An Irresistible Temptation (2 page)

She knew what she needed to find, either
Fuller’s Hotel and Restaurant or Doc Cuthins’ surgery. She had to
locate the people whom Charlotte considered friends and whom Sophie
could ask for help. She dragged her trunk a few more yards, wishing
she could set it down and walk briskly along unhampered, but she
feared everything she’d brought would disappear in the blink of an
eye.

With almost all the strength gone in her
arms, she was attempting to heave the trunk up onto the sidewalk,
perching one end on the wooden planks, when someone collided with
her from the rear.

“Oomph,” she expelled all the air from her
lungs as her stomach caught on the tilted edge of her trunk, then
she slid slowly down the length of it back onto the dirt road, head
and hands first. For a dreadful moment, she sprawled there, knowing
her dress was up at her waist and her drawers, lavender-colored and
lacy, were on view.

“Shit,” she heard before she could right
herself. The man’s sentiment echoed what was in her head, though
she was too much of a lady to voice it. And then, “Oh, Jesus,
ma’am” as strong arms lifted her off the ground.

Sophie was not one to take offense, though
she was getting sorely tired. Anything she was about to say,
however, died on her lips at the spectacle of the man who now had
hold of her.

To compose herself, she looked down to see
what had happened to her things—her carpet bag was upended in the
street—then she looked back to the man’s mud-splattered boots, up
his worn, fitting blue jeans, and to what had once been a pale blue
shirt now covered in grime.

Her gaze traveled higher to his equally
grubby but ridiculously handsome face that had stopped her cold for
a moment, with his burnished brown eyes, dark eye lashes, and
inviting mouth that curved as though it tended to smile often.

He tipped his black brim to her, with a quick
tap of his hand.

“Ma’am,” he said and gave her a brief smile
that showed a dimple in his right cheek, his teeth looking all the
whiter for appearing in the midst of his dirty face. Dirty and
devastatingly attractive—a combination she hadn’t experienced
before.

He was tall, clearly, for she had to look up
to him, despite her own uncommon height, at least for a woman. And
she realized he was still holding her arm with one hand, a strong
capable hand. She felt his warmth right through the fabric of her
dress and her mantle.

Letting herself feel his fingers gripping her
for a moment more, she then shook him off by taking one step
back.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Sophie looked at her hands, stretching them
in front of her and wriggling her fingers. Everything seemed fine
except for her white gloves being torn and filthy.

“I’m fine,” she said at last, seeing as he
was watching her careful examination. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking
where I was going.”

“Me neither,” he offered. “I was talking to
Dan and walking out of Drew’s.” He gestured to the feed store. A
man standing in the doorway, wearing a heavy apron, chuckled.

“Yup, he was,” Dan confirmed. “Riley, don’t
you know better than to leave a store ass first? Unless you’re
trying to drum up future business for yourself.”

Riley laughed and looked back at Sophie, who
tamped down the inappropriate notion that he had a very sweet, even
sexy laugh and that his eyes sparkled wickedly when he was
amused.

“Most women would have given me a tongue
lashing for knocking them into the street and ruining their
gloves.”

“As long as you don’t make a habit of it,”
she said, glad that she hadn’t been in Boston, where she would have
been run over by a brougham within seconds.

“I’ll try not to.” He treated her to a broad
grin—a very sensual grin, too, Sophie mused.
She must be very
tired and lonely to keep having these incorrigible
thoughts.

“Can I make it up to you?” he asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he lifted up
her traveling trunk as though it weighed nothing and deposited it
on the sidewalk in front of the feed store.

She retrieved her carpet bag from the street
and stepped up beside him.

“Thank you. Can you tell me how to get to
Fuller’s? Or better yet, to Doctor Cuthins?”

“Well, which do you need?” He crossed his
arms. “A place to stay or a doctor?”

“Riley could give you either one,” Dan said,
before turning and going back inside, as Riley dismissed him with a
wave of his hand.

“Neither, really,” Sophie said, ignoring the
man’s remark, “but Doctor Cuthins was supposed to meet me at the
train, with his wife.”

“Maybe he had an emergency,” Riley said.
“Though I’m sure Sarah would’ve come herself.”

“It could be they didn’t receive my last
telegram with the correct date of my arrival,” Sophie suggested.
“If you direct me to Fuller’s, I’ll—”

“I’ll do even better,” he said. “Follow me.”
And with that, he heaved the trunk up onto his shoulder and started
along the sidewalk, Sophie trailing behind.

“Are you kin? To Doc or Sarah, I mean.”

“No,” Sophie said, not wanting to elaborate
on her personal life. It was bad enough that a strange man was
carrying her luggage and had most likely seen her drawers.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said over his
shoulder.

“No, you didn’t,” Sophie said, unused to the
familiarity. He hesitated and she nearly ran into the back of him.
Then he resumed his easy saunter.

“You’re not from here?”

“Obviously,” Sophie agreed.

“Hey, Riley,” came a voice from the next shop
they passed, a barber standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Hey, Ely,” Riley said without stopping.

Sophie nodded to the man who gave her a long
friendly look as she passed by before he called out, “Riley,
you-know-who’s gonna be hopping mad.”

Riley just flapped his free hand back at Ely,
either to acknowledge or dismiss the sentiment. A jealous wife,
perhaps, Sophie mused.

“Well, I’ve been away for a while,” Riley
continued their conversation, “but I still would have remembered
you.”

Sophie supposed some women might have
simpered or blushed, but she merely shrugged. “It’s a small town.
I’m sure if I’d grown up here, we would have run into each
other.”

Then she did run into him, as all of his six
feet and two or three inches came to an abrupt halt.

“Why have we stopped?” she asked, touching
her nose where it had collided with the back of his shirt and
trying to peer up at her own bonnet to see if the brim had been
utterly crushed against his broad back. He lowered the trunk to the
sidewalk.

“Doc’s place,” Riley said, gesturing at the
white door in the one-story building.

She looked up to see a shingle that had
‘Cuthins, Physician’ in plain black lettering on a painted white
sign. Riley opened the door for her and stepped aside.

“Why, thank you, Mr. . . . ah?”

“Dalcourt, but you can call me Riley.”

“Thank you, . . . Riley.” It felt strange,
indeed, to call this man by his first name, but she didn’t want to
seem stuck up. He still held the door, so she went in. She scanned
the tidy waiting room and noted a door in the back wall, probably
leading to the examination room and surgery.

Sitting at a desk was a middle-aged woman,
dressed in pale gingham, with glasses perched on her nose, perusing
papers.

“Sarah, you have company.” She looked up at
Riley’s voice.

“Oh, my word! Sophie!” Sarah came out from
behind the desk. “But how can you be here today?” She took Sophie’s
bag without asking and set it down on a chair. “Gracious, I forgot
how much you are the spitting image of your brother.”

Sophie winced slightly. With her striking
height, dark hair and vivid blue-black eyes, she knew she looked a
lot like Reed, only she hoped a tad more feminine.

“Mrs. Cuthins, I fear you didn’t get my last
telegram.”

“Please, call me Sarah,” she said, coming
forward to hug Sophie, who stiffened. Right then, the inner door
opened and Doc Cuthins emerged.

Sarah laughed and released Sophie. “I forgot.
You Easterners aren’t quite as relaxed and friendly as we are.”

“Stop teasing the girl,” Doc Cuthins said to
his wife. “Not everyone wants to immediately be your kissing
cousin. Now, where are your things, Sophie?”

“Mr. . . . ah, Riley, has my trunk,” Sophie
said and turned to see that he’d already stepped back outside and
was loading her trunk into a wagon.

“Oh, I—”

“That’s our trap,” Sarah reassured her. “I’m
gonna get this girl home and fed, lickety split,” she told her
husband. “I’ll see you later.” And she placed a big kiss on Doc’s
lips, leaving him with a smile, before she ushered Sophie back
through the door.

On the sidewalk again , Sophie turned to
Riley.

“I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, . . . Sophie,” he said, shooting
her a grin, evidently pleased at having gained this piece of
personal information. With another tip of his hat, he walked back
along the way they’d come. She watched him a moment before getting
up into the wagon next to Sarah, unable to completely tamp down a
vague happy feeling at having met him. Perhaps she would even admit
to a flutter of excitement.

“Charlotte’s house is ready for you. I’ve
made up the bed but I haven’t stocked the pantry,” Sarah fussed as
they drove along Main Street.

Sophie had heard of Sarah’s fervent desire to
feed every stray soul who came through Spring City or who had the
poor sense not to cook, like Charlotte.

“I’m sure I can come up with something,”
Sophie said. “If you drop me off at Charlotte’s—”

“Nonsense, we’ll stop at my house for a cup
of tea while I pack you up some home cooking, then when Doc gets
home, we’ll take you over. And we’ll bring Alfred along, too.”

“Alfred?” Sophie repeated; for some reason,
her mind went to Riley Dalcourt, as if somehow Sarah was going to
produce a man for Sophie to borrow as well.

“Charlotte’s old horse. He’s been great
company to my Bonnie here, but you can use him to get back and
forth.”

“That’s very kind, Sarah, but I won’t be here
very long.”

“Long enough to need a horse and wagon, I’m
sure,” Sarah said, ending the discussion and turning instead to
questions about Charlotte and Reed and their new baby.

It hadn’t been more than a few minutes when
Sarah said, “We’re here” and turned the trap into the small yard of
a neat little house, all white and blue, with flowers everywhere.
Before she could say another word, a horse went galloping by.

“Purple!” came an exuberant voice that
trailed after the rider. Both the women turned to see man and horse
already yards away, a black hat raised high in the air in
salutation.

“Riley!” declared Sarah, with a chuckle.
“What in the heck is he saying?” But Sophie had gone quite still
for she had the nasty feeling he was referring to her
undergarments.

*****

Riley continued riding far into the
foothills. He urged his horse faster until they were both breathing
hard, and finally he pulled back on the reins. Turning his mount,
he regarded Spring City and could make out the Sanborn house where
Sophie was staying. He didn’t even know the woman’s last name.

He spat into the long grass to get the grit
out of his mouth and spurred his horse homeward. It didn’t matter
anyway. So what that he had pictured a woman like her, back when he
was a younger, more idealistic man. A woman with dark hair and
intelligent eyes, full pink lips and a tall curvaceous body.
Reality had a way of chasing off frivolous dreams, or outright
killing them. He
had
a fiancée, a good woman to whom he’d
promised himself, body and soul.

Sophie packed the last of Charlotte’s old
clothes into the trunk and closed the lid. On hands and knees, she
pushed it across the wide pine floor, arranging it in an orderly
fashion next to the other two trunks. Soon, they would hold the
rest of the items that Charlotte had asked her to send.

Her sister-in-law wanted nothing in the way
of furniture from the house; Charlotte had already retrieved her
father’s desk and books, as well as her grandmother’s oval mirror,
before the wedding. Sophie could see why Charlotte didn’t want the
rest. The furnishings were shabby at best or simply functional with
nothing of beauty to recommend them.

Even the ancient upright—though Sophie had
been happy to see it in the sitting room—was one of the most
pathetic excuses for a piano she’d ever had the misfortune to play.
But play it she did, on the very first day, as soon as Doc had
dragged in her trunk and Sarah had given her a basket of food, and
they’d left. Sophie whipped off the sheet covering the old
instrument and settled down to play.

Terribly out of tune, the piano still bent to
Sophie’s artistry and the music that resulted made her mind calm
and her heart peaceful. Ten minutes passed, half an hour, an hour.
She was starting a new life, she reminded herself; she just wasn’t
sure what that new life entailed yet, whether heading back to
Boston or to Europe, or where.

However, for the time being, she was
satisfied with having put even more distance between herself and
Philip’s familiar, beloved face—and Philip’s treacherously fickle
heart and Philip’s warm smile and his even warmer hands—and his
unthinkingly cruel words. She pounded the keys, dissonant bass
chords, until the sounds drowned out the thoughts in her head. So
much for a peaceful heart.

At least, she’d stopped crying.

*****

When the sun was midway across the clear blue
sky on her third day in Spring City, Sophie left the Sanborn
homestead and walked to town. Not far, especially on a beautiful,
late summer day. She felt as if she knew at least some of the
people from Charlotte’s animated stories of the town.