They stopped and she held her breath. Their heads were bent close as if talking, and then she watched Riley put his hands on Eliza’s tiny waist, pulling her against him. He had to bend way down because she was so short in stature. Sophie gasped, almost feeling Riley’s hands on her own waist. Their lips touched, and she turned to flee the deck. She bumped into Dan’s chest.
“Steady,” he said, and then looked past her shoulder. She turned to see Riley and Eliza were still kissing.
“Woo-wee,” he said. “Those two are usually colder than an ice house in February. Something has sparked his fire all right!”
Sophie managed to murmur something incomprehensible about needing to get home and succeeded in making her escape.
*****
With extra special care, Sophie dressed in the best dress she’d brought with her—a satin gown in violet, her favorite color, which contrasted well with her dark hair. It had a form-fitting cuirass bodice, giving her a slim silhouette, with a small train and a hint of a pad for the bustle.
She pulled her hair up and back on top and left the rest to cascade over her slender shoulders. It wasn’t Parisian or London fashion, she thought, eyeing herself in the one small mirror resting on the dresser, but it would definitely do for Spring City.
She heard the wagon and couldn’t help wishing it were Riley picking her up.
“Stop that,” she scolded her image sharply before going downstairs. Dan knocked once and she opened the door to his appraising gaze.
Then he laughed. “Oh, Miss Sophie. Eliza won’t like that, not one bit. Oh no, she won’t.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
He shook his head. “This is gonna be interesting, that’s all I can say.” And he offered her his arm.
The Prentice house was fastidious, from the tidy front porch with plump pillows on the swing and rocker, to the cool tile entry way with its hallstand and vase of freshly cut flowers. Nothing was out of place. Except Sophie, who wanted to be just about anywhere else, than walking into Eliza’s parlor.
They were greeted by a housekeeper, perhaps Mr. Prentice’s nurse, and the aroma of roast pork. A few steps farther in and she saw Riley, whose jaw clenched tightly as he took in her appearance, his eyes clearly appreciative. He stood up from the sofa with a tentative smile for her and a firm handshake for Dan.
“Eliza,” Riley called out, as if a husband summoning his wife, and she came from another room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel that she dropped on the credenza.
She had on a simple, well-made dress in the best blue to bring out her light eyes and matching ribbons in her hair. And startling to Sophie, Eliza wore a spotlessly clean and pressed white apron tied around her waist. No doubt, it was for effect and not for cooking. She was the picture of domesticity. The perfect housewife.
Sophie felt too tall, overdressed, and even garish.
Eliza came to stand by Riley, resting her hand on his sleeve.
“So glad you could both come,” she said, eyeing Sophie’s gown. Her nostrils flared slightly, but she kept a smile in place. “I guess they dress up more for a friendly dinner than we do here,” Eliza commented. “You look so lovely, doesn’t she, Riley?”
Oh my God. Sophie felt herself blanche. Does she know?
She watched Riley swallow, as his eyes flicked over her from neckline to hem. “Yes, she does.” It took Sophie a moment to realize he was answering Eliza and not her own unspoken question.
Sophie was only glad that Eliza hadn’t stepped forward to kiss both her cheeks as would have happened in Boston, no matter the level of friendliness or enmity.
“Mr. Freeman,” Eliza said to Dan who took her hand awkwardly, obviously unused to dinner parties. He held it, looking unsure whether to kiss it or shake it.
“Miss Eliza,” he mumbled and let her hand drop. Then he added gallantly, “You look fine yourself.”
Eliza smiled again, but it was clear to Sophie that it was not genuine. She glanced at Riley and found his brown eyes were locked on hers, until she lowered her gaze. Nothing about this felt right.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Eliza said, moving away from the silent group. “Riley, why don’t you get everyone a drink. I made some punch. And dinner is almost ready.”
Sophie didn’t miss Riley’s quizzical glance at Eliza. Apparently, this was not their everyday circumstances. It was too “normal.” And if she’d gleaned one thing about Eliza Prentice, it was that she was a hellion, willful, spoiled wildcat, not a simpering female who was happy to cook a meal for her man.
She heard a crash in the kitchen and a muffled oath. Eliza flushed and jumped up. “I’ll just go see about that.” And she was gone. Evidently, the meal’s real cook was about to get an earful from the hostess.
Riley turned back to them and shrugged.
“How’s business?” he asked Dan.
“Good, but only ’cause Millan’s Feed went under in Dorset.”
“Dorset?” Sophie repeated. And at her voice, Riley’s gaze swung to her lips. Her eyes widened. How in blazes was she going to get through this evening?
“Next town over,” Dan offered. “The train doesn’t stop there, so . . .”
He trailed off and they sat in silence again.
“Was that the last of the trunks?” Dan asked her.
Sophie beamed at him, turning to put her hand on his arm. “Yes, thanks. You are my hero.” He turned pink in the cheeks.
She turned to include Riley in her smile but froze at his narrow-eyed look, and she immediately dropped her hand from Dan. Now why, she scolded herself, was she feeling guilty for being nice to Dan?
“Dan helped me get Charlotte’s trunks on the train,” Sophie told him, keeping her gaze steady. “I’m all done here.” She felt a twinge of melancholy at the thought of leaving, but leave she must.
“We all wouldn’t mind, Miss Sophie, if you stuck around a while longer, right Riley?” Dan said, but Sophie didn’t get to hear his reply. At that moment, Eliza returned.
“What did I miss? It’s no matter. Dinner’s ready. Shall we go in?” and she led the way into the dining room.
They stood and Riley let Sophie pass first, feeling the heat of his body through the fine fabric of her gown as she brushed past him. She curled her fingers into her palms at the wave of desire that hit her.
At the round table with the pretty lace cloth, Sophie couldn’t escape sitting in close quarters. The ladies faced each other, as did the men. Sophie spent the meal making small talk, answering Eliza’s stream of questions about Boston and Rome. She couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of her eye that Riley was watching her. In turn, Sophie saw Eliza watching Riley. She wanted to bolt for the door, so bizarre was this little gathering. She was grateful only that Dan seemed guileless and unaware of any tension.
“Your father is unwell, I hear,” Sophie said, when all other topics had been worn out.
“Yes, he’s in his room most of the time. His body is weak now, but he’s still strong of mind and personality. I don’t know how I could leave him.” Eliza’s voice sounded full of genuine concern.
“You mean when you . . . get married and go to San Francisco?” Sophie asked
Riley seemed very intent on his potatoes, and Eliza sighed.
“I suppose I must.” She looked at Riley who shot her a quick glance. “But I seem to be dragging my feet, don’t I, Riley? Poor man has been asking and waiting, and waiting and asking for years, it seems.”
Riley coughed. “A couple at any rate.”
“But I don’t think we’ll end up in San Francisco in the end. Riley’s almost done, and then he’ll take over for Doc.”
“That was the plan,” Riley said, sounding to Sophie about as excited as a boy being told to practice scales instead of play outside on a warm summer day.
“I always wondered why you two didn’t up and get the wedding over with?” Dan said, before stuffing roasted pork in his mouth. “I mean, you’re not getting any younger,” he added,
jabbing his fork toward each of them.
Sophie would have laughed if Eliza hadn’t blanched and excused herself from the table. “I’ll go check on my father,” she said and hurried up the stairs.
What the hell was going on here? Sophie wondered. Riley’s kiss made her feel it would be hard to wait a day, let alone a year or two, to consummate that spark of passion. But maybe Eliza and Riley hadn’t waited. She’d seen them kiss. Maybe they enjoyed all the pleasures of husband and wife without the sanctimony of marriage.
But why then not marry, even if Eliza couldn’t join him in San Francisco when he’d first started school?
“She’s a devoted daughter,” Sophie said, thinking that perhaps the father was the reason why Eliza had postponed the wedding twice, as Sarah had indicated.
“Yup,” Riley agreed. He put his fork down. “But it won’t be long now.”
“Is that right?” Dan asked.
“’Fraid so. Mr. Prentice has fluid in his lungs and can hardly breathe.”
“It may be a relief to both of them, then,” Sophie said, barely above a whisper, thinking of when her own father passed away after a blessedly brief illness. No one had wanted to see him suffer or deteriorate from the strong man she and her brother and sisters had known all their lives.
“My apologies,” Eliza said, when she came back, moving as swiftly as she’d left, and giving them all a watery smile. “He’s sleeping peacefully. Now, who wants some pie?”
Sophie watched Riley put his hand on Eliza’s shoulder to offer her his strength and saw the special look he received in return. It was touching and made her throat close, and she started counting the minutes until she could escape.
*****
“They should marry and get it over with,” Dan said as soon as they were in his wagon. That was just what Sophie had been thinking through dessert and brandy. She had found it increasingly difficult to sit in Eliza’s firelit parlor, watching Riley’s hands as he held a glass and his mouth when he spoke, all the while feeling ashamed of their earlier behavior.
“Perhaps Miss Prentice is waiting for her father to pass,” Sophie offered. “She wouldn’t want to move out and set up a home while he is so ill.”
“I always thought she was waiting for Riley to come back a full-fledged doctor before she’d marry him.”
“Maybe both,” Sophie said, not enjoying the idle gossip but unsure how to stop Dan. “You and Riley have been friends a long time?”
“Grew up together,” he said, seeming happy to talk about Riley. “He always wanted to tend things, whether a hurt dog or a bird with a broken wing or any of his friends. Hell . . . uh, I mean, heck, he caused half my boyhood injuries I think, just so he could patch me up.”
Sophie laughed, imagining them as young, troublesome boys. But she was glad when she was back at her own front door. The evening had stretched her nerves to breaking.
“Thanks for asking me,” Dan said, walking her to the front porch, nervousness apparent in his faltering step and his hesitant look.
“Thank you for accompanying me.” Sophie tried to put him at ease. This had not been a date, but she was unsure if he knew that. He seemed to be leaning toward her, perhaps to kiss her cheek. She stuck out her hand and he paused, looked at it, and then took it. He held it in both his hands a moment.
“Well, goodnight, then,” he said.
“I’ll be seeing you at the store,” Sophie offered, opening the front door with her free hand behind her back. “As soon as I need something for Alfred.” Though she would probably be gone before that happened and Sarah would have Alfred back.
“Righty-o,” he said, still swallowing, gripping her hand, and staring at her.
She smiled and extricated her hand from his with a small tug.
“Goodnight then.” With mercy on the man, she gave him a quick peck on his cheek and vanished inside. Christ, but that was awkward. Sophie leaned with her back on the door and listened. She heard his footsteps and then the horse’s hooves as Dan drove the wagon away.
“Piano, piano, piano,” she muttered to herself and within minutes was lost to the music—melancholy music, both for Eliza and her father, and for herself and Riley, too.
Chapter Seven
She’d been expecting him all morning. When Sophie heard his sharp rap at the door, she jumped up from the sofa in the parlor where she’d been reading and rereading Charlotte’s letter. As she’d hoped, it contained information about a music school and a performance opportunity and even a rooming house. She was to expect a letter of introduction to the San Francisco Symphony from an editor for whom Charlotte had written an article and who also was a San Francisco patron of the arts.
Sophie’s footsteps hesitated and without even thinking, she raised her hand to smooth her hair. Today, it was tied up in a neat, “no-nonsense” bun, as her mother called it. She took a long breath and then opened the door. Riley was standing, patiently, covered in dust, holding a package in his hand. She felt her heart speed up, as she half-clung to the door.
“Cake?” she asked, automatically, feeling a smile tug at her lips, but he gave none in return.
“Actually, cookies.” Riley took her in from head to toe in a swift, serious glance. “From Sarah. I ran into her earlier. You looked gorgeous last night. You still do.” His words tumbled out all at once.
Sophie straightened and took a step back, deciding for the moment to ignore his immediate venture into inappropriate territory with his comments on her appearance.
“You told Sarah you were coming here?” Wouldn’t his visit raise eyebrows, even in Spring City?
“I did.” He held out the package, which she took, careful that her fingers didn’t touch his. She gave it a delicate shake and it rattled noisily.
“Hey,” he warned, this time offering a wry grin. “It sounded that way before I rode over here.” He took off his hat and whacked his knee with it absently, sending up a cloud of dust.
She knew Sarah well enough by now: “What did you tell Sarah when she asked why you were coming here?”
He reached into the side pocket of the lightweight tan-colored duster he was wearing. A cream-colored envelope was rolled up but not folded.
“For you.”
Thank God he’d had a legitimate reason to ride over. But she could think of no reason to invite him in and a million reasons not to.
“Thanks, Riley. Well, good day then.” And she started to close the door.
His arm shot out and his hand stopped the door with a resounding thwack, making her jump. The smile was gone from his face, replaced by something that looked like sadness.
“May I please come in?”
She shook her head immediately; he was playing with fire.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think that you think it’s a good idea, either.”
“No,” Riley said, looking down at his boots and shaking his head. He stayed that way a moment, paused, thoughtful. “No, you’re right.” Then he raised his eyes to her and the look went right through her, striking a chord that made her yearn for something more.
“But let me in anyway.”
His voice, gone low and rough, perhaps with emotion or desire, made her swallow hard. All the reasons evaporated like morning dew at noontime. She stepped back and held the door open wide.
He slipped inside, turning to her, but she felt prickly with the closeness in the hallway and walked back to the kitchen, placing the cookies and the envelope on the table. She could feel him at her back and didn’t turn to face him. Until he touched her—his hand on the small of her back—and she spun around as if burnt.
“What . . . can . . . we . . . possibly . . . need . . . to . . . say?” she asked. Stay calm, stay even. Keep her emotions in check. She conjured up the image of him kissing Eliza, but it dissolved as he took her hands and held them in his.
His face already seemed dear to her, and she wanted to chide herself, feeling a heaviness in her heart, knowing this could not end wel
l. She knew she was going to get hurt, though not too badly, if she kept her head about her now. Sparing Eliza, who was going to lose her father and did not deserve a broken heart as well—that was the only thing Sophie could hope to accomplish. She pulled her hands from his.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“I had to,” he said, “particularly after that fiasco of a dinner.”
She nodded her agreement. True. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it over his face, removing a layer of trail dust, before stuffing the small square of fabric back in the front pocket of his Levi’s.
“Are you sweet on Dan?” It rushed out of him all at once.
She laughed, so surprised by his question. But she didn’t want to disrespect Dan who’d been so helpful. “He seems like a good man, kind and funny.”
“None better,” Riley agreed. “He’s my friend.” He searched her face. “But I felt like popping him one, right in the mouth, every time he looked at you. In that dress.”
She swallowed, feeling her throat close at the look in his eyes. “There is nothing to say.”
“I don’t want to marry Eliza.”
Or maybe there was something to say. Sophie sat down with a thud on the kitchen bench. And in an instant, he was on his knees on the floor in front of her.
“Oh, no,” Sophie said, looking down at her lap. “No, no, no, no.” He took her hands again.
“Sophie, please listen.”
She wanted to stick her fingers in her ears like a small child and sing loudly to block him out.
“No, Riley. Don’t do this to her. Not because of me.”
“Sophie.” He raised her chin to look at him. “Listen to me.”
“No, no, no,” she said again.
“Sophie, don’t misunderstand me. I will marry Eliza. I have to.”
An Irresistible Temptation Page 6
