Sometimes the injustice of it devastated him. His father, the brash and arrogant financier, was gone. In his place was this helpless, feeble man who couldn't remember how to dress himself but who had rare, heartbreaking moments of lucidity.
While Maura settled William with a bowl of soup and a sandwich from the self-contained kitchen attached to his rooms, Tom changed from his uniform into the Dockers and polo shirt he'd brought along, then went in search of the children.
He found them all in the main kitchen Shelly had modernized a few years ago for entertaining, with its marble countertops, six-burner stove and subzero refrigerator. They had changed clothes, too, the children into shorts and Sophie into a T-shirt that was a bit too small and a pair of worn jeans with fraying hems.
With her feet bare and all that glorious hair tied back into a ponytail, she should have looked young and innocent. Instead, she made him think of rainy afternoons and tangled sheets and slow, languid kisses.
How could part of him still be foolish enough to want her? Disgusted at his weakness, he clamped down on the unwilling desire and walked into the kitchen.
The children greeted him with none of their usual exuberance. Zoe and Zach sat at the breakfast bar watching cartoons on the kitchen television and Ali was pouring milk from the refrigerator into four glasses. Usually they dropped whatever they were doing and jumped all over him like a trio of howler monkeys but now all three just gave him subdued smiles that just about shattered his heart into tiny pieces.
Sophie's smile was just as subdued but several degrees cooler. It drooped at the corners, with exhaustion, he figured, since she had been traveling for days to make it in time for the funeral.
"Would you care for a sandwich?" she asked. "Mrs. Cope left cold cuts in the refrigerator but the kids were more in a PB&J mood. Nothing better than peanut butter and jelly when you've had a rough day like today."
He shook his head, absurdly touched that she was fixing comfort food for the children. "Maybe I'll fix one later."
"It's hard to work up much of an appetite, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he said grimly.
"How's William?"
He thought about giving his usual glib answer. He's fine. Just fine. Thanks for asking. But something in Sophie's green-eyed gaze—a bright glimmer of genuine concern—compelled him to honesty. "He doesn't really know what's going on, although Maura and I have both tried to explain about Peter and Shelly. In this case I suppose Alzheimer's can be a blessing."
She was quiet for a moment, then sent a look toward the children to see if they were paying attention to their conversation. "Shelly wrote me about his condition," she finally said. "I hadn't realized he had regressed so quickly. I'm sorry, Thomas."
He didn't know how to deal with the compassion in her eyes so he focused on something else, the circles under those eyes and the hollows under her high cheekbones. "Why don't you sleep? I'm here now."
She shook her head. "I doubt if I could. Maybe in a few more hours."
"You're going to fall over by then. Go on and rest."
Before she could voice that argument he could see her gearing up for, the telephone rang in the kitchen. Thomas reached for it and heard her mother on the other end of the line.
"Hello, Sharon." In light of the loss they had all suffered, Thomas managed to conceal his dislike for the woman and handed the phone to Sophie.
If possible, Sophie's voice dropped several more degrees as she greeted her mother. Tom took over the sandwich-making while eavesdropping without shame.
Her expressive features had been one of the first things to captivate him all those years ago. She seemed a little more composed, a little more controlled ten years later, but he could still clearly see the tension rippling through her, the frustration simmering below the surface.
"No, I understand," Sophie said quietly. "Earl has a load to deliver and you've decided to cut your stay short and go with him. I didn't expect you to stick around long. No, that wasn't a dig, Sharon. Just an observation. Sure. Yes, I'll tell them. Goodbye."
Her mouth tightened for an instant as she hung up the phone but then her features smoothed out and she turned to the children. "Grandma Sharon is leaving this afternoon, kids. I'm sorry. But she says she'll be back through in a few months."
Ali and Zach barely looked up from the cartoon but Zoe gazed at her aunt, her eyes anxious. "Are you going, too, Aunt Sophie?"
Sophie must have caught that thin thread of fear in the little girl's voice. She paused in the process of opening a bag of chips, then set it down and swept Zoe into her arms. "Oh, no, honey. No! I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
Chapter 2
Thomas stared at her. How the hell could she look a child in the eye like that and utter such a bald-faced lie? Panacea or not, the children deserved the truth.
He waited just a few beats, until Zoe turned back to the TV then grabbed her arm. "Sophie, can you help me with something in the pantry?"
Those green eyes widened at the request and went even bigger when he yanked her into the six-foot by six-foot butler's pantry then slammed the door shut behind them. In such close quarters, he was instantly overwhelmed by the scent of her, exotic and sensual, like a rainy afternoon in the jungle, so he went on the offensive.
"Where the hell do you get off saying something like that?"
She frowned and jerked her arm away from him. "What did I say?"
"That you're not leaving."
"I'm not leaving."
His laughter was harsh. "That will be a first."
"The children need me, Tom, and I intend to be here for them."
"Until when? Your next assignment? Until you get the chance of a lifetime to shoot yaks in Nepal or whatever it is this time and off you go without giving a damn what you're leaving behind?"
Incredibly, unbelievably, hurt flashed for an instant in those wide green eyes but she shielded them quickly. "That's not going to happen."
"That's easy to say now. But what about a month from now? These are children, Sophie. Not pretty little toys you can put on the shelf when you're bored with them. They are children who have just suffered a terrible loss. Right now they need all the stability they can find until their world settles again. You really think you can give them that? You, of all people!"
Again that hurt flared in her eyes but she jutted her chin into the air in typical stubborn Sophie fashion. "What they need is love and I have more than enough of that to give them."
"Sometimes love is not enough."
"Isn't that the truth?" she muttered, an edge of bitterness to her voice.
He narrowed his gaze and studied her, trying to figure out if there was hidden meaning in her words. God knows, she had no reason to be bitter over their brief relationship. No, they hadn't had a relationship, he corrected himself. Just fledgling, unspoken emotions and one steamy encounter on the beach that could still make his heart race when he remembered it.
Then she ran away, for the first time but certainly not the last.
This time Sophie folded her arms over her chest, her chin still lifted defiantly. "I'm staying, Tom. The children need me. If you want me out of their lives, you're going to have to pry me out with a crowbar."
"Must I remind you, I am the executor of Peter's estate. His will specifically names me their guardian." He knew he sounded like a self-righteous ass but he didn't give a damn.
"And I have a letter from Shelly dated not two months ago where she asked me to care for her children if something happened to her."
Tom frowned, unease slithering through him like a moray eel cutting across the ocean's floor. Shelly had written Sophie? The timing seemed odd in the extreme. Why would a young, otherwise healthy woman write such a thing only weeks before her death? Did she have some impending premonition of danger?
"You can be as arrogant and domineering as usual," Sophie went on, heedless of the direction of his thoughts, "but that's not going to change my mind."
"The children are my
legal responsibility," he repeated.
"They're as much my responsibility as yours, if not legally than at least morally. I don't care what Peter's will says. They are my nieces and nephew, and I love them. I'm not going to abandon them when they need me. Anyway, if I don't stay, who's going to care for them when you're out playing Rescue Ranger?"
Her scorn for his career shouldn't bother him but somehow it did. He should be used to it after ten years of fighting to live the life he wanted. Nobody understood his passion for his job. Not his father, not Peter. They had thought him crazy for turning his back on the family fortune to enlist in the military—in the plebeian Coast Guard, no less.
They didn't understand his passion for the service, for the unrivaled satisfaction of going after someone who needed help, the controls of his bird humming under his hands and adrenaline pumping like opium through his system.
That part of his life was over, he reminded himself. Peter's death had accomplished what his brother had never been able to do in life. "I'm putting in for a discharge," he murmured. "I'll be taking leave while the paperwork goes through."
Her expressive face softened instantly with sympathy. "Oh, Thomas."
He looked away from her pity, focusing on the rows of cans and bottles that the housekeeper kept in ruthless order inside the butler's pantry. "It's the best thing for everyone. The details of Peter's estate will keep me busy for weeks. In the meantime, I'm planning to hire someone to help Mrs. Cope with the children."
"For heaven's sake, you don't need to hire someone! I'm family. I love the children far more than some stranger you hire will."
For one crazy moment, the temptation to accept her help swamped him. With Sophie caring for the children, he might even be able to consider keeping his commission, just take a few months leave to handle the mess Peter had left behind at Canfield Investments.
He discarded the idea before it could take root. This was Sophie. Sophie, who had more stamps on her passport than Peter had neckties, who had made a successful name for herself traveling around the globe capturing whatever she found in her unique photographs.
She had inherited the restless gene that seemed to have skipped over Shelly. Just like her mother, Sophie could never stand to stay in one place long enough to sprout.
And even if she did force herself to stay, he wasn't sure he wanted her caring for the children. After she left ten years ago and the hurt had begun to fade, he had realized the Sophie he had known had been flighty and reckless, irresponsible and selfish.
He'd meant what he said earlier. The children needed structure, stability, while they tried to cope with the loss of their parents. He couldn't risk their one safe harbor by introducing an alien species like Sophie Beaumont into the mix.
"Aunt Sophie? Uncle Tommy? Is everything okay?"
Ali's voice sounded from the other side of the pantry door, the worry in it adding another couple bricks of guilt to his load. "Just fine, Al. We're, uh, looking for more peanut butter."
"There's a whole jar out here." Suspicion coated her voice in a thin, crackly layer.
"Don't worry about it, Alison," Sophie said calmly. "We'll be out in a moment. We were just having a discussion we didn't want the twins to overhear."
"Are you sure?" Ali asked.
"Yeah, honey," he answered. "We're fine. Just go on back to the twins. We'll be right out."
Sophie opened the door as soon as they heard the girl walk away and he wondered if she was as uncomfortable in such close proximity as he was. "We don't have to fight about this, Thomas. Not today. Let's both sleep on it and give ourselves and the children a few days for things to settle down. We can talk about it again later."
As far as he was concerned, the matter was settled. Whether she left this afternoon or a week from now, she would still leave. He had no doubt whatsoever.
The trick would be to make sure she didn't break the children's already fragile hearts when she went.
* * *
She could handle this, Sophie reminded herself hours later, up to her elbows in bathwater.
"Ow. That huwts, Aunt Sophie." Zoe made a face beneath her crown of suds. "Mommy doesn't go so hawd."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to take it easy." This was a little girl's head she was scrubbing, not a potato, Sophie reminded herself. This whole bath business was much harder than it appeared. Zoe insisted on everything just so—a water level exactly right, the precise temperature, her bath toys set out just where she wanted them.
She knew how vital it was for all of the children to keep to their usual routines as closely as possible, but she couldn't help comparing Zoe's elaborately complicated ritual with indigenous children she had photographed around the world who were perfectly content to perform their ablutions with a dirty puddle and a handful of leaves.
Maybe this wouldn't seem such an insurmountable challenge if she wasn't completely running on empty. She felt as wrung out as the washcloth Zoe was using and she wanted nothing more than to climb into that comfortable guest bed down the hall and collapse for a week.
But she could do this. She was strong, far stronger than Mr. Thomas Know-it-all Canfield believed her to be.
"Ow!" Zoe exclaimed again loudly and Sophie had to force herself to relax again.
"Almost done. Time to rinse."
"I don't like shampoo in my eyes," the little girl informed her matter-of-factly.
"I'll keep that in mind, honey."
She hoped Tom was having just as challenging a time with Zach in another of the estate's zillion bathrooms down the hall. After helping the nurse—Maura, she said her name was—settle his father for the evening, Tom had joined her to help with the children.
She found so much domesticity—the two of them working together at something so mundane and homey as putting the children to bed—unsettling. With any other man she probably wouldn't have thought twice about it, but this was Thomas. Thomas, who had kissed her and held her and treated her with such aching tenderness. Playing house with him like this was bound to unnerve her.
She jerked her attention away from that precarious road and back to Zoe. "There you go. That should do it."
"May I play for a while?"
It was past her bedtime but Sophie didn't have the heart to say no, not when Zoe had spent the day solemn and confused. For the first time all day she seemed like a little girl again instead of a silent, sad little waif.
"For a few moments." She rose on bones that creaked and complained with exhaustion, then made her way to the padded vanity bench across the bathroom. It didn't take long for the steam in the bathroom in combination with the comfortable seat to relax her stiff muscles. After a few moments she even felt her eyelids droop.
She jerked them open. She couldn't sleep! If Thomas came in and caught her dozing while Zoe splashed around amid so many possible water hazards, he would have all the proof he needed to show she was unfit to care for the children.
Not that he seemed to need any proof. He had made up his mind and changing it was going to be as tough as riding the Infierno Canyon rapids in Chile. She had to do her best to show him she could handle this, though. She couldn't abandon the children when they needed her.
Not the way she had abandoned Shelly.
The thought slithered into her mind and Sophie opened her eyes, all temptation to sleep forgotten as she bleakly watched the tendrils of steam curl through the room.
There it was. The truth she'd been hiding from all day. Not only was she compelled to stay and care for the children because she loved them and they needed her but because on some level she supposed she was trying to atone for the pain she had caused Shelly these last ten years.
She hadn't been there for her sister, but at least she would try for her sister's children.
Shelly never understood why Sophie had begun to freeze her out. She had never said anything, but Sophie had seen the hurt in her eyes during the few visits she'd made over the years, had heard the unasked questions in her voice every time they
talked on the phone.
She should have tried to explain, damn it. About Peter and William and Thomas and that terrible night. In her frenzied rush to escape, though, she had decided it was best to stay quiet, to allow Shelly her illusions. Her sister had been happy with her new life here at Seal Point—deliriously happy, with her husband and her brand-new baby and this elegant home by the sea. How could she destroy that joyful light in Shelly's eyes by telling her about the den of vipers she had married into?
Now it was too late to explain anything to her sister. Grief and regret washed over her in cruel, unrelenting waves.
"Can we go to Point Lobos tomorrow and watch the otters?"
Sophie wiped at her eyes and found that her industrious niece had climbed out of the tub on her own and was wrapped in a towel, drying her hair. Chagrined at her own inattention, she hurried to help.
"That sounds fun." She cleared the remaining emotions from her voice. "We can talk about it with Ali and Zach and see what they want to do tomorrow."
"Talk about what?" Ali, her own hair wet from her shower, joined them in the bathroom wearing a pink cotton nightgown and matching robe.
"I want to go see the otters tomorrow."
"We just did that with Uncle Tommy two days ago."
"I want to go again." A stubborn light flickered in the little girl's eyes.
"I told her we would talk about it in the morning," Sophie said to head off the argument she sensed could easily brew.
Ali shrugged and went to work helping Zoe into her pajamas. The gesture made Sophie want to cry all over again. In just a few days without their parents, Ali had taken over mothering the twins. She was still a little girl, whose childhood had been snatched away from her abruptly and hideously.
While Sophie took over the task, she vowed a solemn oath to herself that she would do everything she could to restore that childhood.
"When will I go back to school, Aunt Sophie?"
Oh dear. She had so much to learn about being a parent. She hadn't given a single thought to them missing school. "Do you want to go back tomorrow?"
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