Beloved Wolf (15 page)

Timing. Timing was everything. And if he'd just gone to Joe last year, asked for the loan then, gone after Sophie then, maybe by this time he and Sophie would have been married, perhaps even starting a family.

Instead, she'd been mugged, nearly killed. She'd just broken her engagement with Chet Wallace, she
might be pregnant with River's child, and she hated his guts.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, heading for the master suite. Well, not exactly a master suite, but definitely the largest of the three bedrooms, and the only one to have its own bath. The plumbing was in, complete, a clean, basic white. The bathtub and adjoining shower had been put in weeks ago, but that was because they'd been too large to leave until after other work had been done. Now the double sinks were in, the palest green countertops were on, the white wooden cabinets and brass hardware installed, and the white ceramic tile surrounding the tub and shower, repeated on the floor, was in and grouted. The brass faucets were installed and working.

It looked good. Better than he'd hoped. He wasn't too sure about the special tiles above the tub, two dozen hand-painted tiles arranged to make up a huge vase of colorful wildflowers, but the builder had said “the women really love this stuff.”

River had a quick mental picture of Sophie in the oval tub. Up to the top of her breasts in bubbles, her shoulders wet and glistening, laughing and talking to him as he stood in front of one of the sinks before he took his shower, shaving his evening beard. She'd want him to shave his evening beard before they went to bed, so he wouldn't scrape her tender skin when he kissed her, loved her.

River shook his head, banishing the thought, and retraced his steps, coming out of the bedroom, heading back downstairs. Next week the walls would be painted, the random-plank hardwood floors would be
varnished. The kitchen, except for the stove, which was still on order, was already done.

Nothing to do soon but move in, move out of the apartment above the stables, take himself almost two long miles away from Sophie, who couldn't run to his small apartment anymore in the middle of the night—to yell at him, cry all over him, or warm his lonely bed, his lonely heart.

An ending and a beginning. That was how some would see it, he supposed. He hoped Sophie didn't see it that way.

“I like it.”

River turned abruptly, dropping the key he'd been about to put in the front door dead bolt. “Sophie?” he said in surprise, seeing her as she stood in the shade on the wide front porch, leaning against one of the pillars that held up the ranch style roof. “How…?”

“A little birdie whispered it in my ear,” she told him, pushing away from the post. “Maybe not a bluebird-type bird. Maybe a duck. Maybe a
male
duck. You do know how they can quack. Quack your ear right off.”

“I guess I don't need any more of my twenty questions to figure out who you mean. Drake. You know, for a guy with a Top Secret clearance, he's got one very big mouth.”

Sophie's smile faded. “You're just lucky I got all my anger out on the way here. Why didn't you tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?”

River didn't answer her. Instead, he picked up the
key he'd dropped, then opened the front door. “Would you like a tour?”

“Sure, why not? I've already checked out the stables. I left my horse there. Not as grand as the stables on the ranch, but very nice. Very nice.”

“Thank you,” River said, then winced. They were talking to each other like two casual acquaintances. Polite, kind, complimentary. He wanted to gag.

“You came out here on horseback? Who said you could ride again?” he asked, trying to get the conversation onto a more personal level, a more real level.

Sophie walked past him into the house. “My therapist, which you'd know, if you were ever around. I got permission after Wednesday's session. As a matter of fact, two more weeks, and they might spring me, because we've got the treadmill at home, and because I've proven to them that I'm good about doing my home exercises. Inez baked my favorite banana cake Thursday night, to celebrate. Of course, you weren't up to the house for dinner
that
night, either.”

“Got any salt you want to pour in my wounds, Soph?” River asked, following after her as she walked through the living room and dining room, into the large country-style kitchen. “I'm sorry I didn't know.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophie murmured, walking over to the sink, looking out the window above it. “Great view. My condo sink is in front of a blank wall. I hate that. I like the floor, too,” she said, scuffing her toe against the surface. “Is that real brick?”

“
Almost
real brick,” River said. “I don't know the term, but it looks like brick, is stronger than brick, and is sealed so it cleans easily. A good idea, considering how I'll be tracking dirt in here all the time. Lord knows the mess I make in my apartment.”

“And the words ‘take off your cowboy boots' never entered your head?” Sophie asked, touching a finger against the in-the-door water and ice dispenser built into the refrigerator. Finally, when she had run out of things to touch, she turned around, pressed herself against the edge of the counter. She looked at him, then looked away and wet her lips. “So, what's upstairs?”

“You,” River said quietly, “if only in my mind. Only you, Sophie.”

She closed her eyes, sighed. “Yes…yes, well, I guess upstairs will have to wait for another time. I promised Rebecca and Emily that I'd…that I'd go to the movies with them tonight. So,” she ended, pasting a bright, artificial smile on her face, “gotta run.”

She took two steps forward before River took hold of her arm at the elbow. “We're going to work this out, aren't we, Soph?”

She bent her head, avoided his eyes. “Maybe. But—but not until I know.”

River sighed, shook his head. “Have you taken one of those tests yet?”

“No,” Sophie said, looking up at him, rolling her eyes, “I haven't ‘taken one of those tests yet.' Just because I'm a little—”

She broke off, shut her mouth with a snap, so that River finished her sentence for her. “Just because
you're a little
late,
Sophie? Is that what you're saying?”

She gave a sharp tug, got her arm free of his grip. “It's nothing! I had
trauma,
you jerk. My life has been turned upside down, more than once, too, in these past few weeks. You. Mom. This whole mess here at the ranch. You can't expect a body under stress to behave normally, you know.”

River tried to keep his expression blank, but just couldn't do it. “You could be pregnant, Soph. Couldn't you?”

“No, I could not!”

“Yes, you could. Admit it, you could be pregnant. Why don't you use one of those tests?”

Sophie's cheeks flushed a deep pink. “How can you even ask such a stupid question? I mean, if I am, then how could I ever know…really feel sure that you— Oh, damn! Leave me alone, River James. Just leave me alone!”

“Marry me, Soph. I keep asking, and I'll always keep asking. Please, marry me. Don't take the test, don't find out. Just marry me, now, and we'll take it from there.”

She shook her head, backed away from him. “I can't. I really, really can't. Not like this.”

She turned then, walked away, and he let her go. He was always letting her go. But this time he wouldn't let her get very far.

Timing. Timing was everything. And, by damn, this time he would get the timing right.

A
nyone would think there was going to be a wedding at the Hacienda del Alegria. An entire downstairs room had been set aside, furnished with long tables to display the presents that were arriving at the house every day.

Not that there were any toasters or bread machines or blenders in the bunch. No, these were more the silver tray, mantel clock, gold pen and pencil set type gifts, those suitable to present to Senator Joseph Colton on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday.

Sophie walked in front of the linen-draped tables, shaking her head as she looked at a solid silver monogrammed boot jack—something her father would gawk at, laugh at, and then stuff in the back of his closet.

The saddle that had arrived yesterday, a gift from
the employees of their Texas radio and television station, had pleased Joe very much. “Happy trails, Senator,” the small white card propped in front of the saddle read, and Sophie grinned as she remembered her father looking at the card, then saying, “My God, anyone would think I'm retiring. All I'm doing is turning sixty, which is bad enough, right, Soph?”

Sophie had gladly taken on the job of unpacking and arranging the gifts, keeping a notebook in which she listed each gift and who had sent it, in preparation for all the thank-you notes that would have to be written after the party.

It was fun, setting up the presents, displaying them to their best advantage. And it was, along with her three days a week physical therapy sessions in Prosperino and her home exercises that she faithfully did twice each day, another good reason to keep busy, stay away from the stables.

River was giving her room. Yes, that would be the proper term: he was giving her room. Room, and time, and she loved him for it. She was also surprised by it, because River had never struck her as a man with an endless supply of patience.

And he was sending her gifts. Every day, another gift. A bunch of wildflowers wrapped in pretty blue ribbon. Oval-shaped scented soaps arranged in a small wicker basket. A book on the culture of the Native American Indian. Rock candy in a paper bag that she recognized as coming from the general store halfway between the ranch and Prosperino—a place they had gone to for years, just for the rock candy.

The presents showed up in her room, on her bed,
every single day. She'd tried to catch him at it, but he varied the times of day, so that she'd always seen the presents but had never seen him.

It was possible that he was waiting for her to come to him, but she somehow doubted that. He would come to her, in his own time, in his own way.

What would happen then, however, was still anyone's guess. Especially after the results of the pregnancy test she'd taken the week after going to see him at his new house. The test she'd taken that day, and the next day, and all the days after that, until she'd run out of tests.

Sophie walked over to the table holding today's deliveries that still had to be unpacked, set up for display. There were six boxes today, one of which, if lifted and given a slight shake, promised to be a problem. She opened that one first.

Sure enough, the crystal decanter inside looked as if someone had punched a hole in its bulbous bottom, freeing small slivers of crystal to rattle around inside the box. She lifted the heavy crystal stopper, admired it, then set the entire box down, pushing it underneath the hanging tablecloth, figuring she'd deal with it later.

The next four boxes were opened, to reveal yet another silver tray, a framed, personally autographed print of Joe Montana—her father's favorite sports figure—a lovely set of six wineglasses, all with different colored stems and bases, and lastly, an intricately designed gold pocket watch that seemed capable of telling time on Mars as well as displaying the phases of the moon.

Wonderful gifts. Thoughtful gifts. Sophie smiled, because her father was a well-loved, well-respected man. Perhaps this outward display of affection from his friends and colleagues could make up, even in a small way, for the unhappiness he found in his own home.

The last box was small, rather heavy for its size, and Sophie frowned as she recognized the bold hand printing on the label.

“Chet? Chet sent a gift?” She hesitated, then reluctantly opened the sealed cardboard box, unwrapped the present inside. A paperweight. She lifted the heavy clear crystal globe out of the packing and smiled at the sixty-year-old twenty dollar gold piece embedded in the glass. Thoughtful, yes, but pretty much all show—and so very, very Chet. She looked into the box and found the small printed card: Happy sixtieth, Senator. I'm not able to attend your party, but am sure it will be the event of the year!

He'd signed the card with his name, and beneath that were the words
Wallace Enterprises, Ltd.

“The ink on the check I wrote him could hardly be dry yet,” Sophie told herself, carrying paperweight and card over to one of the display tables, “and he's already writing off gifts as a business expense.” She made a face, silently scolded herself for her thoughts. Still, she knew, smiling, she was probably right. Chet would always land on his feet; the man wouldn't have it any other way.

Her chore done for the day, Sophie picked up the boxes, stuffing wrappings into a plastic bag, and then stacked the boxes inside each other. All she had to
do now was carry the entire mess out to the recycling bins that were already overflowing, and then she could start her daily at-home exercises.

Deciding that the quickest way to the recycling bins was to cross the courtyard, Sophie exited the room via a set of French doors and put the boxes on the ground. She was just about to close the doors behind her when she heard voices. Somebody was coming into the room.

Because the French doors were on the sunniest side of the house, Meredith had ordered mini-blinds installed over the glass panes. The blinds were closed, so Sophie couldn't see into the room unless she opened the door all the way, and nobody could see her.

Not that it mattered. Not that she was going to eavesdrop or anything like that. But if it was her mother who was coming into the room…well, terrible as it might appear to anyone, Sophie was glad the woman wouldn't be able to see her. She just wasn't up to another round of Meredith's rapidly fluctuating moods. Not today, at least.

Just about to nudge the door closed quietly, so that nobody knew she was even there, Sophie's hand froze on the door latch as she heard her Uncle Graham say, “If he finds out, Meredith, he'll kill us both, and you know it.”

“What do you want, Graham? Should I slit my wrist and write it in blood for you?” Meredith asked peevishly. “He isn't going to find out. Not from me, anyway. You're the one who can't seem to keep your mouth shut.”

“All right, all right, so maybe I'm just a little antsy, that's all. But he's been showing up at the office again, taking an interest. I like him better when he's down and out. He stays off my back when he's down and out.”

“You can blame little run-home-to-papa Sophie for that one, Graham,” Meredith said, her voice stronger, closer, so that Sophie backed away from the door, afraid her mother would see her. “She got herself all cut up, and Joe went ballistic. As if there was anything he could have done about it. Now he's taking an interest again. In his kids, in the business.”

“Exactly! Something jolted him somehow. I wasn't sure what it was, but that does make sense. He nearly went crazy when Michael was killed, and blamed himself. He backed away from the business for a while, went into a funk for some of the happiest years of my life. Sophie's problem seems to have taken him out of this latest funk, jerked him back to life somehow. And let me tell you, Meredith, I don't need him looking over my shoulder all day long, watching everything I do. That's bad enough. But if he should ever figure out that I—”

“God, Graham, but you've got a big mouth,” Meredith said, cutting him off. “There's a billboard on the way to Prosperino. A big one, with lights and these little slats that turn around to show two different ads. You might want to rent it. One side could say ‘I did it!' and the other could tell the whole damn world exactly what it is that you did.”

“All right, all right, I get your point,” Graham said. “We'll drop the subject.” There was a short
silence. “Would you look at this place? There must be over two hundred presents in here. What a bunch of ass-kissers sucking up to good old Senator Joe. It's going to cost me a small fortune to top any of these gifts.”

“You worry about the damnedest things, Graham,” Meredith said, her voice dripping with a sarcasm that sent a shiver down Sophie's spine. “Write a check to the Hopechest Ranch. You know how he gets all soppy about those misfit brats. That will make him all gooey and thankful to you.”

“Good point, Meredith,” Graham agreed. “And he'd never know the amount, because they don't give out that sort of information. Do they?”

Meredith laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. “I wouldn't bet on it, Graham. I think you're going to have to ante up at least five grand. Oh, and you're late with this month's check, you know. For a man who worries so much about being discovered, you're strangely slow to pay your bills.”

As their voices were getting quieter, coming to her from farther away, Sophie opened the door slightly and peered inside. She was just in time to see a rectangular piece of paper change hands, from Graham to Meredith, as the two of them walked toward the door leading to the hallway.

“Did you ever hear that old saying, Graham?” Meredith was asking him as she pocketed the check. “The one that says two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead?”

“If you're saying I should kill you, Meredith,”
Graham Colton grumbled, hands stuck deep in his pockets, “don't think it's never occurred to me.”

Meredith threw back her head and laughed. Rather maniacally. “You don't have the guts, Graham. You never did.”

And then they were gone, the door to the room closed behind them. Sophie came back into the room and headed for the nearest chair, her knees weak.

That was her
mother?
That awful, terrible, crude, grasping woman was her
mother?

And her uncle Graham? What was that all about? What secret did the two of them share? Why was money changing hands? What in
hell
was happening?

Sophie couldn't go to her father. She just couldn't. She couldn't do anything more than repeat what she'd heard, and what she'd heard hadn't made any sense.

She could go to River. No. No, that wouldn't be a good idea. River already disliked her uncle, for one thing, and she was reluctant to carry yet another tale about her mother, her mother's strange behavior.

Which left Sophie to her own counsel or, as it stood now, completely at sea, because she hadn't the faintest idea what was going on, what her mother and her uncle Graham had been discussing.

“But I can't let this go. I just can't,” Sophie told herself, heading outside once more, picking up the boxes to carry them to the recycling bins. “After the party. It's only a few days away now anyway. After the party I'll get River, maybe Rand and Drake, and all of us can talk to Dad, somehow convince him that Mom has to go somewhere, get some professional help. We just need to get past this damn party.”

 

River had his head down as he sat on the bench outside the stable door, concentrating on what he was doing, so that he didn't hear Rand's approach until his foster brother said hello.

“A swan? Is that a swan?” Rand then asked, pointing to the large bar of soap River was carefully whittling with his pocket knife. “Sure it is. Amazing, Riv. That's very good.”

“Thanks,” River said, carefully drawing the knife along the swan's thin, curving neck, then setting the carving aside. He was at the most delicate part of the carving and didn't want to make a mistake because he wasn't giving the work his full concentration. He hoped Rand wasn't planning on staying long, because he wanted to have the swan done and on Sophie's bed before dinnertime. “You've been here a lot lately. A few weeks ago, and now again. I hope you're getting frequent flyer miles from here to D.C.”

“I may work out of D.C., but I just can't seem to keep my practice from being bi-coastal. I never really left California after I was here last, actually. Doing some work for Dad, checking up on matters for a client in Los Angeles, another in Sacramento. I could have gone back to Washington, I suppose, but with the party coming up so soon, I figured, why bother? I'll be staying out here until after Dad's birthday. So, how are you doing? How's the house and everything coming along?”

“Fine. Fine.” River stood up, closed the knife and stuck it into the pocket of his jeans. “Planning on a
ride?” he asked, looking at Rand's outfit of plaid shirt, worn jeans and cowboy boots.

Rand laughed softly. “Looks like it, doesn't it? But no. I was cleaning up the small office I use when I'm out here, and figured I should dress for the part, then figured I might as well hang on to the urban cowboy look, as I was driving up here anyway. I have a cleaning service, but nothing gets dustier than law books, and the service doesn't seem to do more than give them an occasional swipe with a dust rag.”

River grinned. “They brought us up right, didn't they, Rand? Don't ask anyone to do anything for you unless you also can and are willing to do it for yourself.”

“Yeah, that just about sums it up, I guess,” Rand said, shrugging his broad shoulders. Rand was a big man, over six feet, with dark hair and deep blue eyes—a close likeness to photographs of Joe at the same age. That was probably why River so instinctively trusted him, was proud to have him as a friend. “Too bad. Because I was just going to offer to do something for you that you probably should do for yourself.”

“Oh?” River asked, heading for the small refrigerator just inside the stable, planning on getting them each a bottle of ice water. “What were you going to do for me that I should do for myself?”