Informed Risk: A Hero For Sophie Jones

by Robyn Carr

  Even now, over thirty years later, Sin felt his blood stir as he remembered his father’s words. Anthony Riker had always been a hell of a talker. He could bring tears to the eyes of the coldest heart when he quoted poetry or told the old family tales.

  Unfortunately he’d hated work and never planned ahead. Busy telling stories and quoting Browning and Shelley, he’d let the land that “made them who they were” slip right through his fingers. And then he’d killed himself, a final dramatic statement that also allowed him to escape a future in which he’d no longer be Anthony Riker of the Riker Ranch, but just another nobody trying to scrape by day-to-day.

  Beside him, Sophie spoke. “It gives me such a feeling of…peace, just to look at it. To know that even with all the ugliness in the world, a place like this exists.”

  The brown gelding Sin rode snorted and tossed his head, eager to be moving again. Sin patted his neck to settle him down a little and set his mind on practical matters. “It’s overgrown. A little clear-cutting would help.” He used the logger’s term for the removal of every last tree from any given area. Sophie sent him a sharp, disapproving glance. He laughed. “Come on. Clear-cutting has its uses, in spite of what your average rabid conservationist would like you to believe. Give it another twenty years, and those pines down there will choke out everything.”

  She looked out over the land, her angel’s face wistful. “I suppose. But still, it’s so beautiful and wild-looking.”

  “Overgrown,” he reiterated grimly. Then he couldn’t resist adding, “I’m surprised that teachers’ association you mentioned didn’t bring in some logging crews. The lumber would have brought them a little return on that ‘bad investment’ of theirs.”

  She made a face at him. “You’ll be pleased to know that they did get some crews in here at first.”

  “But lately?”

  “The past few years, the laws have become so much stricter. It’s hard to get permits to cut trees, even on private land.”

  “Hard, but not impossible.”

  She smiled at him, a rather sad smile. “Maybe Inkerris, Incorporated, will put some loggers to work.”

  He only shrugged, though he knew damn well that Inkerris, Incorporated, planned to do exactly that.

  She clucked her tongue at the mare she rode. “Come on. I have to get back.”

  He didn’t argue, just turned his horse for the trail.

  “Stay for Sunday brunch,” she urged once they’d handed their horses over to Caleb. “It’s buffet style. We put it out from ten to one. You could go back to the guest house and relax for a while, then wander on over and get something to eat.”

  The offer held definite appeal—except for the idea of entering that house again.

  It was as if she read his mind. “You’re uncomfortable about visiting the cottage again. I understand. Listen, I could load you up a plate and bring it back to the guest house and we could—”

  He cut her off with a flat lie. “I’m not uncomfortable about that damn house.”

  She looked down at the pine needles under their feet. “Fine.”

  He dragged in a breath. “Look. I’m sorry. I spoke too harshly.”

  She shot him a glance. “So stay for brunch.”

  “No, I can’t. I’ve got some work to do back at the hotel.” Another lie. His only job here was getting rid of her—a job that had not progressed at all as he’d planned.

  She met his gaze again. And smiled. God, she could finish a man off with that smile. “You could go work for a few hours—and come back for brunch. I’d fix us each a plate and take it to the guest house.”

  The word yes, was out of his mouth before it even took form in his brain.

  At the hotel, he showered, checked his messages and called Rob Taylor, his personal assistant in L.A., at home. Rob had a number of issues to report on. Sin listened with half an ear, made a few suggestions, then said he had to go.

  By then, it was nine-thirty. Too soon for a man who had “work” to do to be showing up again at the Mountain Star. He checked at the front desk and got the name of a local health club that took drop-ins on Sunday, then he got in his rental car and drove over there.

  He worked out for an hour, pushing his body until the sweat was streaming off of him and his muscles felt like limp spaghetti. When he couldn’t press another pound, he showered for the second time that day.

  He was on his way back to the Mountain Star when he noticed the gray sedan behind him. A late-model Plymouth or Dodge. So nondescript as to be almost invisible. But now that he thought about it, it seemed he’d seen more than a few late-model gray sedans in his rearview mirror the past day or two.

  Right then, he was just leaving the part of Grass Valley known as the Brunswick Basin, a busy shopping area packed with strip malls, fast-food restaurants and gas stations. He swung into the next parking lot: home to a bank, a title company and a beauty parlor. The gray sedan sped on by. When Sin pulled back onto the road again, the car was nowhere in sight.

  Through the remainder of the short drive to the ranch, he tried to think which of his current competitors or business associates might want him followed. No one came immediately to mind. But that didn’t mean anything. He had a reputation for sealing up prime pieces of property before his potential rivals even realized that the property could be bought.

  He’d left L.A. in the middle of last week. No doubt by now, the word would be out that he was gone. It was entirely possible that someone had had him followed just to see what fabulous deal he might have in the works.

  Sin smiled to himself. If someone had had him followed, they should have done some spying a little closer to home first. Sin paid his people well and expected their discretion, but information could always be obtained at a price. An effective rival could have learned that the property in question already belonged to him—and that this was a purely private matter anyway.

  Sin signaled, slowed down, and turned into the long driveway that led to the Mountain Star. He wasn’t overly concerned—but nonetheless, he would remember to keep an eye out for nondescript sedans.

  Sin and Sophie had their private brunch in the bedroom of the little house.

  Afterward she couldn’t linger. She had to get right back to work. Reluctant to return to his hotel where he would only sit and contemplate the sheer idiocy of his own behavior, Sin wandered out to the stables. There he found Caleb, the surly stableman, helping an angry-looking blonde onto the back of a coal-black Arabian mare. The woman, who might have been anywhere from thirty to forty, wore English riding gear—jodhpurs, a neat little hat and knee-high boots. Once she found her seat, she sawed on the reins, forcing the mare to prance.

  “Easy,” Caleb warned.

  The woman cast him an icy glance, yanked on the reins some more, and rode out into the sun as if she owned the world.

  Shaking his head, Caleb watched her go. Then he turned and saw Sin standing there.

  “That’s a fine mare,” Sin said.

  “And that woman’s set on ruining her,” Caleb replied. He turned to leave.

  Sin should have let him go, but instead he heard himself say, “Wait.”

  The big man turned. “Yeah?”

  “How did you meet Sophie?”

  Caleb broadened his stance a little—a pose that Sin read as wariness. “Why do you need to know?”

  “I don’t. I’m just curious.”

  A gray cat came strolling toward them across the red dirt in front of the stables. It looked like the same one Sophie had held in her arms that first night, while she gave her cute little introductory speech before the Randi Wilding Western. The cat ran up to Caleb, let out a meow and then sat back in a sinuous movement on its hind legs.

  The stableman bent, scooped it up and began petting it in long strokes. The cat closed its eyes and purred in ecstasy. Caleb said, “She found me here.”

  “Sophie?”

  Caleb nodded, his big head bent down, his gaze on the purring cat. “She came here by a
ccident. She was living in the city then.”

  “The city? You mean San Francisco?”

  “Yeah. She came up here for a weekend with a boyfriend.”

  Sin felt a completely irrational surge of jealousy. “A boyfriend.”

  “That’s right. She was going to marry him.”

  “Why didn’t she?”

  Caleb looked up. “You’ll have to ask her about that.” He looked down at the cat again, went on stroking the gray fur. “She was alone when she came here, though.”

  “You mean to the ranch itself?”

  “Uh-huh. Just drove up the driveway one day, curious, wanting to look around at the old Riker place. She found me in the barn. I was…camped out there. I had nowhere else to go.” He raised his head, his pale eyes proud, defiant of any judgments Sin might make.

  “You were homeless.”

  “That’s what they call it.” His gaze was on the cat again, stroking, rubbing. “She wasn’t even scared of me. She’s like that. She trusts. Everybody gets the benefit of the doubt with her.” He shot another quick glance up at Sin. Sin caught the meaning of that glance: Everybody gets the benefit of the doubt with her, even some who probably shouldn’t, even you….

  The cat rolled over in the groom’s huge arms. He scratched its belly. “Anyway, she found me here. We started talking. I told her I loved horses, could fix just about anything with a motor and knew what to do to bring the grounds back under control—everything was grown pretty wild by then. She always says she got the idea for the Mountain Star that day, with just her and me. Talking in the barn.”

  Sin decided to go for the throat. “You’re in love with her.”

  Caleb crouched and let the cat down. It strolled away, tail high. Then slowly Caleb stood. He assumed that wide, guarded stance again. “I love her. But not the kind of love you think. I’d do anything for her. She’s the sister I never had.” He paused, looked at Sin sideways. “You ever had a sister?”

  “No.”

  “A man feels protective of a sister. I suppose what I’m tellin’ you is, I would do bad damage to a man who hurt her.”

  “I see.”

  “Good. And I got work to do.”

  Sin watched him walk away.

  That night, as they lay in bed, Sin kept thinking of that other man, the one she had almost married.

  And Sophie knew, the way she always did, that something was bothering him. “Okay, what is it?”

  He went ahead and told her. “I spoke with Caleb today.”

  “He was civil—I hope?”

  “Civil enough. He told me you were almost married once.”

  “That’s true.”

  “What happened?”

  Sophie thought, he wasn’t you, but didn’t say it. She’d gone and cried out her love just last night, and he’d said nothing. She didn’t want to push him with constant declarations of her feelings. To her, it seemed she’d been waiting all her life for him to come and find her. But in reality, this was only the fourth night since he’d walked into her movie theater and stolen her heart. She wanted him to feel free to open up to her in his own time and in his own way.

  “Sophie?” His warm breath caressed her shoulder. “Tell me about him.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She wanted him to know all about her own life, just as she hoped he would soon tell her more about his. “His name was David. He was a lawyer. Family law. He handled my aunt Sophie’s estate—she was the one who raised me, really. My parents were killed in a car crash when I was only five.

  “I met David when Aunt Sophie died. That was six years ago. I was twenty-one, with a degree from a business school and a job in an insurance office. I felt very grown-up. After we’d been dating for about six months, he asked me to marry him. He was a good man and I was…lonely. With Aunt Sophie gone, I had no family left. I said yes.”

  “And?”

  “And then we came here. For a weekend. I went off by myself one day, exploring. I stopped at this coffee shop in Grass Valley and got talking to some of the old fellows at the counter. They told me a few stories. About the town.”

  He added for her, “And about the Rikers, who carved an empire here—and then lost it, all in the space of two generations?”

  “Yes.” She turned toward him, cuddled closer. “I asked where the Riker Ranch was. They gave me directions and I found my way here. I drove up the entrance road and…fell in love.”

  “With this place.” It wasn’t a question. He understood.

  “Yes. I wanted to move here. To spend the money my aunt had left me to create the Mountain Star.”

  “And David didn’t share your dream.”

  “He had his life in San Francisco and he didn’t want to move.” Sinclair’s black hair had fallen over his forehead. Tenderly, Sophie combed it back with her fingers.

  “Do you still think of him?”

  “Sometimes. But not with regret. It just…wasn’t meant to be.”

  He reached for her, cupped the back of her neck. “Lucky for me.”

  “Oh, Sinclair…”

  “Kiss me.”

  She did.

  For a good while, they didn’t speak. The only sounds in the lace-curtained room were soft moans and sighs.

  Later she gathered all her courage, and asked, “When did your mother die?”

  He hesitated, but then he did answer. “About three years ago.”

  “Of what?”

  “Complications from diabetes, the doctors said.”

  “You don’t believe that?”

  He moved away from her a little, and sat up against the carved headboard. “I believe she wanted to die. Diabetes can be managed, but she refused to take care of herself. She was never happy, in all those years after my father killed himself.”

  She pulled the sheet against her breasts and sat up beside him. “It must have been hard for you growing up, if she was unhappy.”

  “We got by.” The three words were like a wall with a sign on it: Keep Out.

  Still, she pressed on. “What did she do…for a living?”

  He gave her a long, deep look. “You don’t want to know.”

  She felt for his hand, twined her fingers with his. “No, that’s not true. I do want to know.”

  “All right.” He paused. She thought for a moment that he had changed his mind and wouldn’t go on, but then he said, “She lived off of men.”

  Sophie hoped she hadn’t heard right. “Excuse me?”

  Sinclair chuckled, a cold sound.

  “You ought to see your face. You shouldn’t have asked.”

  She scooted over even closer to him, brought their twined hands to her heart. “But I want to know, I do. Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

  He looked at their clasped hands, then pulled his away. “All right, Sophie. I’ll tell you. She was a whore.”

  “A…?” She gulped, her throat closing over the ugly word.

  “You heard me. A whore.”

  “But I don’t understand. You’re saying she became a…prostitute? Just like that?”

  He made a low, impatient sound. “No. Not just like that. She drifted into it. She was a pretty woman and men were attracted to her. Like my father, she had little ambition to get out and make things happen. At first, I remember she had a job in an office. We lived in east Hollywood then, a tiny ‘garden’ apartment in a neighborhood that had gone downhill. The job didn’t pay much. She was always late with the rent and always worried about how we would get by. And then she met someone at that office. I suppose you could say she was his mistress for a while. Then he dumped her and she lost the job. She met someone else. And someone else. Eventually, she stopped having affairs. She went out with men and went to bed with them and they paid her for it.

  “She went on like that until I got old enough to do something about it. I bought her a little house in the San Fernando Valley and I took over paying her bills for her. She lived quietly after that, but she drank. Drinking and diabetes don’t mix.” He
was looking at the far wall. “Three years ago, she died.”

  At last, he turned his gaze her way again. “Heard enough?”

  She kept picturing him as a little boy, in that tiny apartment he’d mentioned—all alone, while his mother went out with strange men. “How did you stand it? How did you live?”

  “Let’s say I was determined.”

  “Determined to do what?”

  Sin wondered what the hell was the matter with him, to have revealed so much.

  “Sinclair.”

  “Umm?”

  “What were you so determined to do?”

  He backpedaled—smoothly, he hoped. “To…better myself, I guess you could say.” He settled down onto the pillows and pulled her close. “You ought to get some sleep.”

  She wrapped one arm around him, twined those long, smooth legs with his. “Sinclair?”

  “What?”

  “I’m so sorry for her. And for you.”

  “Don’t be,” he commanded. “She’s gone now. And I’ve got what I wanted.”

  She snuggled up closer. “You mean money, right?”

  “Right,” he lied in a whisper, “that’s what I mean.” He smoothed her shining hair back from her temple and placed a kiss there. “Now, go to sleep.”

  “Sinclair?”

  “Sophie. Go to sleep.”

  She sighed. She had a thousand more questions, and he knew it. But he wasn’t going to answer them. He’d already told her way too much.

  She must have realized that he was through talking, because she said no more.

  The next morning, right as the sun rose, she dragged him over to the cottage to eat breakfast in the kitchen with her and the help—which included Caleb, the cook named Myra and a skinny little part-time maid called Midge.

  Sin still didn’t care much for spending time in that house. One of the first things he intended to do once he took over was to tear the damn thing down and build again.

  But that morning, with Sophie next to him, the old demons stayed away.

  Midge was a talker. She had a boyfriend who kept leaving and then coming back, a mother who wouldn’t quit giving her advice—and she’d flunked her last semester at Sierra Junior College.