Sin wasn't thinking of Willa at all.
He said, "That's true."
And it was. Since he'd left Nevada County—and Sophie—Sin had been trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Inkerris, Incorporated, was now virtually run by his former second-in-command, who had plans to buy Sin out completely within the next couple of years. In the past few weeks, since his return, Sin hadn't bothered to change those plans. He had realized he was ready to move on to something different.
But a partnership with Sophie? She couldn't be serious. And he had to be losing his mind to even consider such a suggestion. He had wanted the ranch to himself. That, had been the whole point.
She forged ahead. "What I've been thinking is, well, maybe we could work out a way that we both end up getting what we want."
He prodded her on. "And what way is that?"
"Well, as I said, I was thinking of kind of a…" She gulped, as if the next word had gotten stuck in her throat.
He helped her with it. "A partnership, you said. A partnership between you and me."
"Yes. That's what I said. Is that crazy?"
"Well…"
"You think it's crazy."
"Sophie, I didn't say that."
She went for broke. "You know how you were always saying you'd like to build yourself another house? Well, you could do that. You could. Remember that meadow, the one with the wild roses?"
He nodded.
"Well, that would be a beautiful place for a house. And it's over that little hill from the other buildings. So the construction noise shouldn't carry too badly."
The developer inside him immediately began thinking of access roads, of septic systems, of getting power out there. But none of that should be too much of a problem. It wasn't that far away from the other buildings, or from paved road. And the meadow she referred to was beautiful.
She was frowning. "Maybe you don't like that spot."
"No. I like it. It's a beautiful spot."
"But you don't want to do it."
"I didn't say that."
"But I—"
"Sophie, exactly what do you mean by a partnership?"
"Well, maybe you don't want a partnership."
"I didn't say that. I asked what kind of a partnership you're talking about."
It was clear from the dazed look on her face that she hadn't the faintest idea.
He heard himself suggesting for her, "You could use an investor more than a partner."
"Uh … tell me more."
"Someone who would finance the improvements you need—Myra's new kitchen, a new projector for that theater of yours…"
"You mean, I would still run things and you'd take a percentage of the profits in exchange for putting money into the Mountain Star?"
"That's the general idea."
She scrunched up her sweet face.
"What?" he demanded. "What are you thinking?"
"Well, Sin, you have to know that there aren't really enough profits to get excited about."
Yet he was getting excited. "There could be profits. If you added on to the main house, so that you wouldn't have to turn people away in the busy season. And if you expanded the stables and hired men to work with Caleb, so you could enlarge that boarding service of yours."
She murmured faintly, "Add on to the main house? Expand the stables?"
He backed off a little. "We wouldn't have to do everything right away. We could … take it slow. Fix the kitchen, buy that projector…"
"Yes, yes, of course we could." Now she was sitting forward on the edge of her chair, her chin tipped up and her hands folded in her lap. Sin thought he'd never seen such an enchanting sight.
But go into partnership with her? It could never work.
Then again, why in hell would she offer such a thing—unless she had hopes that the two of them might rediscover what they'd lost?
Which they couldn't, of course. They were miles apart now—if they ever really had been that close.
But still, he might be of use to her. At the very least he should be able to get her to fix up that damn kitchen and put a new roof on the main house.
Take it slow. That was the best way. "Maybe I should come up there—for a few days or a week. Nothing formal, right now."
She looked more confused than ever. "Nothing formal?"
"I mean, we won't actually form a legal partnership yet. Nothing on paper. I'll just come and stay for a while. We'll really look into what needs to be done around there. And I'll check into your idea of building a house in that meadow you mentioned."
A few days or a week, Sophie thought. It wasn't a bad idea. Surely in that time, they could begin to find their way back to each other—or she could start learning to accept that it hadn't worked out.
He was saying, "We could see how well we work together. How we … get along. What would you say to something like that?"
She hardly knew what to say. It wasn't exactly what she'd come here for. But it was a whole lot better than nothing. She put on a bright smile. "I think it's a great idea. When can you come?"
"I have a few things to wrap up here. But I could manage to get away by next Monday, say? What do you think?"
"I think that would be just fine."
"Great then. We're agreed."
"Yes. Agreed." It seemed like one of those times a person should offer to shake hands, so Sophie popped out of her chair and extended her arm. They shook, as they had down in the lobby. Her palm burned, pressed so close to his. She thought of their nights together, of the way they always slept with their legs intertwined, of waking in the morning to find herself all wrapped up with him, so close she could hardly tell where her body ended and his began.
He let go of her hand. They stared at each other.
She edged back a few steps. "Well, I know you have work to do and so I suppose I'd better—"
"How about lunch?"
"Lunch?" She said the word as if she'd never heard it before—and then felt her face grow warm.
He smiled that almost smile she remembered so well. "I'll pick you up at noon. At your hotel. How's that?"
"My hotel?" she echoed numbly.
"The Helmswood Arms, is that right?"
"Uh, yes. The Helmswood Arms."
"At noon, then?"
"Well, that would be … yes. That would be nice."
Oh, it felt lovely, just to sit across from him, to look at him, to hear his voice.
But never once during the lunch they shared did he say anything about the two of them, about all that had happened between them less than a month before. Not that she could blame him for that. She said nothing either.
And she was the one who had come to see him.
It just … all felt so different now, between them. Careful. Cordial. And distant.
Before, when he'd appeared at her theater and swept her off her feet, it had been so perfect, so natural. So right. The idea of hesitating to reach out, to touch him, had never even occurred to her then. He'd owned her heart that first night. And by the second night, he'd shared her bed. It had been pure magic, the instant connection between them.
Now she still felt the yearning. The need to get closer.
But she didn't know how to go about it anymore.
It was as if loving him was a special skill she'd mastered once on the first try.
And now somehow she'd fallen out of practice. She'd lost the magic touch that had brought them together so effortlessly before.
"Innocent," he had called her just before he left her.
And she had been.
Now she was wiser. More guarded. Less willing to risk her wounded heart.
Now she could sit across from him in a restaurant and talk and laugh and never once blurt out, I love you—do you love me, too?
They ended up arguing over the bill. She wanted to pay it, he insisted he would take care of it. Then she suggested they split it.
He looked pained. "Don't be ridiculous."
She jumped
to her own defense. "I don't think it's ridiculous that I offer to pay half."
He tossed down his platinum American Express card and the waiter swiftly scooped it up. "Sophie. That's not what I meant."
"You said—"
"Sophie." He just looked at her, across the snowy white tablecloth and the little centerpiece of pink roses. "It's taken care of. Let it go."
"But I—"
"Let it go."
She sank back in her chair. He was right. She knew it. It was only lunch, after all. The real problem had more to do with all she'd yet to say to him than who picked up the check. She folded her hands on the table and looked down at them. "I guess I'm … a little nervous about all this."
"Do you want to call it off?"
She snapped her head up and searched his face—for all the good it did. She couldn't for the life of her guess what might be going through his mind.
"I asked if you wanted to call it off."
"No! I mean … just because I'm nervous doesn't mean I've changed my mind."
"You still want me to come stay at the Mountain Star, then?"
"I do."
"You're sure?"
"Positive—but are you sure you want to come?"
"I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't." The waiter returned and set the bill tray down with a flourish. Sin picked up the pen and signed the receipt. "All right," he said, once the waiter was gone again. "So we have a deal—or at least, the beginnings of one."
"Yes. We have a deal."
Sin insisted on taking her back to the Helmswood Arms. Before she got out of the car, he asked when she would be flying home.
"Tonight at six-thirty."
For a moment she could have sworn he was going to suggest she might stay longer. But he didn't. He only wished her a safe flight and promised he'd see her in five days.
She ended up standing on the sidewalk in front of her hotel, watching his long black limousine pull away and drive off.
"Well, I hope you got that out of your system," Caleb said when he picked her up at Sacramento International.
Sophie granted him a sour smile. "It's nice to see you, too—and you can stop talking about Sin as if he were some kind of virus."
"Sin? Is that what you call him?" Caleb snorted. "It fits."
She waited until they got home and she could get both him and Myra together before she explained that Sin was considering investing in the Mountain Star and possibly building a house nearby.
"He'll be arriving Monday, to stay for a week or so. It will be a sort of … trial period. We'll decide after that if we think a partnership between us might work out."
Caleb let out a short Anglo-Saxon expletive. "I don't get it. I don't get any of it."
Sophie kept her voice low and firm. "Please treat him with courtesy, Caleb."
"Why?"
"Because he is coming here in good faith, he owns the property we're standing on and … because I asked you to."
Caleb muttered more swear words, then demanded, "Did he walk out on you or not?"
"Caleb, please…" Myra chided.
"It's all right, Myra," Sophie said. She faced Caleb. "He did leave, yes. There were … problems between us. And instead of trying to work them out, I just let him go. I shouldn't have done that. That's why I went to find him. And now, we're starting over."
"As business partners?"
"Yes, possibly."
"It doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to make sense. All I'm asking is, will you treat him with courtesy?"
Caleb glowered.
And Myra spoke up again. "Caleb. This is not our choice to make. And Sophie B. is the boss."
Caleb folded his big arms over his chest.
"Caleb," Sophie murmured softly, "please…"
He grunted. "All right. I don't like it, but you are the boss."
Sophie spent the next five days on an emotional pendulum, swinging back and forth between euphoria and dread. She couldn't wait for Sin to come—and she couldn't help wondering what kind of awful mess she might have gotten them into.
On Sunday, remembering how uncomfortable Riker cottage made him, she moved her clothes and a few personal things there, to a small attic room next to Myra's room.
Certainly he'd enjoy the space and privacy of the guest house more. She figured she could still use her office there without inconveniencing him too much, for the original period of time he planned to stay.
After that, who could say? Anything might happen. Maybe they'd be truly together again. Maybe they'd be business partners.
And maybe he'd simply fly back to L.A. and get on with his own life, leaving her here to get on with hers.
He arrived at eleven-thirty on Monday morning, right when Sophie just happened to be making the bed in one of the rooms that looked out over the front driveway. She ran to the window when she heard the car drive up. At the sight of the shiny black Lexus below, she knew that it had to be him.
She tossed the lace pillows against the headboard and smoothed the quilt one more time. Then she flew out to the hall, raced down the front stairs, flung open the old oak door and rushed outside.
Halfway down the walk, she began to feel foolish, running at him headlong like some eager, impetuous child. She ordered her feet to move at a more sedate pace.
His door opened and he emerged from the car. And Sophie found herself hovering there, at the edge of the walk, clasping her hands together, awkward and shy as a preteen in the grip of a first crush.
"So," she said nervously. "You're here."
"Yes," he concurred. "I am."
They stood there in the late-morning sun just looking at each other—for an embarrassingly long stretch of seconds. Again, she thought it could never work out. He was too handsome, too rich, too … everything.
And they would never get past this awful uneasiness with each other.
Sin was experiencing similar emotions. Those wide eyes regarded him anxiously—as if, now he'd come, she had no idea what to do with him.
Finally he suggested, "I'll just get my suitcase and—"
"No."
What the hell did that mean? Had she changed her mind—and not bothered to call and inform him of the fact?
But then she explained, "I've put you in the guest house. I hope that's … all right."
All right?
Pure elation made Sin's heart do something impossible inside his chest, something that felt like a forward roll.
He could hardly believe it. Here he'd been telling himself for five days that he had to be crazy to come here, that what had once been was over. And all the time Sophie had intended for him to move back into the guest house with her.
He understood everything, then. Yes, she looked anxious. She was afraid he might say no.
Laughable thought. That he could ever say no to her…
"Sin?" She stared at him, adorably apprehensive. "Will that be all right?"
"That will be just fine."
"Well, then, why don't you just follow the driveway over there?"
He wanted to pull her into his arms right then and there, but he didn't. He could wait—somehow—until they were alone. He suggested, "Come with me."
"Sure." She started to turn, to cut across the lawn.
"Sophie." She stopped, whirled toward him again, her huge eyes questioning. She wore old jeans and a T-shirt with Mountain Star emblazoned across the front. Her glorious hair had a ragged-edged scarf tied over it. He couldn't wait to take that scarf off. He gestured at the passenger's side of the Lexus. "Get in."
She waved a hand. "Oh, that's not necessary. I'll just run across the lawn and—"
"Sophie. Get in."
She hesitated a moment more, then she shrugged and went around the front of the Lexus. They settled in next to each other and he drove the short distance to the guest house.
She had her door open again almost before he brought the car to a complete stop. "I'll help you with your things."
"Sophie, that's not necess—"
But she was already halfway around to the back. Shaking his head, he popped the trunk latch.
She had the trunk lid up and was hauling the heavier of his two bags out when he got back there himself. He took the bag away from her and grabbed the garment bag, as well.
"Sin, I don't mind—"
He gave her a look. She stopped protesting in mid-sentence.
Inside, she led him straight to her bedroom. "Well, here we are." She gestured him through the doorway, lingering on the threshold herself.
Hiding a knowing smile, Sin tossed the garment bag across the bed and set his suitcase on the needlepoint rug. He turned to her.
She was fiddling with that ragged scarf she'd tied over her hair. "I … hope you'll be comfortable here." She threw out a hand toward the bureau. "I cleared out the drawers for you. And there's room in the closet for your other things." She smoothed the scarf, let her hands drop to her side—and then couldn't leave them there. She clasped them nervously together. "I hope you won't mind, if I go ahead and use the office room. But I'll try not to bother you, I promise."
He didn't know what she was babbling about. "Not bother me?"
She rubbed her arms as if the room were cold. "Well, I mean, as much as possible, I'll leave you your privacy."
"My privacy."
"Yes. I mean, I'll just use the back door, if that's all right. And the front of the house will be completely yours."
Completely mine, he thought, somehow restraining himself from parroting her words for the third time in a row.
It had all come painfully clear.
She wasn't inviting him to share her house at all; she had moved her things elsewhere. He would be staying here alone.
And he knew why she'd done it.
Because she knew how he felt about the main house. She'd seen his absurd reaction to it that first night they met.
She knew his ludicrous weakness—and he hated that she knew. It was almost as bad as the other things she knew about him: all his schemes and his lies.
He asked very quietly, "Where are you staying?"
She shrugged, a gesture that was way too offhand. "There's a cute little room in the main house. I moved my things there."
Christine Rimmer - A Hero for Sophie Jones Page 14
