Informed Risk: A Hero For Sophie Jones

by Robyn Carr

  “What?”

  “Was it so hard?”

  “No,” he lied. “Not at all.”

  “You don’t like to talk about yourself.” Her tone had grown serious.

  Again, he thought of what he should tell her—at the same time as he finally admitted to himself that he was not going to tell her. Not for a while yet.

  He felt like a man under some sort of spell. A spell destined to end badly.

  And soon.

  But he would take what he could get while it lasted.

  She said, “It’s all right. I’ll get the truth out of you.” Now she looked mischievous. “One little bit at a time.” She sat up. “How about a ride? Before breakfast.”

  “A ride?”

  “You know. On a horse.” She tipped her head. “Or maybe you don’t ride.”

  “I ride. When I get the chance.” It was part of his plan, to raise horses here. As his father had done and his grandfather before him.

  She gave a small laugh. “How well? Can I vouch for you with Caleb?”

  “You can vouch for me.”

  The sheet she held at her breast slid down, exposing the upper edge of one pink aureole. If she didn’t get moving soon, he wouldn’t let her go at all.

  She must have seen the heat in his eyes. Her mouth went soft and her own eyes went dreamy. “I’m the general jane-of-all-work around here.”

  “So?”

  “So, if we don’t go for that ride now, we won’t have time to go at all.”

  He reached for her, and the sheet fell away.

  She sighed as he kissed her. “Maybe tomorrow morning…”

  He lifted his mouth from hers, just enough to whisper, “Maybe tomorrow morning, what?”

  “Maybe tomorrow morning, we’ll go riding.…” Smiling that dreamy smile, she pulled him down.

  “Sinclair Riker,” Myra said, as she set a roast beef sandwich and a big glass of milk in front of Sophie. “I can hardly believe it. And he’s come back to see what became of his home?”

  “Yep. And to look into doing business here, I think.” Sophie picked up the sandwich. “This looks great. I am starving.” She took a hefty bite. “Umm.”

  Myra watched her chew for a moment, then pulled out the chair opposite her and sat in it. Sophie cast her a questioning glance. The older woman poked a loose strand of graying red hair back into the net she wore when she worked, then moved the salt and pepper shakers closer together in the middle of the table.

  Sophie swallowed the bite of sandwich. “Okay. What’s up?”

  They were alone in the kitchen, but still the cook leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He spent the night, didn’t he?”

  Sophie swallowed. “Myra,” she said gently. “You are not my mother.”

  Myra sat back in her chair and crossed her freckled arms over her middle. “Well, of course, I’m not.”

  “And anyway, how would you know if he spent the night?”

  Myra uncrossed her arms and looked at the table. She must have spied a few crumbs, because she began blotting the table with her fingers. “Caleb ran into him down by the creek last night—and then saw him leave this morning.”

  “And naturally Caleb reported right to you.”

  “You know how he is.” The cook rubbed her fingers together over her other hand, then blotted the table some more. “He just wants to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting. Honestly.”

  “But…” Myra seemed unable to find the right words. She stood, went to the sink and brushed away the crumbs she’d blotted up. Then she turned back to Sophie. “It’s only…you just met him, right?”

  Sophie set down her sandwich. She pushed back her chair and went to stand beside the older woman. Myra had come to the Mountain Star in response to Sophie’s ad for a live-in cook. She’d been the first applicant for the job. Myra had worked in restaurants, both at the stove and as a waitress. Her references had been impeccable. But more important to Sophie, Myra had kind eyes. Sophie had just known that they would be great friends. And she had been right.

  “Myra, remember how you used to worry, when we first started out? When we opened the campground and people who needed somewhere to spend the night began showing up?”

  Myra made an obstinate noise in her throat. “That was different.”

  “No. I don’t think so. You were worried that one of them might cause us harm. But none of them have. It’s all worked out fine.”

  “They’re good kids, most of them. I see that now.”

  “Myra, you give them food. To take with them when they go.”

  “Only leftovers, you know that. In order not to waste them. And you did tell me to use my judgment about it.”

  “That’s right. Because I trust your judgment.”

  “Well,” Myra muttered grudgingly. “Thank you.”

  “And now, I would like for you to trust mine.”

  Myra’s gaze skittered away. “Of course, I trust your judgment.”

  “Good.”

  “But…this is so unlike you.”

  “No.” Sophie touched her friend, very lightly, on the shoulder. “It’s exactly like me. Myra, I…” She couldn’t quite say the word love at that point, though that was what she felt inside. Still, her relationship with Sinclair was all too new, too overwhelming, to go putting labels on it. She finished rather lamely, “I trust him. I do.”

  “But how do you know if he’s a man worthy of trust? You don’t even go out with men.”

  Sophie laughed then. “When would I have time? You know how it is around here. I barely manage to fit in a few hours’ sleep at night.” And last night, not even that much, she thought, and had to hide a goofy smile.

  “Yes,” Myra jumped in, “and that’s what I mean.

  You’re not…experienced. You’re not careful. You’re a perfect target for some fast-talking fortune hunter.”

  Sophie made a show of rolling her eyes. “Some fortune. We run this place on a shoestring, and you know it perfectly well. Sinclair knows it, too.”

  “How does he know?”

  “Because he has eyes. Because I gave him a tour of this kitchen. All he had to do was glance around. He could see I don’t have the money to fix it up right.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Honestly, Myra. He’s not after my fortune. I promise you.”

  “Then what is he after?”

  Sophie pretended to be hurt. “What? You find it impossible to believe he might just be after me?”

  “No.” Myra’s ruddy face lost its obdurate expression. “I don’t find that impossible. You know I don’t.”

  “Good. And I’m not a total innocent. I’ve been around a little—back before the Mountain Star, when I had a Saturday night to myself now and then.”

  “You’ve…been around?” The cook frowned.

  Sophie immediately regretted her choice of words. “Oh, Myra. You know what I mean. There was a time when I actually dated. And I was engaged once, before I came here.”

  “That’s right, I’d forgotten. That lawyer from San Francisco…”

  “The point is, I’m not a complete fool when it comes to the opposite sex.”

  “Oh, I do hope you’re right.” The cook glanced at the rest of Sophie’s sandwich, which still waited on the table. “You’d better eat that before the bread gets dry. And drink all that milk. The way you work, you need a good lunch.”

  “Myra, are you all right about this now?”

  Myra sniffed. “I don’t approve of what you’re doing.” And then she couldn’t help smiling. “But I do approve of you.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s your life.”

  “Thank you. For caring.”

  “Eat your lunch, then.”

  “I will.”

  After she finished her sandwich and drank all of her milk, Sophie went looking for Caleb. She found him in the stables, wearing those high rubber boots of his, swamping out stalls.

  He looked up when he saw her, then
went back to work.

  “Caleb, I think we’d better talk.”

  He went on pushing his broom. “Maybe later. I want to get this job done now.”

  “Caleb.”

  He stopped, glanced at her narrowly, then set the broom against the wall. “What?”

  She found she didn’t know how to begin. “Look. Let’s go out to the big pasture.” The big pasture was several hundred yards from the stables, to one side of the series of working corrals. The horses whose owners hadn’t come to claim them for the day would all be there now.

  “Sophie B., I got my work to do.”

  “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Reluctantly he followed after her, out into the sunlight. They leaned on the fence of the pasture and watched the horses. The big spotted gelding Pretty Boy came over, lipped Sophie’s empty palm, then ambled away.

  Sophie watched him go. “Sinclair is welcome here, Caleb,” she said softly. “I…care for him.”

  Beside her, Caleb grunted, a disapproving sound.

  “Caleb, I know what I’m doing.”

  Caleb grunted again.

  “Give him a chance.” She reached out, put a hand on his huge forearm. “For my sake.”

  He actually looked at her then. “You think you know what you’re doing?”

  She nodded. “I do know what I’m doing. I’m sure. In my heart, where it counts.”

  “It’s happened pretty sudden.”

  “Things that happen suddenly aren’t necessarily bad.”

  He actually smiled then, something he did rarely, because his teeth were crooked and that embarrassed him. “I guess you got a point. I like things slow, myself. But that’s maybe just me.”

  “Sometimes you simply have to be ready. Or the best things in life will pass you by.”

  Caleb turned back to the horses again. “The vet said Black Angel’s doing fine.” The Arabian mare had come up lame a few weeks ago. A bad sprain, but not a break, thank heaven. The owner had had a fit, though both Sophie and Caleb knew the limp had started right after the woman had taken the mare out for a long ride on the twisting trails of Riker Ranch. Caleb had suffered the owner’s abuse, then wrapped the injured pastern joint, stalled the horse and called in the vet.

  “She looks good as new,” Sophie said.

  Caleb turned his pale blue eyes on her again. “I guess if you think this Sinclair Riker’s okay, it’s good enough for me.”

  Sophie touched his arm again. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

  “He just better treat you right, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Caleb. He’s a fine man.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  That night, Sinclair arrived at intermission. Sophie looked up and saw him. He smiled. She almost dropped a can of grape soda on a guest’s sandaled foot.

  “Careful, Sophie B.,” the guest warned.

  She apologized, handed the guest his change and waited on the next person in line—a true exercise in concentration since every atom in her body seemed to be bouncing around in pure joy.

  Finally everyone had been served. Sinclair straightened from the little table by the door, where he’d been leaning, watching her. In three long strides he stood before her.

  She looked up at him, feeling stunned and glorious. Out of her depth, over her head—and thrilled to be that way. “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  “Popcorn? Bottled water?”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  “Oh.” She felt at a loss, all at once, like an actress who had forgotten her next line. “Will you…watch the rest of the show?”

  “I think I’ll pass. Those poor evil rustlers. I can’t stand to see them all die a second time.” He was teasing her.

  By some minor miracle, she found she could tease back. “They deserved to die. They crossed Randi Wilding.”

  “Who looks damn good in a tight plaid shirt.”

  She put on a reproachful expression. “Randi Wilding is more than a sex symbol. She is a genius on film.”

  “I still think I’ll pass up the second half.”

  “And do what?”

  “Go for a walk—if that’s all right.”

  “You know it is.”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “Maybe you should give me a grounds pass. Something that says it’s all right if I’m here—in case I run into Caleb.”

  “Caleb won’t bother you. He knows you’re okay now.”

  His eyes gleamed. “And how does he know that?”

  “Because I told him.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I have my ways.” She glanced toward the curtain that led to the rows of seats. All her guests were waiting to see the second half. “And I also have to get that projector going.”

  “I know.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Sinclair, I really have to go.”

  He reached out and slid his hand under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her close. “I know,” he said again. And then he kissed her.

  Oh, had there ever been such kisses as his? They seared her synapses. Sent her eyeballs spinning…

  When he let her go and stepped back, she swayed toward him, like a green tree in a high wind. He laughed then. “Just so you won’t forget me.”

  “As if I ever could.”

  “Go on. Your audience wants to see the rest of the show.”

  Somehow she made her feet turn toward the hayloft.

  Afterward he was waiting. He helped her wash the bowls and sweep the floor. Then they went to the guest house together.

  They were barely through the front door before he was grabbing her, pulling her close, kissing her as if he might die if he didn’t. She kissed him back. She felt just the same way—as if she must kiss him, or she wouldn’t survive.

  They took off all their clothes and lay down on the couch.

  The things they did there should have made her blush for shame.

  But she didn’t blush. And she felt no shame. She felt only rightness.

  And pure ecstasy.

  Those beautiful hands moved over her, revealing all her secrets, making her cry out. Making her moan. She lifted herself up to him, offering herself, welcoming whatever glorious anguish his next caress might bring.

  Finally he said, “The bedroom. Now.”

  He got up and took her hand and tugged her along, totally naked, dazed, yearning, fulfilled and yet still hungry, into the other room. He let go of her hand just inside the door and she stood there, watching him, as he moved toward the bed. His body glowed in the darkness, lean and hard, the muscles spare and tightly sculpted. So beautifully formed. So perfectly male.

  As she looked at him, she wondered at herself.

  “This isn’t like you,” Myra had said.

  And it wasn’t.

  Or rather, it hadn’t been. Until Sinclair.

  And now she couldn’t get enough of this. Of him. Of his body. Her body. The two of them. Joined.

  He found the box of contraceptives, took one out, rolled it down over himself. And then he turned. “Come here.”

  The yearning inside her rose up, hotter than ever, to meet the command in his voice. In his burning dark eyes. There was a thrumming all through her, a rhythm of pure need.

  She moved toward him. He sat on the edge of the bed, held out his hand. She took it. He pulled her onto his lap, there on the edge of the bed.

  She settled over him, gasping a little at the torrent of pure feeling as he filled her. He guided her legs around his hips and his mouth found her throat in a long, hungry kiss. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back.

  Heaven. A forbidden heaven, it was. She soared through it, her whole body shimmering. Joyous. Free.

  Finally, near the end, she made herself open her eyes and look at him.

  He stared back at her, a look as deep and powerful as the uproar in her blood.

  She whispered, “I love you. Lov
e you, love you…”

  The fulfillment came. Hard and fast. Her head fell back again. She left all conscious thought behind as sensation had its way with her.

  Chapter 6

  Right at daylight, she shook him and called his name.

  He put an arm over his eyes and groaned.

  “Sinclair, I want you to go riding with me.”

  He sneaked a glance out from under his arm. Her hair hung over her bare shoulders, glorious and tangled. She looked like some sleepy angel—a frowning angel.

  “What’s the matter?” He lowered his arm.

  “I just realized that you don’t have riding clothes.”

  He grinned at her. “I do. In the car.”

  “You do?” Now she was beaming, happy as a good child on Christmas Eve.

  “You said you wanted to ride this morning, so I brought some jeans and boots.”

  She yanked back the sheet. “Well, don’t just lie there. Get up. We have to get going. Come on…”

  The hulking stableman didn’t seem much friendlier, but he stayed out of the way as Sin and Sophie saddled up a pair of horses and got ready to go.

  The sun was just sliding over the edge of the mountains when they started on the trail that wound off into the trees not far from the main house. She led the way through the pines and then out into a sunny, rolling pasture overgrown with tangled wild rosebushes. Soon enough, they went back into the trees again and then upward, switching back and forth toward the rocky crest of a high hill.

  When they reached the top, they stopped and looked out over the blanket of evergreen below, broken up here and there by small meadows and the shining ribbons of mountain streams. Sin leaned on the saddle horn, thinking that the damn pines were choking out everything. They encroached on all the meadows now, saplings and even midsize pines dotting what had once been open land. Something would have to be done about them, or the ranch would be nothing but forest.

  “Is it the same as you remember it?” she asked.

  He let out a low laugh. “Sophie. I was only six.” Yet he did remember. His father had brought him up here once, about a year before the end. To look out over the land, just as he and Sophie were doing now.

  “All that you can see is ours,” his father had said. “Riker land. Your grandfather scraped and saved and wheeled and dealed for every square foot of it. It’s what makes us who we are.”