by Robyn Carr
She gasped. “Let him down? No. That’s not true. You didn’t listen to what I told you. He let me down. He—”
“Save your excuses for someone who’ll buy them. You let that man leave when you should have held on until you could figure a way to work things out. And now you know you gotta go after him. But you’re scared to go after him—scared he might turn his back on you now.”
“Oh, that is wrong. That is so wrong—”
But Oggie was already grabbing his cane, levering himself to his feet with a grunt.
“Wh-where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But…”
“But what, gal?”
“You can’t just say all these cruel things and then leave.”
He chortled quite merrily. “Watch me.”
Stunned, furious—and just a little bit afraid that he might be right, Sophie stared after him as he hobbled away.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Sophie called L.A. information. She requested the phone number for a company called Inkerris, Incorporated. A recorded voice came on and gave her the number.
She wrote the number down. She didn’t plan to use it, she really didn’t. Last night, instead of sleeping, she’d thought a lot about what Oggie had said. Maybe the old man had a point in one sense. Sin had ended up letting her have the Mountain Star, after all. And she would always be grateful to him for that.
Their relationship—or whatever it had been—was over, though. They were from two different worlds. And now they’d both returned to their real lives.
However, it felt good to know for certain that she could reach Sin if she had to—just in case something important came up concerning the ranch.
Having the number did create a little problem, though. She found that as she went through the day, she just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking that she had it. And if she wanted to, she could just pick up the phone and—On Sunday, she gave in. She called the number. A recorded voice informed her that business hours were Monday through Friday, from nine to five. She hung up, her heart beating too fast and her face burning hot.
Monday morning, she got up early and went out for a long ride. She ended up on that ridge where she’d taken Sin the first day they rode together. She looked out over the sparse pastures and thick pine forests below and thought of what he’d said: the trees needed thinning. They would choke out every meadow if left unchecked. And they created a virtual invitation to a forest fire—especially this time of year, when the weather stayed hot and the grasses were dry and brittle as old paper.
Anger rolled through her, low and insistent, like faraway thunder. She’d always found such pleasure in the sight of those trees. And now, because of him, she’d started to see them as a potential problem.
The mare she’d chosen tossed her red mane, eager to be moving again. Sophie kept her in check down the hillside and then let her have her head when they found a clear spot—in the meadow of the wild roses, which also reminded her of Sin.
Everything. Everything reminded her of Sin.
Once she’d returned the mare to the stable, unsaddled her and brushed her down, Sophie went back to the guest house to wash up before breakfast.
In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and reached for a towel. She scrubbed away the water and then looked up, catching her own eyes in the mirror. She frowned at herself.
And then, in the back of her mind, she heard Oggie’s voice, from the other night.
“Now you know you gotta go after him. But you’re scared to go after him—scared he might turn his back on you now.…”
Sophie let out a small cry and threw down the towel.
“Oh, all right,” she said to the mirror, as if the old man’s face looked out at her instead of her own. “I am. I’m just terrified he won’t want me anymore.”
She knew what Oggie would say then, “Terrified or not, gal. You still gotta go.”
She headed straight for the cottage. She needed breakfast—and to find out if Myra and Caleb could handle things by themselves for a couple of days.
Myra said cautiously, “I believe we could manage. It’s after Labor Day. We’ve even been running with a room or two empty during the week. If Bethy will just hold up her end, I’m sure everything will be fine.” Bethy wasn’t there that morning; she had Monday and Tuesday off.
Caleb swallowed a bite of sausage and demanded, “What’s up?”
Sophie answered patiently, “I just told you. I want to visit Los Angeles for a couple of days.”
“What for?”
“It’s…personal.”
Caleb scowled. “So, that’s where he lives.”
Myra pretended to clear her throat as she slid a warning glance at Caleb. “Now, don’t you worry about things here, Sophie B. We can get by. I’m sure that we can.”
Caleb wouldn’t be deterred. “Why the hell do you want to see him?”
“Because…” I love him, Sophie thought. And I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if he might have loved me, too.
“Because what?” Caleb challenged.
“Because…” she said again, then found herself finishing, “…he owns this ranch now.”
Caleb’s fork clattered against his plate. Myra gasped.
And Sophie felt even worse. “I know, I should have told you before. I meant to tell you before. But lately I’ve been so…”
“Confused and upset.” Myra reached across and patted Sophie’s hand. “We do understand.”
Caleb wasn’t so easily put off. “Wait a minute. You’re saying that corporation that bought the ranch is owned by Mr. Sinclair Riker, is that it?”
Sophie nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“You make your lease payments to him.”
“In effect, yes.”
“He owned this place in August, when he was here, with you.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“But he sat at this table and said he was here to look for property deals. He never said—”
“Caleb. Please. Let me work this out my own way.”
“That man is trouble. He’s no one for you to be runnin’ off to see.”
“Please, listen. I appreciate your concern. But this is my problem and I will handle it my own way.”
“Has he got plans to try to kick us out?”
“No,” she answered quickly, silently adding, Or at least, I don’t think he does, not anymore….
Caleb made a low, disgusted noise, then stabbed another sausage. “I don’t like this, Sophie B.”
“But can you—will you—take care of things here if I leave for a day or two?”
“Of course we will,” said Myra.
Caleb forked up another sausage and sawed it in half before he grudgingly answered, “All right. We’ll take care of things.”
Back in the guest house, Sophie tried information again, hoping she might discover Sin’s home phone number. But there was no listing for a man named Sinclair Riker. So at nine on the nose, she dialed Inkerris, Incorporated. Her hand shook as she punched up the numbers and her voice sounded thin and squeaky when she asked for the address there. The woman on the other end rattled it right off. Sophie had already hung up before it occurred to her that she might simply have asked to speak to Sin.
She punched Redial—and then hung up before it rang.
She was already a nervous wreck about this. She just couldn’t afford to be put off by some receptionist. No, she would go down there. All the way to L.A. And she wouldn’t come back until she’d spoken with Sin face-to-face.
What exactly she would say to him, she hadn’t a clue. But she would see him. She would talk with him. And by the time she came home, she’d have some kind of idea if what they’d shared had been anything more than a beautiful—and ultimately heartbreaking—summer fling.
The next morning, Sophie flew into LAX from Sacramento. She bought a map at the airport and rented a car. Then she fought her way through the awf
ul traffic to the Century City offices of Inkerris, Incorporated.
The sight of the building completely intimidated her. It was a tall, imposing, very modern structure of black marble and glass. She drove by in her small rented car and wondered how she’d ever get up the nerve to go inside, walk up to some security guard and ask to speak to Sinclair Riker.
Oh, Uncle Oggie had been so right. She never should have let Sin leave her side until she was sure he didn’t want to try again. Her original cowardice had only made things all the more difficult in the end.
A hotel, she decided. She’d find one first. And then come back and walk through those tall, gleaming glass doors. It was putting off the inevitable, she knew it; more evidence of her own cowardice. But she did it anyway.
She found a room in a small hotel about a mile away from Inkerris, Incorporated. Then she sat on the end of the bed for a while, staring at her own reflection in the mirror over the low chest of drawers and telling herself she had no more excuses now.
It was after three when she finally slipped through the doors of Sin’s building. She found herself facing acres of marble floor and two banks of elevators. Over near the far wall was an information desk, with a directory on the wall behind it. She drew her shoulders back and marched over there. The man behind the desk watched her as she approached.
She tried to simply scan the directory over his head, but then he asked, “May I help you?”
She cleared her throat. “I’d like to speak to Sinclair Riker, please.”
The man gave her an indifferent smile. “Your name?”
She had to cough again, in a rather futile effort to make her throat relax. “Sophie. Sophie B. Jones.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh…no. No, I don’t.”
Right then, a phone near his elbow buzzed. He put up an index finger. “Just a minute.” Then he picked up the phone. “Lobby. Yes. No. All right.” He hung up and looked at Sophie again. “What is your visit concerning?”
Now how could she answer that? She stammered, “I-it’s a personal matter.”
He looked at her sideways, a look that she read as disapproving—or disbelieving. But then he did pick up the phone and punched a button. “This is Jerry in the lobby. I have a Ms. Jones down here. To see Mr. Riker. She says it’s a personal matter.” He paused, listened.
“Yes. Good enough.” He hung up, smiling for the second time, as indifferently as before. “Mr. Riker isn’t in. Would you like to leave a number?”
Sophie’s heart sank. That was it. She’d been turned away. By Sin himself, possibly. Or maybe not. How could she know? And what in the world was she going to do now? “I…”
Now the man looked impatient. “Just give me a number. I’m sure he’ll get back to you.”
She drew herself up. “No. Really. I’d like to speak with his…assistant, please.”
“Ms. Jones…”
She tried to stand even taller. “Please.”
With a shrug, the man picked up the phone again. “This is Jerry downstairs again. Ms. Sophie B. Jones would like to speak with Mr. Riker’s assistant, rather than leaving a number here.” Jerry listened, looking Sophie over while whoever was on the other end of the line spoke. Though the air conditioning in the building seemed to be set on high, Sophie felt the sweat break out under her arms. At last, he said into the phone, “No, I don’t think so,” and then, “All right.” He hung up, looked at Sophie. “Take the far bank of elevators. Top floor. Penthouse.”
She stared, hardly daring to believe she’d actually made progress, no matter how minimal.
“The far bank of elevators,” Jerry said again, clearly uncertain whether she’d heard him or not.
She gave him a grateful smile. “Yes. All right. And thank you.”
He smiled back, more warmly than before. “You’re welcome.”
She turned and hurried toward the elevators.
On the top floor, the elevator doors slid open onto a wide reception area. The marble floors were inlaid with diamond patterns. Fabulous Egyptian-design rugs covered parts of that floor, with leather chairs grouped around them. A long desk ran along one wall. Behind that desk sat a gorgeous brunette.
“Ms. Jones?”
“Yes.”
“Have a seat. Mr. Taylor will be with you shortly.”
Sophie sank into one of the leather chairs to wait. The brunette started typing. Sophie’s nerves hummed in anticipation and dread. The big room seemed so quiet, except for the brunette, punching the keys: click-click-click-click. Sophie hoped it wouldn’t be long.
Twenty minutes later, the brunette looked up. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just leave a number?”
“No,” Sophie said. “I’ll wait.”
And wait she did. For another hour and ten minutes, as the brunette typed away and intermittently answered the phone. Then, near five, the phone buzzed again. The brunette picked it up. “Yes?” The brunette’s clear blue eyes met Sophie’s—and then she quickly looked away. “No. Not yet,” she said gingerly.
Sophie’s heart thudded dully in her chest. She just knew it was Sin, asking if she’d given up and left yet. She wanted to jump to her feet and demand that he talk to her. At the same time, she wished she could just sink through that leather chair, down ten floors and right on through the ground all the way to China.
The brunette hung up. “Mr. Taylor will be right out.”
Sophie gulped. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more nervous. “Thank you.”
A few moments later, the tall mahogany doors to the left of the brunette’s desk swung open. A movie-star-handsome blond man in a suit straight out of GQ appeared. He saw Sophie and advanced on her, holding out his hand.
Sophie leaped to her feet.
“Ms. Jones.” His hand was cool, firm and dry. Sophie’s own hand felt suddenly clammy. She resisted the urge to yank it away and wipe it dry on her skirt.
He let go, granting her a smile as cool as his handshake. “I’m Rob Taylor, Mr. Riker’s personal assistant. What can I do for you?”
She put on her best no-nonsense tone. “I’m here to see Mr. Riker.”
A tiny frowned creased his tanned brow. “I thought Jerry downstairs told you—”
“That he isn’t in. Yes. The man downstairs did tell me that. But I—”
“Ms. Jones.” His tone had turned from bland to patronizing. “Really. I’m sorry you insisted on waiting to talk to me. I realize we’ve wasted too much of your time. But Mr. Riker honestly is not here.”
She couldn’t just give up now. “When will he be here?”
“Ms. Jones—”
“Tomorrow. In the morning? Is that the best time to—”
“Ms. Jones. Please. Give me your number. I will make certain that he gets it.”
Beyond his shoulder, Sophie could see the beautiful brunette. Watching. Probably wondering what was the matter with her, that she had such difficulty taking a hint.
“Ms. Jones, I—”
Sophie sighed. “All right.” She had a Mountain Star business card in her purse. She took it out, groped around for a pen, and then scribbled the name of her hotel on the back of it. “I don’t know the phone number there offhand. But it’s over on—”
Rob Taylor took the card almost before she finished writing on it. He glanced at it. “I know the Helmswood Arms.” He gestured at the brunette behind the reception desk. “Tessa can look up the phone number.” He took Sophie’s arm and herded her toward the elevator doors. “I’ll see that Mr. Riker gets your message.” He pressed the button and the doors opened. “Have a nice day.” He guided her into the car. The doors slid soundlessly shut on his too-handsome face.
Sophie wanted to fling herself at those doors, pound on them, order them to open again. But what good would it do? If she got out of the car, Rob Taylor would probably only shove her back inside again—or call Jerry downstairs and have her bodily removed from the building.
The elevator beg
an going down.
As she descended, Sophie couldn’t help thinking that the wisest move now would be to check out of the Helmswood Arms, head to LAX and wait on standby until she could get a flight home. Instead, she returned to her room, took a long, hot shower, put on a clean dress and visited a deli for a ham on rye.
By the time she sat down with her sandwich, she felt marginally better. She had to think positive. After all, it was entirely possible that Rob Taylor had only told the truth: Sin simply hadn’t been there.
Maybe she was whistling at the moon, but she would give it—give Sin—another twenty-four hours. Her flight back was scheduled for tomorrow evening. She could keep trying until then. Maybe he would call. And if he didn’t, she’d gather all her courage up and storm the gates of Inkerris, Incorporated, one more time.
Sophie consumed all of her sandwich, a large glass of milk and both of the big slices of dill pickle that came with it. As she ate, she plotted her next attack on the marble and glass bastions of Inkerris, Incorporated.
Tomorrow, if Sin hadn’t called, she would try a different approach. This time, she’d go in as the owner-operator of the Mountain Star, a tenant of Inkerris, Incorporated. She’d tell Mr. Taylor that she simply had to see Mr. Riker concerning the property she leased from him.
It might not work any better than citing “personal” reasons had. But it certainly couldn’t do any worse.
By the time she got back to her room after visiting the deli, she’d almost convinced herself that the message light on the phone would be blinking. It wasn’t.
She told herself she would not become discouraged.
However, she just might go nuts if she sat in that room all evening, staring at the four walls. L.A. was full of small movie theaters, the kinds of places that showed movies only someone like Sophie would enjoy.
She got a Los Angeles Times and chose a place that was showing It Came from Outer Space and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. She ate bad popcorn, drank flat root beer and laughed at awful dialogue. By eleven, when the show was over and she emerged into the balmy L.A. night, she almost felt good.
But back at the hotel, the message light remained dark. She hardly slept the whole night, her nerves on a razor’s edge, waiting for the phone to ring.