Rich, Rugged...Ruthless Page 9

  “I’m—”

  Max angled toward her. With a fingertip, he outlined her top lip. “You’re an interesting woman.”

  Sam barely took her next breath. She saw so much seriousness in his eyes. Unexpected emotion swarmed in on her. “Different,” she countered quickly to keep herself from making too much of his caress.

  “Interesting.”

  She said nothing for a moment. Was he attracted to her because she was unlike other women he knew? “You don’t understand.” She had to stay sensible, keep herself from getting caught up in the soft lure of his voice.

  “Sure I do.” Max understood too well. He’d even considered the problem himself. She really did fascinate him. How many women liked B.B. King and Rigoletto, cooked like a dream, traveled abroad, yet had lived in a trailer court? “We’re different. You already said that.”

  “I’m a realist,” Sam said. “I’d have pegged you as one. Wouldn’t you think that, too?”

  He’d like to kiss her again. He’d like more, but with no strings attached. He assumed that wouldn’t work. Though complex, Sam wore her emotions for anyone to see. This wasn’t the kind of woman to engage in casual affairs. He wasn’t even sure it was fair to her, but resisting her proved harder every time they were together. He swore at himself even as his fingers weaved into her hair. “What’s your point?”

  “How can you know if I’m interesting or not to you?” He found it satisfying that she sounded a touch breathless. “You don’t know yet what you like.”

  Sure he did—her. And he was tired of warring with himself. He’d thought he wanted nothing too involved with her because he had another life to think about, one he couldn’t yet remember. But possibly he might never regain his memory. He moved his hand through her hair to the back of her neck. So how long should he wait before starting a new life? Did he even want to wait?

  The answer came instantly. Not another second. Tightening his hand on her neck, he brought her face closer to his, and lowered his mouth to hers. He didn’t need to know about the man he’d been. The one he was now liked her, desired her. That sounded so simple. What he was feeling wasn’t. Hunger danced within him as he twisted his lips across hers. She was becoming addictive, her taste, the softness and warmth of her, her scent.

  He damned the cast on his arm as desire skittered through him, made him yearn to run his hands over her. He wanted to touch her, to feel every inch of her, every curve and angle. He wanted to sink himself in her.

  “Max,” she murmured, and started to pull back.

  He quelled a longing to keep her against him. Her chest heaving, her face flushed, she met his stare squarely. Her mouth looked swollen from his kiss, her hair mussed from when his fingers had entwined in her hair.

  “Max, we need to leave.”

  She could pretend all she wanted, act untouched by the kiss, but he’d felt her respond. There was little he knew for certain, but he had no trouble with feelings. She wanted him, too. He’d felt that.

  He watched her scramble to a stand. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Overhead, dark clouds gathered, growing more threatening. “It’s going to rain,” she said as an excuse for rushing away and grabbed the handles of the basket.

  Max banked his craving, resisted pulling her back down and against him. Some other time, he told himself. Standing near, she braced her feet to help him. He took the hand she offered. Some other time. Soon.

  It poured before they reached the house and was still raining the next morning.

  After the day they’d spent together, she thought it best to put some space between Max and herself. Definitely what she’d felt for him had become more confusing. No clear-cut definition such as employer and employee or patient and nurse worked anymore. And she needed time alone, time to think about what had been happening. Except for sharing a quick breakfast with him, she kept her distance. While he closeted himself in the den, she spent the morning trying to read a book.

  Her mind kept wandering to yesterday. She’d answered his kiss, she admitted. She’d melted beneath it, yearned for more. His mouth could have ravaged hers, and she would still have felt dissatisfied, longing for more. She simply couldn’t get enough of him.

  So now what? What should she do? She didn’t want to give up the job. Professional pride was at stake. She’d never quit any job before. She was not a quitter, never had been or would be. For too many years she’d watched her mother quit relationships on a whim and become a loser in love.

  In retrospect, Sam knew that was her mother’s fault. She’d never considered tomorrow, what she’d feel for the man when she wasn’t in his arms. Only today had mattered to her. Sam wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

  But not just Max’s kiss bothered her. Her reaction to him disturbed her. Why had she said so much to him earlier? Rarely did she talk about her mother, her youth. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her background, but relaying Mama’s plentiful love life never made a good impression on people.

  As a child, she’d listened to kids’ taunts. “Trailer trash,” several of her schoolmates had chanted. “Your mama’s a whore,” she’d heard more than once. To Sam, it hadn’t mattered what they’d said. Sure the words had hurt, but no one could make her love her mother less.

  As an adult, Sam had understood better that her mother, who’d known too many foster homes as a child, had been searching for something she’d never had—love. And while Sam lacked a lot of other things during her youth, she’d always had love. Always.

  But that part of her life had been private before this. What about Max had made her share so much? Perhaps knowing how much he wanted to learn about himself, how vulnerable he was, had opened her up.

  Seven

  Sam had hopes of getting positive feedback from one of Max’s employees. After lunch she meandered into the kitchen and smiled with pleasure at the sight of Foster, Max’s chauffeur. She’d been looking forward to getting acquainted with him. Louise, too shy and timid to complain, managed her employment for Max by avoiding him. Martin claimed Mr. Montgomery usually left him to make decisions about the landscaping, and when Gibson was around, he ran the household.

  “Mr. Montgomery is fair,” Foster told her when she took a chair opposite him at the table. He was an amiable man in his sixties with salt-and-pepper-colored hair. “He’s paying, so he has a right to expect certain things. I like him. And Gibson would do anything for him.”

  “But his last cook—”

  “Della was lazy,” Foster said without a second’s hesitation. “Give him a day’s worth of work, and you’ll have no problem.”

  Sam simply nodded. Max’s reputation for being an ogre seemed undeserved. Obviously most of his employees did like working for him.

  After Foster left, she busied herself with preparing the evening’s dinner, a Mexican smorgasbord of tamales and enchiladas and tacos.

  She was nearly finished with cleaning up when she heard the doorbell. Curious, she stepped into the hallway that led toward the foyer, then peeked around a corner. Jack Henderson, Rachel’s husband, was talking to Max. The tall, ruggedly handsome private investigator suited Max’s sister so perfectly.

  Assuming he and Max would visit, Sam decided to take a walk. She slid on her rain slicker, then opened the refrigerator and removed a casserole dish filled with some of the homemade tamales.

  Unmindful of the rain, she strolled toward Max’s closest neighbors, the Crowleys, Joe and Barbara. After giving Barbara the casserole with the tamales, she joined the woman and her husband in the kitchen. While she ate a slice of Barbara’s applesauce cake, she listened to their stories about their three grown children, ten grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

  “We raised our children here, but they left for big cities,” Joe said. “That’s okay. They didn’t get uppity like some people I know.”

  “Joe, shh,” Barbara scolded.

  “What? She must know what he’s like. She works for him. He’s too good to even say hello, to wave or anything.”


  Sam said nothing out of loyalty to Max, but she couldn’t defend him, either. “I’d like to come again,” she said when they were walking to the door later.

  “Anytime,” Barbara answered.

  For a moment Sam bent and pet their dog, a fluffy, soft collie mix. It nuzzled her hand with its cold nose.

  “Sheba just had puppies. When you come back, you’ll have to see them,” Barbara said with the warmth of an old friend.

  Sam raised the hood on her rain slicker. “I’d like that.” They were nice people, she thought while heading back to Max’s house. So why had Max kept his distance? Or had he done that with everyone out of habit?

  She stayed at the Crowleys’ longer than she planned, and with the rain, darkness came earlier. She noticed Jack’s car still parked in the driveway. She offered both men dinner. Jack refused; Max said he’d heat his later.

  Sam warmed up food for herself, ate, then after getting a cup of coffee, she took a book she’d been reading earlier and settled in the living room.

  At midnight she awakened to a dark house and to find a blanket covering her. Good job, Sam, she berated herself. She was supposed to take care of him, not vice versa. Muttering, she went to Max’s room and quietly opened the door.

  Still dressed, he’d fallen asleep on top of the covers. Sam listened to his soft snoring. In the shadowed light, he looked so restful, so trusting, lying on his back, one arm under his head. She soaked up the sight of his features, peaceful with sleep, his dark hair slightly tousled.

  She could fall in love with him, she realized.

  Love? Oh, Sam, what are you doing? She knew love’s pitfalls. So many men had passed through her mother’s and her life. At its best, even when two people were perfectly suited to each other, love was tough to hold on to. So why was she even thinking about it with Max?

  The idea of her being in love with him was ludicrous, she tried to tell herself the next morning as she drove Max to doctors’ appointments. She might have convinced herself if she didn’t enjoy being with him, talking to him. But they’d spent a fun morning together, filled with laughter as he’d shared Jack’s stories about little Alyssa. If she felt such pleasure even when not in his arms, how could she reassure herself that what she felt was simply lust?

  “You’re quiet.”

  She felt him studying her and glanced over, saw his smile. “I’d think you’d be pleased,” she said on a laugh. “You always say I talk too much.”

  “I’m getting used to it.” A softness had entered his gaze. He hadn’t moved, but she felt as if he’d narrowed the space between them.

  Every minute she was with him, she simply wanted to go with her feelings. Heartbreak road ahead, Sam mused.

  “Sam, don’t be so quiet. It makes me nervous.”

  He made her laugh. He did that often. “You have to decide which way you want it,” she teased.

  “Blabber.”

  “Okay.” She worked at relaxing herself. “You have back-to-back appointments today, Mr. Montgomery. The second one is with—”

  “The local shrink from Whitehorn Memorial, I know.”

  Clearly he disliked the idea, but his doctor had thought the visits might be best until Max’s memory returned.

  “I could do without all the doctors.”

  “Everyone feels that way, Max, unless they really need them.”

  “The accident was dumb. My fault.”

  Sam allowed another look away from the traffic. “A memory?”

  “People have told me I was driving on the road that bisects the woods. At first, they thought I took a curve too fast. I guess I have a heavy foot.” Amusement entered his voice. “Not as heavy as yours.” He turned a meaningful look on the speedometer. “But the accident report verified that I wasn’t speeding.”

  “Do you remember that?”

  “My memory comes in snatches. Sometimes someone will say something, and I’ll remember a moment, a face.”

  How hard this was for him, Sam thought not for the first time. As sunshine streaked out from behind one of the dark, drifting clouds, she lowered her visor. “Like what?”

  “Like Foster,” he said about the chauffeur. “He told me that my butler had a terrible poker face. I remembered Gibson then. If he got a good hand, he’d grin.”

  “You remember playing poker with them?” She felt thrilled for him. “That’s terrific. That’s great progress. You’ve had more than a flash of a memory. Where did you play the game? Do you remember that?”

  “In the kitchen. Gibson drank tonic water, and Foster and I had imported Irish brew.”

  Sam heard pleasure in his voice. It occurred to her how few encouraging moments like this he’d had. “Did you play for money?”

  “Foster and Gibson played for days off. If they won, they got days off with pay, and if they lost, they’d forfeit free hours.”

  “You’re tough, Montgomery,” she said on a laugh. “Remind me not to play poker with you.” Sam slowed the car as she turned onto the town’s main street. “So about the accident. If you weren’t speeding, what caused the accident?”

  “A fawn. It froze on the road.”

  “That you remember?”

  “That I remember,” he confirmed.

  “Do you know if you hit it?”

  “I didn’t. And according to Rachel, I wouldn’t. She told me that I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was a kid.”

  Sam considered what he’d said. Life certainly had taken him down an opposite road from that of a doctor who cared and wanted to heal. “Why didn’t you become a vet?”

  “I told you. I was a kid when I wanted to be one.”

  Sam wondered if he had regrets. Did a person ever outgrow some childhood dreams? “Did you have lots of animals?”

  “I asked my family that.” He looked away from the scenery and toward her now. “I never even had a dog.”

  His words saddened her. She’d had a stray mutt—a Heinz 57—and a goldfish.

  “By the time I was thirteen,” he continued, “according to Ellis, I wanted to follow in his footsteps and be a banker.”

  Sam couldn’t stop a thought. Was that because he wanted to or because it was expected of him? “I wonder if you planned to go into politics like him.”

  “I have no idea.”

  She noted he’d returned to staring hard at the passing stores, intent on remembering. She left him to his thoughts while she parked the car.

  As other memories, this one was a breakthrough. Sam eased out of the car, then strolled around it to join Max on the sidewalk. “I’ll walk with you to the doctor’s office.”

  “Samantha—”

  The exasperation in his voice halted her. “You don’t want me to go with you?” Looking past him, she saw Janie in the Hip Hop, watching them through the floor-to-ceiling front window.

  Max traced her stare, then motioned toward the Hip Hop. “Go have coffee and I’ll meet you when I’m done.”

  Sam acquiesced. “Okay, this time.” She really didn’t have to go with him. Only when the cast came off should she go along for the doctor’s orders.

  Before stepping around her, he smiled and brushed his knuckles affectionately over her cheek. It was such a simple touch, not sexual, not provocative. But the caring touch stroked more than her skin, it caressed her heart. And everything changed in that second. She couldn’t deny what was true. It felt right to be with him, as if during every other second in her life she’d been waiting for this kind of special closeness with someone. She watched while Max strode away, then turned toward the café door. As she opened it, she hoped she wasn’t wearing a silly grin.

  “I don’t believe it,” one of the waitresses quipped. She propped a hand on her hip and stared out the window at Max, who was crossing the street. Slowly she shook her head and slanted a look at a customer. “Did you see that?” she asked with amazement in her voice. “Max Montgomery smiled.”

  The customer played along. “I thought I’d imagined that.” />
  Sam laughed at them, and nodded agreeably to Janie when she held up the coffeepot.

  “Guess you’re not having as much trouble with him as others have,” another voice piped in. Lily Mae Wheeler, Whitehorn’s one-woman gossip line, always offered her opinion.

  “Watch out, Samantha,” Janie warned. “Lily May will pump you until you reveal every secret you know.”

  “Oh, go on,” Lily murmured good-naturedly, waving her bejeweled hands in the air. A flamboyant-looking woman in her sixties, she’d recently changed the color of her hair. This month it rivaled the orange in the carrots on her plate.

  “Hi, Samantha.”

  Samantha jerked around, along with Lily Mae.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Lori Parker Bains was one of the prettiest women Sam knew, with her blond hair and her toothpaste-ad smile, but Sam had never known the woman well. Lori was actually best friends with Maris Wyler Rivers, owner of a nearby ranch. Sam had become acquainted with Lori, a midwife nurse, during the blizzard rescue several winters ago. Any medical staff available had answered the call for help. While Lori had offered assurances to a woman who’d started labor that she would reach the hospital in time, Samantha had assisted a doctor in stabilizing a young man’s broken leg.

  Sam hadn’t seen Lori since a celebration of sorts over coffee and donuts offered by grateful townspeople to the medical volunteers after everyone was safe.

  “It’s wonderful to see you again. And under better circumstances.” Sam gestured toward the booth. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  “For a little while.” Lori slid into the booth with Sam. “Did that young boy do all right?”

  “He healed fine.” Sam looked up and nodded a thank-you to Janie as she set a cup of coffee in front of her. “What about the baby?” she asked.

  “He was born that night.” Lori’s face glowed suddenly. “They named him Jordan Parker Weston. After me. I was thrilled.”

  Samantha imagined Lori received a lot of satisfaction in her work. “Are you and Travis still at the ranch?” she asked about Lori’s handsome husband.