by Patti Berg
“Beau was crying. Beth was screaming for help.” He dragged in a deep, trembling breath. “My leg was broken, but I don’t remember any pain. All I remember was getting to the pickup, smelling the fuel, and seeing the blood and tears on Beth’s face. Her legs were trapped beneath the dashboard, and she couldn’t get loose. I needed to help her, but I had to get Beau to safety before I could do anything else. She begged me not to leave her, and I promised I’d be right back.
“I remember the truck driver running toward me, asking if there was anything he could do. I just gave him the baby to hold, and started to run back. But it was too late. Too damn late.”
There were tears in his eyes when he turned toward her. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. “I’m not going to lose Beau,” he told her. “I’m not going to lose you, either, Sam.”
He cupped her cheeks in his palms and kissed her softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in love. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like,” he said. His gaze was warm. The sorrow was gone from his eyes, and they were filled with other things now. Hope—which she knew all about, tenderness, and something wonderful that she hadn’t seen from a man before.
“I love you, Sam. God, how I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck and holding him close.
“Remember me telling you about my dream, about being happy with what I had?”
“Of course I remember. I thought it was the best dream in the entire world.”
“Something was missing from that dream, though. Something I hadn’t been able to find, you know, like a missing puzzle piece. But I’ve found it now. You’re the missing piece, Sam, and you fit perfectly.”
“I do?” she asked, unable to keep her tears from falling.
“You do,” he said softly. “Marry me, Sam.”
It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem real, but Jack Remington had just made all her hopes and dreams come true.
“I always wanted to fit in somewhere, to be part of someone’s dream,” she said. “I can’t imagine a better one to marry into.”
Jack’s eyebrow rose. “I take it that’s a yes?”
She nodded, and tried to smile through all her tears. “I love you, Jack.”
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, softly, sweetly, warm, and oh so very tenderly. For the first time in her life she was in love, really and truly in love, and it felt heavenly.
“Mr. Remington.” A woman’s voice startled both of them.
“Is it Beau?” Jack asked, worry lining his brow as he stared at the lady in pale green scrubs.
“His vital signs are good. He’s not awake yet, but you could have a few minutes with him if you’d like.” She looked at Sam. “Just one of you—for now.”
Jack looked in Sam’s eyes. “This has turned out to be a pretty great day after all.” He brushed a kiss across her lips, and Sam watched him talking with the doctor as they went down the hall.
Sam went to the window and stared out at the sky. She remembered a night like this six months ago. She’d been in a hospital then, too, holding her mother’s nearly lifeless hand. “Is it cloudy outside, honey?” she’d asked, using every last ounce of strength to talk to her daughter.
“No, Mama. The stars are shining big and bright.”
Sam remembered the gentle squeeze her mother gave her hand. “Since the clouds aren’t in the way anymore, maybe I can touch a star.”
“You can, Mama. I know you can.”
“I want the stars for you, too, honey. I just never knew how to give them to you.”
She’d gasped for breath, but she never finished. She closed her eyes as if she were falling asleep.
And then she was gone.
Sam wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’ve touched the stars, Mama,” she whispered. “Thanks for leading me to them.”
Somehow Sam slept. She’d wanted to stay awake for Jack, for Beau, but sometime in the middle of the night, when Jack made one of his brief but frequent trips to Beau’s room, she closed her eyes. When she felt the cushion shift beside her on the sofa, she opened her eyes. Jack wrapped an arm around her. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“What time is it?”
“Not quite two.”
“Is Beau awake yet?”
He shook his head, weaving his fingers through hers. “It could be hours. Why don’t you try to sleep again.”
“You don’t mind?”
He kissed her temple and shook his head.
She rested against his shoulder and with one hand pressed against his chest felt the steady rhythm of his heart, a heart that would always beat next to hers. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Jack was gone. It was six-thirty. More doctors and nurses bustled through the halls now.
Rising, she went to the nurse’s station and asked where she could find Beau’s room. “Could I see him?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have two of you in there, but don’t stay long.”
She walked down the hall, stepped through the open door, and saw Jack sitting in a chair next to Beau’s bed. His legs were widespread and he rested his elbows on his knees. He watched his son.
“Mind if I come in?”
He looked up and smiled.
She stood behind him, and he rested his head against her chest. “How’s he doing?” she asked.
Beau’s eyelids fluttered. “I hurt,” he mumbled.
A lump froze in Sam’s throat as Jack reached for his son’s hand. “You had us worried for a while.”
Beau opened his swollen eyes. “I did?”
“Yeah. Pretty nasty accident you got yourself into.”
“Are you mad at me?”
Jack shook his head as Beau’s eyes closed, then opened again. “I was, but not anymore.”
Sam put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’ll be outside.”
“You don’t have to go,” Beau said.
“The two of you have things to talk about.” She touched her fingers to her lips and pressed them against Beau’s cheek, never more thankful to see anyone awake. Brushing a soft kiss across Jack’s mouth, she whispered, “I love you,” then left the room.
Jack wished Sam was still at his side. He could use the moral support. He’d kept things from Beau far too long. It was time to tell him everything.
“I’m sorry about the truck,” Beau said. “I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s insured. So are you—but you can’t be replaced.”
A weak smile touched Beau’s bruised and swollen lips. “You mean that?”
“Never meant anything more in my life.”
“Do my grandparents know about the accident?”
“I called them almost twenty-four hours ago. I imagine they’ll be here to see you sometime soon.”
Beau looked toward the window. “Are they going to take me back to LA?”
“They want to, but I told them the decision’s yours.”
“I don’t want to make that decision.”
“If you leave it up to your grandparents, they’ll have you back in LA in a couple of days.”
Turning his head on the pillow, Beau looked Jack straight in the eyes. “I want you to make the decision.”
In sixteen years, he’d made only two decisions for his son. He’d given him a name—he’d picked his grandfather’s, a loving man with a generous heart. And he gave his son away—because he’d wanted to forget the best and the worst parts of his life.
This time he prayed he’d make the right decision.
“You’re staying with me, Beau.”
Beau sniffed back a tear, and Jack leaned over and kissed his son, just below the bandages on his forehead. “I love you, Beau,” he whispered. “I always have. I always will.”
“Me too, Dad.”
twenty-one
Lauren relaxed on the living-room sofa, thankful that Beau was out of danger, relieved that Jack had called her at the ran
ch to share the wonderful news. Her nephew had to be the most adorable young man on the face of the earth, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. As for her brother, he meant more to her than anything or anyone. Seeing Jack in despair had been more painful than either one of her divorces, far more distressing than her breakup with Peter.
Fortunately, Beau was recovering nicely, and now that she didn’t have to worry about her nephew or big brother, she could get back to the job at hand: planning a wedding.
Taking a sip of coffee, she flipped through the pages of Bride magazine, ripping out pictures of gowns that she knew would look absolutely perfect on Arabella.
Or was her name really Sam?
It had seemed so odd to hear Jack call his fiancée Sam. Whiskey, she could understand. But a man’s name? Perhaps the mistake should be forgiven, considering the horrid circumstances he’d been facing in that dreadful waiting room yesterday, but as soon as she and Mike got to the hospital this afternoon, she’d have a talk with her brother about his little slip. Heavens, she’d be mortified if the man she loved called her by the wrong name.
What if Jack accidentally did it on his wedding night or at the altar? No, she couldn’t let that happen. It would spoil all her plans for the wedding and reception.
She’d already made out a guest list, then crossed off her ex-husband, Chip. She’d hesitated at Peter Leighton. Should he be invited? Shouldn’t he? She’d drawn a thin black line through his name, stared at what she’d done, and rewritten her ex-lover’s name at the bottom of the list just in case she changed her mind.
That was a woman’s prerogative, after all.
As for where Arabella and Jack would get married, she’d already decided that, too. Her home in Palm Beach was the only place that would do. Arabella would look stunning gliding down the curving, pink-marble staircase. And even though the caterer for her last engagement party had mistakenly hired an inebriated ice carver who specialized in pornographic figures, he was the best in Palm Beach and the only one who could provide the cake, the hors d’oeuvres, and wine. Charles, her butler, had been instructed to have the house cleaned from top to bottom, and she’d talked with an aviary about renting doves and lovebirds to release when Arabella and her brother said, “I do.”
This wedding would be the most glorious event in Palm Beach history.
Arabella and Jack were both going to be thrilled.
The phone rang, momentarily pulling her thoughts away from what color china to use at the reception. “Charles,” she called out. “Could you—” Oh, dear, she’d nearly forgotten she wasn’t at home. Tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, she crossed the room and answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
“Jack Remington, please.”
Lauren didn’t like the sound of the woman’s voice. There was a certain rudeness to her tone, like so many of the women Jack had associated with before meeting Arabella. “I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Could I have him call you back?” she asked, plucking a pen from the pencil holder next to the phone.
The woman at the other end of the line heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Tell Jack I’m getting married tomorrow. Tell him I found a man who knows how to treat a real woman.”
Lauren stared at the receiver. What a crazy message. Still, she wrote it down word for word. “Is that it?”
“Yes. Of course, you could also tell him that I still think he’s a son of a bitch.”
Must be an old lover, Lauren thought. “Could I tell him who called?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Why should I? You don’t know who I am.”
“I’m Jack’s ex-fiancée. Arabella.”
The pen slipped out of Lauren’s fingers and rolled across the desk. “Arabella Fleming?”
“As far as I know, I’m the only Arabella Jack has ever been engaged to.”
“But I thought—”
“Who is this?” the woman interrupted, her tone sharp.
“Lauren,” she said softly, almost too stunned to speak. “Jack’s sister.”
“Oh.” The woman’s word was clipped. “Sorry I missed your engagement party. Jack wanted desperately for me to be there, but considering the state of our relationship at the time, I couldn’t possibly go. You understand, I’m sure.”
“Of course, I do.” But there were many other things she didn’t understand. “I’ll make sure Jack gets your message—Arabella.”
Lauren hung up the phone. She walked across the room, absently picked up Bride, and sat on the sofa. She stared at the pretty woman on the cover, at the baby’s breath and rosebuds, the white satin and lace, and all of it became a blur.
Who was the woman pretending to be Arabella Fleming? she wondered. What was Jack up to and why?
And how could her brother and that woman—Sam, or Whiskey, or whatever her name was—put on such a wonderful act of being in love?
A terrible knot of sadness squeezed her heart. Jack may have thought he had a good reason for his foolish scheme, but in the long run, she felt deceived. Worse yet, for the first time ever, he’d hurt her.
Jack rented a room at the Holiday Inn. He hadn’t wanted to leave Beau’s side, but his son was resting comfortably, and the doctors and nurses were watching over him, providing the best of care. He’d spirited Sam away from the hospital in the middle of her protest. She hadn’t wanted to leave Beau either, but he’d insisted. She needed rest. She needed comfort.
He doubted he could have made it through the past twenty-four hours without her. She’d stood at his side every moment, offering him compassionate support and gentle strength. It seemed second nature to her. The hardships in her life had made her strong. Now, he wanted to spend a lifetime taking care of her, giving her everything she deserved.
Especially his love.
And right now, he desperately needed to love her.
“Are you tired?” he asked her, as she went to the bed and turned back the covers.
“A little.” She smiled softly, the kind of smile that had made him want her the very first time he’d seen her, the kind of smile that whispered I love you, I need you, and begged for a response.
“Come here,” he whispered.
She didn’t ask why, she simply walked toward him. He clutched the bottom of her sweater and drew it over her head, tossing it somewhere across the room. “There’s something I need to tell you about myself,” he said, releasing the catch at the front of her bra. “I don’t need a whole lot of sleep. Never have. Doubt that I ever will.” He slipped the bra away and let it fall to the floor, at last cupping her sweet, wonderful breasts in his palms. “I might be keeping you awake a lot at night.”
“Is that a promise?”
He nodded, popped the top button on her jeans, and slid open the zipper. Pushing his hands under her panties, he cupped the soft, smooth flesh on her bottom and pulled her hard against his hips. “I need a promise from you, too, Sam.”
“Anything.”
She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, pressing soft kisses to each speck of skin as it became exposed. “First, don’t ever stop doing just what you’re doing,” he told her, wanting her to make love to him with her eyes, her lips, her smile every day for the rest of their lives. “Second, don’t ever leave me.”
The intensity of her frown startled him. “Why would I do something crazy like that?”
“Remember that investigation?”
“Remember? There’s a possibility I might never forget.” She studied his eyes, obviously trying to read what was in them. “You didn’t by any chance get another report—”
He kissed her to silence, tasting the sweet lips he knew he’d never get tired of. When she sighed, when he felt her fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, he went back to his question, one that had bothered him for days. “I didn’t get another report. Like I told you before, Wes Haskins isn’t working for me any longer. But, that original report made it perfectly clear that you’re not big on sticking around any one place too long. I’ve
been worried that you might have a tendency to get bored with everything after a while.”
“Do you really think you might bore me?”
“I’ve been known to bore other women. Arabella, for one.”
“Did you ever lasso her?”
“No.”
“Did you ever make her do a strip tease for you?”
“No.”
“Did you ever hire her to be your fiancée for a night?”
“No.”
She smiled that special smile again as she tugged his shirt from his jeans. “Well, Jack, I guess those women weren’t as lucky as me.” She uncinched his belt buckle and trailed her finger along the edge of his waistband. “I guess they didn’t know you as well as I know you, either, because you’re the least boring man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not a son of a bitch?”
“No.”
“And you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Then promise me one more thing, Sam,” he said, dragging her up his body, loving the feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest.
“Anything,” she answered, her pretty brown eyes sparkling.
“Don’t ever learn about stock, or mergers and acquisitions, because those things are boring as hell.”
She smiled. “I promise.”
He kissed her, and Sam thought she’d gone to heaven. He had the most delightful way of swirling his tongue around hers, sliding it over her teeth and her lips, then teasing her with feathery kisses and soft nips as he worked his way down her neck.
How he got her to the bed was anyone’s guess. How he managed to get her out of her clothes without her feeling anything but his kisses all over her body, and how he managed to strip down to his glorious skin was nothing short of a miracle. But suddenly she was lying on a firm, king-size mattress and he was stretched over her doing all sorts of delicious things with his mouth.
“Make love to me,” she begged. “Please.”
His blue-eyed smile sent heat rushing through her breasts. They tingled, hot and flaming, and then he nudged her legs apart and entered her in one powerful stroke that took her breath away.