Free Wife for a Day by Patti Berg Page B

focusing on the check. “I still don’t know your name.”
    What difference would it make if he knew her name or not? He’d never come looking for her, and she had nothing to hide, except the pitiful state of her life, even if he did. “Sam Jones,” she told him.
    His brow rose. “You expect me to believe that?”
    â€œYou asked for a name, I gave you one.”
    â€œYeah, and you asked for money, and I gave it to you.”
    That made her mad. “Then we’re even, aren’t we?”
    â€œIf you can call it that,” he said cynically. He walked across the room and opened the door. “Let’s go find your car.”
    â€œI said I could go alone.”
    â€œIt’s late, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go to your car by yourself.”
    â€œYou don’t need to worry about me.”
    The phone rang, and he let out an exasperated sigh.
    â€œI bet that’s Lauren,” Sam said. “She’s probably wondering what happened to the two of us.”
    Jack stared at the tote hanging over her shoulder, at the sewing machine that was growing terribly heavy in her hand. The phone rang again.
    â€œI’ll just be a second.” He started toward the phone, then twisted around to look at her. “Don’t go. Promise.”
    She put one hand behind her and crossed her fingers. “Promise.”
    The minute his back was turned again, she rushed to the elevator. Saying good-bye would be too hard.
    The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. When the wooden panels were sliding closed, she heard Jack’s shouted plea from the hallway. “Wait, Whiskey. Please.”
    She stared at the STOP button, giving it a moment’s consideration, but the doors shut tightly, and the elevator began its descent.
    The fantasy had ended.
    Jack Remington had disappeared from her life.

five
    J ack caught a flight for home at eight the next morning. He didn’t particularly care for flying. Solid earth beneath his feet felt better than clouds and thin air, and he preferred the wide-open spaces of the prairie to the confines of a first-class seat.
    As the plane fought bad weather, he tried to concentrate on the contract he’d promised his business partner he’d review over the weekend, but his mind wandered far too much.
    Thoughts of Beau—what they would talk about, what he would look like up close instead of in an impersonal school picture, how his voice would sound—captured his attention. He wasn’t afraid to meet his son, but he was frightened over the uncertainty of their future. Jack knew full well that money could solve a lot of problems. But it couldn’t fix sixteen years of being apart. That was something only words and actions could mend.
    He didn’t even know where to begin.
    Thoughts of Beau led to thoughts of Lauren. She’d been radiantly happy last night, even though she was marrying a man Jack considered to be a jerk. He’d continued the charade long after Sam Jones had disappeared, fabricating a story as he talked with Lauren on the phone about Arabella having a terrible headache. Afterward he’d gone back to the party and attempted to have a good time, but something was missing.
    The redhead.
    She hadn’t said good-bye, and even now that weighed heavily on his mind. She hadn’t given him the chance to discover personal things about her, like where she lived, her age, her phone number, or whether or not her name really was Sam Jones.
    That she’d run off while his back was turned was a less-than-subtle hint that she didn’t want him knowing anything more about her. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want to see him again. Of course, what she wanted and what he wanted were two different things.
    When he was leaving the hotel that morning, he’d asked the concierge to send flowers to her at Antonio’s. He took a chance havingthem addressed