Beloved Wolf (12 page)

“Well, of course it upsets me, River,” she said angrily, her arms waving as she all but stomped up and down the rug. “Wouldn't you be upset? My mother is falling apart. My father walks around looking like he just lost his last friend, and has pretty
much cut himself off from the business. Rand tells me that Peter McGrath and my cousin Jackson are just about running the corporation, and keeping tabs on Uncle Graham and Emmett Fallon, because both of them would rob Dad blind if they could. His brother and his best friend—ungrateful bastards, the both of them, watching him like vultures, ready to come in to pick his bones.”

“We're all watching them, Sophie. Nothing is going to happen there, I promise.”

“But we shouldn't
have
to worry about it! None of this should be happening. Amber stays away from home as much as she can, Emily still blames herself for the accident that seems to have triggered all of this, and Drake says he feels less tense wiring underwater explosives to the bottom of a ship than he does at our own dinner table. I don't remember the last time we've all been together just because we want to be together—Rand, Drake, Amber, Chance and Tripp and Rebecca, Emily, Wyatt, Blake. We used to be here all the time, all of us, and now we're scattered, hiding. It isn't just that we've all grown up, gotten started on our own lives. It's that there's nothing here for us anymore, and we all know it. We're all going to hell in a handbasket, Riv, the whole damn family—and I don't know what I can do about it.”

“And that's the crux of it, Soph. You
can't
do anything about it. None of us can. Joe says you have to take the good with the bad, and that's just about all we can do, at least until Joe finally figures out that his wife is gone, and we're all living with nothing
more than a shell of the woman we all knew and loved.”

Sophie stopped pacing, wrapped her arms around herself. “That's so cold, Riv. It's like we've all given up, even as we pretend to keep fighting, keep hoping. Mom said tonight that we'd taken her jewel away. You know what I think she meant? I think she meant her life. As if Dad, all of us, have taken her life away. The bright, shining jewel that was her life. Bit by bit, we dragged her down. All us kids, all the kids that grew up here. Dad going to Washington, leaving her here with all of us. Michael's death. The accident with Emily. The separation before Teddy was born. It's been too much for her, we asked too much of her.”

“So you're going to keep silent about what happened tonight?” River asked, coming around the table, to put his hands on her shoulders. “Do you really think you're doing her a favor keeping that sort of secret?”

“I don't know, Riv. I don't know anything anymore,” Sophie said, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I just know I don't want to go back up that hill tonight, be in that house. That sad, sad house.”

River bent his head, nuzzled his mouth against her throat. “Then stay here, stay here with me.”

T
his was wrong, so wrong.

And so right.

Sophie felt herself being lifted high in River's arms, and she didn't protest. It was difficult to protest when she had her mouth locked with his, her fingers convulsively digging deep into his thick hair.

She felt herself going down, gently down, her back against the soft quilt. River was still with her, as her arms wrapped around him, unable, unwilling, to let him go.

This wasn't love. This was need. This was release, the wild, panicked longing for a blessed deliverance from tension, the cessation of a devastating emotional pain. This was wanting…wanting to be held, wanting to feel desirable, wanting all the nightmares gone. That's what she needed. She needed all of it gone, all
of it shattered by River's touch, River's kiss, his hands on her, his strength all around her, protecting her.

There was also a hunger deep inside Sophie, a hunger she'd never allowed to surface, not to this extent. She longed to devour, to be devoured.

River's hands skimmed her, tracing small paths of fire on her skin, and she clawed her fingernails down his back, trying to reach him through his shirt. Hunger.

His tongue delved deeply into her mouth and she felt her teeth scrape against his as she dueled with him, dared him, battled for dominance, took what she wanted, what she needed so desperately.

Their clothes disappeared, not without damage, but that didn't matter. Clothes were replaceable, a nuisance, and only served as an impediment to desire. If she had her way, the two of them would be naked for the next fifty years, or at least for the next few minutes. Minutes, seconds, fleeting moments…heartbeats racing time, speeding time, destroying time in order to hold the moment, keep the moment.

Sophie moaned with loss as River's mouth left hers. But then he was at her breast, teasing, licking, nipping. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely, her head thrown back, her eyes tightly shut in case reality dared to look at her, dared to destroy the moment with even a small hint of sanity. “Yes, River…please.”

Something hot and wild coiled deep in her belly, tugged into life as River suckled at her, shaped her, molded her into anything he wanted. Anything he
needed. She'd give it all to him, anything, just as long as he didn't stop.
Please don't stop.

Her mind spiraled out of control as River kissed her. Kissed her flat belly, her hip, some sweet, unreachable spot behind her knee.

Make me forget,
she pleaded inside her head.
I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to be afraid. Help me, River. Help me forget. Love me…love me.

 

River woke slowly, wincing as he moved, feeling as if he'd spent a week in the saddle, his every muscle sore, depleted and yet strangely liquid, satisfied.

He felt Sophie's heat next to him as they'd fallen asleep together, the curve of her back against his belly. He still had both arms around her, one under her, the other protectively draped around her waist.

He moved forward slightly, dipping his face into her hair. She smelled so good. Wildflowers. A woman gone wild. A woman who had given until she couldn't give any more, a woman who had taken all he had, then taken even more.

And never a word of love.

River winced as he slowly withdrew his arm from beneath her, not at the pain in his tensed muscles, but with the knowledge that last night had proven nothing—except that they were two healthy animals with strong passions, strong desires.

Worse, she was going to hate him when she woke up, finally came out of the dream and realized what she had done, all that she had allowed, welcomed.

Because she'd come to him out of pain, out of despair, and he'd used her heartache, taken her to his
bed, let her kiss and bite and claw her way through the pain.

Their first explosion of passion had rocked them both, and she'd looked horrified when it was over. She'd tried to leave him, to run away yet again.

But he hadn't let her do that. He couldn't let her do that.

So he'd gentled her, talked to her, stroked her, soothed her, using all his skills, all his experience in calming frightened, spirited but hurt animals. Gaining her trust, at least for a little while, then loving her again, slowly, gently, until she'd melted in his arms, wept in his arms, finally slept in his arms.

But she'd hate him this morning. If he knew nothing else about Sophie, he knew that she'd hate him this morning, because he had seen her vulnerable, broken. She'd run to him, not knowing what she needed, but only knowing that she hurt and that he might make it all better.

No, that wasn't true. She knew he couldn't fix things. He couldn't snap his fingers and make Meredith the woman she'd been. Say a few magic words and bring the sunshine back to what had once been this place of joy. Heal her scar, destroy the nightmares, show her a new path away from the sadness and into the sun.

Propped on one elbow, River lightly brushed Sophie's tangled hair away from her cheek, exposing the scar that meant nothing to him, so very much to her. Would the day ever come when she realized that the scar was so much less important than the way she saw herself? He hated the way she hid the healing
wound with her hair, deliberately ducked or turned her head when anyone looked at her.

He couldn't even hold her, tell her he loved her, because she wouldn't believe him. How could she? Had he gone after her when she left the ranch? Followed her to the city? Said so much as a single word when she'd shown up at the ranch with Chet Wallace's ring on her finger?

No. He hadn't. He'd done nothing. Time and time again, he'd let her go. Because he had nothing to offer her but his love, his dreams. Because his background was so clouded, his pride so stiff, his pockets so empty.

He'd had to fight through his own personal demons, his own private nightmares. The always-present feeling of being unwanted, unloved, rejected by those he loved. He'd held on to the anger that had sustained him.

And, most of all, he had the knowledge that he was a half-breed foster child who owed Joe and Meredith Colton everything he had and would ever have—including owing them what was best for their daughter.

Sophie had pestered him with her teenage crush, had maddened him as she grew into the most beautiful woman he'd ever hoped to see—both in face and form as well as in mind and spirit.

He'd done that for her, in his way. He'd pushed her away, forced her to leave, go to school, grow up.

But he'd never thought she would come home with another man's ring on her finger.

That was when he'd finally gone to Joe, his bankbook in hand, and asked to purchase fifty acres of the
sprawling ranch for his own house and stables, to begin his own stud, board and horse training operation. Because he needed something of his own in order to be able to give it all to Sophie. He needed to be his own man, a man who could look Joe Colton in the eye while he asked for Sophie's hand in marriage. A man who could promise that he'd always care for her, protect her, keep her safe—and mean it.

River smiled a crooked, lopsided smile as he traced Sophie's slim bare shoulder with his fingertips, wondering what she'd think if he took her out to his land, if she could see the house he was building, the stables that were already complete, waiting for the horses he'd purchase.

She'd be pleased for him, he was certain of that much. But would she believe that he had done it not just for himself, but for her? Would she believe that he spent his nights dreaming of Sophie waiting in their own house as he walked up from the stables? Would she believe that he could close his eyes and see the two of them riding along together on their horses, or sitting in the swing he would build for their front porch, or smiling down together at the face of the child they would make?

His smile widened ruefully as he shook his head and chuckled low in his throat. Sure. She'd believe all of that. Right after she horsewhipped him. Because timing was all, as some wise man said, and his timing was lousy. Really, really lousy.

Sophie stirred next to him, and he watched as her eyes opened, then widened in horror, as her entire body went stiff with shock. “Oh, God,” she moaned,
turning her face into the pillows. “Oh, Sophie, you've really done it this time. Wasn't once enough? How do you explain this one to yourself?”

Obviously, she thought she was alone. “Good morning, Soph,” River said, and she moaned again, buried her face even deeper into the pillow. “Sleep well?”

“Go to hell,” she mumbled, pulling the pillow out from under her and then jamming it over her head. She kicked back at his legs, one bare foot connecting with his right shin. “Go away. Just go away.”

River made a face that Sophie once would have laughed at, called comical. “I knew it,” he said, rolling out of the bed, reaching for his jeans. “The morning-after-the-night-before remorse. Sophie, if you weren't so predictable, I think I'd be insulted.”

“I don't care if you
are
insulted,” she said, her voice still faintly muffled, but her tone easily interpreted. “Just let me hear the door close, with you standing on the other side of it.”

“Okay. Want some coffee? Bacon and eggs? Crow?”

“No!”

“In that case, I think I'll go down to the stables and take a ride.”

“Do that,” Sophie told him flatly, and he walked over to the door, shut it, then watched as she slid out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her as she wrapped it, toga-style, around her slim body.

She stopped halfway to the bathroom. Her spine went straight and stiff and she slowly turned around and glared at him. “You rat!”

“And you're beautiful,” he answered. “All rosy and warm, with your hair tangled around your face. I don't suppose…?”

“Right. You don't,” Sophie agreed, her smile reluctant, but there. And then the smile fled, as she raised a hand to hide her cheek. Without another word, she disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the lock tumbling into place echoing like a rifle shot in River's brain.

 

“Couldn't find anyone else, huh?” River said, opening the door to the SUV so that Sophie could walk past him, her chin in the air, and climb up on the seat.

“Not for lack of trying,” she answered under her breath, turning her face forward as he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side of the vehicle.

It was Monday afternoon, and Sophie had indeed spent the morning asking anyone and everyone if some one of them could please,
please
drive her to Prosperino for her physical therapy session.

She never knew everybody else could be so damn busy, so full of reasons why they couldn't take two hours off to help her out.

“I know I took you all last week, Sophie,” Emily had told her, already heading for the front door, car keys in her hand. “But I really do have to go over to Hopechest and help Rebecca. I promised. Besides, I thought River was supposed to be driving you.”

Amber had responded to a knock on her bedroom door, her strawberry-blond hair folded up in several dozen envelopes of plastic wrap. “Sorry,” she'd said,
shrugging. “Just putting in a few little highlights. I can't go to town like this, or everyone will know my natural sun-streaking sometimes gets a little help from a bottle. Besides, I thought River was supposed to be driving you.”

By the time her father had begged off because he was waiting for an important international phone call—this man who hadn't paid much attention to business in a long time—and ended his refusal with “Besides, I thought River was supposed to be driving you,” Sophie had begun to sense a trend.

And a plot.

Not that she was going to say so to him. She wasn't going to say
boo
to River James. Why, she wouldn't speak to him if her hair caught on fire and he was holding the only container of water within fifty miles.

She held it in, zipped it up and kept her silence…for fifteen long, excruciating minutes.

“You did it, didn't you? You told everybody to find something else to do so that you
had
to drive me,” she accused, turning on the seat to glare at him. “Admit it. You did, didn't you?”

River turned his head toward her and waggled his eyebrows. “I cannot tell a lie. I chopped down the cherry tree. I did it with my little hatchet.”

Sophie growled low in her throat. “That's not funny,” she told him, tightly folding her arms across her chest. “And you're no George Washington.”

“That's good, because I think he's pretty old,” River responded, pulling his cowboy hat slightly lower over his forehead. “I know. I'll be John Paul
Jones. What was it he said? ‘I have not yet begun to fight.' Yeah. That's good. And it fits. I'll be him.”

“Well, you're half right. You'll be history, that's what you'll be, if you don't stop interfering in my life,” Sophie declared hotly. “I'd rather walk to therapy than have you drive me.”

“If you could walk to therapy, Soph, you wouldn't
need
therapy,” River pointed out maddeningly. He slowed the SUV, heading toward the shoulder of the road. “However, if you want to try…”

“Don't you dare stop this car!” Sophie exploded, then pressed her head back against the seat. “Oh, I give up. I give up, Riv. I know better than to fight with you. You don't play fair, and never have.”

“I play to win, Soph,” he told her, pulling back onto the blacktop, stepping on the gas. “You, however, don't play at all anymore.”

“Life isn't a game.”

“No, sweetheart,” River said as he pulled into the parking lot, “it most definitely is not. We both know that, don't we? Life is, however, to be lived.”

“Meaning?” she asked, wishing she didn't feel compelled to ask.

“Meaning you're not living right now, Soph. You're hiding. Hiding from people because of that scar, because that mugger made you distrust everyone who comes within ten feet of you—strangers and family alike. Meaning you're going to keep Meredith's secret, not because she asked, but because you're afraid of what might happen if Joe and the rest of you were at last forced to face the truth, that Meredith is slowly losing her mind. Meaning, Soph, that
you and I have something real between us, something you can't ignore, much as you want to…and sooner or later you're going to have to face up to that as well. Now go get your therapy. I'll be back in an hour.”