"A cute little room that just happens to be up in the attic. Right?"
She shifted her stance. Her gaze slid away, then back. "Yes. In the attic."
"One of the two maid's rooms, right? A room nobody wants—unless you're operating at capacity and they can't get anything else."
She'd stopped shifting from one sneakered foot to the other. Her eyes looked wounded and defiant at once.
He demanded, "Which one of the maid's rooms is it? The one where my father had the bad taste to hang himself?"
She hiked up her chin. "No. Not that one."
"Oh, that's right. That would be the bigger room of the two. I suppose Myra's got that one."
"Sin, why are you—?"
"Answer me. Does Myra have the larger room?"
"Yes. But what does it matter? The two rooms share a bath, for heaven's sake. I just … I knew you'd be much more comfortable here."
"I'm sure you did."
"Sin, what is the matter? I thought you were pleased with the idea of staying here. And then, all of a sudden, you—"
He scooped up his garment bag and grabbed for the suitcase. "I'll take the damn attic room." He stalked toward her. She stayed right in his path. He had to halt a foot away from her or knock her down. "Get out of the way."
"No. Really. This is silly. I don't see why you—"
"I won't stay in your damn house, and that's that."
"But I only thought—"
"Don't think. If you want to know where I stand on something, ask me. It's very simple. And much more effective than reading my mind." He took another step. "Move."
She sucked in a small wounded gasp. "You're behaving totally out of proportion about this."
"Move."
She met his gaze, still defiant, for about a count of five. And then, with a tiny defeated sigh, she stepped out of his way. He brushed past her and kept going, headed for the front door.
* * *
Chapter 14
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Sophie trailed after him as far as the front room. He set down his big suitcase to fling open the door, then grabbed it up again and went through without looking back. Sophie stopped where she was in the middle of the room, watching him leave, wondering how things had gotten so awful so fast. He reached the car, tossed his things in the trunk, shoved the door down, and marched around to the driver's side.
He reached for the doorhandle. And then he stopped. He glanced up at the blue sky and down at the fine shoes on his feet. Finally he turned and looked through the open door of the guest house right at Sophie.
Cautiously she crossed the floor and went out to stand on the porch that ran the width of the house.
Sin started toward her. He stopped at the base of the three steps that led up to where she waited.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She couldn't bring herself to say it was all right; it wasn't. She forced a smile. "I guess we're both a little on edge."
"I meant what I said. I won't put you out of your house."
"Yes. All right."
"Do you still want me to stay?"
She should probably have hesitated, at least. But she didn't. "Yes. I do—and things have slowed down considerably since you were here before. I can put you in a much nicer room." She tried a rueful smile. "I could even see to it that you have your own bath."
He put a foot up on the first step and stuck his hands in his pockets. "A nicer room—with a bath—would be great. But I want it clear that you'll charge me the same as you'd charge anyone."
She hadn't planned to charge him at all. She opened her mouth to protest.
He didn't even let her start. "I swear to you. I can afford to pay for my room."
The black Lexus gleamed in the sun behind him. She looked down at those beautiful shoes of his. "I know you can. I only wanted…" She didn't quite know how to finish.
"What?"
"For you to feel welcome, I guess."
"Do you think you could look at me, instead of my shoes?"
She forced her gaze upward. He wasn't exactly smiling. But then again, he'd never been a big one for smiles. At least he looked reasonably friendly—in that broody, intense way of his.
"I promise to feel welcome," he said, humor lighting his eyes just a little.
She wanted to argue some more, to insist that she didn't feel right about having him pay. But she knew it wouldn't do any good. "All right, then," she conceded. "You'll take a nicer room, complete with its own bath. And I'll charge you for it, full price."
He took his foot off the step and his hands from his pockets. "Come on, then. Better get me checked in."
She gave him the room they called the north suite, so named because its bow window faced that direction, providing a view of the back grounds and the oak grove beyond. She wondered, as she climbed the stairs ahead of him, if he would remember it from his childhood. She was pretty sure it hadn't been his parents' room; the original master suite was in the front of the house. However, the room might hold a few memories for him, anyway.
But Sin said nothing of memories. He dropped his suitcase on the rug, tossed his garment bag over a chair and cast a baleful glance around.
"Where's the phone?"
Patiently she explained that they didn't have much of a phone system. There was a line in the kitchen, which had an extension in Myra's room. And a pay phone in the entrance hall that the guests could use. "It's part of the charm here," she added, sounding sheepish in spite of herself. "The Mountain Star is a place to get away from ringing phones."
He turned those intense black eyes on her. "Which means, in the off-season, you can't count on the executive trade."
"The executive trade?" She really did try not to scoff. "We're not set up for that kind of thing, and we never planned to be. Families come here. And couples looking for a romantic hideaway—"
He dismissed her explanation with a wave of his hand. "Fine. Whatever. I have a cell phone."
"But you could use the kitchen phone. I'm sure that would—"
"No, thanks. I'll manage. I want to get this whole thing moving right away, and that means I'll need a phone to myself."
"To call contractors and get estimates, you mean?"
He gave her another of those dark looks he was such a master at. "That is what I'm here for, isn't it?"
She only stared at him, picturing a phalanx of contractors descending on the Mountain Star, coming up with estimates for extensive improvements she wasn't even sure she wanted made.
He blew out a breath. "All right. What is it?"
"Well, I just don't…"
"What? Speak up."
She squared her shoulders and spoke out loud and clear. "I thought we said we would take it slow."
"We did. I'm getting estimates, that's all. I thought that was what we'd agreed I'd do."
It was. And she knew it.
"Sophie, there's no law that says we have to make the improvements right away—or ever, for that matter."
"Right."
"We have to start somewhere."
"Of course, we do."
"I want to get an idea of what is possible and what it will cost."
"That does make sense."
He was pacing back and forth. "So what is the problem?"
I love you, and I'm a coward. "Nothing."
He stopped pacing, turned to face her. "Then you're giving me the go-ahead to get the damn estimates?"
"Yes. Certainly. It's what we agreed."
"Well, at least that's settled."
"Yes."
"And once I get all the figures together, we'll sit down with them, all right?"
She nodded.
"We'll see where we want to go from there."
"Yes. That's reasonable. I understand."
"So," Myra said an hour later. "How's our new guest settling in?"
Sophie picked up her fork and started in on the stuffed tomato salad Myra had just set in front of her. She took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "Umm. This
is wonderful. What is that spice—cumin?"
"Did I ask you what you thought of lunch? I don't think I asked you that."
Sophie drank some milk and set the glass down carefully. "He seems fine."
"You use that word a lot lately. Fine. Have you noticed that?"
"Myra. What are you driving at?"
There was a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. Myra turned it, moved the bananas from the left side to the right. "I thought you were giving him the guest house."
"He refused to stay there."
"Why?"
"Myra, I don't have the answers to everything."
Myra clucked her tongue. "A little on the prickly side, are we?" She fiddled with the bananas some more. "Maybe you ought to ask him."
"Ask him what?"
"Why he refused the guest house."
Sophie knew her friend was right. "There are a lot of things I ought to ask him."
"And will you?"
Sophie picked up her fork again, then set it down. "I keep meaning to."
"But when will you?"
"Soon."
Myra sighed. "Better eat your lunch."
Sophie hardly saw Sin the rest of the day. He spent a couple of hours in his room—no doubt putting his cell phone to use, calling every contractor in the county. And then, later, he went out. He returned in time for dinner and sat down in the dining room with the rest of the guests. Once he'd finished eating, he retreated to his room.
Sophie ate later in the kitchen with Myra and Caleb. Afterward she helped Myra wash dishes and set up for the next morning. Then she crossed the lawn to the guest house. She lay awake very late, thinking of Sin, telling herself to give the situation time—and worrying that he'd never get a moment's sleep over in the cottage, where the past haunted him so terribly.
In the north suite in Riker cottage, Sin did lay awake. But his sleepless state had nothing to do with being in the cottage.
On that level, he had changed. He wasn't sure exactly how. But as soon as he'd stepped through the front door that morning, he'd realized that no bleak memories would torment him there now.
Perhaps, when he had walked away and left the place to Sophie the month before, he'd let go of more than his obsession to get it back.
In any case, to him Riker cottage was just a big old house now. A structure of wood and rock that needed a new roof and probably ought to have a termite inspection ASAP.
No, the past didn't keep him awake. Sophie did.
Sophie, who might want him and might not. Who had proposed a partnership between them.
Maybe.
Who offered him her bed. Without her in it.
He had been certain of one thing when he came here this time: that the next move would have to be hers.
But after today, Sin Riker wasn't certain of anything at all.
The next day the contractors started coming. Before noon, Sin had two men crawling on the roof and three going through the kitchen with their tape measures and their clipboards. Since it was Bethy's day off again, Sophie vacuumed and dusted the parlors, foyer, stairs and landings, cleaned the guests' rooms—and tried to stay out of their way.
After lunch, it was more of the same. Sophie made more beds and more contractors appeared. By three, when all of her maid's duties were done, Sin had gone off somewhere. Sophie headed back to the guest house to tackle the accounts.
She'd just settled in at her desk when the phone rang. It was Myra in the main house.
"Jennifer Randall's on her way," Myra said. Jennifer Randall was the owner of Black Angel, the Arabian mare who'd been injured a couple of months before. "She came banging through the back door a minute ago, looking for you."
"She's angry?"
"Steamed."
"Is her horse injured again?"
"Not that she mentioned. She's just on the warpath over something Caleb said, I think."
"Thanks for the warning."
"Good luck."
Sophie hung up just as the pounding started on the back door.
"He is rude. Rude and pushy. And I refuse to board Black Angel here for another day unless you do something about him." Jennifer Randall paced back and forth in front of Sophie's desk.
"Ms. Randall, what exactly did Caleb do?"
"What did he do? What he always does. Treating me as if I don't know how to handle my own horse. Today he actually tried to give me instructions on caring for my tack. I have had it. He is rude. And I don't like his attitude … telling me how to ride, for pity's sake. Giving me orders on how to take care of my equipment. I don't have to put up with that. And I won't."
"Ms. Randall, I—"
"Will you do something about him?"
Sophie mentally counted to ten. "Just what is it that you would like me to do?"
"Reprimand him. Make it clear to him that if he wants to keep his job—"
"You're asking me to threaten to fire him?"
The woman froze in midstride and planted both fists on her hips. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm asking."
Patience, Sophie thought. "Ms. Randall, I won't fire Caleb. He does the work of three men around here. All of the others who board horses here consider him an excellent groom. And he's also a dear friend."
"Well. Then I'm afraid I'll have to take Black Angel out of your care."
Sophie opened her mouth to try to dissuade her, and then shut it. She had to face facts here. The boarding fee Jennifer Randall paid every month simply wasn't worth all the trouble she caused.
The woman began pacing again. "Quite frankly, Ms. Jones, this is no way to run a business. Stable help should be just that—help."
"Ms. Randall," Sophie said. "We are sorry to lose Black Angel. But I think you're right. It's for the best."
Jennifer Randall stopped pacing. She turned. "What?"
"Of course you'll need a little time to find another place to board her."
"But I—"
"A few days, is that enough?"
"Why, I—"
Sophie rose. "I'm sorry it hasn't worked out."
The woman sucked in a gasp. "Well, I never—"
"I really don't think there's anything more to say."
"I cannot believe—" This time the woman cut herself off. "All right. I'll make other arrangements. Within the next few days."
"Thank you."
"And I have to tell you, I will not be recommending the Mountain Star to any of my friends or associates."
Sophie winced, but made herself say evenly, "I understand."
"And I intended to ride today. I still intend to ride today. I expect that man to take good care of Black Angel until I find her a new place."
"Of course. There'll be no problem, I promise you." She delivered those words to Jennifer Randall's back, since the woman had already whirled to flounce out. Sophie sank into her desk chair, wincing again as she heard the kitchen door slam.
Caleb appeared about fifteen minutes later, filling the doorway with his muscular bulk.
Sophie looked up from her computer and gave him a smile. "You okay?"
"I've been better. The Randall woman just rode off on Black Angel. She did come and talk to you, didn't she?"
"She sure did."
"What happened?"
"We agreed that she'd find another stable."
He looked down at the floor. "That's a lot of horse. Someday that woman will get herself thrown bad. Or Black Angel will come up with worse than a sprain."
"Caleb, look at it this way. It's not our problem anymore—or at least it won't be within a few days."
He took a step into the room. "I'm sorry, Sophie B."
"It's not your fault. I know that."
"We can't afford to lose any boarders."
"That one we couldn't afford to keep. Now lighten up. You did the best you could with that woman, and we're lucky we're going to be rid of her."
"I'll always feel bad for poor Black Angel."
"In this situation, there's really nothing you can do."
>
"I guess I know it."
"Then will you please stop shuffling your feet and acting like the world's come to an end."
He gave her a reasonable semblance of a smile.
She said, "Go on back to the stables. And don't worry. This worked out for the best all the way around."
"I hope you're right."
"I know I am."
As soon as she finished recording the receipts for the previous week and paying a few bills that just couldn't wait another day, Sophie headed for the barn to fool around with her projector some more. The darn thing still wasn't working right.
She saw Sin, out in the driveway saying goodbye to one of his contractors. He waved at her and she almost stopped, to share a few words with him, to see how his day was going. But after yesterday, she hardly knew what to expect from him: another argument; most likely. After dealing with the Randall woman, she just didn't feel up to more conflict right then. She returned his wave and kept on walking.
The contractor got in his pickup and drove away—and seconds later, Sin fell in step with her.
"What's up now?" he asked.
It was an innocent enough question. But still, her stomach clenched like a fist. She just knew he'd find something to criticize soon enough. "I'm going to the barn to look at my projector. It's been acting up."
"Does it ever not act up?"
"Good question." She walked a little faster. Next he'd start in on how she needed a new projector.
And he did. "Sophie, we've got to look into replacing that thing."
She murmured something noncommittal and kept on walking.
He stayed with her—and moved on to the next order of business. "What the hell happened to that skinny maid you had?"
"Midge quit a few weeks ago. I have a new maid now. Bethy."
"I didn't see any Bethy today. I saw you cleaning the rooms by yourself."
"Bethy has Monday and Tuesday off." She had no intention of telling him that Bethy was four months pregnant and morning sickness kept her from working most of the rest of the week. He'd find out soon enough, she supposed. And then she'd get an earful on that subject, too.
They had reached the barn. He took one door and she took the other. They swung them wide and braced them open. They entered the cool, dim interior. Sophie pulled open the curtains to the main room and turned on the overhead fluorescents. She spotted an empty plastic bottle down near the screen, so she went to collect it.
Christine Rimmer - A Hero for Sophie Jones Page 15
