Born to Be Wild

by Berg, Patti

  Until Max.

  Now, however, it was highly possible that he wouldn’t want to speak to her again. After all the things Charles had told her about what he’d done—carrying her out of Tattoo Annie’s and tucking her in bed—she should have called and at least said thanks. She should have called to tell him where she was going, but she’d just run away, needing time to sort out all the things going through her mind.

  Hiding in New York had been her way of protecting herself, her way of not saying yes to Max when she needed to say, “Someday.” It was her way of making sure she didn’t let him take over her life.

  But she couldn’t run away from Max or her fears forever. He was too firmly embedded in her mind and heart, and it looked like he was there to stay.

  The phone was ringing when she walked into the house, and she picked up the extension in the foyer. “Hello.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and she almost hung up, but then she heard Max’s voice. “So, you finally decided to come home, or have you been there all the time, refusing to take or return my calls?”

  She deserved his anger because he was good and kind and wonderful, and she’d been horrid.

  “I was in New York.” A lump formed in her throat when Max didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Max. I owe you an apology for so many things, it’s hard to know where to begin.”

  “Why not start by telling me why you left? I was under the impression things were going pretty good between us. I thought we’d get together Sunday night, or Monday night, or even last night, but hell, no, you went to New York.”

  “Things were going well. I don’t remember any time with any man ever being so special.”

  “So why’d you run away?”

  She sat down in a chair and stared at the cold marble floor. “I was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  She couldn’t tell him that she was afraid of a lot of things, like becoming someone different and losing friends who might not approve of her relationship with Max.

  All of those things were too complicated to talk about now, especially over the phone. Instead she told him the one thing that he could probably understand. “I’m scared of falling in love with you. I may have made some mistakes in my other relationships, but I was hurt every time one of them fell apart. If I give myself to you and things don’t work out, I don’t think I’ll recover as easily as I have in the past.”

  “So,” Max said, sighing in frustration, “what are you going to do? Tell me that you don’t want to see me again, because you don’t want to fall in love?”

  “No,” Lauren admitted. “I came back to tell you that I do want to see you again, whether we fall in love or not, whether you break my heart or not, because you’re worth taking a chance.” She wiped away an escaping tear, wishing he’d say something—afraid of his silence. “What about you, Max?” she asked. “Am I worth taking a chance on, too?”

  “I told you last Saturday night that I wanted you. That hasn’t changed.”

  A flutter of relief raced through her. “Then maybe we should start over again. Tonight, if you can get away. We could go to dinner, go dancing, or just sit on the beach and talk.”

  “I can’t tonight. I’ve got a flight to Phoenix in an hour and I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

  With some other man she might have considered the words a brush-off, but she heard the troubled tone in Max’s voice.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He was silent a moment, and then he sighed. “No, everything isn’t all right. I’m having troubles finding someone to take care of Jamie and Ryan while I’m gone.”

  Surely he wasn’t going to ask her? “What about Bear? Or Jazz or Gabe?”

  “Jazz has to work tonight and Gabe and Bear are out of town.”

  “Couldn’t somebody at the Hole watch them?”

  He was silent again. A deafening silence. And then he hit her. “I was thinking you could do it.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “But I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

  “They’re eleven and fourteen. They don’t need their diapers changed and they can eat pizza for dinner. I just need someone to stay with them to make sure they don’t get into any trouble.”

  From the little she’d seen of Ryan, he could be the poster boy for “Trouble,” and Jamie wasn’t the least bit crazy about Lauren tampering with Max’s affections. But there was something special about Max’s kids. She saw a little bit of herself in Jamie and a whole lot of Max in Ryan.

  How could she possibly turn Max down when he needed her help, especially after he’d come to her rescue more than once.

  “All right,” she said, apprehensive—but excited—at the prospect of being a makeshift mom for a day or two. “Just give me a few minutes to gather up a few things, and I’ll be right over.”

  “I owe you for this,” Max said, his voice filled with the warmth that Lauren had never known in other men.

  “You don’t owe me a thing,” Lauren said. “But if you insist on paying me back, I wouldn’t mind another dance.”

  “I’d like to give you more than that.”

  Lauren leaned back in the chair and smiled, thinking of all the delicious things Max could give her. “There’s really only one thing I want,” she told him.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You. Just you.”

  Thirteen

  The staring contest ended within half an hour. It started shortly after Ryan made it perfectly clear to Lauren that he didn’t want or need a baby-sitter. That was followed by Jamie’s declaration that she took care of Max and she didn’t want or need a rich woman moving in. All three of them sized each other up for twenty-seven minutes and twelve seconds. Lauren knew the exact time, because she’d continually looked at her watch, wondering how long it would be before Max returned.

  Finally Ryan turned on his Xbox— with the sound excessively loud on a shoot-em-up game—and Jamie took the vacuum cleaner from a closet and began cleaning floors. Apparently they thought the noise would drive Lauren out.

  They were wrong.

  Lauren smoothed out a wrinkle in her orchid print sundress as she lounged on the black leather sofa in Max’s family room. Crossing her legs, she flipped through an issue of Elle, raising her eyes only when she sensed Ryan or Jamie watching her, looking for just the right moment to strike.

  “Max has lots of girlfriends,” Jamie said, pushing the vacuum cleaner back and forth, dangerously close to Lauren’s toes.

  They’d had a similar conversation at Betsy’s wedding reception, but Lauren humored her. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. At least three or four a week ’cause he gets tired of the same old thing all the time.”

  “My dad was exactly the same way. After he divorced my mother, I think he dated every eligible woman in the state of Wyoming.” Jamie’s eyes widened in shock, as Lauren continued. “I didn’t get to spend much time with my father—or my mother—but when I did, I wanted them totally to myself.”

  Jamie nodded, obviously having the same sentiments.

  Lauren didn’t bother telling Jamie that after Reece Remington exhausted the women in Wyoming, he’d handed the ranch over to her brother Jack and moved to New Mexico because he needed fresh pickings.

  “My dad likes blonds,” Lauren said over the noise of the vacuum. “What about Max? Does he have a preference?”

  Jamie pushed the vacuum cleaner within a quarter of an inch of Lauren’s lavender spikes, but Lauren didn’t flinch a muscle. Jamie was not going to get the upper hand. With the vacuum roaring next to Lauren’s legs, Jamie stared over the handle at Lauren’s hair. “Max likes blonds, too,” she announced. “He thinks redheads are okay, but he doesn’t like brown hair.”

  Lauren drew a lock of her own hair forward and stared at it. Crossing her eyes gave her a headache, but Jamie would probably appreciate the fact that Lauren loo
ked ridiculous. “I’ve always considered this dark honey-blond,” she said. “Brown’s so drab.”

  Jamie switched off the vacuum and plopped down on the couch. “My mom had honey-blond hair. I don’t remember her much, but I think her hair was a lot lighter than yours.”

  “Honey-blond comes in all shades, light, dark, in between.” Lauren leaned close to Jamie and whispered. “Most of mine comes from a bottle.”

  A small smile touched Jamie’s lips. “I told Max I wanted to dye mine black so I’d look more like him, but he said no.”

  “Your hair’s much too pretty to dye.” Lauren threaded her fingers through the curly, pale blond ponytail. “I like your hairstyle, too, and your bangs are absolutely perfect. You must have a wonderful hairdresser.”

  Jamie giggled. “Max cuts it for me.”

  “Max cuts it?”

  “Yeah. He’s got an extra pair of really sharp kitchen scissors and every once in a while, he just whacks it off.”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve never been to a salon?”

  Jamie shook her head.

  How was this possible in this day and age? Lauren wondered. “Have you ever wanted to go?”

  Jamie’s shoulders rose and fell. “I never gave it much thought, and Max isn’t into frills.”

  “Well, we’re going to change all that.”

  Jamie frowned. “How?”

  “I’m going to make an appointment for you with Frederico.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The man who does my hair. And”—she lifted Jamie’s hands and stared at her blunt, chewed-off fingernails—“we’ll get your nails done, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, but first things first.”

  Lauren dropped her magazine on the glass and chrome coffee table and pushed up from the couch. “Ryan!”

  He tilted his head toward her, shooting her a withering glare. “What?”

  “It’s homework time,” Lauren announced, remembering that Max had left specific instructions that homework had to be done right after school. She’d let that rule slide for nearly an hour, which was definitely long enough. “You can play with your Xbox later.”

  “I’m in the middle of a game,” Ryan argued.

  “Which, I’m sure, you can get back to some other time.”

  “But I’ve got a high score.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Lauren emulated one of her boarding school teachers and tapped the toe of her shoe on the carpeting.

  Ryan offered her a long-winded sigh, then flipped off the game and TV. “I’ll do my homework in my room,” he said, and started to storm off.

  “Wait a minute, Ryan.”

  He turned around and glared. “What now?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t like school either.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “So.”

  “So, I got lousy grades because I didn’t do my homework. Then my mother married this old guy—his name was George Rhodes, not that that matters to you—but George was a whiz at math and history and when my mother and George were in town, which wasn’t often, he’d help me with my homework.”

  “Is there supposed to be a moral to this story?”

  Lauren smiled, touched by Ryan’s lack of charm and social skills. “Only that I didn’t mind doing my homework so much when someone was around to help me.”

  “Max is around.”

  “Do you let him help you?”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

  He frowned, his look suspicious, as if he was certain Lauren had something up her sleeve. “Can I go to my room now?”

  “If you want, but it’s going to be terribly boring for me the next couple of hours while you and Jamie are doing your schoolwork. I was thinking you might let me help—just so I’ll have something to do.”

  “All I have is history. I don’t think you want to help with that.”

  “I have to write an essay,” Jamie chimed in. “It can be on any subject. You can help me.”

  “Well,” Lauren said, smiling at Jamie and then at Ryan, “as I said, George was a whiz in history. Ask me a question, any question, and I’m sure I can answer it. As for essays, they’re only as good as the subject you pick, and I know an awful lot of interesting subjects. So, grab your books, we’ll get the homework done, and then we’ll pay a visit to Frederico and get Jamie’s hair done.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ryan blurted out. “I’m not going to do homework just so I can spend the rest of the night sitting in some old beauty shop.”

  “Frederico’s isn’t old, and I have no intention of taking you there,” Lauren shot right back. “Your hair’s perfectly fine. There is, however, a sports store next door.”

  “What do you know about sports?”

  “Absolutely nothing, although I’m a terrific spectator and I know how to yell with the crowd. However, I’ve made numerous purchases from this store for my nephew Beau, who’s just a few years older than you, and I’m acquainted with the owner. He used to play pro basketball, and if you can be civil for an hour, I’m sure he would give you some tips.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And all I have to do is my homework?”

  “I’d take you whether you did it or not,” Lauren said flat out. “But you know what? Max has got an awful lot on his mind right now, and I think it would be nice for him to come home and find that you’d done your homework and chores without me even suggesting it. What do you think?”

  This time Ryan’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “You mean you’re not going to tell him that I gave you a hard time?”

  Lauren smiled. “Have you given me a hard time?”

  His eyes rolled once again. “Okay, but you’d better be really good at history, because I’m lousy,” Ryan said, heading off to the kitchen.

  Lauren wasn’t about to tell him she was pretty lousy at history, too. They’d just have to fumble through it together.

  Jamie had already pulled out a notebook and was working away at the coffee table. “How can I help you, Jamie,” Lauren asked.

  “I’m pretty good at essays, but there is something else you can help me with.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come here.” Jamie tugged Lauren toward her bedroom, her small hand warm against Lauren’s palm, and a lovely feeling hugged her heart.

  Her good feelings nearly collapsed when she saw the horrid decorating scheme in Jamie’s room. The walls were plastered with posters of motorcycles and cars, when Lauren had fully expected to see frills.

  “This is your room?” Lauren asked.

  “I keep telling Max that I want posters of Justin Bieber and One Direction, but he seems to think I’m not quite ready to like boys.”

  “Are you?”

  Jamie wrinkled her nose. “They’re okay. I figure I’ll like them more in another six months or so, but my girlfriends all like boys, and it’s kind of embarrassing when they come in here and see all these posters.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Max about it?”

  “No,” Jamie said, “he’s not ready for me to make the leap from motorcycles to boys, so I’ll wait awhile.”

  “So what is it you wanted to show me?”

  “This,” Jamie said, her voice full of defeat when she pulled a white J. C. Penney’s bag from a drawer, opened it slowly, and drew out a plain white brassiere. “I needed a bra,” she said, her pretty blue eyes frowning as she dangled the horrendous piece of stretchy cotton on her finger. “Max and I went shopping on Sunday, and this is what he said I should get.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I told him we should go to Victoria’s Secret.”

  Lauren sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not quite ready for Victoria’s Secret,” she said, “but there’s a wonderful lingerie shop on Worth Avenue that carries the most divine bras and panties. I shop there all the time and I bet we could find something perfect in your size. A little lace. A little
silk. I think you’d look lovely in pink or green.”

  “I like lavender,” Jamie said softly.

  “Then that’s what we’ll get. Right after the homework’s done.”

  Jamie sat beside her on the bed. “You know what, Lauren?”

  “What?”

  “Max doesn’t really date a lot of women.”

  “Not even a stripper?”

  “Heck no!”

  What a relief.

  “And,” Jamie added, “I think he likes brown hair, even if it’s dyed.”

  Lauren smiled. She’d never been flattered quite so nicely. On top of that, she’d come to the conclusion that her instincts weren’t half bad, and she might even make a pretty good mother after all.

  Fourteen

  Max rolled down the window to let the warm spring air blow about him as he followed Harry’s directions to the house where Charlotte lived, just a twenty-minute drive from the Phoenix airport. Saguaro cactus and sand streaked by as he headed along the highway at seventy-five. He’d stopped in Phoenix ten years before, when he’d made his first trip to Hollywood to look for his brother and sister. He wondered if Charlotte had lived there then, if he might have seen her on that trip, and not even recognized her.

  He passed a run-down trailer park with a sign hanging lopsided over the entrance reading shady grove, reminding him of a trailer he’d lived in with his mom, dad, brother, and sister, a one-bedroom single-wide parked in the vacant lot behind the Boardwalk Tavern, where his mom waited tables.

  Max rarely allowed his mind to wander back to his childhood, to a father who drifted from one minimum-wage job to another until he drifted completely from sight.

  Larry Wilde had a heavy hand and a fast-action belt, and he’d used both whenever and wherever the mood struck, his target most often Max. His mom, Loretta, never raised her hand against her husband, never raised her voice. She just put up with the man.