Читать книгу Beloved Wolf - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 11

S ophie had fled Meredith Colton’s presence and run to her room—hobbled to her old bedroom—and thrown herself on her bed to cry. It had been a veritable storm of weeping, as she’d cried with huge gulping sobs, the sort she hadn’t cried since her teenage years.

Since the night River had rejected her.

She’d come apart after Meredith’s cold, cutting comments that had sliced at her, injuring her as much as the knife had done, possibly more. There was no pretty way to say it, no rationalization that could explain how thoroughly Sophie fell apart, how completely she finally gave in, gave herself up to her grief as everything that was wrong in her life came together at once, threatening to destroy her.

Sophie had held it together, held everything in, since the first days after the mugging, once the painkillers had been stopped and she had more control over her thoughts, her reactions. She couldn’t let her father see how frightened she was, how defeated she felt. How violated. How used.

Because she’d known how nearly homicidal Joe had been, sitting beside her hospital bed as the police asked her for details of the attack, how impotent he still felt that he couldn’t protect his child, keep her from all harm. He had stayed with her for two weeks, the first spent in the hospital, the second as she got settled back into her apartment, hovering over her, fussing over her, worrying about her, playing mother and father to her in his wife’s absence.

She’d held back her tears as she slowly realized that Chet had taken her at her word. He didn’t phone. He didn’t come pounding on her door, demanding to see her. Yes, he had sent a note stuffed inside a soppy Get Well card, telling her that he loved her and he’d wait for her to “come to her senses.”

That had hurt. Come to her senses? Is that what he thought? That she’d lost her senses? Didn’t he understand? Didn’t anyone understand?

She’d lost a lot more than her “senses.”

When her dad had come into the room and gathered her into his arms, Sophie had told him what Meredith had said. She shouldn’t have done that, really, she shouldn’t have. But the loss she felt was so great, the hurt so overwhelming, that she hadn’t been able to keep the truth from her father—the truth that her mother, her own mother, now considered her disfigured and a total loss.

“She’s sick, baby,” Joe had said to her, his words sounding sad and tired and eerily hollow. “Ever since the accident. Something happened. Something changed her. You just have to remember how she was, baby. We all have to remember that, remember how she once loved us.”

That was when Sophie had gotten herself back under control. She couldn’t bear to hear the defeat in her father’s voice, the deep sadness that had to have been slowly destroying him these past nine years.

Sophie had hugged him, kissed him and promised to remember, to hold on to the memories of the good days. She listened as he discussed the physical therapy she’d begin in Prosperino in a few days, the surgery she’d have in less than five months, to minimize her scar.

She’d agreed with him on everything, assured him she was all right, and watched after him as he left her room, his large frame stooped, his feet dragging.

Her impulsively formed plan to leave the ranch the next morning embarrassed her as she watched her father. How could she leave him? How could she have stayed away so long? Why had she stayed away so long? Because of Meredith? Perhaps.

But there was another reason, and Sophie knew it.

She watched now as that reason walked toward her through the soft patches of misty yellow drifting down from the vapor lights placed around the stables.

He walked with his head down, his face hidden by that ever-present dusty tan cowboy hat that seemed so much a part of him. He had his hands stuffed deep in his jean pockets and kicked a stone along the drive with the tip of his worn cowboy boots. The lone wolf, prowling his nocturnal territory.

Sophie’s stomach muscles clenched as she watched him approach, drank in the sight of him. Long and lean, his shoulders broad, his waist and hips narrow, his straight legs wrapped tight in faded jeans. He moved gracefully, unaware of his natural grace.

When she had been a kid, she’d marveled at his shoulder-length hair, black as night, straight as sticks, and the perfect frame for his tanned, brooding face, his sparkling green eyes, the intriguing slashes that appeared in his cheeks at his rare smiles.

River had figured in all her dreams for just about as long as she could remember having dreams. The barely tamed rebel, the exotic creature with a Native American mother and a father who had tried, and failed, to destroy him. The misfit. The one person on the ranch who didn’t immediately love her, think she was wonderful, do anything and everything to please her.

A creature of light, Sophie had been drawn to his darkness, his secrets. He spoke to the horses, whispered to them, and they listened. He stood toe to toe with her father, the only person Sophie had ever seen do that, and never backed down. Never backed down from anyone, from anything.

He was wild, and wonderful, and Sophie would have done anything for his smile, a single word of praise, to have him notice her, talk to her, let her into at least a small slice of his life.

No, Sophie knew that she hadn’t stayed away from the ranch because her family had changed while she was gone at college. She’d gone, and stayed away, because River hadn’t wanted her.

Everything she had done since the night he had kissed her then pushed her away, told her to go away, had been to hurt River. Her choice of career. Her engagement to Chet Wallace, who was as different from River James as a pin-striped three-piece suit was from a battered cowboy hat pushed down low over all-seeing green eyes.

River had always been strong, definitely stronger than her. Because he had stayed, he had taken the good with the bad, raised himself above a truly tragic childhood. Stayed to give back for all he’d been given.

She watched as he lifted his head and saw her sitting on the bench. His step faltered for a moment, and then he walked toward her with his lazy, rolling gait, sat down beside her in the space she’d left for him—on her right, so that he couldn’t see her scar. Not that he could see much more than form and shadow in this spot just out of the reach of any of the vapor lights, but she just felt more comfortable with her left cheek hidden.

“Evening, Sophie. Welcome home,” he said, the sound of his voice soft, smooth. It was a voice that could soothe a frightened horse, spin a young girl wonderful stories of Native American life as it had been before the white man came. A voice that could whisper, “I want you. God, Sophie, how I want you.”

Sophie just nodded, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. He smelled of soap and shaving cream and something else, something undefinable, but definitely male. All male, all man.

“They were waiting for you up at the house,” he said, leaning back against the side of the stables, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head still bent forward, so that he didn’t bang the rim of his hat against the wall. “Dinner’s up.”

“I know, Riv,” she said, wondering if he could condense his sentences anymore, make them shorter, more clipped. It was as if he didn’t want to talk to her at all. “I asked Inez to save me something in the refrigerator, in case I get hungry later. Riv, why did you tell me to leave?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Had she gone mad? How could she have asked that?

He didn’t react, didn’t flinch. It was if he’d been expecting the question, maybe waiting for it. Waiting ten years for her to ask.

“It was time for you to go,” he said, taking off his hat and placing it beside him on the bench. “Time for you to grow up, see the world, find out who Sophie Colton was.” He turned toward her and tipped his head as he looked at her in the darkness. “Did you find her, Sophie? Did you like her?”

“I thought I did,” she answered truthfully. “As long as I hated you, I liked myself.”

River chuckled low in his throat. “That’s my Sophie. Give her a good mad, and she can bring the world to its knees.”

She smiled, in spite of herself. “You remember that? You remember how I wanted to conquer the world?”

“Rule the world, I think it was, actually,” River corrected her. “Right after you flew to Mars, cured cancer and invented a pimple cream that really worked—which would have been just before you won the Pulitzer Prize. Yes, I remember. You had big-time dreams, Sophie. Dreams that were a lot bigger than this ranch.”

“I was a kid, Riv,” she shot back angrily. “What the hell did I know about life?”

“Well, Sophie, that’s just it. You didn’t know about life, did you? But you deserved a chance to find out what was out there.”

Sophie sniffed, shook her head. “What’s out there, Riv, is doing homey, tearjerker ads for health insurance companies who withhold treatment to their customers, writing jingles for pimple creams that don’t work…and a world that’s a lot bigger, and stronger, and meaner than I ever could have imagined.” Her voice broke slightly. “It knocked me down, Riv. The world out there knocked me down.”

“And so now you’re home again. Damn, Sophie. How do you sit there looking so comfortable, with your tail tucked between your legs like that?”

She turned sideways on the bench and glared at him. “You son of a— Damn it, Riv, shut up!” How did he do it? How could he make her so mad?

He reached up and scratched at a spot just below his left ear. “Hasn’t worked any miracles for you yet, has it, Soph? Coming home, that is. Joe told me about Meredith’s version of welcoming the prodigal back into the fold this afternoon. Nice. Very nice. Very Meredith.”

“I’m not going to let her get to me,” Sophie declared, trying to believe what she said, trying to tell herself that her mother’s words hadn’t hurt, didn’t still hurt. “She’s sick. Dad says so. The car accident did something—she banged her head, jiggled her brains, shook up her personality. Or maybe it’s…well, maybe it’s the changes. Some women have real problems as they go through menopause.”

“Wrote up a hormone replacement ad for that company of yours, did you?” River said, his even white teeth visible in the soft glow of light as he grinned at her. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could all talk in advertising slogans and actually believe all the promises? A thirty-second fix for everything from bad hair days to world peace, if only you used the right product, picked the right party, whatever. Do you do political ads, Sophie? I’ll bet you do. Making silk purses out of sows’ ears, and then ramming it all down the public’s throat. Very commendable.”

Sophie clenched her hands into fists. “If you’re all done making fun of what I chose to do with my career…?”

“All done? Nope. I’ve got a few more stored away somewhere, but I guess I’ll leave them there for now. But admit it, Sophie, I got your mind off that cheek you were keeping turned away from me until a few moments ago.”

She quickly lifted a hand to her cheek, turned her head. “You never did play fair, did you, Riv?” she asked, staring out into the night, blinking back tears. “I—I didn’t know you were so disappointed in the career I chose.”

“You were going to do the internship at Joe’s place in Texas, then major in Communications at college. Graduate, work at one of the television stations, or do investigative reporting for one of the Colton family newspapers. Be like your dad, one of the few men who have used public office, public responsibility, to really help people. Next thing I heard, you were making up slogans for tartar-reducing toothpaste, earning the big bucks, but selling out all your dreams. Hey, now that’s really making a contribution, isn’t it?”

“You don’t understand,” Sophie told him, once more forgetting about her scar, forgetting to hide that scar from River. “Those were dreams, Riv. Young girl dreams.”

“So you really enjoy your work?”

“Of course I enjoy my work!” Sophie exploded, grabbing at her cane and rising to her feet. “I love what I do!”

“Funny. That’s not what Rand told me.”

Sophie sat down again. “Rand? I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really? You know, Sophie, you didn’t use to lie to me.”

She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then asked, “What did Rand say?”

“He said that you contacted him just after you and Wallace got engaged, because Wallace wanted the two of you to leave the advertising agency and set up one of your own. He said that you sounded less than enthused, partly because Wallace was talking his expertise and your capital, but also partly because you’d been thinking about getting out of the business.”

“And coming back here to write a book,” Sophie ended for him, wincing as this very private dream seemed now to be everybody’s business.

“Really? Write a book? Actually, Rand didn’t say anything about that.”

“He shouldn’t have said anything,” Sophie blustered, to cover her embarrassment. “I spoke to him as a lawyer, not my brother.”

“And Rand talked to me because he knows I care about you,” River replied in that low, smooth voice that might have the power to soothe savage beasts, but only prodded Sophie into another white-hot streak of anger.

“Care about me? Oh, cut me a break, Riv,” she said bitterly. “If you’d truly cared about me, you’d never have let me— Oh damn!”

“Back to square one, aren’t we?” River asked her, reaching out, stroking her arm.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Sophie agreed. “I left because you pushed me away, and now I’m back and the first thing I do is come chasing after you. Ten years, Riv, and it looks like I haven’t learned a damn thing.”

River was silent for a long time, and Sophie began to relax, fall back into the sort of comfortable silences they used to share, times when it was enough to be with him, sitting under a starry sky, sharing his world.

“Meredith’s full of crap, you know,” he said at last, startling her. “You’re a beautiful woman. Even with both your eyes blackened, and bandages, and scrapes and bruises all over your face, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

Sophie closed her eyes, digested his words. “You were there? You saw me?”

“I flew the senator to San Francisco within an hour of getting the news about the mugging. So, yes, I saw you. I saw you, and then I broke pretty boy Wallace’s nose for him because he let you walk home alone. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I—I didn’t know,” Sophie said, remembering Chet’s visit, vaguely remembering a bandage on his nose. She’d been so worried about her own appearance, and so angry with him, that she’d never really looked at him, never seen more of him than his carefully ironed shirt, his perfectly arranged necktie. “You punched him? You really punched him?”

“Real mature, wasn’t I?” River said, shaking his head. “I guess I just needed to punch something—and lover-boy accommodated me.”

“It wasn’t Chet’s fault,” Sophie said, for the first time wondering if perhaps it was, if perhaps, just perhaps, that was why she didn’t want to see him…and why he hadn’t made any attempts to see her. “I’m the one that left the restaurant.”

“And he’s the one who let you leave,” River responded without missing a beat.

“Yes, he was. And he wasn’t the first man to let me leave, was he? I don’t want to talk about this,” Sophie said, rubbing her arms, as either the evening had turned colder, or her thoughts were sending a chill into her body. “I don’t want to talk about any of this. I just want to forget it.”

“Fine,” River agreed, positioning his hat back on his head, standing up, holding out his hand to her. “Let’s walk. We can talk about this book you want to write.”

“Maybe some other time,” Sophie told him, although she did put her hand in his and allow him to help her to her feet. “It’s still just an idea, Riv, and I’d rather keep it to myself for a while longer.”

“You used to tell me everything, including a bunch of stuff that, trust me, no teenage boy wanted to hear. Do you remember how you were so gung-ho to show me your first push-up bra? I damn near had to climb a tree to get away from that one.”

Sophie ducked her head, grinned. “I was a real pain, wasn’t I? Well, I promise not to be your resident pest anymore, okay?”

He turned to her and picked up her chin with his crooked index finger. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d miss my resident pest. I think I have missed her, quite a lot. My pretty little pest, all grown up into a beautiful woman.”

Sophie turned her head, so that he couldn’t see her scar, then pulled away from him. “Don’t do that, Riv,” she told him, all but begged him. “Don’t lie to me. I could always count on you never to lie to me.”

River took hold of her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “What in hell are you talking about?”

“What am I— Oh, for God’s sake, Riv! My face! I’m not the person you knew. The pest, the hero-worshipper, the idiot teenager who thought the sun rose and set on you. I’m not the career woman, I’m not Meredith’s cherished child. I’m not anyone I know or recognize anymore. I’m scared of my own shadow, and everything I’d ever hoped or believed died in that damn alley. And I most certainly am not beautiful.”

“Ah, Sophie,” River said, pulling her into his arms, even as she struggled to be free of him. “Don’t let the world win, sweetheart. You can’t let the bad guys win.”

“Meredith? May I come in?”

Joe Colton stood just inside the door to his wife’s bedroom, still able to be shocked by the overblown femininity of its furnishings, the lavish white Restoration French furniture and elaborate decorations that Meredith would once have called silly, and definitely shunned.

Then again, she had always slept with him, sharing his bed as she shared his life. Once, this bedroom had been done up in the Mission style, with hand loomed Native American rugs scattered on the hardwood floors. They’d furnished the room together, choosing each piece, surrounding themselves with memories of trips they’d taken, sights they’d seen, moments they’d shared.