Beloved Wolf

“You don’t understand,” Sophie told him, once more forgetting about her scar, forgetting to hide that scar from River. “Those were dreams, Riv. Young girl dreams.”

“So you really enjoy your work?”

“Of course I enjoy my work!” Sophie exploded, grabbing at her cane and rising to her feet. “I love what I do!”

“Funny. That’s not what Rand told me.”

Sophie sat down again. “Rand? I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really? You know, Sophie, you didn’t use to lie to me.”

She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then asked, “What did Rand say?”

“He said that you contacted him just after you and Wallace got engaged, because Wallace wanted the two of you to leave the advertising agency and set up one of your own. He said that you sounded less than enthused, partly because Wallace was talking his expertise and your capital, but also partly because you’d been thinking about getting out of the business.”

“And coming back here to write a book,” Sophie ended for him, wincing as this very private dream seemed now to be everybody’s business.

“Really? Write a book? Actually, Rand didn’t say anything about that.”

“He shouldn’t have said anything,” Sophie blustered, to cover her embarrassment. “I spoke to him as a lawyer, not my brother.”

“And Rand talked to me because he knows I care about you,” River replied in that low, smooth voice that might have the power to soothe savage beasts, but only prodded Sophie into another white-hot streak of anger.

“Care about me? Oh, cut me a break, Riv,” she said bitterly. “If you’d truly cared about me, you’d never have let me— Oh damn!”

“Back to square one, aren’t we?” River asked her, reaching out, stroking her arm.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Sophie agreed. “I left because you pushed me away, and now I’m back and the first thing I do is come chasing after you. Ten years, Riv, and it looks like I haven’t learned a damn thing.”

River was silent for a long time, and Sophie began to relax, fall back into the sort of comfortable silences they used to share, times when it was enough to be with him, sitting under a starry sky, sharing his world.

“Meredith’s full of crap, you know,” he said at last, startling her. “You’re a beautiful woman. Even with both your eyes blackened, and bandages, and scrapes and bruises all over your face, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

Sophie closed her eyes, digested his words. “You were there? You saw me?”

“I flew the senator to San Francisco within an hour of getting the news about the mugging. So, yes, I saw you. I saw you, and then I broke pretty boy Wallace’s nose for him because he let you walk home alone. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I—I didn’t know,” Sophie said, remembering Chet’s visit, vaguely remembering a bandage on his nose. She’d been so worried about her own appearance, and so angry with him, that she’d never really looked at him, never seen more of him than his carefully ironed shirt, his perfectly arranged necktie. “You punched him? You really punched him?”

“Real mature, wasn’t I?” River said, shaking his head. “I guess I just needed to punch something—and lover-boy accommodated me.”

“It wasn’t Chet’s fault,” Sophie said, for the first time wondering if perhaps it was, if perhaps, just perhaps, that was why she didn’t want to see him…and why he hadn’t made any attempts to see her. “I’m the one that left the restaurant.”

“And he’s the one who let you leave,” River responded without missing a beat.

“Yes, he was. And he wasn’t the first man to let me leave, was he? I don’t want to talk about this,” Sophie said, rubbing her arms, as either the evening had turned colder, or her thoughts were sending a chill into her body. “I don’t want to talk about any of this. I just want to forget it.”

“Fine,” River agreed, positioning his hat back on his head, standing up, holding out his hand to her. “Let’s walk. We can talk about this book you want to write.”

“Maybe some other time,” Sophie told him, although she did put her hand in his and allow him to help her to her feet. “It’s still just an idea, Riv, and I’d rather keep it to myself for a while longer.”

“You used to tell me everything, including a bunch of stuff that, trust me, no teenage boy wanted to hear. Do you remember how you were so gung-ho to show me your first push-up bra? I damn near had to climb a tree to get away from that one.”

Sophie ducked her head, grinned. “I was a real pain, wasn’t I? Well, I promise not to be your resident pest anymore, okay?”

He turned to her and picked up her chin with his crooked index finger. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d miss my resident pest. I think I have missed her, quite a lot. My pretty little pest, all grown up into a beautiful woman.”

Sophie turned her head, so that he couldn’t see her scar, then pulled away from him. “Don’t do that, Riv,” she told him, all but begged him. “Don’t lie to me. I could always count on you never to lie to me.”

River took hold of her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “What in hell are you talking about?”

“What am I— Oh, for God’s sake, Riv! My face! I’m not the person you knew. The pest, the hero-worshipper, the idiot teenager who thought the sun rose and set on you. I’m not the career woman, I’m not Meredith’s cherished child. I’m not anyone I know or recognize anymore. I’m scared of my own shadow, and everything I’d ever hoped or believed died in that damn alley. And I most certainly am not beautiful.”

“Ah, Sophie,” River said, pulling her into his arms, even as she struggled to be free of him. “Don’t let the world win, sweetheart. You can’t let the bad guys win.”

“Meredith? May I come in?”

Joe Colton stood just inside the door to his wife’s bedroom, still able to be shocked by the overblown femininity of its furnishings, the lavish white Restoration French furniture and elaborate decorations that Meredith would once have called silly, and definitely shunned.

Then again, she had always slept with him, sharing his bed as she shared his life. Once, this bedroom had been done up in the Mission style, with hand loomed Native American rugs scattered on the hardwood floors. They’d furnished the room together, choosing each piece, surrounding themselves with memories of trips they’d taken, sights they’d seen, moments they’d shared.

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