by Patti Berg
Noticing crumbs and spilled cocoa on the counter, she took a wet cloth and started wiping up the mess, moving to the front of the baked-goods display case to make sure the glass sparkled from the customer’s point of view. When the bell over the door rang, she turned.
“Oh, my God!”
She jerked around, whipped off her apron, threw it and the washcloth at Maryanne, fluffed her hair, and whispered. “You don’t know me.”
Maryanne frowned. “What on earth?”
Sam put a silencing finger to her lips. “Please. Pretend I’m a customer.”
Maryanne shrugged.
“I’ll have a mocha, please,” Sam said, emphasizing the last word and half-frowning, half-pleading for Maryanne to go along with her charade.
Maryanne leaned against the counter, getting close to Sam’s face. “That makes three in the past two hours.”
“I know,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “But—”
“Arabella?”
Sam swallowed her anxiety, and turned slowly when she heard the familiar voice. She forced a smile to her nervous lips. “Lauren!”
A pair of arms flew around her. “Oh, my gosh. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see you again so soon. What on earth are you doing in Florida?”
“It’s a long story. Why don’t I tell you over a cup of coffee,” Sam said in a rush of words. “My treat.”
“I’d kill for a double iced mocha with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.” Lauren studied the contents of the display case. “One of those éclairs would be nice, too. I’ve been shopping for hours, and you can’t imagine how beat I am. Thought it would be nice to get off my feet for a bit.”
“I know how exhausting shopping can be. As for me, well, I just got out of bed,” Sam lied, coming up with a quick excuse to explain her sleepy-eyed appearance, while trying to think up some reason for being in West Palm Beach instead of Denver, where the real Arabella belonged. “Why don’t you grab a table? I’ll get the coffee.”
Lauren walked across the room, all grace and elegance packed into a curvaceous size sixteen. Sam watched her while she absently ordered the mochas and dessert, thinking Jack’s sister looked like a zillion dollars in a sky-blue silk shantung pantsuit, not to mention the Richard Tyler beaded satin sandals. Sam made a mental note to check out How Tacky in two or three months—if Johnnie Russo hadn’t disposed of her by then—to see if this latest fashion had made it from some rich lady’s closet to the discard pile.
“Who’s that?” Maryanne whispered, capturing Sam’s attention. “And why is she calling you Arabella?”
“I can’t explain right now. But please, pleeeze,” she begged, “don’t give me away.”
“You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?”
Sam shook her head rapidly. “Of course not. Now do me a favor and fix the mochas, okay? One other favor. Don’t charge me for anything. Please?”
Maryanne went along with the game, and while she was working on the drinks, Sam took a deep breath and found a seat across from Lauren.
Her hair was perfect. Soft, light brown tresses hung just to her shoulder in the sleekest style Sam had ever seen outside a copy of Vogue. Her fingernails were perfect, not too long, not too short, and were painted a pastel pink. Her eye makeup was exquisite, her skin without flaw, and she was the last person on earth Sam had ever expected to walk into the Espresso Nook.
Tell her about the masquerade, Sam told herself. If you don’t, you’re going to end up in one heck of a mess. But she couldn’t. If Jack hadn’t told his sister the truth, he must have had a good reason. He’d paid her good money to play his fiancée. What could it possibly hurt to keep up the sham a little while longer?
Besides, she liked Lauren. The night of the party she’d made Sam feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. She’d treated her like a sister, and she’d always wanted a sister. She’d wanted close friends, too, but she and her mama had rarely settled in one place long enough to make lasting friendships. When she was older, people shied away when they knew her background or met her mother. She didn’t hold any of that against her mama; she never would.
Right now, though, she wanted to take advantage of the situation. She wanted to sip coffee and gab with the woman sitting across from her, a woman who was one of the nicest people she’d ever met, a person she’d want for her sister if she had a choice.
She only hoped by doing so neither one of them would get hurt.
“So,” Sam said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, “do you really want to know what I’m doing in West Palm Beach?”
“I have a pretty good idea already,” Lauren told her. “Chip, my first husband, advised me—in strictest confidence, of course—that you have friends in West Palm Beach. He also told me you were very outspoken in sticking up for those people.” Lauren smiled warmly. “Chip’s a snob. Always has been; always will be. He thinks the main reason we got divorced was because of his preoccupation with horse racing, but the biggest reason is that I got tired of his elitist attitude. What possessed me to marry him is anyone’s guess. Where I come from we don’t treat people that way, so I’m glad you attempted to put him in his place. Not many people would.”
“It was a pleasure, I assure you.”
“Now,” Lauren said, “tell me why you haven’t called.”
Think fast, Sam told herself, almost letting out a sigh of relief when Maryanne approached, giving her a brief reprieve. For some reason, pretending to be Arabella didn’t seem so easy today.
Maryanne put the mochas and dessert on the table, and Sam swallowed a hot gulp that burned her insides. She looked at Lauren through the steam. As sweet and special as she had been at the party, Lauren had pretty much faded from Sam’s mind in the past two weeks. Jack—tall, hard-muscled, sexier-than-all-get-out and the best kisser on the face of the earth—she hadn’t forgotten at all.
“I’d planned to call,” Sam finally said, hoping she sounded sincere, hoping Lauren wouldn’t hear the anxiety in her voice. “I flew in for just a couple of days, to visit my friend Maryanne. That’s her behind the counter. We met in summer camp when we were kids, and we’ve stayed in touch ever since.” She took a breath, then continued with her hastily made-up tale. “Last night we celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday, and, well, that’s the reason I look the way I do right now. Not enough sleep, a little too much celebrating.”
“Champagne?”
“Beer. To be perfectly honest, I prefer it to champagne,” Sam said, although she rarely imbibed either. “I think sometimes Jack finds me a little too unsophisticated.”
“I imagine that’s why he fell in love with you. I’ve met some of his former girlfriends. They were far too much like the Chip Chasens of this world.”
“They were?”
“Hasn’t he told you about any of them?”
“Well, no. I haven’t told him much about my past, either.”
“How odd.” Lauren frowned. “Oh, well, I doubt Jack cares a thing about your past. I have to tell you, I was a little concerned when he first told me about you. I was expecting a gold digger, someone out to take Jack for half of what he’s got—and believe you me, he’s got a lot. But I watched the two of you together. So did Peter, and he was one hundred percent positive you were devoted to Jack. As for me, I’ve never seen my brother look at someone the way he looked at you.”
“What way was that?”
Lauren took a bite of éclair, then slowly licked the chocolate from her lips. “Like you were sweet cream and he wanted to lap up every drop.”
Sam felt a tremor of delight zinging around her insides. It was a fleeting moment of happiness, and then reality set in. Jack Remington had been her employer for a night. Nothing more. Right now, she was an actress, and she should pay attention to her role.
“I noticed Peter looking at you that way, too,” she fibbed, remembering the flash of disdain she’d seen in Peter’s eyes when he’d looked
at his fiancée. If Lauren was a real, honest-to-goodness friend, she might tell her how she felt about Peter, but it wasn’t her place.
Lauren’s eyes reddened at Sam’s comment, and she stared at her plate. Something was wrong in the relationship, Sam decided. But there was nothing she could do.
The pretty smile that seemed commonplace on Lauren’s face returned slowly. “Peter was a little out of sorts the night you met him,” she said. “We’d had a small argument before you and Jack arrived at the party, but…” She leaned across the table. “After everyone had gone, Peter gave me the most gorgeous emerald choker you have ever seen, and then he suggested I model it—and nothing else.”
Lauren sat back in her chair and fanned her face. “None of my other husbands ever asked me to do something like that.” She took another bite of éclair. “You know that Jack had Peter investigated, don’t you?”
Sam looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. “He’d mentioned something, but only briefly.”
“I could have murdered him. Can you imagine how horrid Peter felt? Maybe he was a playboy once upon a time, but I’m not exactly pure as the driven snow. Of course, Jack still acts like I’m ten years old and need his protection. He doesn’t trust me to make right choices, and he definitely doesn’t trust the men in my life.” She stabbed the éclair and sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be saying all this to you.”
“I don’t mind. I like hearing about Jack.”
“Well, he hasn’t trusted anyone since my mother and father got divorced. They promised us they wouldn’t pull me and Jack apart, but they did. I went with Mother, he stayed with our dad. And then there was that horrible time when Beth died and her parents moved away and took Beau with them, but I’m sure you know all about that.”
She didn’t, and she wanted to know, but she couldn’t ask about something so personal.
“And I can’t forget the fact that his first steak-house partner embezzled a whole bunch of money.”
Lauren took a deep breath, lifted her mocha to her lips, and looked over the top of the cup at Sam. “Suffice it to say, he isn’t too trusting. Sometimes he makes me so mad I could scream. Of course, he’s gone out of his way since we were kids to make sure I’m happy. My mother moved me from city to city as she moved from man to man. Jack stayed out west, but he made a point of calling me nearly every day to make sure I was okay. How could I possibly get upset with a brother like that?”
“It would be pretty hard.”
“That’s why I’m so happy he’s found you. You’re perfect for him, Arabella. Absolutely perfect.” She cut into her éclair, but ignored the delectable concoction on her fork. “By the way, when do you go home?”
“Tomorrow.” The moment Sam said tomorrow she regretted not saying today. “Very early tomorrow.”
“Then you could go to another birthday party tonight—with Peter and me.”
“I wish I could, but—”
“Let me guess, you haven’t got anything to wear?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“You can’t turn me down, Arabella. Not tonight. It’s my birthday we’re celebrating.”
Sam toasted Lauren with her cup of coffee. “Happy birthday. If I’d known, I would have gotten you a present.”
“Having you at the party would be the best present of all.”
Not if you knew the truth, Sam thought, feeling awfully crummy for continuing the lie.
“I can’t, Lauren. I didn’t bring a single fancy thing with me. You know how it is—no clothes, no party.” Sam hoped her statement would end the questioning.
“Nonsense. We could go shopping. Right now, as a matter of fact. My favorite boutique’s on Worth Avenue. I’m sure we could find something perfect for you to wear tonight. I might even get something new, too.”
“I’m not dressed for shopping. I’m a mess.”
“Don’t worry about any of that. I don’t think you could ever look anything but beautiful.” She lifted the fork to her mouth. “Jack’s got an account at my favorite boutique. He orders all of my gifts from there. You can charge whatever you want to him.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
Lauren frowned. “Why not?”
Think fast! “We plan on keeping separate accounts after we’re married, and I don’t expect him to buy things for me. Flowers, maybe. Dinner, of course. But not my clothes.”
A small smile tilted Lauren’s perfectly colored lips. “I honestly don’t see what there is to worry about. If you don’t want to put it on Jack’s account, you could open one yourself, or charge something. I doubt an outfit for the evening will cost much more than two, three thousand.”
“That would blow my entire budget.” For the rest of my life, she thought.
Lauren laughed. “A budget? You’re marrying my brother! If you don’t mind me butting in a bit, I think the two of you need to do some serious talking about your likes and dislikes and about the future, not to mention the fact that you’re on a budget—which is absolute nonsense. This afternoon I’m going to show you how to be the wife of a very rich man, and trust me, Jack won’t even blink an eye.”
Sam felt a sickly green color rising up her neck and tingeing her cheeks.
“Wouldn’t you and Peter like to celebrate alone?”
“We’ll do that after dinner.” A hint of desire gleamed in her eyes. “Peter has a special gift for me, something he wants to give me in private. Which reminds me, I should buy myself something for after dinner.” Lauren reached across the table and gently squeezed Sam’s hand. “Go shopping with me, Arabella. We didn’t have much time to talk at my engagement party, and there’s so much I want to know about you.”
Going anywhere with Lauren would be fun, but doing so was out of the question. “I’ll have to take a rain check. Besides having nothing to wear, Maryanne and I have plans tonight.”
“She could join us.”
“I don’t think so. She’s more a billiards kind of girl.”
“Now you’re sounding like a snob.” Lauren laughed, refusing to take no for an answer. She pushed back in her chair. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll talk to Maryanne.”
A bad case of anxiety ripped through Sam’s body. Her stomach churned, rumbled. She could feel sweat beading on the back of her neck even though the air conditioner was cranked down to sixty-eight.
Lauren was chatting animatedly with Maryanne, and when she headed back to the table, Maryanne grinned, as if the whole thing was some big joke, and she was thrilled to play along.
“It’s all set,” Lauren said. “You and I are going shopping right now. We’ll have another mocha at the boutique. Some wine, too, if that sounds good to you.”
“It sounds terrific,” she lied, “but what about my plans with Maryanne?”
“You were right. She is a billiards kind of girl and wasn’t the least bit interested in joining us at the country club. What a sweetheart she is. I can see why the two of you are such good friends. When I explained that we’re going to be sisters-in-law, and that we’d never had any time alone together, just to talk, she understood perfectly. I promised I’d have you back at her place by ten, and I always keep my promises. Now, come on. We’re going to have a ball.”
A ball? Right. Sam mentally calculated the number of parking tickets she’d have on her car when she got back to the coffee shop that night. She tried to think of a place she could reasonably picture as Maryanne’s home so she’d know where to have Lauren drop her off at ten. And she was wondering if she’d ever find a moment alone so she could find someone to take the first few hours of her shift at Denny’s.
Lauren chattered all the way to the zippy red Mercedes two-seater parked in front of a battered orange bug, but Sam didn’t hear a word she said. Instead, all she could hear was the constant refrain singing through her head: “What have I gotten myself into now?”
seven
Jack hunched over the ledger on his desk, making note of the numb
er of cows he and Mike had counted on the home range in the past week. The winter had been brutal, yet healthy newborn calves were spilling right and left. It was shaping up to be a record year for shipping in the fall.
Behind him he heard the ring of the fax. He was expecting his business partner—the creative genius behind the Remington steak houses—to send him a proposal for next year’s advertising budget. Jack didn’t know the first thing about running a restaurant. Hell, he couldn’t even grill a steak, but he knew how to make money. He left the day-to-day operation of the restaurants up to Ben Richman, but he kept an eye on income and expense. Where money was concerned, he trusted his own judgment and no one else’s.
He pushed back the heavy oak chair and went to the fax, laughing when he saw the name of a familiar Palm Beach boutique on the invoice that came through. Over the years, he’d ordered dozens of gifts for his sister from Michel’s, and rarely a week went by that she didn’t purchase another trinket or two and send the bill to Jack. Lauren had more money than she knew what to do with, but she still got a kick out of spending his money on frivolous things.
Tearing his gaze from the invoice, he stood at the window and watched Beau practicing his roping skills on a fence post and anything that walked by. Poor old Rufus seemed to get the brunt of it, but the dog kept going back for more.
In the two weeks Beau had been at the ranch, Jack had taught his son how to ride everything from a swayback, aging mare, to a cantankerous stallion, how to rope almost like a pro, and how to handle a Stetson. The boy was a natural at everything. He listened. He learned. But he didn’t say much. Jack didn’t either. The relationship was strained, at best, and Jack didn’t have any idea how to make it better.
Maybe he should take up shopping, he thought. Hell, his sister seemed to take comfort in buying unnecessary frills. He tore the invoice from the fax machine. What had she purchased now? Emanuel Ungaro dress: $3,850; Gucci shoes and purse: $972; Voyage bra and panties: $320.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head—$320 for underwear. Damn! He ordered boxers from JC Penney’s, and he could wear a new pair nearly every day for the next three months and still not pay as much as she had for a few skimpy pieces of silk.