Beloved Wolf (9 page)

“That's amazing. You're very good at what you do. You always have been,” Sophie said, turning away from the fence. River followed her.

“What's up, Soph? Not that I'm not honored, but what are you doing here? You've been avoiding me as if I had the plague. I've been a real gentleman about the whole thing, too, in case you haven't noticed. Although I will put you on notice now that I'm not going to be such a gentleman for a whole hell of a lot longer. So? Did you…have you…?”

Sophie bowed her head. “I don't know yet, okay?” she said shortly, then shivered. “And you wonder why I'm staying away from you? God, Riv, you're driving me nuts! Am I? Aren't I? And whether I am or I'm not, it's none of your damn business.”

“There we go with the
damn
again, if you'll excuse me for pointing it out. As to the rest of the nonsense you're spouting… Is that right? It's none of my business—my
damn
business? Did it all by yourself, did you? I don't think so, Soph. But you know what? It doesn't matter. It flat out doesn't matter. I want you. You want me. That's obvious, and has been obvious for a long time.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “Well, no ego showing in that statement, Riv, is there? I want you? Who says? You?”

River lifted his hat a fraction, settled it lower over his forehead. “You tell me, Sophie. If I were to take you in my arms and kiss you right now, kiss you long, and deep, run my hands over you, would you slap my face? Or would you kiss me back, hold me tight, moan low in your throat the way you did—”

The palm of her hand connected with his left cheek, and River stepped back a pace, lifted a hand to his stinging face and smiled. “Well, that was fun,” he said, watching as Sophie seethed. “So, why are you here? Or do you just want to beat up on me some more?”

The hot color that had invaded Sophie's cheeks faded so quickly he nearly reached out for her, believing she might possibly faint. But then she spoke, and her words stopped him.

“It's Chet. Mom invited him for the weekend. He'll be here later tonight, probably before supper.”

River turned half away from her, said something unlovely under his breath, then looked at her once more. “Meredith did this? Without consulting you? Why?”

Sophie lifted her arms, shrugged. “Why does she do anything she does? If we knew that, Riv, we'd have all the answers, wouldn't we?”

 

Meredith bent over the tiled counter in her bathroom, working the white marble pharmacists' pestle into the mortar, doing her best to reduce the oleander leaves into infinitesimal fragments, to liquefy them in a few drops of hot water.

She'd tried everything else to release their poison.
Soaking some of the flowers in hot water. Chopping the leaves as finely as possible, so that the pieces could be sprinkled on a salad, some other dish. She'd considered drying some of the leaves, because they might not have any smell or taste if she then dissolved them in liquid.

She looked down at the green mess she'd made, tears stinging her eyes. This wasn't working, wouldn't work. There was no way to get it into food, and no way putting any of it in a drink would go undetected.

Cursing under her breath, Meredith picked up the mortar and pestle, and angrily flung both against the wall, watching as they fell to the floor, the marble bowl breaking in two, wet bits of leaf sticking to the wall.

“Ah, well, there's still time,” she said, mentally consigning the mess she'd made to whomever Joe Colton paid to clean it up—drones who did what they were told and didn't ask questions, didn't think any farther than their own noses.

She picked up the book she'd bought in Prosperino, then hidden in her room, turning pages as she walked out of the bathroom.

It was a lovely book, very handy, with hundreds of different poisons listed alphabetically. She sat down on the chaise longue in her sitting room, lifted her martini glass to her mouth, smiled at the stacks of creamy ivory envelopes holding the response cards for Joe's sixtieth birthday party. “Hmmm,” she mused, turning her attention to the book once more. “Maybe mushrooms?”

R
iver's attendance at the Colton dinner table had been hit or miss these past ten days, but he was present and accounted for tonight. He wore cowboy boots, freshly laundered jeans and a long-sleeved, snow-white cotton shirt with metal snaps as he stood in front of the fireplace, one arm draped over the mantel. He'd thrown a well-worn black leather vest over the shirt, and left his cowboy hat on one of the hooks inside the front door.

It was Friday night dinner, and there were enough Coltons at the ranch to make for a large dinner party in anyone else's home. Here, it was just another casual Friday night get-together, no big deal.

Rebecca had stopped over, and Liza had come back with her parents, her mother, Cynthia, and her father, Graham, Joe's younger and only brother. Jackson
Colton, Liza's older brother, was among the missing, but that was to be expected, and no great surprise. Jackson spent many of his days dealing with his father at the law firm connected with Colton Enterprises, and that was more than enough contact with his old man, as far as Jackson was concerned.

Amber, Joe and Meredith's youngest, was off somewhere for the weekend, with friends, but Emmett Fallon, Joe's buddy since his army days, and now one of the most important cogs in Colton Enterprises, had stopped in for drinks, along with his fourth wife, Doris. River had never liked Emmett. He didn't know why, and figured he didn't have to have a reason.

Emmett and Graham had their heads together as they poured themselves drinks, talking over some aspect of the business—as if they didn't get to do enough of that every day. The two men were quite different, with Graham holding on to his blond hair with a vengeance—and probably with the contents of a dye bottle—while Emmett, some years his senior, seemed to prefer the distinguished look of white hair, not that it was a good look for him.

They were both about the same height, under six feet, and with slight, slim builds. So unlike Joe Colton, who seemed to fill a room the moment he entered it. The biggest difference between Graham Colton and Emmett Fallon, however, was that Graham smiled a lot, and Emmett had perfected the petulant frown. If they were a comedy team, Graham would tell the jokes, and Emmett would be the straight man. Except they probably didn't tell jokes, at least not to each
other. They were too deeply in competition with each other for that.

It was odd to see Emmett and Graham together, as it was no great secret that they felt they were in daily competition with each other for Joe's favor.

In their lifelong race to be Joe's most indispensable right arm, they'd both forgotten to hide the fact that, brother and friend, they both most sincerely hated Joe Colton's guts for being so successful.

Not that Joe knew that. River didn't even know that. Not for sure. But he sensed it, could almost smell the jealousy and ambition emanating from both men, and so he always watched, waiting, wondering if and when Joe Colton was going to figure out that his success had made enemies of his old friend and his only brother. Joe's kindness toward them, bringing them into the business, rewarding them for their connection to him, had served to make them both hate the ground he walked on.

All while they smiled to his face.

River would be more worried if Graham and Emmett disliked each other less, because then they could possibly form an alliance and do Joe some real damage. But Graham and Emmett distrusted and disliked each other, so much that they'd never be able to marshal the trust to go into cahoots and try to bring Joe down. That was the only reason either man still was able to chew steak with his own teeth—because, otherwise, River would have had it out with both of them long ago.

River smiled slightly as Graham's voice rose and Emmett's face turned florid. They were at it again—
two aging roosters who couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without starting to scratch and bite at each other. River pushed himself away from the mantel, losing interest in the bickering men, and watched as Sophie walked into the room.

She was dressed in a soft pink V-necked blouse and ankle-length flowered skirt that looked all wrong on her, even with a thick gold necklace around her throat. She wore flat-heeled shoes, because her recovering knee wasn't yet ready for high heels, but she still appeared stiffly formal rather than casual, and her pale cheeks and pinched mouth had her looking as if she'd just been summoned to the principal's office for a lecture.

Poor kid. She wanted to be here tonight about as much as she wanted to see a fly in the soup Inez would probably be serving shortly.

He walked over to her. “You're looking panic-stricken,” he said, grinning at her because otherwise he'd gather her into his arms, tell her he'd protect her.

“Go away,” she said succinctly.

“Why? So that you can stand here, your hands locked together so tightly that your knuckles are white, and wait for the doorbell to ring? Give me a quarter, and I'll answer the door, tell him you've moved to Australia.”

She lifted her head, glared at him. “How do you know I'm not just dying to see him again?”

River reached up and scratched behind his ear. “Oh, hell, well in that case, I'll be off. Back to the fireplace, which has always had the best view of the room. This should be fun to watch.”

“I hate you, River James. I loathe and detest you, and still can't figure out why I even told you that Chet was coming here for the weekend,” Sophie said through gritted teeth. “And if you leave me standing here alone when he shows up, I'll never forgive you.”

He laughed softly. “You know, Soph, I understand horses. I understand almost any animal out there, although I wouldn't want to try reasoning with an angry bear or anything like that. But I'll be damned if I'll ever understand women. Stay and you hate me, go and you hate me. How do I win?”

“You don't,” Sophie told him, then grabbed at his arm as the doorbell chimed and Inez appeared out of nowhere, as she was so good at doing, and headed toward the front door. “Just stick close, and don't punch him anywhere, okay?”

“Can I trip him?”

“No, you cannot trip him,” Sophie warned under her breath as Meredith floated into the room wrapped in emerald green silk and sailed by Sophie, leaving a wake of expensive scent River was pretty sure he could chew on. Sophie sighed. “Now what does she think she's doing?”

“Greeting her guest, I'd imagine,” River said as Chet Wallace walked into the room, looking like an advertisement in
GQ,
and Meredith held out her arms to him, to give him a hug as she air-kissed him on both cheeks.

“So, can I safely assume we're having filet of fatted calf for dinner tonight?” River asked facetiously. “That's some welcome Meredith is giving the guy
you booted out of your life. Maybe she didn't get the memo and doesn't know the engagement is broken?”

Sophie slanted him a look that could freeze saltwater. “You're not helping, you know. Oh, God, here he comes. Riv, behave.”

It wasn't easy, but River did what Sophie had asked, stepping to one side as the three-piece suit, whiter-than-white-teeth and professionally styled hair advanced across the room and enveloped Sophie in a gentle hug, then kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling,” he said, keeping hold of her shoulders as he stepped back a pace, looked down at her face with enough concerned pity in his eyes to make River grind his teeth and wonder if Sophie might just hit the man herself and save him the trouble. “How are you, sweetheart?”

River rolled his eyes at the asinine question, turning away. How was she? River could give old Chet a clue on that. She's wasn't happy to see her lover-boy, that's how she was. Or was this guy brain dead?

“I…I'm fine, Chet,” Sophie answered, and River suppressed a groan. “You're…you're looking well.”

“Looking well?” Meredith scoffed, and River turned back to see Sophie's mother standing beside Chet, an arm around his waist. “Chet, you're more handsome every time I see you. Sophie's such a lucky, lucky girl.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Colton,” Chet said, not looking the least bit embarrassed by her gushing and hugging, or by the fact that Sophie was looking at him with about as much interest as she'd have in a three-days-dead fish.

River decided to have a little fun. “Wallace!” he exclaimed, stepping forward and shooting his right hand out so quickly that Chet flinched and involuntarily took a step back before reluctantly shaking River's hand. “Glad to see you could tear yourself away from the wacky world of advertising. Gonna be a great couple of days. We've got it all planned, you know. A full weekend of fun on the ranch. You do ride, don't you? I've got the sweetest roan stallion boarded here at our house of joy right now, just waiting for you. You can be up and ready by six tomorrow morning, right? Sophie and I like to get a head start on the day with our morning rides.”

“Ride? I don't ride.” Chet tried to get his hand back, but River wasn't letting go.

“You don't ride? Well, that's a kick in the head, isn't it? I was really looking forward to seeing you on that roan.” River finally let go of Chet's hand, giving the guy a few points for not wincing at the bone-crushing grip he'd applied, and tried not to laugh as Sophie surreptitiously planted a sharp kick on his calf.

Joe Colton had entered the room and came up to them then, right hand extended, to welcome Chet. It was the first time in his memory that River had seen Joe looking like a plastic politician, with a plastic smile and a plastic “What a nice surprise. Good to see you, Chet,” coming out of his mouth. Clearly Joe hadn't been in on the invitation, not that River had ever thought so, but it was just as clear that Meredith was delighted with Chet's presence, as well as Sophie's discomfort.

“I was just about to suggest that Chet and Sophie take a walk around the gardens before dinner, Joe,” Meredith told him. “You know, get to know each other again?”

“Is that right?” Joe looked at his wife, his eyes hard. “How are you tonight, princess?” he then asked, turning to kiss Sophie's cheek. “You look a little tired. You had physical therapy today, didn't you? I know they're working you pretty hard. Maybe you should just sit down awhile and give your knee a rest? Come on, I'll walk you over to the couch.”

It was a smooth move, and one Chet couldn't block. River grinned at him as Sophie and Joe crossed to the other side of the room. “Meredith?” River suggested, because he couldn't help himself. “Maybe you want to show Chet here around the gardens before it gets too dark,” he suggested.

Meredith's eyelids narrowed as she glared at River. “I'm afraid not. I have to go tuck Teddy and Joe Junior in for the night,” she said, twin flags of color flying high on her cheeks as she seemed to acknowledge that her husband and foster son had outmaneuvered her. “If you'll both excuse me?” she asked, then turned on her heel and flounced away.

“And then there were two,” River said brightly. “I could introduce you all around, even if you have met everyone before, at Christmas. But, you know, I have an even better idea, Wallace. How about you and I take a walk outside and get to know each other better?”

“I know you just about as well as I want to know you, Mr. James,” Chet told him, but he spoke as he
was walking, because River had taken hold of his arm at the elbow and was leading him toward the French doors opening onto the courtyard. “Is this really necessary?” he asked, attempting to sound brusque, but coming off just a teeny bit whiny. “I could have pressed charges, you know.”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” River sing-songed, opening the door and “helping” Chet through, onto the patio. “Keep moving, Wallace, to the other side of the fountain, out of sight of the family.”

Chet did what he was told, probably because he'd been raised never to cause a scene. Or maybe he was just a lily-livered coward. River didn't much care why the man moved, as long as he did.

He did finally stop and take a stand on the far side of the fountain, saying, “Now look here, James. You don't like me. God knows you've made that plain enough. But Sophie loves me and I love her, and there's nothing you can do about that, understand? I'm here because Sophie asked me to come, and I won't leave unless she tells me to go.”

River looked at Chet for long moments, then dropped his head slightly and looked at him some more, sizing him up, measuring him for the truth of his words. “
She
invited you?”

Chet finally looked away, breaking eye contact. “Yes, she did. Well, maybe not directly, but Mrs. Colton assured me that Sophie was miserable without me, needed me here.”

River shook his head, laughed softly. “You're a real loser, aren't you, Wallace? Sophie sends you away and you stay away. Then Mama Colton tells
you to show up and you come to heel like a well-trained lapdog. You know, those designer suits of yours hang on you pretty well, considering you don't have a spine.”

Chet actually took a step forward, his hands bunched into fists. “Let me tell you something, James, I'm getting pretty sick of you,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “You sucker punched me once, but you won't do it twice. I was on the boxing team in college, I'll have you know. Not that I'm about to get into a fistfight with you, because I don't have a single damn thing to prove to you. I'm here for Sophie because I love her, and
you
can go to hell.”

River watched, one eyebrow raised, as Chet walked back into the house. “Well, that's somewhat comforting,” he told himself aloud. “I was beginning to worry that Sophie had no taste at all. The guy's got at least a little bit of spine. It's not going to do him any good, but I'll give him points for not being a complete jerk.”

 

River was just stripping off his shirt when the door to his room over the stables opened, banging against the wall.