Beloved Wolf (3 page)

Joe was rescued from having to find some way to respond to Sophie's heartbreaking remark by the entrance of Dr. Hardy, who had come to remove the stitches in Sophie's face.

“Good morning, Sophie, Senator,” the cosmetic surgeon said, handsome and imposing in his green scrubs. “Final unveiling today, Sophie. Are you ready?”

Sophie's hand tightened around Joe's. “I guess so,” she said quietly.

“Good,” Dr. Hardy said, nodding as a nurse entered and handed him a paper package containing a pair of sterile gloves. “Now remember, Sophie, this isn't the completed look. You're sort of a work in progress. You'll be swollen, bruised, and the cut is still going to look red, angry. That's to be expected. Later, in, oh, about six months, we'll go back to the operating room for a little of my magic. Isn't that right, Alice?” he asked the nurse. “Tell Sophie. I'm a magician.”

The nurse rolled her eyes, then grinned at the doctor, obviously the object of some substantial hero worship. “I don't know about the magic part, Doctor,
but I do know that Miss Colton has nothing to worry about. That scar is as good as gone.”

“Thank you, Alice, and there'll be a little something extra in your paycheck this week,” Dr. Hardy said, winking at Sophie, then advancing toward the bed even as Sophie began to cringe against the pillows. “No, no, Sophie. We're going to make this as quick and painless as possible, I promise. Alice is going to remove the bandages and then we'll get those stitches out of there before they start to do more harm than good. And then, young lady, you, your crutches and your leg brace get to go home—at least that's the word on the street. Okay? Is that a deal?”

“Dad?” Sophie said, squeezing Joe's hand until his circulation was all but cut off. “You'll get me a mirror. You promised.”

Joe nodded, his throat clogged with tears, with fear for how the scar would look, how its appearance would impact his daughter. She'd only allowed Chet to visit her a single time, and had kept her head averted during the visit, so that she hadn't even asked him about the bandage over his nose. And then she'd made him promise not to try to see her again until she contacted him.

Joe wasn't sure if she was angry with her fiancé, if she blamed him for her attack or if she was afraid that her appearance had been ruined, so that Chet would be disgusted with her, repelled by her scar.

No matter what Sophie felt, however, Joe had already made up his mind that any man who would stay away from the bedside of his injured fiancée because
she
told
him to…well, he wasn't the man for his Sophie!

Joe blinked, surprised to see that the bandage was already gone, and that Dr. Hardy was in the process of removing the stitches, his green-clad frame blocking Joe's view of his daughter's face.

And then it was done, and Sophie was nervously asking for the mirror.

“Maybe later, baby,” Joe said, only to be cut off by Dr. Hardy, who took a mirror from Alice and handed it to Sophie.

“Just don't get used to how you look, Sophie, because that's going to change—not that it's looking so bad right now, in my opinion. You're young, your health is excellent, and I expect the final scar to be almost invisible.”

Sophie held the mirror in front of her, slowly lifted her hand to tentatively touch the livid red wound that stretched from just below her ear, up and over her jawbone, then back down, so that it ran under her chin.

“He—he didn't make a very clean cut, did he?” she asked at last, putting down the mirror. “I could be marked with a big S, for Sophie. Or for Scarred,” she ended, biting her bottom lip between her teeth.

Joe reached for her hand, but Dr. Hardy had already taken both of Sophie's hands in his. “Look at me, Sophie,” he said, all traces of humor gone. “Look at me, sweetheart, and listen to me. It's a scar. That's all it is. And it will be gone soon, or as close to gone that you'll forget it's even there. But that scar, visible or not, isn't
you.
Do you understand that? If that's an
S on your jaw right now, it stands for Survivor. Don't forget that.”

Sophie nodded, and Dr. Hardy and his nurse left the room.

“Sophie? He's right, you know,” Joe said. “You are a survivor. And you're going to be fine. Five more weeks at your apartment with the nurse I've hired, until the orthopods take that brace off your leg, and then you'll be with us, at the ranch. Six months from now, once Dr. Hardy is done with his magic, it will be as if this never happened.”

“But it did happen, Dad,” Sophie told him, a huge tear slipping down her cheek. “Every night when I close my eyes I remember that it happened. Every day, now that the bandage is off, I won't be able to forget that it happened.”

She tugged her hand free of Joe's and pulled the large diamond ring from her third finger, left hand. “Here,” she said, handing the ring to Joe. “Tell Chet I'll see him in six months, not before then.”

“Oh, honey, don't do this,” Joe begged her, while inwardly he relaxed, with at least one problem being solved for him. “I'm sure Chet will be banging down the door to see you, to change your mind.”

“Like he's been banging down the door all week?” Sophie asked, her smile wry. “No, Dad. I just want to go home to my apartment, wait for this thing to come off my leg, and then come to the ranch. If you want me there?”

“If I— Ah, baby,” Joe said, folding his daughter into his strong arms. “All I want out of life right now is to have you home with us again.”

H
ome.
It had never looked so good.

Sophie sat in the passenger seat as her father drove the car along the private roadway, past various ranch buildings, heading toward the huge, circular drive that fronted Hacienda del Alegria—the House of Joy.

She gave a small, lopsided smile as she remembered the day River had told her about another House of Joy, somewhere in Nevada, that had been a topnotch “pleasure palace” in its heyday, years earlier. Sophie had been highly affronted, saying that wasn't what her parents had in mind when they'd named the ranch, and then minutes later had retold the story to her oldest brother, Rand, giggling as he looked shocked that his little sister would even know about such things.

River had gotten into big trouble over that one—
which served him right, because Sophie had also been subjected to quite a lecture from Rand on what a lady isn't supposed to let anyone know she knows, even if she knows it.

Sophie held up a hand and squinted into the setting sun as the car entered the huge circular drive. Nothing had changed since her last visit. Nothing altered the physical beauty that was Hacienda del Alegria.

There was still the central area of the house, a two-story, sand-color adobe structure sporting California's version of a pillared porch, and a terra-cotta roof.

The sun still rose against the front windows, and set behind the house, over the wonderfully blue Pacific Ocean that lay below a series of cliffs.

Single-story wings wrapped back from either side of the house, affording every room a view of the ocean, of the marvelous gardens, of the courtyard, pool, and gardens that played such a large role in the everyday life of everyone who lived in the house.

And so many, many people had lived in Hacienda del Alegria over the years. Her parents occupied a large suite in the south wing, Sophie's and Amber's bedrooms were also located there, with the north wing housing their brothers and foster siblings.

A full house. A lovely house. Once a happy house.

But not anymore.

“Luckily you'll have no stairs to navigate,” Joe Colton told his daughter as he stopped the car and turned off the ignition. “Even with the brace off, I think you're going to have to get used to being called Gimpy for a while, at least by your brothers. Just remember, Sophie, it's a measure of their affection.
Everyone's been worried sick about you. Boys just often don't know how to say what's really in their hearts.”

Sophie smiled, shook her head at her father. “Senator, you know, you never cease to amaze me. How can you still be giving us all lessons? Did it ever occur to you that we might be grown up now?”

“Never. Not in my wildest dreams,” Joe answered, reaching over to flick a fingertip against Sophie's nose. She flinched at the near contact and turned her head, raising a hand to the scar on her left cheek.

“Baby—”

“Not now, Dad,” Sophie said tightly. She'd been nervous ever since they'd gotten within twenty miles of the ranch. Nervous about her welcome, who would be there to welcome her home, what they'd think when they saw her. “Let's just get inside, okay?”

Leaving the baggage in the trunk, Joe quickly came around and opened the car door for Sophie, then walked with her to the front door that stood open in welcome. Their housekeeper, Inez Ramirez, waited there, a broad smile on her wide, pleasant face. “Welcome home, Miss Sophie,” Inez said, holding out her arms, and Sophie gratefully walked into them, allowing the hug, needing the hug.

Then it was time to pass into the large great room that made up the nerve center of the house, a huge room furnished well, but casually.

The empty room.

“Dad?” Sophie asked, turning to her father, who then pointed toward the wall of glass doors leading out to the courtyard. Following his gesture, Sophie
could see Meredith Colton lounging on a chaise beside the pool, clad in a bra-like swim top and a long, filmy, patterned skirt, dark glasses shading her eyes.

“I'll go get her,” Joe offered, but Sophie shook her head and started for the doors. “Sophie, she couldn't know the exact time we'd arrive,” he called after her, then swore under his breath and quickly turned his back on a scene he didn't have the strength to witness.

Sophie limped out onto the patio, slowly made her way down the steps and past the fountain. The beauty of the courtyard was lost to her, its sights, its sounds, its glorious smells. All she could see was her mother, the woman who had spoken to her on the telephone only a single time in the past six weeks, the woman who hadn't had the time or the inclination to visit her in San Francisco.

Sophie stood beside the chaise and looked down at the woman who had taught her how to tie her shoes, who had giggled with her when Sophie had tried on her very first training bra, who had put up her hair for her the night of the senior prom. The woman who had kissed her cuts and scrapes, hand sewn her Princess Leia Halloween costume, held her when she cried because River James was just the most awful, miserable, nasty boy in the whole entire world.

Who are you?
Sophie asked silently, gazing down at the sunscreen-slick woman with the bloodred fingernails, the perfectly coiffed golden-brown hair, the too-youthful swimsuit…the pitcher of martinis on the table beside her.
Who are you? Because you aren't my mother anymore. You can't be my mother.

“Hello, Mother,” Sophie said at last, when Meredith Colton didn't respond to her presence. “I'm home.”

Meredith raised a hand, removed her sunglasses, then slid her long legs to one side and stood, looking at Sophie with Sophie's own huge brown eyes. “Well, so you are,” she said, motioning toward the metal cane in Sophie's left hand. “Is
that
going to be around for much longer? I mean, really, it's so…medical. Couldn't you find something nicer?”

“It's good to see you, too, Mom,” Sophie said, giving in to her fatigue and sitting down on the matching chaise. She kept her head down, so that the curtain of her hair slid forward, covering her cheek.

“Don't be snide, Sophie,” Meredith told her, sitting down again herself and taking hold of her martini glass. “Or hasn't it yet occurred to you that you're twenty-seven years old? Old enough to move to San Francisco. Old enough to be out on your own, just as you wanted to be. You wanted to be independent, and I let you be independent. But, obviously, for all that independence, you're still not so grown up that you couldn't insist that your doting daddy jump up and run when you wanted him.”

Shock made Sophie lift her head, and she watched in horror as Meredith's eyes widened at the sight of the scar. She raised a hand to her jaw, but it was too late, because her mother had seen everything there was to see.

Meredith's upper lip curled in distaste. “Not bad? That's what your father said. The scar wasn't
bad.
Doesn't the man have eyes in his head? Oh, you poor
thing. How are you going to manage, being so horribly disfigured like that? And your father says you sent Chet away? That wasn't smart, Sophie. How do you expect to get another man with that ruined face? I really think you should— Where are you going? Is this how you were raised? How dare you walk away while I'm speaking to you. I'm your
mother!
”

But Sophie had gotten to her feet as quickly as she could and was already hobbling back toward the house, wondering what on earth had possessed her to come home. Whoever had said it had been right: You can't go home again.

At least not to Hacienda del Alegria. The House of Joy?

No, not anymore.

 

River walked back to the stables after watching Joe's car drive past, seeing Sophie's form in the passenger seat.

So. She was home. Healing, but not quite mended. And without a diamond on her third finger, left hand.

Not that he was going to do anything about that,
could
do anything about that.

Besides, it might only be temporary, some sort of emotional fallout from the mugging. Joe had told him how sensitive Sophie was about the cut on her face, how she refused to see that the scar was fading every day, growing less obvious to everyone but her.

If nobody mentioned the scar, made a big deal about it, Sophie would probably soon be able to deal with the thing, put it behind her, look forward to the surgery that would finish the job the doctor had begun
and her healthy body had taken from there. After all, her knee was already so good that the J-brace and crutches were gone.

She'd been in physical therapy in San Francisco almost from the beginning, and now that she would soon be putting aside her cane, the therapy could begin in earnest, building up muscles grown weak from disuse.

Sophie was fine. Fine. And she was going to be even better.

River told himself that every night. She was healing. She was back with her family, who would do everything in their power to help her heal. She'd soon be his own laughing, happy, optimistic Sophie again.

Please, God.

River busied himself in the tack room, making up excuse after excuse not to leave the stables, not to head up to the house. See Sophie.

She'd be too busy for him anyway, with everyone else crowding around, hugging her, kissing her, welcoming her back. Why, he might even take dinner out here with the boys rather than go up to the house for the evening meal. That wasn't so unusual; he did it all the time.

“Coward,” he muttered under his breath as he hung up the bridle he'd just inspected. “What do you think she's going to do, buddy? Bite your head off?” He lowered his head and sighed. “Ignore you?”

Okay, so now he was finally getting down to it. She might ignore him—or worse, treat him the same as she did her brothers and sister, her foster siblings. Happy to see him, polite, even loving. But not special.

Not the way they'd been, years ago.

He wouldn't have made it without Sophie, wouldn't have survived. He knew it, even if she didn't.

River had come to the ranch a rebellious teenager—alternately hotheaded and morose, a teeming mass of hate and anger and, often, despair. He lashed out at anyone who came near him, tried to help him, although he didn't realize until many years later that he kept people at arm's length because he was too afraid to let anyone into his world, for fear they'd leave him.

He'd been born to a white rancher and a Native American mother whom his father had married only because he'd been careless and put a child in her belly, River. His father resented his Native American wife, and Rafe, her son from a previous marriage, but that didn't mean he kept his hands off her.

River's earliest memories were of his mother's love and his father's undisguised disgust.

And then his mother left him, died in childbirth when he was only six. His new sister, Cheyenne, was taken in by her maternal grandmother, to be raised on reservation land. Rafe, River's protector, also stayed on the reservation, because their father didn't want him, couldn't control him. But not River. Oh, no, he wanted River. He was six years old now. Old enough to “help” eke out a poor living on that small, decrepit excuse for a ranch. Old enough to do a “man's” work. Rafe, on the other hand, was old enough to talk back, and so he was left behind, considered worthless,
too much the savage for his stepfather to have to face every day.

All the love went out of River's life when his mother died, when his sister and brother had been taken away. His own life was reduced to caring for and avoiding the slaps from a rotten drunk.

School was a place River went when his father was passed out drunk on the couch and couldn't stop him, saddle him with another chore. It was at school, when River was nine, that one of his teachers had seen the bruises.

Now his father was gone, left at the ranch while River was removed from his not-so-tender care and placed at the Hopechest Ranch, a haven for children from “troubled homes.”

He'd hated it there. Hated the kindness, the caring, the promise that he was safe now, had nothing to worry about anymore. What did those do-gooders know? He was
alone,
that was what he was. His mother gone, his Native American family unwilling or unable to take him, his father a brutal drunk who could show up at any moment, drag him back to the ranch.

River found some solace with the horses at Hopechest Ranch, a project initiated by Joe Colton, a charitable contribution he believed would help the children who cared for the horses, learned responsibility through that care, and in return were given something to love.

That was how it began. River James, half-breed and teenage menace, and Joe Colton, rich man, senator, and a man stubborn enough to ignore River's ani
mosity, his rebuffs, and finally take the troubled teen into his own home.

Joe and Meredith tried their best, they really did. So did the other Coltons. But River held out, held himself aloof from them all, ignoring their kindness while spending his days cutting school and hanging out at the stables. Hacienda del Alegria wasn't exactly a working ranch, but Joe Colton did raise horses, and that was enough for River.

Except he couldn't shrug off Sophie Colton, because the girl simply refused to go away, to leave him alone. God, how he'd tried to send her away. Called her names, ignored her, let her know her company wasn't welcome.

For all the good it did him.

Just entering her teens, Sophie had been skinny as a Popsicle stick and just as physically two-dimensional. Bright silver braces on her teeth. Silly pigtails in her hair. With a curiosity that drove him nearly insane as she tagged after him asking “Why?” and “How'dya do that?” and “Can I ride him next, huh, huh, can I?”

He longed to strangle her, because she wouldn't give up. Her tenacity infuriated him, right up until the moment he realized that Sophie Colton was special. All the Coltons were special, but Sophie was extraordinary. She had a heart so big it included the whole world, even him. She wore him down, wormed her way through his defenses, and the two of them became friends, more than friends. Inseparable.