Love, Lies and High Heels

by Debby Conrad

  They’d argued about the sleeping arrangements. She felt she should have the bed. He said they’d share it. Period. End of discussion. Needless to say, the man refused to give an inch. He was a pig-headed bully. And she’d told him so. For all the good it had done her.

  He’d called her a spoiled brat. Just because she’d experienced some of the finer things in life did not make her spoiled. If anything, she’d been cheated. She’d grown up in boarding schools, without her mother and father. Every time Natalie had divorced and re-married, off Rusty would go to a new school. She supposed some would say that she’d led a life of privilege, but it hadn’t felt that way to her.

  When she’d finished school, she’d bought several different houses in several different countries. And while she’d enjoyed them for a short time, none had felt like home. Living alone was just that, lonely.

  She’d longed for her father for years. She would have forgiven Sam for abandoning her, for not rescuing her from boarding school, if only he’d written and told her that he’d loved her, missed her, and asked her to visit him at the farm again. But he hadn’t. Her heart had ached, but eventually she’d gotten past it. To her, Sam had been just a vague memory.

  But now, she was going back to the farm. Back to Sam. Back to the only home she’d known as a child, even though her memory was foggy.

  Why was it so important to Sam that she be at his deathbed? Had he missed her all those years? Had his heart ached, too? If so, why hadn’t he called or written in twenty-one years?

  The bathroom door opened abruptly, flooding the room with light. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she pretended to sleep. It would be just like the cowboy to stand naked in the doorway, hoping to get a rise out of her. Well, he could stand there all night for all she cared; she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

  There was no doubt in Rusty’s mind that the man was in love with himself. He probably considered himself God’s gift to women, too. Galloway was extremely lean and muscular, and she had to admit he probably looked pretty damn good without his clothes. Not that she cared.

  She pried one eye open, but just for a quick peek. Just long enough to see that he’d dressed in his faded, blue jeans. But that was all. His wet hair was slicked back away from his forehead. Dark crinkly hair covered his bare chest and then tapered to a point just above the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders were wide and muscular, his waist trim. And boy, did he look good enough to eat!

  She rolled over and faced the center of the bed, the whole while pretending exhaustion.

  “Are you asleep?” he asked, flicking the bathroom light off and working his way toward the bed in the dark. There was a dull thud. “Ouch, dammit!” Obviously, he’d stubbed his toe on a piece of her luggage. And there was no doubt in her mind that he’d blame her.

  “Not anymore,” she responded.

  She felt his weight on the sagging mattress as he made himself comfortable. Somehow his weight made her slide toward the center. When her hand touched his warm bare chest, she jumped in surprise and tried to move back to her side of the bed.

  “What’s that smell?” he asked sharply.

  Rusty sniffed the air. Did he mean besides the scent of mold and mildew? “I don’t smell anything other than the stench in this room.”

  “No, not that.” He sniffed loudly. “You sprayed perfume to go to bed?”

  Lifting her head from the pillow, she stared at him in the darkness. Because of the green, neon light she was able to see his rugged face, the glint in his eyes, his bare chest and arms. “It’s lotion,” she explained. “I like to moisturize before bed.”

  He sniffed again.

  “What’s wrong? Do you find it offensive?”

  “No, but how the hell do you expect me to sleep?” he grumbled, then flipped onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.

  Rusty laid her head back and smiled in satisfaction. “Just try to remember who the scent belongs to. It’s my scent, and you’re not attracted to me in the least. I’m too skinny, remember? So, you should be able to sleep just fine.”

  He snorted. “Hardly. I saw you naked. Remember?” he taunted.

  She scooted to the other side of the bed and as far away from him as she could get, but because of the dilapidated mattress, and the cowboy’s weight, it was utterly impossible. Every time she managed to crawl to the edge, she’d slide back to the middle within seconds. Did she have to worry about him trying to cop a feel in the middle of the night, or worse?

  It took her a long time to fall asleep, but eventually sleep overcame her.

  Sometime during the night, she awoke to find not only Luke Galloway’s suede and sheepskin coat securely draped across her body, but his arm and leg as well. His face was buried in her hair and his breath tickled her neck. He was big, and he was warm. And the room was freezing cold. So cold she could see her breath. She had a feeling the rickety, old heater at the far end of the room had stopped working.

  Outside the wind howled, the air working its way from the window to their bed. So instead of waking the cowboy and ordering him to get off her, she welcomed his body heat and snuggled a little closer.

  In his dream he felt her moving against him, her backside tucked neatly against his erection. Luke pulled her shivering body even closer and held her tightly, enjoying the slight grinding of her hips. Breathing in her scent, he was almost asleep again. Back to his dream about Rusty. Until he realized it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Beneath the covers, his body was tangled with hers.

  She was so soft, so warm. She smelled like heaven. And she was Sam’s daughter.

  Christ. He flopped onto his back and flung the covers away. Rusty moaned in protest, but he pretended not to notice.

  What the hell had he been thinking? They should have taken turns in the bed, or better yet, he should have just let her have the damned thing. He could have sat up in the chair all night. It wasn’t as if he were going to get anymore sleep now anyway.

  Rolling over to face him, she reached for him. Her small manicured fingers played with the hairs on his stomach and chest as he watched with dismay. But her eyes remained closed. A small smile played on her lips as she caressed him while she slept. Then her head moved closer to his side and she nestled against him, her soft breath teasing his bare skin.

  Damn! What the hell was he supposed to do now? Toss her out of the bed? Not very likely. He could always pace the floor till morning. Or take another cold shower, like the one he’d had earlier. A lot of good that had done. He was just as hard now as he had been when he’d seen her naked.

  His choices being limited, he opted for choice four. Stay right where he was, even though it would be pure torture not being able to do anything more than hold her next to him. Swearing to himself, he slid down beneath the covers and cradled her against him. She moaned again, this time satisfactorily, leaving him wondering if she’d moan like that if he was deep inside her.

  Realizing how ridiculous he was being, he slammed his eyes closed and tried to force her from his mind. Although it wasn’t an easy task, he finally managed to doze off an hour before they had to get up.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was still painfully erect. Rusty was already up, dressed and standing with her back to him at the end of the bed. He watched as she brushed her long red curls, twisted them artfully around her hand, and secured them in place with a decorative clip. She carefully applied her lipstick in the mirror, unaware that he was watching her.

  Her movements were slow, graceful and articulate. Neatly, she folded the skimpy silk thing she’d slept in, bent over and placed it in one of her bags.

  He liked looking at her. All of her. Even if she was on the skinny side. And he still wanted to kiss those lips, until her insides turned to liquid, and then bury himself deep inside her. He wanted to hear her moan the way she had last night in her sleep. He wanted to hear her say she wanted more, and more, and more …

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” />
  Hearing her voice, Luke snapped out of it. He bent his knees slightly beneath the covers, so she wouldn’t notice the state he was in. “Like what?”

  She stared at him a moment, then shook her head and turned away. “You’d better get up and get moving, or we’ll miss our flight.”

  Glancing at his watch, which lay on the night stand, he groaned in protest and forced his weary body to sit up. Running a hand over his rough, bristly jaw, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a razor I could borrow, would you?”

  She dug in her toiletry bag, tossed him some kind of fancy looking gadget in a blue plastic case, and said, “Keep it.” Since he hadn’t planned on being gone overnight, he hadn’t packed a bag. He didn’t have a toothbrush or any clean underwear either, but wasn’t about to mention it. Somehow, he’d make do.

  Getting to his feet, he said, “Give me five minutes.”

  She didn’t so much as look at him. In fact, he swore she was avoiding looking at him altogether. Had she remembered sleeping in his arms the night before, too? And the way her body had fit perfectly against his? It didn’t much matter if she remembered or not, he supposed. Because Little Miss Hoity-Toity wasn’t the type to admit it if she had. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he padded to the bathroom in his bare feet.

  The freak snowstorm, which had taken Kentucky and parts of Ohio by surprise, had quieted down during the night after dumping a foot of the pearly white stuff on the ground. But the airlines were back on schedule this morning, and Rusty and Galloway had flown from St. Louis to the Greater Cincinnati Airport which served both southern Ohio and northern Kentucky.

  Galloway drove the black pick-up truck he’d left at the airport terminal the day before. He said they had a two hour drive to Red Ridge. They’d exited the interstate nearly thirty minutes ago, and the longer they drove, the more anxious Rusty felt.

  As she gazed about the rolling countryside hills with waist-high snow drifts, she thought about Sam. She still didn’t refer to him as Dad or Father. Nor had she referred to Natalie as Mother. After she’d been ditched in that first boarding school and ignored for nearly a year, Rusty had disowned them both in her mind. They were no longer her parents. They were simply Natalie and Sam. Just two people she’d once known.

  And although Natalie and she had seen each other throughout the years, Rusty had learned to keep her distance. Because as soon as she’d entertain the idea that she and her mother would undoubtedly be close some day, it was back to boarding school for her, and off with a new lover for Natalie. Natalie’s love life had always been more important to her than Rusty had. And as far as Sam had been concerned … well, she wasn’t quite sure why Sam had neglected her all those years. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  He didn’t have much time left. And rather than let bitterness and anger intrude in their time together, she had to learn to let the past go. It didn’t matter why he’d never tried to call or write. He’d sent for her, hadn’t he? He wanted her by his side now. And by his side, she’d be.

  Her warm breath formed a steamy circle on the icy, cold, passenger window. She touched her finger to the circle of steam and traced around it in a circular motion. Somewhere in the back of her mind a childhood memory popped up. She’d been about six years old at the time. Sam had been driving. And she’d steamed the pick-up truck’s window with her breath. Then, she’d carefully drawn a heart with her finger and sketched the words “I love Daddy” in the center. For weeks, every time they’d rode in that truck, she’d seen the precious heart she’d drawn and smiled.

  Tears stung her eyes at the memory. Because for years she’d told herself she hated Sam.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet since our plane landed,” Galloway said, concern etching his voice. “Are you okay? You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

  Her feet felt like icicles, and her fingers were numb. If it weren’t for Luke’s warm sheepskin lined coat, she would have frozen to death by now. And she was starving. She hadn’t eaten anything the day before or this morning. “No, I’m not sick. Thank you for asking. I was trying to remember some things. Like all of this empty land. As a little girl, I should have felt lost and frightened with all that openness. Yet, I don’t quite remember feeling that way. I think I liked visiting the farm. I know that sounds silly. Natalie always condemned the place.” She turned to face him more fully. “Is it really awful?”

  He frowned. “That depends on your definition of awful.”

  Rusty hadn’t realized what she’d said. “That was insensitive of me. You work there. Obviously, you feel a fondness for the place, as Sam must feel.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  She’d offended him. As soon as he’d answered, he tuned the radio to some horrible country station and raised the volume. Thirty minutes later, her head was ready to explode. “Aren’t there any stations with classical music?” she shouted above the noise, pressing her fingertips to her forehead.

  He looked at her like she was crazy, and yelled, “I don’t think so.”

  “You have heard of it, haven’t you? It’s soothing and relaxing. Not like this twangy, hillbilly music.”

  He pretended not to hear her and whistled along with the tune, which only served to annoy her more. A man singing about the woman who’d left him and his dog Pete. “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered.

  Turning her head away in a huff she stared out the window, wishing her headache away. Sometimes Galloway seemed like a decent man; concerned, caring. And other times, like now, he acted like such a jerk. Well, she wouldn’t waste her time thinking about him now. That would only make her headache worse.

  Closing her eyes she tried to conjure up a picture of Sam’s house. A dilapidated, two-bedroom bungalow with peeling paint and broken shutters came to mind.

  Last night, Galloway had said his room was just across the hall from hers. Surely he’d been teasing. Why on earth would he be living in Sam’s house? Didn’t farmhands sleep in barns?

  They pulled off the main street and onto a long, narrow, bumpy road. There were barbed wire fences on both sides. The snow drifts nearly reached the tops of the fences in some places. There were trees sprinkled about, and off in the distance she saw a few horses.

  It was hard to believe that as a young girl she’d loved horses. Other than the occasional polo matches she’d attended throughout the years, she hadn’t seen a horse since she was seven. She wondered if she’d be frightened of them now.

  There were a few buildings scattered about, two large barns and one that looked like a house. The house was red brick with big white pillars and a large front porch. It was nothing like the house she’d pictured. In fact, it was actually very appealing.

  When the truck came to a stop in the circular drive, all Rusty could do was stare.

  “I know it doesn’t compare to some of the places you’ve lived, but we call it home. And I’d appreciate it if, while you’re here, you’d keep your snooty-nose comments to yourself,” Galloway lectured her.

  The gall of that man, she thought. Of course, Sam’s house didn’t compare to some of the houses she’d lived in. Those houses had been magnificent showpieces of architecture. Especially the villa in the south of France.

  But they were only houses, not homes. And she’d never considered any of them home. She’d always known not to get too comfortable, because she’d one day leave them each behind.

  Not wanting to give Galloway the satisfaction of knowing he’d irked her, she turned and smiled prettily. “I’ll try to watch my mouth.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Good,” he said smugly. “Wait there, I’ll help you out. You’re liable to break your neck.”

  “What would you care?”

  “I don’t, but Sam might,” he said, opening his door and getting out. A cold rush of air came swooping in and made her shiver. He slammed the door and came around the front of the truck. What he’d meant, she decided, was that if she broke her neck, Sam would probably fire h
im.

  Sitting primly in her seat, she waited for him to open the door. She looked down to see where to place her feet but Galloway surprised her by lifting her off the seat and into his arms.

  “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “Not in those death traps you call shoes.”

  She’d chosen her lowest pair of heels that morning, but they were still two inches.

  “Didn’t you bring any sensible shoes?” he asked, carrying her to the porch and up the stairs.

  “No,” she said, clinging to him. It would be just like him to drop her on her butt.

  “Well, I could saw the heels off a couple pairs for you,” he suggested, a smirk on his face, his olive eyes twinkling beneath that stupid cowboy hat.

  When she didn’t return his smile, he said, “I didn’t think you’d go for that idea. You could go down to the Wal-Mart later and grab yourself some boots and a pair of blue jeans.”

  Wal-Mart? The man was seriously delusional. She’d never been inside a Wal-Mart, and she’d never consider buying something as important as her clothing there. “Tomorrow, you can point me in the direction of the nearest boutique. Now, please put me down.”

  At her comment, he threw back his head and laughed. But she had no idea what was so funny. Once he stopped laughing, he opened the front door as if he owned the place, and marched inside. The first thing she noticed was the gleaming hardwood floors and the smell of lemon scented furniture polish. On one side of the entry hall was the living room, and on the other the dining room. Both were framed with pocket doors. And both boasted oriental rugs and antique furniture. But before she had a chance to assess more of her surroundings, a huge, furry thing came rushing toward them. Rusty screamed and buried her face in Galloway’s neck, holding on for dear life.

  “Down, Jack,” Galloway yelled.

  She heard a little whine and then all was quiet. Apparently they weren’t going to be eaten alive. She lifted her head and saw the beast sitting at Galloway’s feet, staring up at her with interest—as if it could swallow her whole. And from the size of the thing, it probably could.