Wife for a Day

by Patti Berg

  Pulling the pickup to a stop, he climbed out of the cab, ruffled the Border collie’s fur, and headed toward the unfamiliar silhouette he saw sitting on the porch. A lump formed in his throat. Even if he’d been able to utter the words to his speech, the emotions that had welled up inside him—anxiety, fear, love—would have kept him silent.

  That was just as well. Right now, he had no idea what to talk about. They were strangers—a father, a son, who had nothing in common except their genes.

  He mounted the steps, with Rufus right on his heel, tossed his hat, upside down, into an empty chair, and pulled another up close to Beau and sat. The boy never once looked up. Instead, he stared at the knife and piece of wood he was whittling.

  Jack took a cigar from his pocket, leaned back in the chair with his legs crossed, and watched the stars twinkling overhead. “Have you been waiting out here long?” he asked.

  “Most of the afternoon.”

  He captured the sound of Beau’s voice, imprinting the tone in his mind. It was the first memory he’d added since the boy was four, when he’d watched from afar as Beau played in the park with his friends.

  That day he’d promised Beau’s grandparents he’d stay away, that he wouldn’t interfere. He’d kept his word, standing quietly in the shadows, his emotions rendering him speechless. Words weren’t coming much easier now.

  “It’s awfully cold to do nothing but sit and wait,” he said awkwardly.

  “It’s no big deal,” Beau muttered. “I’ve been waiting for you for sixteen years. A few hours in the cold didn’t seem so bad.”

  The statement hit him hard, but Jack knew he deserved every reproachful word.

  Beau turned his head, and Jack saw the spitting image of himself at that age—square jaw, the first stubble of a beard, dark blond hair that had a mind of its own, and an angry, blue-eyed glare. Jack wasn’t big on crying, but he could feel a whole lot of tears building up behind his eyes.

  “Smoking can kill you,” Beau said, staring at the cigar, and for one moment he allowed his eyes to take in the height and breadth of his dad before turning back to his whittling.

  Jack stubbed out the cigar and tried his damnedest to think of something meaningful to say.

  He leaned forward. With his legs spread wide, he rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head toward his son. “Did your Grandpa Morris teach you to whittle?”

  “Yeah, when I was a kid. He had arthritis in his knees and back, so he wasn’t big on sports. Whittling was about the most active thing he ever did.”

  “What about you? Do you play any sports?”

  “Some basketball and football. A little baseball, when the mood strikes. I wanted to rodeo once. Even thought I’d like to be a cowboy, but I didn’t have a horse.” Beau’s eyes flickered toward Jack, then back to the knife in his hand. “I wouldn’t have had anyone to teach me to ride even if I did have one.”

  “I guess you deserve an apology.”

  Beau laughed cynically, digging the knife deep into the wood and shoveling out a chunk that flew across the porch. “If you were going to apologize, you would have done it before you sat down in that chair and started asking about sports.”

  Hurling the knife into the floor planks, Beau shoved up from the chair, and it skittered out from under him as he stormed from the porch and across the yard.

  Jack watched him, seeing himself in every one of the boy’s moves. The baseball cap he took from his coat pocket and pulled low on his brow and the blue-and-gold letterman’s jacket he wore were a sure sign that sports weren’t just a passing thing. That sure as hell wasn’t something they could talk about. What Jack knew about sports could be written on the back of a baseball card. He knew cows, horses, how to rodeo and run a ranch.

  As for teenage boys, he knew as much about them as he knew about women, and that wasn’t saying much.

  He left the porch, following Beau at a slower pace. He was making a mess of things, but he knew he couldn’t fix sixteen years of wrong right away.

  Beau straddled the top rail of one of the corrals. Jack rested his arms on top, staring at the moon rising in the distance.

  “Do your grandparents know you’re here?”

  “Yeah. Pastor Mike made me call them last night.”

  “Are you planning on staying long?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  Pecos, the gelding Jack had ridden since he was just a few years older than Beau, came toward him, looking for a handout. He didn’t have carrots, an apple, or even a sugar cube. Instead, he rubbed the horse’s jaw, wishing it would be that easy to smooth things over with Beau.

  “I was sixteen,” Jack said, “the same age as you are now, when you were born.”

  “So,” Beau snapped. “I wouldn’t give up my kid, no matter how young I was.”

  “I’m not saying what I did was right, but I can’t change that now, and apologizing isn’t going to make up for sixteen years of us being apart.”

  “I don’t think anything can make up for all that time.”

  “If you felt that way, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  Jack gave the boy a nudge with his arm. “By the way, I heard you hitchhiked all the way here. You can get killed out on the road. Don’t do it again.”

  There was rage in Beau’s eyes when he glared at Jack. “What gives you the right to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

  “I could tell you I’m your father, and you have to do what I say, but you know as well as I do that I gave up all my rights to you a long time ago.”

  “Pretty shitty thing to do to your kid, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Jack threw back. “But that’s history. The way I see it now, we’re starting from scratch. I’ve got to earn your respect, and you’ve got to earn mine. And don’t think I’m going to coddle you, tell you something’s right when it’s wrong, or let you do whatever you want, just because you think I owe it to you.”

  “Maybe I should go back home.”

  “If that’s what you want, go.”

  Hell! He didn’t mean that, but it was too late to take it back now. He could already see the anger in Beau’s face.

  “Fine. I shouldn’t have come in the first place.” He jumped down from the corral and headed for the house, but Jack caught his arm and brought him to a halt. The boy struggled, but Jack didn’t let go.

  “Why did you come?” Jack asked.

  “What does it matter?”

  “If you came to tell me you hate me, go right ahead. You’re more than justified.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Tears built up in the corners of Beau’s eyes, and he turned away, wiping them with the back of his hand. Jack watched the boy’s shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. Slowly, he looked back. “I just wanted a chance to see you, to find out what you were like.”

  Jack swallowed the hard, heavy lump that had formed in his throat. “I’m not an easy man to know.”

  “Well, guess what. I’m not an easy kid to like.”

  The television blared through the house when Jack walked inside. It was Saturday night, and that meant Mike and Crosby had a date in front of the TV. Ever since Mike’s wife had passed away four years ago, he’d come up to the house in the evenings. In the beginning he’d done it to fight off the loneliness. After a year or so he said he came in an attempt to save Crosby’s ornery soul, but when those efforts failed, he’d settled into the comfortable routine of keeping the old man company.

  Jack liked having him around. Mike had been his friend for thirty-two years. They’d grown up together on the ranch, been taught in a one-room schoolhouse together, and gotten in trouble together when they were young. They’d taken separate paths when they’d grown up. Jack wanted to make money; Mike wanted to be a minister. Six years earlier, when Jack’s dad left the ranch for Santa Fe, Mike’s folks, who’d spent a lifetime working with and for Reece Remington, went with him. That’s when Mike
and his wife moved from town to the ranch, taking over the log home where Mike had been raised.

  If he’d looked forever, Jack couldn’t have found a better manager or a better friend. He’d been at Jack’s side after Beth had died and when he’d given up his child. Jack had been at Mike’s side through his wife’s illness, through her death. As far as Jack was concerned, Mike was family—and he’d do anything for those he loved.

  Mike was as devoted to Jack and the ranch as he was to his God. Jack liked the combination—although he didn’t always like the preaching.

  “How did it go?” Mike asked, catching sight of Jack and following him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

  Jack slung his garment bag across the bed. He didn’t want to talk but knew Mike would hound him until he did.

  “I would have preferred getting thrown and gouged by a bull.”

  Mike leaned against the doorjamb. “It’s not going to get any easier.”

  “Beau pretty much said the same thing.” Jack unzipped the bag and pulled out his newest tux. “Did you know he got kicked out of school last year?”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When I talked to Mrs. Morris last night, she told me Beau’s had a three-point-nine average for the last two years, just made captain of the baseball team, and was thinking about being a doctor, like his grandpa.”

  Jack stopped unpacking. The kid had lied to him, but Jack chalked that up to anger. What he didn’t understand, though, was why the boy would give up so damn much to come to Wyoming, especially to find a man who’d never been a part of his life.

  “Was coming here a surprise to his grandparents?” Jack asked. “Or had he been talking about it for a while?”

  “A surprise. He didn’t show up at school on Tuesday, and when they called to check up on him, Mrs. Morris found a note on his bed saying he was going to find his dad.”

  “Has he said much to you about his reasons for coming?”

  “Not much. He’s got a stubborn streak. Takes after you, I imagine.”

  Jack refused to comment. Mike was trying to make light of something that was resting far too heavy on his soul. “Any idea why he’d lie to me about school?”

  “He’s a teenager. How can anyone know what’s going on inside his head. The way I see it, Jack, you’re just gonna have to talk to the kid and find out.”

  “He’s not big on talking.”

  “Neither are you.”

  Jack heard Crosby approaching long before he reached the room. He had a distinct, limping walk, and a habit of clearing his throat just before beginning a conversation. “You two havin’ a party in here?”

  “Just shooting the breeze,” Mike stated, as Cros hobbled across the room and plopped down on the bed.

  “Talkin’ about that boy’s more like it.” He aimed his rheumy eyes at Jack. “Spittin’ image of you when you was a kid. Sure in hell hope he don’t have the same temperament, though. You was a piss-poor excuse for a man at that age.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” Jack unloaded a pair of shoes from the bag and tossed them into the closet, wondering why in the hell he couldn’t get any privacy in his own home.

  “You going to keep him around?” Crosby asked.

  “Were you thinking I’d toss him out?”

  Crosby scratched the stubble on his wrinkled face. “Your pa and I wanted to toss you out a time or two. If Mike’s ma hadn’t caterwauled about you being a good kid under all that hate you was carrying around, we might have.”

  Mike laughed, and Jack aimed a scowl in his direction. “Seems to me you were a pain in the butt when you were sixteen, and that you might have ended up in jail if you hadn’t found God and a good wife.” Jack ripped the second tux from the bag. “As for you, Cros, I’ve been thinking about replacing you. Lauren has a cook who fixes eggs Benedict for breakfast. That sure as hell sounds better than burned biscuits.”

  “Replace me and you’ll lose the only sensible person on this spread.”

  Crosby pulled a woman’s shoe from the garment bag and dangled it on a bent index finger. “What the hell is this? You cross-dressin’ these days?”

  Jack snatched the redhead’s rhinestone shoe from Crosby’s hand and tossed it back into the bag, but not before Crosby got his fingers around the silky white gown. “A dress, too? Your pa told me that Palm Beach was full of crackpots, but I never thought you was one of them.”

  “It’s a long story, and you’re the last man on earth I’d share it with. Besides, isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  “S’pose.” Crosby struggled to rise. Neither Jack nor Mike helped. They both knew the old man didn’t want any fuss. He was eighty-two going on a hundred and ten, but he wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture—and Jack was in no hurry to have him go.

  “You coming for breakfast in the morning?” Crosby asked Mike.

  “Are you serving burned biscuits?”

  “The best ones in eastern Wyoming.”

  “I’ll be here then.”

  Jack waited to hear Crosby’s boots on the stairs, then turned his head to Mike. “Okay, you saw the shoes and dress, so what questions are on your mind?”

  “Why are they in your bag and not Arabella’s?”

  “There is no Arabella.”

  “Seems to me you were engaged yesterday morning. What happened?”

  “In Arabella’s words, I’m self-centered, I have very little class, and I don’t have any idea how to treat a woman.” Jack laughed for the first time since last night. He grabbed one of the rhinestone shoes and looked at Mike. “Arabella did have one more thing to say.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m a son of a bitch.”

  Mike grinned. “Did she tell you all that before or after Lauren’s party last night?”

  “Way before. She didn’t go to Palm Beach.”

  Mike glanced at the shoe Jack was holding. “Then where did that come from?”

  Jack collapsed in a chair at the far side of his room, took a cigar from the humidor, and aimed his eyes at Mike. “I have a story to tell you, and knowing what an upstanding, ethical, and righteous man you are, you’re not going to like it.”

  six

  Sam set the latte-to-go on the bar, counted the handful of change the customer dumped into her palm, and sorted it into the cash register. The work was easy, mindless, and that’s pretty much what she needed this afternoon. For the past two weeks, ever since she’d gotten fired from Antonio’s, she’d worked six hours a day at the Espresso Nook, and waited tables at Denny’s from eight at night until four in the morning, taking on extra hours whenever she could get them. Today, she was bone tired.

  Leaning against the counter, she watched her coworker, Maryanne, slice into a decadent, five-layer chocolate mousse cake and decided that’s what she would have for lunch. The caffeine in the cake and the three or four mochas she’d drink during the day would help her get by until she could catch a bite of dinner at Denny’s.

  She was thinking about a well-done patty melt with extra cheese and grilled onions, when Maryanne started talking. “I went out with Sean last night.” Maryanne slid the knife underneath the piece of cake. “Gorgeous guy. Great butt, nice mouth. He says he’s a lawyer, but I’ve got my doubts. He’s got a friend if you’re interested.”

  “Not interested,” Sam told her. Even if she was, how could she squeeze a date into her schedule?

  Maryanne eyeballed the customers to make sure no one was looking and stuck her fingers in her mouth, licking off the whipped cream and dark chocolate after she put the piece of cake onto a plate. “Umm. This reminds me of last night. Let me tell you about Sean’s mouth…”

  Sam closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the soft purr of Maryanne’s voice. When she opened them again, the plate of dessert was gone and Maryanne was glaring at her, her arms folded under her double-A breasts.

  “Better not let the boss catch you napping.” Maryanne smiled, shoved a cup
of steaming coffee in Sam’s hands, and stared at her again. “You look awful. How much sleep have you gotten in the past week?”

  “Enough.”

  “One of these days you’re going to collapse, face first, into one of these desserts, and let me tell you, it’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

  “If you see me falling, do me a favor. Point me in the direction of something chocolate.”

  They both laughed, and Sam went back to work, thinking there were worse ways to die, like falling asleep and drowning while she was cleaning one of the toilets at the KOA campground west of town.

  That was another job she’d taken on, although she wasn’t earning any money for her work. She’d made a deal with the managers. She’d clean the bathrooms every morning in exchange for a place to shower and change clothes, do her laundry, and park her car. She imagined they knew what else she was doing, but they never said a word, not even when they’d found her in the TV room sleeping through the Today Show. Twice she’d taken advantage of the swimming pool and once she’d joined a few vacationing families for a game of volleyball. Sleeping in the bug under the shade of some big old palms, or even dozing in the KOA’s TV room, sure beat grabbing a nap in the back room of Antonio’s.

  With any luck, she’d have Johnnie Russo paid off in two weeks and two days. Of course, luck would have to come in the form of hundred-dollar bills raining down from the sky—thirty-seven of them to be exact. After sending Johnnie the sixty-one hundred she’d earned for her foolish night with Jack Remington, she thought the payoff on her contract was only two thousand. Unfortunately, Johnnie had a unique way of figuring interest, and she hadn’t had the courage to argue when he’d hit her with the new figure over the phone last week.

  Of course, two thousand dollars would be just as hard to come by as thirty-seven hundred, but worrying about it now wasn’t going to keep her employed.