Carling grabbed her hand. “I don’t understand this rehearsing business. You spend hours practicing something you already know how to do. You already play piano better than anyone in the world, don’t you?”
Sophie laughed. “Well, not quite the whole world.”
“Yes, but nearly. So why do you have to spend hours rehearsing?”
“Because I can always get better and because we learn new pieces for each concert. Also, the symphony players have to knit together.”
“Knit?” Carling repeated.
“The way you and Egbert are knit.” Sophie gestured to their hand holding. “That’s how the symphony orchestra has to play. Unless we rehearse, we’d run the risk of being discordant.”
“Discordant?” Carling wrinkled up her nose.
“Mm, like if Egbert wanted to grow grapes and you wanted to grow beets.”
“Why would I grow beets?” Carling scoffed. “You can’t drink beets!”
They all laughed. Sophie hugged her. “Beet wine, indeed!”.
Carling smirked. “Get on with you, then.”
Sophie walked slowly home. Discordant, indeed. Similar to how her brain and heart wrestled over the puzzle that was Riley. She could recall each of their encounters from the first day onward. Certainly, she’d believed it was a mutual attraction—a desire that grew and blossomed. Yet when they could have had a real relationship, he ended it. He didn’t love her after all. Or at least, not enough to work out whatever differences lay between them. If he’d loved her, he wouldn’t have left her behind in the city, would he?
It still alarmed her, her mistaking his feelings so badly. Lately, if a man showed an interest in her, she was immediately doubtful.
“Miss Malloy,” an unfamiliar voice broke into her thoughts as she was putting her key in the lock.
She turned, wary due to her assault the previous year, her heart already racing, but it was her neighbor’s son.
“My mother sent me with this. We got it by mistake.”
He thrust a letter into her hand and was off running. Glancing at it—from one of her sisters, most likely—Sophie made her way in and heated up the kettle for tea. Shoes off, teacup in hand, she opened it and scanned it, seeing Sarah’s name at the bottom.
For the second time, her heart sped up. Just knowing that Sarah was in the same town as Riley, working closely with him . . . She sniffed the paper, imagining that he might have stood somewhere nearby when she wrote it.
Oh God, she was a fool. Then Riley’s name jumped out of the page at her and she began to read. She read and reread the letter, her tea forgotten and cold when she finally put the letter down. Certain sentences were now stuck in her head:
“Riley has turned out not to be a blessing after all. He is surly and makes mistakes that he would never have made before he went away to school.”
“The townsfolk avoid coming in on days when Doc is off. He doesn’t see how we can possibly leave. Doc is at his wits’ end.”
“Everyone is sure it’s because of Eliza breaking off their engagement, but I think you and I know better.”
Sophie did know better. Eliza’s setting him free had been a blessing to him. So what had gone so terribly wrong? Sarah seemed to be hinting that whatever was going on with Riley had something to do with her, Sophie. Could Sarah be right? There was really only one way to find out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She saw Riley long before he saw her. With the early spring sunshine warming her on the outside, the sight of him made her go all-over hot on the inside. He was sitting with a boy on a bench outside Doc’s practice, and to her shock, he was yelling at him.
“Just give me your hand,” Riley shouted. The boy, who Sophie recognized as Ely’s son, Jack, apparently refused. “This won’t hurt, I’m telling you.” And he grabbed for the hand, which the boy snatched away. “It’s only a goddamned splinter,” Riley roared. And this time he succeeded in securing Jack’s hand.
“Maaamaaaaa,” Jack wailed.
“Jesus!” Riley swore.
Sophie found herself running toward them. At that rate, the town would lynch Riley sooner than they’d go to him for healing.
“Jack,” she soothed when she got close enough. “Why is a big boy like you crying for his mother?” she asked, though he was all of five years.
They both fell silent. Riley’s and Jack’s eyes were equally large and round and shocked.
“Now, why don’t we go inside where Doctor Dalcourt can better look at your hand and I’ll find you a hard-boiled sweet to suck on if you’re very good.” She knew Sarah kept them in the drawer of her desk for the youngest patients.
“Sophie,” Riley finally managed, as he and the boy stood up. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“You’d better mind your language, doctor,” she said and led the little boy inside. “Where’s Sarah and Doc?” she asked, seeing the vacant office.
“A lady’s having a baby and wanted them both with her.”
“But not you, though.”
“No,” he admitted, his jaw tight, “not me.”
She lifted Jack onto a table and he obediently held out his hand. She turned it over and saw the wooden shard, tiny and sharp. “Well, good thing, or this little man would have to spend the whole day with a splinter in his palm.”
She turned to Riley, who still seemed mesmerized by her presence, standing still, staring at her. In truth, she felt lightheaded; it was that good to see him, despite how they’d parted and despite his current display of temper. If he’d let her, she’d smooth his brow.
“Well, doctor.” She gestured at Jack.
“I want Doc,” Jack protested.
What on God’s green earth had Riley done to turn the citizens of Spring City against him? He had seemed to be a favored son, when she was there before.
“Doc is out,” Riley said. “You got me.”
Sophie sighed. “Jack, Doctor Dalcourt specializes in splinters. Let him take it out. How about you let him do it for me, so I can give you that sweet?”
Jack thought about it for a moment and then nodded, stuck out his hand in Riley’s direction and scrunched up his face, eyelids firmly closed.
Riley rolled his eyes, but then, with the tweezers he already held in his hand, he removed the splinter in a heartbeat.
Jack remained frozen.
“You’re all done,” Riley said and picked Jack off the table before he’d even opened his eyes. “Now get.”
“Wait,” Sophie said, finding the sweets in Sarah’s desk. She held out the white wax-paper bag. “Why don’t you take two for being such a brave boy?”
At last, Jack smiled and reached in the bag for his treats.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and he fled.
“Jesus,” Riley said again. “How about thanks, Doctor Dalcourt?”
“Indeed.” She’d seen it for herself—a bad-tempered Riley—or she’d never have believed it. “What is going on?”
He stared at her. “Why don’t you tell me? What are you doing here?”
He didn’t sound pleased to see her at all. She swallowed and decided to be truthful.
“I got a letter from Sarah, basically saying you’re a disaster.”
“Shit!” Riley heaved himself onto the table and sat, head slightly bowed. “If that doesn’t beat all.”
“They’re not going to go traveling and turn over Doc’s practice to you, not as things stand. Can you blame them?”
“Nope.” Then he lifted his head and looked at her directly, “but they’ll go all right. I just need to slap on a smile and hand out the sweets.”
He sounded so unlike himself. Despite what he’d said to her in the coat closet at The Grand, she ached for him. Now, with his gaze locked on hers, she was transfixed.
“Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted to do?” she asked, her voice softened by the longing that was starting to slide through her. She looked to where his hands gripped the table on either side of his denim-clad thighs; she w
anted to close her own hands over his.
“Don’t look at me that way?”
She jumped at his harsh tone, but clung to the memory of a sweeter, gentler Riley. His feet hit the floor and he closed the space between them.
“You shouldn’t have come here. You can’t help me.” His voice was thick with unspoken emotion. She felt as though her heart were breaking all over again.
“Please, Riley, tell me what’s going on. You remind me of a story I read as a little girl, about a lion with a thorn in its paw. The pain made him very angry, and he lashed out at everyone, until a slave came along and removed the thorn.”
“Is that what you’re here to do?” his voice lowered as he took another step that brought him nearly up against her, so she had to look up at his handsome face, with its stubble-covered jaw.
She didn’t answer; she reached up and grazed his unshaven cheek before she realized what she was doing. And he captured her hand in his own. They stared at each other.
She knew her emotions were evident on her face and in her eyes. He would know that she had no pride, that she loved him despite everything. However, it was an answering look on his own face that made her heart twist, even as it gave her hope.
“No,” he ground out, denying what he was about to do, just before his lips came down on hers. He released her hand and she wrapped her arms around his warm, strong body, leaned in to his hard, muscled frame, and felt she was home.
“No,” he said again, against her lips before he forced hers open so he could deepen the kiss, far beyond what was appropriate in Doc Cuthins’ surgical practice. His arms held her close, enveloping her in everything Riley, and she heard herself whimper.
How could she live without this man? The question itself embarrassed her, even as his tongue touched hers. What kind of nineteenth-century, independent woman was she, to think such a thought? Yet, as his hands roamed down her back and he parted his thighs slightly so he could bring her in even closer, she had no answer.
The door swung open behind her.
“Oh, my,” said Jessie, still wearing her apron from Fuller’s. “What in the world! Is that you . . . Sophie? Why, what . . .? I mean, is Doc here?”
By this time, they were standing a respectable three feet apart, both red-faced and breathing heavily.
“What do you need, Jessie?” Riley asked gruffly.
“I burned my forearm a little, but I can see you’re busy.” She started to back out.
“I was about to leave,” Sophie said, though it was obvious she’d been doing no such thing.
“No,” Jessie protested. “It’s okay. I’ll wait until—”
“Until Doc gets back,” Riley finished, his voice thin, sounding tired.
“Well, that is . . . yes.”
Sophie had to speak up. “Riley is a good doctor, Jessie. He attended one of the finest schools in the country. I think you can trust him to handle a kitchen burn.”
“I couldn’t last time,” she said flatly.
Sophie looked from Jessie to Riley.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I used the wrong ointment.”
“It stung like hell,” Jessie protested.
“Burns will sting,” he said cavalierly.
“Riley!” Sophie scolded. “Jessie, I’m sure he’s got the right medicine now. Some lanolin balm, perhaps.”
“Aloe,” he corrected, looking at her. “With some acetylsalicylic acid and a little laudanum to deaden the pain,” Riley added, sounding more like himself,
Jessie still looked doubtful, but she let Sophie lead her to the inner surgery, with Riley following. Jessie pulled up her sleeve to show an ugly red mark on her arm.
“A steam burn, would you believe? But I panicked and rubbed at it with my kitchen towel. Plum took the skin off.”
“We’re going to clean that first, so you don’t get infected.”
Riley talked to Jessie all the while he cleaned the burn and treated it and dressed it. Sophie watched him; he was calm, competent, and caring, the way he’d been during the train accident, and she couldn’t imagine how the people of Spring City weren’t thrilled to have him.
Jessie was nearly out the door, when she turned and said, “You can go back to what you were doing when I came in.” She smiled at their mortified faces before adding, “It seems to have helped him no end.”
After Jessie left, they were both silent a moment.
At last, Riley asked, “Are you staying at the Sanborn place again?”
“Yes.” Though she hadn’t let Sarah know she was coming, so there would be no prepared bed and stocked pantry as the time before.
“I’ll take you over,” Riley offered.
“No,” Sophie said, putting her hand up. “I’ll make my own way. You need to be here in case you get any more patients, right?” She was backing away, needing distance from him. “I’ll speak to you later. If you see Sarah, well . . .”
She trailed off.
He half-smiled. “I’ll tell her you’re here, so she can start cooking.”
She nearly had the door closed when he asked, “Sophie, how long are you staying?”
She hesitated. “A couple days, at the most.” By her reaction to him, she knew it couldn’t be longer, or she’d never be able to leave. Even now, she could feel how painful it was going to be.
*****
As Sophie shut the door, Riley whooped with joy. God, it was good to see her again. Better than good, it was incredible. He felt instantly alive and happy, lighthearted and nearly singing like a wren in nesting season. The very same room and the exact same town that had been confining and drab and colorless, at this moment was exciting, just because he knew she was near.
He had to shake his head. He could almost believe she was a vision conjured up by his lonely, desperate brain. He still could barely believe that Sophie had been standing there a moment earlier.
A short while ago, he faced never setting eyes on her beloved face again, and that reality had darkened every waking moment since he’d returned to Spring. Now, he was counting down the minutes until he could close the door for the night and see her again. He steadfastly refused to think past the plain and simple fact that she was in town; for the time being, he wouldn’t acknowledge that nothing had changed regarding their impossible situation.
His facial muscles actually hurt a few hours later because he’d been smiling so much for the first time in ages. He made sure the lamps were down and the medicine all locked away, and then he secured the door behind him.
Riley paused. He wanted to run straight to the Sanborn house, but he knew what would happen. He’d take her in his arms and then they’d be goners. It would be easier to catch a weasel asleep than to keep his hands off her, and it would be entirely his fault. She would only be here a couple of days, and he’d have to live with breaking her heart all over again. Not to mention his own.
He went to Drakes where his horse was stabled and saddled him quickly. With supreme effort, he rode right past where Sophie was staying and out toward his own homestead, unable to keep from turning his head, though, and looking for a sign of her. Sure enough, lights were on and smoke was coming from her chimney. As he rode, he pictured her inside, playing on the upright piano. Maybe waiting for him to stop by.
Hell! How could it hurt to go say hello and hear the news from . . . He nearly thought of San Francisco as home again. He had to stop doing that. Anyway, he’d promised to tell Sarah that Sophie was in Spring, and he hadn’t yet done so; that meant, she probably had nothing to eat. He could at least take her to Fuller’s for supper. No harm in that, was there? He turned his horse around.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sophie had been waiting in the utter quietness of the house, tense as a cat on a floating log. She hadn’t changed from her traveling clothes or hardly moved from the piano bench in hours. She missed the sounds of the city and wondered how she would ever sleep that night with so much vast emptiness around her.
Then he knocked.
/>
She took a breath to steady herself and let it out slowly. He didn’t love her. Plainly, he lusted for her, but he didn’t love her and without that, she could be strong enough to resist him. Then why was she really in Spring City?
She opened the door and the sight of him was electric. Just jeans and a shirt and a sturdy corduroy jacket, but it was the way his shoulders filled out the jacket and the way the shirt stretched over his muscled chest, and the way, she gulped, the
way his jeans fit over his rock hard thighs. Lord, have mercy! He clutched his black hat in his hands and stared back at her.
“Come on in,” she stepped aside, ignoring the clamoring of her body. It seemed the whole brass section was sounding at once.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, not moving an inch forward but putting his hat firmly back on his head.
Surprised, she nodded. “I am. This place is completely cleaned out.”
“Keeps away the rodents,” he said, rocking back on his booted heels, hands in his pockets.
Hm. Silence, just staring at one another.
“So, did you bring me something to eat?” she asked into the charged atmosphere.
“Nope.”
She blinked. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean, I thought we could go to Fuller’s. Or even Ada’s saloon. She makes some good chicken.”
She took a couple steps backward.
“What about . . . I mean, everyone knows you were only recently engaged a couple months ago. What will they say if they see us together?”
“Hell, Jessie’s already told everyone by now what she saw today. They’ll figure we were having a flirtation when you were here before, or that we waited until I was free and are having one now.”
She blushed. “A flirtation?”
“Whatever they’ll call it. I guess we were, at that.”
“And now?” She bit her tongue. Why did she ask him that so blatantly? Was she inviting another “flirtation”?
His eyes darkened. “And now we’re not. Look, Sophie, I’m sorry I grabbed you earlier at Doc’s. I wasn’t thinking straight, if you know what I mean. I was so shocked that you were here.”
An Irresistible Temptation Page 23