Sam sat in the VW and watched the blur of traffic flying by in front of Denny’s. It was two in the morning, and she was taking a ten-minute break. She’d dealt with one too many frustrated diners tonight, Tyrone had had a fight with his lady before coming in to work and snapped at every special request or substitution, and she was so darn tired she could easily grab her pillow, put her head down, and go to sleep.
Instead she thought about Jack, the same thing she’d done ever since he’d sent the gift. She’d FedEx’d the thousand dollars off to Johnnie, the whiskey she’d wrapped in a few brown paper bags and tucked away in her trunk for a special occasion, and the flowers she’d carried with her from her car, to the KOA bathrooms, to the Espresso Nook, and to the salad station at Denny’s.
The roses had opened fully, and every chance she got she inhaled their fragrance, remembering the scents of the many bouquets in Jack’s suite. She held the vase in front of her now, closed her eyes, and wished for Jack to appear.
Like a child, she cracked open one eyelid and peeked to see if he might have miraculously shown up. He hadn’t, but that didn’t keep her from hoping. She’d blown it the other night when she’d pushed him away, and wanted nothing more than another chance—and time together—to see if anything could develop between them.
Mama would have told her she was silly to have such a far-fetched dream, would have reminded her that men—especially rich ones—had a bad habit of hurting women.
“Sorry, Mama,” she whispered. “I’d have to ignore you if you said those things. Jack might hurt me, but that’s a risk I have to take.”
There was something special about Jack Remington. More than anyone in her entire life, he made her feel good inside. It had nothing to do with words or actions, because all he had to do was appear, and she felt a strange, uncontrollable tug on her heart.
Even now, just thinking about him, she felt the powerful pull deep inside her. She laughed, feeling so darn wonderful even as her break time came to an end.
When she returned to the restaurant, she scooped up a tip from one of her tables, stopped and asked two diners how they were doing, then went behind the counter and started to make a double chocolate malt for Tyrone, hoping it would put him in a better frame of mind.
She heard the phone in the kitchen ring but ignored it. She’d only gotten one call since she’d started working at Denny’s, and that was from Johnnie Russo. She remembered Jack Remington telling her their first night together that phone calls had a nasty habit of bringing bad news. Well, she’d had enough bad news in her lifetime—and she didn’t want anything spoiling the wonderful mood she was in right now.
“Hey, Sam. It’s for you,” Tyrone yelled over the pickup counter.
She looked up from the tub of vanilla ice cream. “Me?”
“You know anyone else named Sam?”
“Not around here.” She wiped her hands on a towel and went into the kitchen.
“You’re getting to be awfully popular around here,” Tyrone barked, flipping two hamburger patties on the grill while holding the dingy white phone out to her.
Her eyes trailed from Tyrone’s disgruntled face, to the receiver, then back to Tyrone. “It isn’t a man, is it?” she whispered.
Tyrone nodded.
“Does it sound like the same guy who called a few days ago?”
Tyrone shoved the mouthpiece against his hard, rotund stomach and glared at her like she’d gone mad. “I ain’t no secretary. You want to know who it is, you ask.”
“Thanks loads!”
She grabbed the phone from his meaty fist. The last person she wanted to talk with was Johnnie Russo. She’d called him yesterday, right after she’d shipped off a thousand-dollar cashier’s check. Again she’d asked him for an extension, and again he’d given her a flat-out no. Now she had the feeling he was calling to tell her that he’d refigured her balance, and found out that she owed him more than twenty-seven hundred dollars.
That thought wasn’t too pleasing. Maybe she should attempt to be courteous. Friendly even. “Hello.”
“Evenin’, Whiskey.”
The deep, familiar voice vibrated her insides. A smile touched her lips, and the giddy feeling slid all the way down to her toes. “Hello, Jack.”
“Surprised to hear from me?”
“I’m thrilled to hear from you.” She inhaled deeply, hoping she might be able to pick up the scent of his cigars and cologne and picture him standing in front of her. Just like in the car, he didn’t appear, but she could see him plain as day. A lock of light brown hair hung over his brow. He had a hand tucked into his trouser pocket, and the tie to his tuxedo was loose about his neck. He had a slightly off-kilter grin on his face, and lips that looked in desperate need of a kiss.
Too bad he was so far away.
“Thank you for the gifts…and the tip.”
She could hear his laugh, and it sounded better than a theater full of applause. She was feeling kind of dreamy, kind of warm and tingly inside, waiting for Jack to speak again. Until a moment ago, she hadn’t realized how much she liked the deep, resonating tone of his voice, sort of like Harrison Ford at his sexiest.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his question sounding strained, as if he’d been searching for something to say.
“Fine. How about you?”
“Good.” She heard his long, drawn-out sigh. “Sam?” It seemed forever before he continued. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated, just as he had their first night together, right before he’d asked her to play his fiancée.
“Is something wrong, Jack?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want to ask me?”
“Have you tried the whiskey I sent?”
She laughed, winding her finger around the cord, wishing it was Jack’s hair, that he was close, that she could see what emotions were crossing his face, because she couldn’t tell over the phone what was causing him so much uneasiness. “I’m saving the whiskey, Jack. I’d rather share it with someone—like you.”
“Then come to Wyoming.”
She straightened, trying to regain her senses, then walked away from the wall to a place where she could have an ounce of privacy, stretching the spiraling cord as far as it could go. “Would you repeat what you just said?”
“Come to Wyoming.”
This was better than anything she’d hoped for, but all she could think to say was, “Why?”
“Lauren’s here. She’s broken up with Peter and…and I need you to be Arabella again.”
Of all the…Sam walked across the room and without another word, slammed the phone on its hook.
He was supposed to tell Lauren the truth. He was supposed to have feelings for her, the real her, not some fake fiancée. He was supposed to have given her all those gifts without wanting anything in return.
And now this.
The phone rang again. Once. Twice.
On the third ring she shot an annoyed glance at Tyrone. “Would you get that?”
“No way. It’s bound to be the guy you just hung up on, and I don’t want to be the one who gets yelled at.”
“What if it isn’t him? What if it’s the guy who wants money from me?”
“Just answer the damn thing!” Tyrone bellowed.
Sam jerked the phone off the wall, and took a deep breath. “Hello,” she said sweetly.
“Sam? Is everything okay?”
“Is that you, Jack? You sound so far away.”
“I am far away. What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing. We have a bad connection, and I couldn’t hear you.”
“Then answer me. Will you come to Wyoming? Lauren’s been crying all evening and none of us can make her stop.”
Jack didn’t want her for himself. He only needed her help—for his sister. If he’d given her any other reason, she would have given him a flat-out no. But he’d asked for Lauren’s sake, and Sam liked her too much to turn him down
“How soon do you want me to come?”
“Your flight’s at eight in the morning. Be there no later than seven and pick up the ticket at United.”
“You already bought the ticket?”
“I consider myself a good judge of character. I knew you’d come—for Lauren.”
That hurt. She would have gone for him, too.
Definitely for him.
But now? She was so mad she could…
Jack might think he was a good judge of character, but his opinion of her was going to go downhill any moment now.
“Jack?” she said, in her most syrupy voice.
“What?”
“I’ll need two thousand seven hundred dollars.”
“You what?”
“Don’t yell. If you want me to be Arabella again, you’ll have to pay me.”
“Where’s the thousand I gave you two days ago?”
“That was a tip. That was free and clear with no strings attached—and I spent it.”
“What did you do? Buy more bras?”
That did it!
“Yeah. But don’t count on ever seeing any of them.”
She could hear half a growl, half a sigh. “I suppose you need clothes, too?”
“Well, the way I hear it, sundresses and bikinis just won’t cut it in Wyoming this time of year.”
“You know what, Whiskey?”
“What?”
“You’re going to be the death of me. Either that, or you’re going to lead me straight to bankruptcy court.”
“You could always tell Lauren the truth.”
“I thought about that.”
“So why didn’t you?”
There was a long moment of silence, and then an even longer, agonized sigh. “Because for some damn reason I wanted to see you again, but hell if I can remember why.”