No you don’t! No, you don’t. Sophie couldn’t let her roommate fall into Garrett’s clutches. She wouldn’t. She removed her yellow dress and hung it in the armoire they shared. “You really don’t know enough about the man—”
“Isn’t that the purpose of courting?” Amanda asked. “To learn more about each other? He doesn’t really know anything about me either.”
He does. Oh, he does. He knows you’re young and malleable and susceptible. Tears sprang to Sophie’s eyes, the depth of keen and intense emotion a surprise after being barren of feelings for so many years. What was happening to her?
Grabbing her nightgown, she hurried behind the screen. She scooped her hair away from her face with a ribbon and washed, the water and the splashing covering her tears and the soft sobs she couldn’t hold back. She wasn’t going to let Amanda be buffaloed into falling for Garrett. He would use Amanda to get to her without blinking an eye.
Perhaps Amanda would recognize his intent?
He didn’t own Amanda, after all, Sophie tried to assure herself.
But what if Amanda learned too late? He could seduce her—or force himself on her. The sordid images in Sophie’s head sickened her.
At the very least Amanda would have her heart broken and her reputation ruined.
After calming herself, Sophie dried her skin and undressed. “Please don’t see him alone.”
“Sophie, you’re going riding with the marshal tomorrow. Alone.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is the same.”
“No. Clay is the city marshal. Everyone knows he can be trusted. He is established in this town and has a good reputation. As a matter of fact he finds Mr. Morgan a trifle suspicious.”
Dressed in her nightgown, Sophie came around the screen to find the other girl waiting for her, indignation in her expression.
“It’s unfair of both of you to accuse a man you don’t even know of being untrustworthy. Don’t you think a good man could be attracted to me?”
“Of course I do, but…but…” Garrett was not a good man. She knew it. “I just care about you.”
“Then show it by being happy for me.”
Oh, how she wished she could. All Sophie could do was wrap her arms around her. Caught by surprise at the uncharacteristic display, Amanda held herself stiff for a moment before returning the affection. Sophie was experiencing new feelings all the time now.
This must be what it felt like to have a sister, Sophie thought. Amanda had undoubtedly hugged her family members hundreds of times, fought and made up, but Sophie had never shared that kind of affection or felt so protective.
Amanda turned down the wick and they climbed into their beds. So great was Sophie’s concern for her roommate’s safety, she wanted to cry again, but she reminded herself of her uncommon strength and vowed to protect her friend no matter what it took.
Sophie had purchased a ready-made split riding skirt at Miss Kirkpatrick’s dress shop, and it had needed only minor alteration, which she’d done herself.
Sunday morning Amanda helped style her hair so it wouldn’t escape her straw hat, which she’d adorned with fresh new flowers and a lavender grosgrain ribbon that trailed down her back.
Goldie Krenshaw burst in, exclaiming that the marshal had arrived.
Hat in hand, Clay waited in the courting room, half a dozen young women directing questions and fluttering their eyelashes at him. Relieved to see Sophie, he ran an appreciative gaze over her spring-colored lavender shirtwaist and serge riding skirt and offered a smile. “You look lovely, Miss Hollis. Ready for a ride?”
“I am, Marshal.”
She took his arm and he led her out of doors where two saddled horses waited at the hitching post. One of them was a brown-speckled Appaloosa, taller than an Indian pony, but bearing familiar color and markings. Her smile was genuine. “He’s beautiful!”
“She.” He guided the horse close to the porch so she could climb easily to its back. “Hold on.” He indicated the pommel of the saddle. “Your foot goes here, then pull your weight upward with your arms and use your foot for leverage. Once you’re high enough, throw your leg over.”
Effortlessly, she did just as he directed and beamed at him from atop her mount. Just as she reached for the animal’s mane, Clay handed her the reins.
He mounted his horse, nudged it forward with his knees and instructed her to do the same. It all came back to her, though she couldn’t remember ever riding with a saddle, and that took some getting used to. It was more comfortable than feeling every movement of the animal’s hips as it stepped.
The morning was cooler than any day had been in weeks, the sun partially hidden by a layer of filmy clouds. Sophie drew in a breath and detected the fresh smell of the countryside. It was good to smell something besides burning coal or horses or food.
“It won’t rain, will it?” she asked.
“Doesn’t smell like rain.”
She let the breeze blow her hat off. She’d wisely added a ribbon that caught around her neck and let the hat hang on her back. The gentle wind in her hair felt delightful.
Clay held the horses to a moderate gait, and she was grateful for the chance to get accustomed to the brisk bouncing. The clouds dissipated and the sun warmed her clear through. By the time they reached the same riverbank lined with cottonwood trees, Sophie was ready to slide to the ground. She did so without his assistance.
“Shoulda let me help you,” Clay said.
She nodded. “I should have. My body didn’t want to wait.”
He chuckled and tethered the horses in the shade where they could crop grass.
“How far is your place from here?” she asked.
“Couple o’ miles that way.” He indicated a north-westerly direction.
“Are we going there today?”
“Still want to?”
She nodded.
“Then yes. I’ll make us lunch. Nothin’ fancy.”
They took seats on the lush grass. She took off her hat and secured the brim with a stone. “You can cook?”
“I said nothin’ fancy. I can slice ham and bread. You only have to wipe an apple on your sleeve before you eat it.”
She enjoyed his easygoing manner, appreciated how comfortable it was to talk to him. No putting on airs. No forced politeness or artificial pretense.
Of course this was all a pretense, she corrected herself. Sophie Hollis was a pretense. How weary she was of that.
“I’m accustomed to doin’ for myself,” he said with a grin.
“Was your mother a good cook?” she asked.
He nodded. “Every boy’s mama is a good cook.”
“What was your favorite?”
He didn’t even think about it. “Bread. Hot and crusty right from the oven.” He set his hat aside. “What about you? You said your mama was a good cook.”
Sophie tried hard to remember something her mother had made. She pictured her with her fair skin darkened from the sun, tanning hides and stringing dried deer meat. With her dark hair and eyes she’d blended in with the women of the tribe.
“Lemon-frosted tea cakes,” she said finally. “With sweet tea.”
Here she was lying again.
Lying to get a job. Lying to save face. Lying to save her neck. Lying to people who thought she was their friend. Lying to this man who stood for justice.
She’d fooled herself by thinking she wanted to change, but how would that ever be possible?
Just to hold conversation with the man she had to come up with stories. If she was going to change, she was going to have to start somewhere. Maybe she could start here with a small step. Maybe one less lie. She straightened her posture in preparation. “I haven’t been completely truthful.”
Chapter Twelve
Sophie felt sick at the confession she was about to make.
Clay’s blue gaze rested on her face without obvious concern.
The breath Sophie drew shook. “I’ve led you to believe my mot
her is alive,” she said. “But the truth is she’s dead.”
A crease formed between the brows he drew together. “Sorry. You could’ve just said so.”
“I’ve never talked about her.” That was one hundred percent the truth, and an exhilarating rush of relief pumped through her veins at this minimal unburdening.
“You don’t have to now,” he told her.
The cottonwood leaves rustled overhead. A bird chirped from a nearby tree and another answered.
“I just wanted to be like other people.” Her explanation sounded lame even to her own ears. “So there you have it. My mother’s dead, and I barely remember her.”
Sophie bit her lip in self-disgust. She’d tacked another lie on to that one tiny harmless truth! She did remember her mother. Now she was avoiding telling him the way she remembered her.
Clay studied her for a lengthy moment. “You didn’t think you were like other people.”
She knew she wasn’t.
“You wanted to feel normal. Understandable. What else do you want?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What else?”
“For your life?” he clarified. “You’re not lookin’ for a husband, so a family isn’t on your list.”
“I want…time and space to figure out what I want. I don’t want anyone telling me my future.” Another truth rose up plain as day. “I don’t know who I am or what I want. But I want to learn those things more than anything.” That and freedom from the man who meant to either own or destroy her again were her heart’s desire. Sophie wanted to forget Garrett. She wanted him to disappear.
“Working at the Arcade is somethin’ you wanted.”
“Yes. I love the sense of accomplishment and purpose it gives me.”
He nodded. “Admirable.”
She enjoyed the sparkle in his blue eyes when they touched on her. “I’ve never had a friendship like ours before,” she told him, another truth. “I’ve never been close to anyone. Comfortable like this.”
“Same for me.”
She had come to enjoy their time together. Talking like this was a rich satisfaction she appreciated with all her heart. Sophie studied the handsome line of his jaw, the sheen of his dark hair as the leaves above rustled and allowed little rays of sunshine to dapple his head and shoulders. “What about the girl you were going to marry? You never mentioned her name.”
“Susan. It was years ago, but I can’t remember wantin’ to know all about her. Talked about herself all the time regardless.”
“Was she pretty?”
“She was.”
“What did she look like?”
“Small-like. Hair the color of a wheat field in the sun.”
“How poetic.”
He grinned self-consciously.
“What else do you remember?”
He studied the green landscape as far as the river wound. “Remember feelin’ like somebody dug out my heart with a rusty spoon.” He rubbed his chest as though the ache was still vivid. “Couldn’t catch my breath for a week.”
Sophie’s emotions surfaced again at his disturbing description of heartbreak. He was a brave man for not being ashamed of those feelings. Far braver than she.
She’d had to close off feelings in order to survive.
“I’m so sorry.” She reached over and covered his hand on his chest with hers.
Clay took it and pressed her palm to the front of his shirt, keeping her closer. “Been feelin’ that way again lately.”
“You loved her that much?”
“Not because of her.” His low-timbered voice made her insides quiver.
“What then?” She dreaded the answer. Couldn’t wait to hear it.
He flattened his hand over hers and she could feel the accelerated beat of his heart. “Because I’m fallin’ for another woman who wants somethin’ else more than me.”
His clear blue eyes held a sincerity that took her breath away. Did she? How was it conceivably possible to want something more than what he offered? All her years of conditioning had convinced her men were selfish and greedy. Garrett was typical of the men she’d known, the only kind of people she’d been exposed to.
She remembered Ellie Chaney’s words about not having known a man she could trust before she met the doctor. From him Ellie had learned to trust.
Meeting her, meeting the diners at the Arcade, knowing the girls at the dormitory, and learning about Clay had shaken Sophie’s perception of the world. A whole new view of people had been opened up to her, and she was still sorting it all out.
How much truth could she tell him without giving herself away and landing in jail? Without putting him in a position where he’d have to choose justice over her? She couldn’t do that to him.
She was on her knees beside him now. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Just that much of an admission made her heart thump. “A lot of things I can’t share.”
“You will when you’re ready.”
“I never want to hurt you. Ever. That’s the truth. And it’s from my heart,” she told him. “But things have happened that won’t let me be the person you need me to be.”
A muscle in Clay’s jaw leaped. “Is this how you discouraged Mr. Tripp?”
That question hurt because he’d hit on part of the truth. “I didn’t care about him, Clay. I didn’t want to waste his time—or mine.”
“Are you wastin’ my time?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“You’re a risk I’m willin’ to take, Sophie.”
She wept inside, ached because a man as good and kind as this one cared enough about her to be willing to hurt that much all over again. She closed her eyes for a moment to experience the words he’d just spoken. To fully absorb the meaning.
“You could care that much for me?” she asked with her eyes still shut. “You see something in me worthy of your heart?”
Clay raised her hand and she felt warmth and moisture as he kissed her palm. “You already have my heart, Sophie. Don’t you know that?”
She looked at him then. Threading her other hand into his hair she let herself feel the emotions he unleashed inside her. This good man loved her.
Loved her?
“What does it feel like?” she asked on a whisper. “Does love make you want to laugh and cry at the same time? Does it fill up a hole inside that you never knew was there before? Does it make you feel smart and pretty and all fluttery inside?”
“All except the pretty part,” he answered, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
Her lips were nearly touching his, and now his eyes had drifted closed.
She covered his lips with hers, aching for closeness, yearning for a more intimate bond.
“Sophie,” he said against her mouth.
“My real name is Sophia,” she was impelled to tell him. “It’s what my father named me.”
“As beautiful as you.” He kissed her, slanting his head and sending blood pumping through her veins in a rush. “Sophia.”
How many years since she’d heard her own name aloud? Overwhelming gratification welled inside at her given name on his lips. He was speaking to her, the real Sophia. The urge to cry was strong and she masked it with a heartfelt embrace and by losing herself in his kiss.
All of Amanda’s handiwork was gone in seconds when he delved into her hair and removed the pins so he could splay it over her shoulders and run his fingers through.
Sophie explored the contours of his chest and shoulders through the soft fabric, sliding her hand inside his collar to touch the warm skin of his neck.
He inched away, touched his hand to his top button and met her eyes.
She nodded and helped him unbutton it and strip the garment away, eager to have her hands on his skin. His chest was broad and muscular, silky dark hair curling around her fingers. She couldn’t get enough of him and dared to test the sleek feel of his rib cage.
He drew her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. Their k
isses grew more heated, his tongue teasing hers until her pulse pounded in her head. What was it he did to her? How was it she found herself returning his kisses and craving more? This was so new, so shocking and exciting, she could hardly absorb it.
He cupped her breast through her dress and groaned, then suggestively skimmed the row of buttons with a fingertip.
Sophie’s pleasure dimmed. The lies were undermining what she felt for this man. Clay had always been honest with her. If he knew all about her he wouldn’t want her, wouldn’t find her so worthy. If they gave in to this all-consuming fire, he would know he wasn’t the first. She owed him that much honesty ahead of time.
He toyed with the top button, and she pulled away enough to look into his eyes.
“Didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said.
“Clay.” She took his hands between hers and moved from his lap so she could think. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.” Seeing Garrett had reminded her afresh of everything he’d stolen from her, her innocence, her chance to have a life with a wonderful person like this one.
“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.
She couldn’t even enjoy this experience to the fullest because of the lies. “It matters to me, and it will matter to you.”
“Tell me then.”
The only way to enjoy this was to tell him. “I’m scared. You won’t want me if you know.”
“Try me.”
She hated Garrett. Despised him for putting her in this position. Now it all came down to whether or not she trusted Clay. The irony in that fact didn’t escape her. She wanted to experience the happiness she knew was waiting for her with this man. If she was going to go through with what she wanted, she had to clear this part of her conscience and be honest with him.
Amazingly, the sky hadn’t fallen when she’d told the truth about her mother. It would still be overhead after he knew even more. And at least she would have been truly loved for the first time since she was too young to remember.
“Why don’t you show me your place now?” she asked.
“Don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”
“I definitely want to.”
The Lawman's Bride (Harlequin Historical Series) Page 12
