With One More Look At You

by Mary J. Williams

  Conversations went on around her, dominated by Joy. She flirted lightly with every man at the table but was smart enough not to take it too far. Obviously, Newt was enchanted, and it didn't take long for the ranch hands, Mike and Jerry, to fall under her spell. The three of them laughed uproariously as if every word from Joy's mouth was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

  Sophie's mother was a good storyteller with a fair amount of wit. But honestly, watching the spectacle play out reinforced every prejudice she had formed about the intelligence of men. They were so easily swayed by a little attention, some not so subtle flattery, and a pretty face.

  How the male of the species had ruled the world for so long was a confounding mystery.

  Maeve made it clear she wasn't impressed. Her expression—narrowed eyes and a curled lip—told the tale. Nothing new. Women were not Joy's target audience. She had little use for them, and the feelings were mutual.

  For a little while, Sophie felt a blooming of hope for Forbes. He seemed immune to the eyelash batting. However, it turned out to be inattention instead of immunity. All it took was Joy laying her hand on his arm. A gentle squeeze. A warm smile. Boom. Sophie's hope had died a quick death. And because she really didn't care, it was a painless one.

  While Joy had the floor—or the dinner table—in her thrall, Sophie was busy cleaning her plate, wondering if she could snag another helping without drawing anybody's attention.

  "That's what I like to see," Newt said, taking his eyes off Joy long enough to notice what Sophie was up to—damn him. "Would you like some more, Sophie? Bread. Salad. Spaghetti? Maeve always makes enough to serve several small armies."

  Did she want more? Yes! Absolutely. Sophie almost got the words out. She had finished half of a nod. Unfortunately, Joy was faster.

  "She's had plenty." Joy's smile seemed benign, but Sophie knew better. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

  Sweetheart? Was Joy kidding? The unfamiliar endearment delivered in a sappy, sugary tone was almost enough for Sophie to lose her appetite. Almost. If Joy wanted to eat like a bird in the belief that men thought it charming, all the power to her. Sophie couldn't understand why she had to follow suit.

  With a sigh, Sophie nodded, pushing away her plate. She knew the game, and though it was getting harder and harder to play along, for now, she did just that.

  "Thank you, Mr. Branson. I couldn't eat another bite."

  "I thought we agreed that you would call me Newt."

  "I—" Sophie looked at Joy.

  This time, Joy's smile was all for the man sitting to her right. "If that's what Newt wants, then that's what you should do."

  "Thank you. Newt."

  Newt scooped himself a second helping heavy on the moist, tender meatballs. Sophie knew he wasn't purposefully taunting her, but at the moment, that was how it felt. If Joy hadn't been staring daggers at her, she might have caved. But willpower was her middle name. Actually, it was Denise. She had never been fond of it so, given the circumstances, Sophie figured willpower was a good substitute.

  "You're sure?" Newt asked, liberally sprinkling on the freshly grated parmesan.

  "Positive."

  So much for never lying. Under her eyelashes, Sophie sent a quick look at Forbes. He was listening to something Jerry was saying. She doubted he had heard the exchange between her and his father—or cared if she was telling the truth or not.

  Sophie cared. Truly, she tried to be honest whenever possible. Unfortunately, circumstances weren't always under her control.

  Living with Joy meant living with her conscience. Neither was easy. However, Sophie knew she didn't have a choice.

  "I know today isn't the official day. But I baked you a surprise."

  "My pre-birthday cake?" Forbes asked.

  Standing, Maeve laughed. "Not much of a surprise, I guess."

  "Not when you do it every year," Mike said, winking at Forbes.

  Forbes hurried from his seat, wrapping Maeve in a hug. "Devil's food with marshmallow frosting?"

  Pleased, Maeve patted Forbes on the cheek. "Don't I know my boy?"

  "I hope everybody saved room for dessert."

  "Are you kidding, boss?" In anticipation, Jerry started clearing away the dinner dishes. He gave Mike a shove on his way past, prompting the other man to help. "When have we ever turned down anything baked by Maeve?"

  Pre-birthday cake? Sophie didn't know such a thing existed. Joy or no Joy, she wasn't missing out.

  "I'll have a piece." Sophie anticipated her mother's attempt to abstain for the both of them. "Please."

  "That's four yeses." Newt turned to Joy. "How about you, honey?"

  "Maybe a sliver. I have to watch my figure."

  "You leave that up to me. You're gorgeous. Top to bottom. A little piece of cake now and then won't change that."

  Red lips parted in a coy smile, Joy laid her hand on Newt's thigh. The tablecloth hid what was going on, but the sudden flush on his cheeks and the way he cleared his throat indicated it was more than a friendly pat.

  Forbes was in the kitchen. Jerry and Mike—laden with dishes—had followed close behind. Sophie was the only one left to witness the eye-rolling spectacle. She wished there was something left on the table to clear—any excuse to leave the room.

  Which did she want more? Cake, or to get away from the weirdly oblivious couple at the opposite end of the table? Sophie gave a sigh of relief when the door to the kitchen swung open, saving her the choice.

  Startled out of the spell Joy had weaved around him, Newt moved her hand from his lap, scooting closer to the table. Sophie had a good idea what he was trying to hide—though she wished to God she didn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Newt look her way as if suddenly remembering she was there.

  Joy couldn't have cared less about a witness, but it appeared that Newt was different—when in his right mind. To save him any more embarrassment, Sophie pretended that the pastoral painting on the wall closest to her was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

  "The candles weren't necessary," Forbes said, blissfully unaware what his father had been up to in his absence.

  "You'd be disappointed if I didn't put them on." Maeve set the cake in the middle of the table, standing back with a proud smile. "No Happy Birthday sing-along until tomorrow. But as usual, you get a bonus wish."

  Grinning, Forbes put an arm around Maeve's shoulders, pulling her close.

  "That's a tough one. I can't think of anything I want that I don't already have."

  What would that be like, Sophie wondered?

  Forbes couldn't think of a wish, she could think of a million. Just off the top of her head. At the moment, she would settle for one. And since Forbes wasn't using his, she didn't see anything wrong with borrowing it.

  Closing her eyes, Sophie said the words to herself.

  "There you go. Enjoy."

  Holding her breath, Sophie raised her lids. Sitting in front of her was the biggest, most beautiful piece of cake she had ever seen. Well, what do you know? Sometimes wishes did come true.

  THE HOUSE WAS quiet. Everybody was in bed—or back at the bunkhouse. Sophie opened the bedroom door, checking right, then left. In her head, she knew the odds of not getting caught were with her. With two separate wings, the house was huge. She was on the east side with Forbes way down the hall.

  Newt lived on the other side. Joy in the same area. He had made such a production of making sure everybody knew there would be separate rooms. Different beds. Who he thought he was fooling, Sophie had no idea. She knew the score. As did Maeve, Mike, and Jerry.

  That left only Forbes. If he believed Daddy and the new girlfriend were happy with holding hands and a chaste goodnight kiss, then his mind worked differently than almost every other eighteen-year-old in the world.

  The lights were out, but Sophie had no problem finding her way to the staircase. Plush carpet lined each step, gleaming hardwood peeking out at the ends
. Earlier, as she made her way up and down, there hadn't seemed to be any glaring squeaks. However, just to be safe, Sophie descended on tiptoes.

  Though certain she was alone, Sophie opted not to turn on any lights, making her way by memory. Her night vision had always been excellent—a handy trait for somebody who spent so much time slinking from place to place under the cloak of darkness.

  Dressed in the oversized t-shirt she used as a nightgown, Sophie kept to the side of the room. She hurried toward her goal, enjoying the way the cool wood felt under her bare feet. Smooth and clean. She found it a pleasure not to worry about stepping on gritty patches of dirt. Or worse, broken glass.

  Aware that Maeve's room was toward the back of the house, yet uncertain which one she occupied, Sophie sent a furtive look in the general direction. Keeping her gaze low, she saw no sign of light filtering under any of the doors.

  With a sigh of relief, Sophie let herself into the Branson kitchen.

  The refrigerator had beckoned all the way from Sophie's room. Knowing the delights it contained was too much temptation for her to resist. Truth be told, she wasn't terribly hungry. The cake—which had come with the creamiest vanilla ice cream she had ever tasted—almost filled the hole in her stomach she hadn't thought fillable.

  That was hours ago. The need for food wasn't gnawing at her. Still, Joy could always knock on her door at any minute, bags packed and ready to hit the road. Just in case they didn't make it to breakfast, Sophie planned on fueling up while she could.

  It turned out that mooching some food wasn't as simple as she imagined. First, there was the refrigerator itself. Sophie had never seen anything even close. Like the biggest, shiniest, best toy ever. Taking a deep breath, she tugged on the handle.

  "Holy crap."

  For a second, Sophie's mind went blank. Fruit and vegetables and fried chicken and milk and juice—such a dazzling array that she didn't know where to start.

  "The chicken is your best bet."

  Sophie couldn't stop the yelp that escaped her mouth. Whirling around, she found a shadowed figure sitting at the counter. Though she couldn't see his face, his voice was unmistakable.

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "My house. My kitchen. My food." Forbes leaned right, his long arms easily reaching the light switch. Sophie squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes. "I should be the one asking what the hell."

  "Your Dad's house. Your Dad's kitchen. Your Dad's food," Sophie countered with a cockiness she didn't feel. "He said to make myself at home."

  Forbes pushed Sophie out of the way. He grabbed the chicken, setting it on the counter. Several covered containers followed.

  "Milk?"

  "Okay."

  "Or would you rather have orange juice? Lemonade?"

  "Sure."

  "Which one?"

  Sophie frowned. Hadn't Forbes just offered all three?

  "I have to pick?"

  Forbes chuckled. He took two glasses from the cupboard. "Why not try one at a time. Milk is a good place to start."

  As long as he wasn't stopping her from eating, Sophie wouldn't complain. She watched as Forbes poured the milk noticing for the first time what he wore. Or not, to be more accurate. A pair of shorts. Underwear, maybe? Nothing else covered his tall, surprisingly well-developed body. Moving with a sure kind of grace, Forbes filled two plates, the muscles of his back and arms flexing with each movement.

  Sophie had two quick reactions. Both troubling, though she wasn't certain which worried her more.

  First. Forbes was a pleasure to watch.

  Sophie's thoughts wandered back to the time Joy's latest conquest had dumped them near a small artist's community in Colorado. While her mother gnashed her teeth over another sucker slipping through her fingers—while hanging out at the local watering hole, eyes peeled for her next victim—Sophie explored.

  The streets were filled with artisans selling their creations. Though she had absolutely no knowledge of what made good art, instinctually, Sophie understood that most of what she was looking at didn't qualify. Not that the pottery and paintings and sculptures weren't made with passion and commitment. Simply put, they would never reach beyond the mundane.

  Like it was yesterday, Sophie could remember with crystal-clear clarity the one exception. The painting depicted a woman holding a white flower. Not a complicated subject. But in that simplicity, Sophie found something that touched her to the core. It made her heart beat faster. Her breathing quicken. Emotions swirled that she neither recognized nor understood.

  Confused yet unbelievably moved. That was how Sophie felt when she saw the painting. Though not as intense, she felt a touch of the same stirrings when she looked at Forbes.

  That was her first reaction. Her second could be summed up in one word. Joy. For the moment, her mother was too busy dazzling Newt. When she came up for air—which always happened—Forbes would be the first thing she noticed.

  If men were Joy's weakness, young, handsome ones were her addiction. There might as well have been a flashing neon light over Forbes' head. DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.

  Thankfully unaware of Sophie's thoughts, Forbes set the plates on the counter. "There you go. Eat what you want. Bailey will clean up the rest."

  "Hello." Sophie hadn't noticed Bailey. She smiled when he placed his head on her leg, his eyes filled with affection and hope. Knowing what it was like to want something that was out of her control, she broke off a piece of chicken.

  "You don't have any problem smiling at Bailey. Why do I get nothing but frowns and growls?"

  Sophie felt awkward around people her own age. Unsure of how to speak or behave. Though she had a longing inside her to reach out and connect, how to proceed was problematic. So, she fell back on the skills she had honed by necessity. A sharp tongue and a less-than-welcoming attitude.

  Most of the time, Sophie couldn't afford to be prideful. That didn't mean that she lacked the emotion. Explaining herself to Forbes would have meant revealing a certain amount of vulnerability. And that wouldn't happen.

  "Is it me?" Thoughtfully, Forbes chewed on a chicken leg. "We just met. I'm more than capable of pissing people off. But for the life of me, I can't figure out what I did to you?"

  Where to start? The confidence Forbes exuded? The ease of his manner? Knowing he belonged? That Forbes was comfortable in his own skin when at times Sophie wished she could claw hers off and start all over again?

  All of those things pissed Sophie off. Royally.

  Conversely, Forbes was the kind of person she often wished she could have for a friend. If she made a little effort, would he help her find her way? Or would he laugh at her? Mock her insecurities?

  One thing Sophie was certain of. She would never know unless she tried.

  "I—" Sophie swallowed. "I'm a little nervous."

  Talk about the understatement of the century.

  Forbes snorted. "You're joking."

  Sophie knew he expected her to laugh—or shoot him a smart-mouth remark. When she did neither—holding her breath—Forbes frowned.

  "Why?" he asked.

  A simple question. As for the answer? Nothing in Sophie's life was ever simple.

  "Your father invited Joy. Not me."

  "Dad knew you were a package deal. Right?"

  The sequence of events was a mystery to Sophie. Maybe Newt knew from the beginning that Joy came with a plus one. Maybe he found out after he was already hooked. From the way he had treated her, she would guess the latter.

  "Your father has been very kind."

  "Why wouldn't he be?"

  Forbes seemed genuinely puzzled as if the concept of offhanded cruelty was foreign to him. Wasn't he lucky? Sophie finished off the last bite of creamy potato salad. For all his alpha male bravado, Forbes had lived a sheltered life. In his world, kindness was easy to come by. In Sophie's, not so much. She wasn't looking for his sympathy or pity, so she kept that nugget of wisdom to
herself.

  Talking about herself was fraught with landmines. Sophie didn't know all the lies Joy had told. Because Forbes was filled with questions that she couldn't answer without a cheat sheet, she decided it would be safer to turn the conversation away from her and onto him.

  "You don't want us here."

  When Forbes flushed, his blue eyes darkening with what she interpreted as guilt, Sophie knew she had hit the bullseye.

  "You and your sister were a… surprise."

  "Not a good one."

  Without asking, Forbes poured Sophie some lemonade then some for himself.

  "Whatever you're going to say must be bad." Sophie raised her glass. "We've moved to the hard stuff."

  That brought a slight smile to his lips. "Do you want the truth?" Forbes asked.

  "Please." Real honesty was hard to find. And harder to achieve. But Sophie preferred honesty any day of the week.

  "Dad is vulnerable. He hasn't dated very much since my mother died. It was a shock when he arrived with a woman he barely knows."

  This was Sophie's chance to do the right thing. Forbes had a smile—an open demeanor—that almost made her want to confess all and damn the consequences. Almost. She had spent too much time worrying about what was coming next to jeopardize the cushy setup Joy had landed. Sophie knew herself well enough to know that it would be an ongoing battle between her conscience and her full stomach.

  Sophie wasn't keeping silent to protect Joy. Never that. Her mother was all about self-preservation. Probably the only valuable lesson the woman had ever passed along. Take care of yourself because nobody else would do it for you.

  Knowing that Forbes expected some kind of response, Sophie shrugged one shoulder. "Your father is a grown man."

  "True." Forbes hesitated. "I want him to be happy. But I don't want him to get hurt."

  Good luck, Sophie thought sympathetically. Newt had hitched himself to the Joy Express. The best he could hope for was a wild ride. Fun would be had by all. However, that never lasted. The worst? Sophie had seen everything from tears. To shouting matches. To outright depression. One man's wife showed up wielding a gun. Though to be fair, it turned out not to be loaded.