Christine Rimmer - A Hero for Sophie Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  "No, Willa."

  "Yes, Sin."

  The zipper parted all the way. The dress slid off her shoulders. She pushed it down, over her boyish hips and her perfect legs. Within seconds, she stepped free of it. Now she wore only a black garter belt and silk stockings. Her small, perfect breasts pointed right at him.

  She was a beautiful woman. And she left him absolutely cold. He wondered abstractly what he'd ever seen in her. "Put your dress back on, Willa."

  "After I'm done here."

  "You are done. Believe me."

  She started toward him again.

  "Willa. Don't do this."

  She didn't stop until she was against him, her impudent breasts pressed into his shirtfront, her grasping hand finding him through the fabric of his slacks.

  Flaccid. She felt that. And the confident gleam in her eyes faded a little.

  "It's no good, Willa." He had a powerful urge to shove her away, but he controlled it. She expected the old games to work on him. He couldn't really blame her for that. They'd always worked before.

  Her hand moved, stroking, squeezing, trying to inspire some response. But there was none. At last, she let go and stepped back. "Your little sweetheart must be very … demanding."

  "Leave Sophie out of this." He kept his tone gentle, but she couldn't have mistaken the underlying thread of steel in it. "And put your dress back on."

  A tight, feral sound escaped her red mouth. Sin thought for a moment she might make some remark about Sophie that he wouldn't be able to let pass. But no words came. Finally she turned and stalked back to where she'd left her dress. She bent down, shook it out and stepped into it. She reached behind her. He heard the zipper close. Then she ran her hands down her waist and hips, straightening, smoothing.

  She went to the sofa, collected her shoes, slid them on and grabbed up her bag. It was only a few steps to the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob to grant him one final caustic glare.

  "You will regret this," she said.

  All he felt was sadness, for both of them. Two hard, acquisitive people. They'd struck sparks off each other once, sparks that had ignited to a white-hot blaze. But there had been no warmth to it. Only heat without comfort, like the heartless fires of hell.

  "Do you hear me, Sin Riker? You will be sorry."

  "Willa, I swear to you, I already am."

  "Not sorry enough, I'm afraid." She went out the door, slamming it smartly behind her.

  She'd been gone a good ten minutes before Sin admitted to himself how very simple it would be for Willa to make him sorrier still.

  About an hour after Sinclair had left for the day, Sophie sat on a stool in the hayloft, checking the sprockets on her aging projector, trying to figure out which one might be sticking. Last Sunday, the old monster had nearly burned a hole in the first reel.

  Naturally though, right now, it seemed to be working all right.

  "Hello? Is anyone up there?" It was a woman's voice, one Sophie didn't recognize. The voice came from the foot of the ladder that led up to the loft.

  Sophie rose from the stool and went to the top of the ladder. A tall, black-haired fashion plate of a woman stood below. "Sophie B. Jones?"

  "That's me."

  "The big man at the stables said I might find you here. I wonder, could I steal a few minutes of your time?"

  "Sure. Be right down." Sophie returned to the projector, swiftly rewound the short bit of test reel and turned the thing off.

  The woman watched from the foot of the ladder as Sophie climbed down. "You actually run a movie theater in here?"

  Sophie jumped from the last rung, brushed off her hands and shook out her long skirt. "You bet."

  The woman looked up toward the rafters and then right at Sophie. "Charming." Her inflection said she found the barn—and Sophie herself—anything but.

  Sophie moved back a step. "You didn't say your name."

  "Willa. Willa Tweed."

  The name rang a bell somewhere far back in her mind, but Sophie couldn't quite remember why. She gestured at the rows of theater seats that marched away from them, down toward the screen. "Have a chair."

  Willa Tweed licked her lips—nervously, it seemed to Sophie. "No. I think it's better if I stand." She took in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I have to admit, now that I'm here, I simply do not know how to begin…" She let the words trail off. A long, significant pause ensued, a pause in which Sophie's own uneasiness increased. Finally the woman spoke again. "I've come about Sin."

  Sophie felt more confused by the moment. Was the woman a representative of some religious group? "About sin? I'm afraid I don't—"

  "Sin," Willa Tweed said again, impatiently. "Sin Riker."

  "You mean … Sinclair?"

  The woman's mouth tightened. "Yes. Sinclair Riker. My fiancé. That's exactly who I mean."

  Right then, Sophie remembered where she'd heard the woman's name before:

  "There was someone," Sinclair had said. "It didn't work out."

  And Sophie had asked, "What was her name?"

  He had answered, "Willa."

  Sophie said very carefully, "I don't understand. Sinclair told me it was over between you and him."

  The woman laughed, a brittle angry sound. "Oh, I'm sure he did. I'm sure he told you whatever he thought you wanted to hear."

  Sophie fell back a step. "No. I don't believe that. I don't believe he would—"

  Willa threw up a hand. "You have no idea what Sin is capable of." She made a low, derisive sound. "Honestly. Your own situation says it all."

  Sophie's heart was pounding way too fast. She put a hand against it, in a pointless effort to make it slow down. "My own situation?"

  "The problem that Sin came here to handle in the first place—you."

  "Me?" Sophie shook her head. "He came here to handle me?"

  "Yes. You and your inconvenient five-acre lease on his precious ranch. Of course, he would have offered you a good price for it. Did you take it? If you haven't, I suppose he must think you will. I suppose right now he thinks he can talk you into just about anything. And I also imagine he's right … don't you?"

  Sophie tried to comprehend what the woman was babbling about. "No. It's not his ranch. Not anymore. Not for years and years. You don't understand, he—"

  The woman laughed again. "I'm not the one who doesn't understand. Sin owns this ranch now. And if you don't know that, you're a bigger fool than I ever imagined. My God, you must be making lease payments—to Inkerris, Incorporated. Don't you get it? It's an anagram. For his name."

  "His name," Sophie echoed numbly.

  "Exactly. Sin Riker. Inkerris. Switch the letters around a little and you can have either one."

  Sophie felt weak in the knees. A rickety folding chair stood not far away. She backed up quickly and dropped into it.

  Willa Tweed watched her through glittering ice blue eyes. "So, I can see that the anagram got past you. And it appears that Sin has told you virtually nothing."

  "I don't—"

  "Let me fully enlighten you."

  "No, I—"

  The woman ignored Sophie's weak protest and continued right on. "About six months ago, Sin saw some notice—in the San Francisco Chronicle, I believe it was, though I can't be sure. He takes a lot of newspapers. He finds potential properties in them."

  Right then Tom, the black cat, poked his head through the split in the curtains that led to the outside doors. He let out a small, curious "Mnneow?"

  Willa glanced back briefly, saw it was only a cat, and then turned on Sophie once more. "But I'm getting off the point, which is that Sin found a for sale notice about the former Riker Ranch in that paper. And from then on, he was a man obsessed. He wanted that land back."

  Sophie's mind seemed to be working way too slowly. She asked idiotically, "He … wanted it back?"

  The woman let out a delicate little grunt. "That's what I said. He wanted it back. So he got his people on it."

  "His people?"
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  "Oh, come on. You understand. He has people who work for him, people whose job it is to investigate any property that catches his interest. In the case of this ranch, his people found that the only problem was you. Somehow you had managed to get yourself a lease on five acres of this place. Sin didn't like that at all. He wanted to know more about you—about how you were going to take it when he told you he wanted to terminate that lease. So he investigated further. He had a detective service following you around for six weeks."

  The idea made Sophie's stomach roil: someone, some total stranger, had watched her go about her life for a month and a half. How could that have been? "No…"

  "Yes. He learned that you were very … attached to the little enterprise you've created here. And that it would probably be difficult to get rid of you until your lease was up. Which would be another ten years. But Sin didn't care. He bought the property anyway, a very low-key acquisition through intermediaries. He used a San Francisco bank to handle the whole transaction so that, until he was ready to approach you with his offer, you'd know next to nothing about the new owner."

  Tom strolled up to Willa and began rubbing at her ankles. She delicately kicked him away. The cat moved on to Sophie, jumping onto her lap. Sophie absently stroked his warm fur. The purring started, a warm, friendly sound—in direct contrast to the frosty blue of Willa Tweed's eyes.

  Willa went on. "Sin finds that works quite well—to come in with the deed in his hand and all the leverage he can muster lined up behind him. Then he makes his offer. And the smart ones take what he offers."

  Sophie held Tom tighter. The cat purred louder.

  Willa asked, "Shall I tell you what happens if they don't take his offer?"

  Right then, the curtain to the concession area stirred again. Sinclair stepped through it.

  Sophie's hold on Tom loosened. The cat slipped lightly to the floor and sauntered off toward the rows of seats. Sophie watched him go. So much easier to watch the cat than to look at Willa Tweed—or to meet the dark burning eyes of the man by the curtain.

  Willa must have turned and seen Sinclair. Sophie heard her hard laugh. "Sin, darling. Come join us. I was just explaining the facts of life to your sweet little girlfriend here."

  When Sinclair didn't reply, Willa laughed again. "Well, it may be the middle of August, but I do believe I detect a certain chill in the air."

  Tom disappeared down a row of seats. Sophie made herself look at Willa again. The dark-haired woman faced away, toward the man by the curtains to the concession stand. Her back was very straight and proud.

  "I suppose it's time I was leaving," Willa said.

  Sinclair moved clear of the curtains as Willa started his way. Just before she went through, she turned once more to Sinclair. "I do believe you're sorry enough—now."

  Sinclair said flatly, "Goodbye, Willa."

  "Yes," Willa replied. "I would say that's exactly the word for it." She pushed the curtain aside and stepped through.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Once Willa was gone, Sophie stayed in her chair, not moving, for a very long time. And Sinclair just stood there, near the last row of seats, as silent as she was.

  Finally she made herself look at him, made herself ask in a voice that came out all weak and whispery, "Are you engaged to her?"

  He met her gaze, unwavering. "I was."

  "Until when?"

  "She broke it off a couple of weeks ago."

  "She said otherwise. She said you were still her fiancé."

  "Then she lied."

  Hope kindled in Sophie then, a hot, hungry little flame. Maybe it was all a lie, all those awful things the woman had said…

  But, no. How could Willa have known the name of the faceless corporation that owned the ranch now—unless Inkerris and Sin Riker were one and the same? Beyond that, there were all the details of his life that he hadn't told her. And most damning of all was Sinclair himself, standing there, looking so bleak, his expression telling Sophie better than words ever could that at least some of what Willa had said was true.

  Sophie straightened in the chair, ordered some volume into her voice. "She also said that you are Inkerris, Incorporated. That you own the Riker Ranch now, that you came here with the intention of manipulating me into giving up my lease."

  Tom appeared again, sidling up to Sinclair. Sinclair bent and lifted him into those strong arms. The cat immediately started purring. Sophie could hear it clearly from all the way over in her chair.

  "Is it true, Sinclair? Is that really why you came here?"

  He let the cat down. "Yes."

  The single word pierced her like a blade to the heart. "Oh, Sin…" She heard herself call him by that name for the first time. And realized that it fit him. "Five days. Five whole days. We've been together every moment we could. You never told me. You never said a word."

  She waited for him to explain. For him to simply say that he didn't tell her of his schemes because he couldn't figure out how to do it without running the risk of losing her.

  Which was nothing but the truth.

  However, the truth, at that point, wasn't good enough for Sin.

  He stood at the top of the aisle in Sophie's barn theater, looking into her wide, wounded eyes and he knew that the time for explanations had passed. At that moment, Sin Riker hated being inside his own skin.

  "Please," she said in a broken voice. "Tell me. Explain to me why you—"

  He put up a hand. "Sophie, it's no good."

  "What?" Those innocent eyes pleaded with his. "No good? What's no good?"

  "You know."

  "No. I … I want to understand. I want you to tell me—

  "There's nothing to tell. Nothing that will make any difference. We're … night and day, you and me. And everything we had was based on lies. My lies."

  "No. Don't say that. In your heart, you—"

  "Sophie. Face it. It's just no good. Look at you. You pass out bag lunches to the homeless."

  "So?"

  "Sophie, I have never given anything away in my life."

  "But … you had to fight, I understand that. You had nothing. And you had to make a place for yourself in the world."

  He shook his head. "Look at you. Sitting there defending me. I don't deserve defending, Sophie."

  She raised her chin, did her best to look defiant. "I believe you do."

  "You want to believe. But believing won't change the facts. Maybe it's time you heard the truth. Maybe it's time I made it clear what I had in mind for you."

  He could see the denial in her eyes, he could read her so well by then. Not if it's ugly, she was thinking. Not if it's cruel.

  He goaded her. "Are you ready for the truth, Sophie?"

  She pressed her lips together, looked away. Then she drew in a breath and faced him once more. "Yes. All right. Tell me the truth."

  And he did, in a voice without expression. "The truth is, I was going to destroy you if I had to." He began walking toward her. "If you had refused my offer, you were going to find yourself in a world of woe trying to run this place."

  She watched him advance, shaking her head. "No, you couldn't have. You wouldn't have."

  He kept coming until he stood right in front of her, looking down. "Oh, yes, I would. I've done it before. And I've done it often."

  She swallowed, eyes wide as saucers now, staring up at him as if he frightened her. "Driven people out, you mean?"

  He nodded. "I've become quite … skilled at it, over the years."

  Her sweet mouth was trembling. "You sound like you're proud of it."

  He shrugged. "It's just the way the world works."

  "No. Not always. Sometimes—"

  He didn't let her finish. "Sophie, you're an innocent." He touched her cheek. It was soft and warm as a peach in the sun. She held very still. She endured his caress. He dropped his hand away, stepped back just a fraction. "It's the way my world works."

  "But not mine."
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  "My point exactly. Your world and my world. Night and day. Shadow and light. They don't exist in the same space. They never have and they never will."

  "People can change, Sinclair."

  "Please. Call me Sin. Everyone does—and do you want to hear the rest or not?"

  She drew her shoulders back again. "Yes. All right. Tell me the rest."

  He began where he'd left off. "Here, it would have started with a fence."

  She frowned. "A fence?"

  "Around the five acres you're leasing, to keep you and all your guests off the rest of my land. You see, I know you depend on the use of the whole ranch, to make sure those horses you board get the exercise their owners pay you for.

  "Second, I would have built another house. Right on the other side of that fence I just mentioned. Construction can be so loud, Sophie. Your guests wouldn't have liked it at all.

  "And then, there's this 'theater' of yours. I believe certain zoning regulations are being stretched here. I would have made sure those regulations were strictly enforced—" he gestured at the battered seats, the torn theater screen "—which would have shut this part of your operation down, I'm afraid.

  "And do you know what it's like to have the health department after you? To have inspectors paying you regular visits, harassing Myra in her run-down kitchen, just on the off chance that your facilities aren't as clean as they ought to be? And what about that damn campground? I know that some of the kids you let stay there have to be runaways. And who knows what they're carrying in those dirty bedrolls. I would have had the police on them, shaking them down. You would have taken some heat, I'm afraid, if any of them were underage or carrying drugs."

  She fidgeted, making the folding chair creak. And once again, she couldn't stop herself from defending him. "But, Sin, you didn't do any of those things. You didn't do anything at all, except share five perfect nights with me."

  "Sophie. The point is, I have done all those things before. And I would do them to you. If you refused my offer. Because that's who I am, Sophie. That's how I operate. It's all strictly legal. It's all above-board. It's what I have every right to do. But what someone like you would never do. Because you've got too damn much heart."