An Irresistible Temptation (8 page)

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.

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 well. 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.”

She ought to feel only relief that she hadn’t
caused the division of a betrothed couple—and she did feel it—but
she couldn’t deny that she also felt a sense of loss.

“I always thought it would be just fine
marrying her. There wasn’t any pressing reason not to, and many
reasons why I have to. We have an agreement and . . . it’s
complicated. She helped me out and I owe her.”