Love, Lies and High Heels (3 page)

“Sam.” Was the man dense?

“Yes. He swears and complains a lot. Maybe with you around, he’ll get off my back.”

She sucked in her breath. “Haven’t you any compassion? The man is dying.”

He didn’t answer, but he’d at least had the decency to look sorry for what he’d said. Neither spoke for several minutes. Rusty stared out the window again as they sped along. The man wasn’t a big conversationalist, that was for sure. Not that she wanted to engage with him in conversation, but at least it would be something to do. If they were going to travel together for the next several hours, they could at least be civil to one another.

Besides, he knew Sam. Maybe he could tell her some things about him.

She turned her head toward him. “Do you work at the farm, Mr. Galloway?”

“Yes.” He patted the pocket of his flannel shirt and pulled out a cigar.

Rusty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Don’t even think about lighting that in here,” she warned.

Scowling at her, he sighed, then slipped the disgusting thing back into his pocket. She angled her body to look at him more fully. “Has Sam ever spoken to you about me?” she asked.

“A few times, but mostly he talked about your mother.”

Surprised, she asked, “What did he have say about Natalie?”

“That she’d been spoiled rotten, and yet no man had ever made her happy.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Apparently, that was true, considering her six marriages and six divorces.”

Rusty swallowed hard. The man certainly didn’t believe in softening his words. “Are you aware my mother died a little less than six months ago?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.”

Sure you are, she thought, but bit back the words. “Thank you,” she said instead, remembering her manners. “Did you know Natalie was once married to a Duke?”

He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less.

“Most people find that very impressive, Mr. Galloway.”

“I’m not most people. Besides, she was only married to the man for four months.”

Rusty’s spine stiffened. Crossing her hands in her lap, she said, “For a farmhand you seem to know an awful lot about your employer’s ex- wife.”

He didn’t answer.

After a few moments, he ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed loudly. Then while driving one handed, he fumbled with the cigar in his pocket, looking as though he were trying to think of a way to convince her to let him smoke it.

It wasn’t going to happen. Rusty didn’t like the smell of cigars, or tobacco of any kind. However, she did like the scent of Galloway’s spicy cologne. At least he didn’t smell like dirt and sweat, in spite of his outward appearance.

“What has Sam told you about me?” she asked, wanting to break the silence.

He concentrated on passing a huge semi before answering. “Not much,” he said. “But I suspect you’re probably a lot like your mother.”

He’d struck a nerve. She was nothing like Natalie. Or was she? She supposed there’d been similarities between them. But she couldn’t, for the life of her, begin to imagine what they were. Natalie had collected husbands for a living, while Rusty had no intention of marrying every man who looked at her sideways, and then divorcing them when she tired of them. In fact, she didn’t plan to marry at all. That way, there’d be no chance of a divorce.

“So, how did you two meet?” she asked sweetly, wanting to get her mind off marriage. Besides, she refused to let him know how much he irritated her.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he glanced at her and drew his eyebrows together.

Rusty shrugged and forced a smile. “Surely it’s not a secret.”

Snorting, he turned his attention back to the road and said, “I guess it doesn’t much matter. You’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Find out what?”

“Your father was the only one to offer me a job when I got out of prison.”

Prison? Did he say prison? Casually, she turned away and faced the front. She suddenly felt chilly, and goose bumps formed on her bare arms. She adjusted the air conditioning vents to blow in the opposite direction.

Finding her voice, she spoke evenly, trying to sound perfectly normal. “Why were you in prison?” Please, God, don’t let him be some deranged killer. She’d gotten into a car with a complete stranger just because he’d claimed he knew Sam. She hadn’t even asked him for identification.

Maybe his name wasn’t Luke Galloway. Maybe he wasn’t from Kentucky. The man could be anyone. From anywhere.

Maybe he planned to rape and murder her, then leave her naked body in the woods so wild animals could gnaw on it. She shuddered at the thought.

“I was in prison for grand theft auto,” he finally said.

What arelief. “Oh,” she breathed, then looked around the interior of the car. Had he stolen it?

As if he could read her mind, he glared at her and said, “No, I didn’t steal it. I rented it at the airport.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He kept his eyes on the road and refused to look at her. It was obvious he was miffed about something, but she’d be darned if she knew what it was. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the car thief. And it would do her good to remember that before she had any more bright ideas about engaging him in conversation. She already knew more about the man than she wanted to know. Much more.

For the remainder of the ride to the airport, she kept her mouth shut, and her hand on the door handle, just in case she had to jump out and make a run for it. She only wished she’d changed shoes, she thought, glancing at her yellow Ferragamo heels. She couldn’t bear the thought of ruining them.

Luke fished the airline tickets from the pocket of his suede coat, and handed one to Rusty.

“We’re not sitting in first class?” she asked.

Luke stared at the woman. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d mentioned he’d done time for grand theft auto.

And the looks she’d given him, as if he were dog shit stuck to the bottoms of her expensive, yellow shoes. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to explain that the car he’d stolen had belonged to his mother’s husband; he’d refused to call Randy stepfather. Or that Luke had been eighteen at the time, and had “borrowed” the car because his friends had said he didn’t have the balls to do it. Nor had he mentioned that Randy had it in for him, and his uncle was a judge who threw the book at Luke, disregarding the fact that it was his first offense. His only offense.

Rusty’s cold-shoulder, holier-than-thou attitude had pissed him off, and if she hadn’t been Sam’s daughter, Luke would have kicked her pretty, little, hoity-toity ass out of the car and left her on the side of the road. Designer luggage and all.

“No, we’re not sitting in first class,” he said.

“But you don’t expect to travel all that way—”

Luke cut her off. “If you want to upgrade your ticket to first class, be my guest.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say anything as they waited in line to board. She ran her gaze over his attire again for the third time today, and then with a toss of her head, looked the other way.

Luke wasn’t sure if he liked it better when she was running her mouth, or giving him the silent treatment. Silence is golden, he told himself as they stepped onto the plane and worked their way down the aisle to their assigned seats.

He lifted the overhead compartment, tossed his hat and coat inside and took the seat by the window, while Rusty chatted with a woman across the aisle.

“I absolutely adore your shoes,” he heard the woman exclaim. The woman then proceeded to inquire as to where Rusty had bought them.

Luke shook his head and stared out the window at the pavement, wondering how long Sam’s daughter was going to hold up the other passengers while she made pointless conversation with a stranger. Who cared where she bought her shoes?

“I love the window seat,” Rusty said sweetly moments later as she stood in the aisle, apparently waiting for him to relinquish his seat to her. The line of people behind her looked impatiently at him, as if they, too, thought he should offer her his seat.

Looking up at her five-foot-five-inch frame, Luke said, “So do I.” He reached for a magazine from the seat pouch in front of him and riffled through the pages.

“You need to be taught some manners,” she said between her teeth as she sat down beside him and wedged her Gucci bag under the seat in front of her.

Her hand shot under his thigh and right butt cheek. Luke turned to stare at her. “Getting a little frisky, aren’t you?”

She yanked the seat belt free and shot him a look as she buckled it. “You wish.”

“Honey, you’re not my type,” he said, giving her the once over. “But if you should get horny while you’re at the ranch, I wouldn’t mind accommodating you. My room is just across the hall from yours.”

Her mouth gaped open. “If you value your job, you’d better never speak to me like that again. Or I’ll tell my father just what kind of man he’s got working for him.”

Luke only smiled at her. He wanted to laugh his ass off. But he could wait. Besides, his smile had already done the trick. She unbuckled her seat belt, stood and motioned for a flight attendant. “I’d like to change seats, please. This man is annoying me. Something in first class would—”

Luke winked at the tall brunette and interrupted. “My wife’s mad at me because I told her she was too skinny. It was insensitive of me.” He tugged on Rusty’s arm and said, “Sit down, honey. You’re causing a scene.”

Rusty spun around and glared at him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re overbooked,” the flight attendant explained with a smile. “Please take your seat. And if it’s any consolation, I think you look great. I’d give anything to lose five pounds.” With that, the woman shuffled down the aisle to tend to another passenger.

Rusty shifted her gaze around the cabin, then dropped back into her seat. As the plane prepared for take-off, she said softly, “Sam was the only one who ever called me Rusty. My real name is Rustina. You can call me Ms. Paris.”

After they were airborne, Luke adjusted his seat to recline a few inches, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. The sweet smell of her intoxicating perfume hovered in the air around him, driving him crazy. It was going to be a long, long flight, he thought, nodding off to sleep.

“PLEASE LIFT YOUR SEAT backs and fasten your seatbelts,” the flight attendant said as she drifted past.

Rusty returned the magazine she’d been reading to the seat pocket in front of her and dug her elbow into Mr. Galloway’s side. “Wake up. We’re getting ready to land in St. Louis.”

His mouth pulled into a sour grin as he opened his eyes. “I heard.”

His voice was as cool as ice water. Some travel companion he was, she thought. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since take-off. And the only time he’d opened his eyes was when she’d asked the flight attendant what kind of bottled water they served. His mouth had twisted into a sort of tight-lipped smile, and then he’d closed his eyes again and promptly ignored her.

Looking across Galloway, she saw snow flakes blowing around in the darkness. She’d packed in such a hurry, she hadn’t thought about snow. It had been eighty-nine degrees when they’d left Palm Springs. Pulling the edges of her white cardigan sweater together, she shuddered at the thought of cold weather. She loved the hot sun, although one would never guess it. She’d always been careful to lather on the sun screen and avoid overdoing it. She didn’t want to wrinkle and look old before her time— like most of the California women she knew.

“It’s snowing here. Do you think it will be snowing in Kentucky, too?” she asked.

“It was snowing to beat the band when I left this morning.” He ran his hands over his beard stubble and then through his hair before he raised his seat back and looked out the window. “I sure hope you brought something more practical to wear on your feet than those yellow ice skates you’re wearing. You’re liable to break your pretty little neck.”

Was that concern pouring from his tight, grim mouth? “I didn’t bring any boots. You were rushing me, and I forgot.” The truth was, she didn’t own a pair of boots.

His gaze darted her way. “Well, you brought sneakers or something, didn’t you?”

She turned her head, studied her red nails and ignored him. She’d miss her manicurist and her yoga classes at the spa. She doubted Red Ridge, Kentucky had a spa. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that town in years.

“I should have known. Little Miss Hoity-Toity doesn’t wear anything but three-inch, designer label shoes.”

Her head whipped around. “And what’s wrong with that? I always try to look my best. Besides, I didn’t know when I dressed this morning that I’d be flying clear across the country to some backwoods town in Kentucky, or that it would be snowing.” She silently chastised herself. This wasn’t a vacation, for heaven’s sake. She was going back to the farm to be at Sam’s side, in case he needed her. So, no more thoughts about spas and manicures.

“It’s the middle of February. What did you think it would be doing outside?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I hadn’t given it much thought, but that’s beside the point. It certainly wouldn’t have hurt you any to throw on a suit and visit a barber before showing up on my doorstep.”

“I only own one suit, and I save it for weddings and funerals.”

Funerals. She gasped. Soon she’d have to plan Sam’s funeral. At least with Natalie, Rusty knew exactly what she’d wanted. Nothing but the best. The more lavish, the better. And Rusty had spared no expense.

But what about Sam? What would he want? Her eyes began to tear. The poor man was dying, and she was more concerned with his taste in coffins and flowers than what he was dying from.

The plane touched down, jerking her forcefully to the left and pushing her shoulder into Galloway’s. Then it shot down the runway until finally coming to a stop.

Rusty wiped the tears from her eyes. “What’s wrong with Sam?” she asked. “Is it …?” Oh, God, she couldn’t bear to say the word.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said without looking at her.

First her mother, and now her father. Soon, she’d be all alone in the world. Which was pretty much how it had been most of her life.