don’t have to make any excuses, Jack. I know how much you hate servants hovering around, how much you love your privacy, and I know you can’t get that here. Peter’s the complete opposite. That’s why we’re perfect for each other. You’re going to love him. I know it.”
That was doubtful, but Jack would never let his sister know his concerns. She loved Peter Leighton, and even now she was ticking off each of his virtues.
Jack didn’t see many virtuous qualities in Peter. He might be a top-notch polo player. He might have a love of horses, but he was a playboy, and Jack didn’t trust him any more than he’d trusted Lauren’s first two husbands. Yet the background check he’d ordered had found nothing more than a string of former lovers, with the emphasis on former, who’d raved about the man and his assorted charms. If Peter loved Lauren as much as he professed, Jack could bring himself to overlook his fear that the investigation had left some stone unturned and that his sister would be hurt yet again.
“I hope Arabella had a good trip.”
Jack’s attention was drawn back to the conversation at Lauren’s mention of his ex-fiancée’s name.
“You did tell her how much I’m looking forward to meeting her tonight, didn’t you?”
Of course he had, but Lauren’s feelings hadn’t ranked high on Arabella’s list of reasons not to kiss him and their engagement good-bye.
“Lauren,” he said, pausing as he sought the right words to tell his sister that there was going to be someone missing at her engagement party. “There’s something I need—”
“Just a minute, Jack,” Lauren interrupted. He could hear someone talking excitedly in the background.
“I’ve got to go,” she told him in a rush of words. “Apparently the ice sculptor was drunk when he carved the statue—one of the lovers has a very distinct penis—and I’m afraid the caterer is on the verge of having a coronary.”
“Before you go, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Tell me later, please. I want tonight to be perfect, and if I don’t assure the caterer that everything’s all right, there’s no telling what will happen.”
He wanted the night to be perfect for her, too. He’d do anything to make his little sister happy. Hopefully, she would understand when he arrived at the party alone.
“Before I hang up, Jack, I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally settling down with someone you love. You’ll never know how happy that’s made me.”
What could he say? She was happy now. Breaking her heart in two hours would be soon enough.
“I love you, Lauren,” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Sometimes you do too much, Jack. But that makes me love you all the more.” He could hear her blowing a kiss to him through the line, then the click at the other end just before he hung up.
“Feeling a bit constipated?” the redhead asked, a grin touching her face as she laid the trousers out on the bed.
“You could say that.”
“My mama used to say—”
“Your mama’s wisdom’s not going to help me a whole hell of a lot.”
“No, I suppose it won’t. It didn’t keep me out of trouble, either.”
She came toward him, holding the altered shirt in her hand. “Why don’t you try this on. As soon as I know everything fits, I’ll get out of your hair and let you deal with your problems all on your own.”
Jack took the shirt from her fingers, wondering why he didn’t like the fact that she’d soon be gone. He didn’t know her and didn’t have the time to get to know her.
He picked the trousers up from the bed and went to the bathroom, this time making sure she wouldn’t stare. “I won’t be a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”
Sam sighed with relief when Jack Remington closed the door. He’d been watching her for nearly an hour, even when he was on the phone. He’d never know how nervous she’d been with his eyes focused on her every move. She could feel him staring and spent too much time wondering if or when he was going to pounce. She knew how to take care of herself. A self-defense class had taught her all the important moves, and she’d use every one if the wrong man approached. But Jack Remington didn’t seem wrong at all. Right now he seemed nice, something she never would have expected from the gruff, ill-mannered man she’d met at the start.
She swept away the scraps of fabric and loose threads scattered on the table and carpet and boxed up the sewing machine. Then she waited, listening to the water running in the bath. He was doing much more than trying on the tux. She’d heard an electric shaver, something the hotel must have provided since all his other belongings had g
one to places unknown.
Well, she wasn’t going to leave until she made sure the tux was perfect. She’d done a good job; she hoped for a good tip.
Prowling the room, she trailed her fingers over the rich wood furniture and fine upholstery. She sat on the sofa and rested her hand on the leather briefcase, tracing the initials JR embossed in amber cowhide. All the trappings in this room screamed millionaire, yet she sensed something down-to-earth inside Jack Remington.
She’d heard passion and warmth in his voice when he’d talked on the phone, and interest when he’d talked with her. It was amazing how something so simple could make her like a man she’d thought she would despise.
Crossing her legs, she leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, letting herself dream that she belonged in Jack Remington’s world. She’d never pictured herself in such a lofty place, but she had dreamed of someday living in an upper-middle-class neighborhood where families were presided over by a mom and dad, not a hooker and a drag queen. That’s what her goal had been before her mama had died. Now her goal was to pay off Johnnie Russo. When that objective was met, she’d start saving again, start dreaming of better things, and hope someday to meet a man who didn’t care about her past, who’d want her to be part of his future.
For now, or at least until she knew the tuxedo fit, she’d dream she was part of Jack Remington’s universe. She was just imagining someone handing her a snifter of brandy when she heard Jack clearing his throat. Her eyes opened with a snap.
“Sleeping on the job?” he asked, a smile tilting his lips.
“Dozing. The couch was comfortable, and you were gone an awfully long time. Hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head, as he fastened the top button on his shirt. His cuffs still needed to be clasped with the gold cuff links she’d brought, but the crisp white fabric smoothed perfectly over the rock-hard stomach she’d admired earlier. She slowly perused every inch of him, and she liked what she saw, from the light brown, perfectly trimmed hair that had turned nearly white at his temples, to broad shoulders and narrow hips, to long, muscular legs encased in black trousers.