The Lies Uncovered Trilogy (Books 4, 5, and 6 of The Dancing Moon Ranch Series) (9 page)

She was about to rush inside when the door opened and Rick stood looking at her. He had a day-old beard, his hair was mussed like he'd been sleeping, and his face was drawn. Then his expression darkened, and his mouth held a scowl. Eyeing her with irritation, he said, "What is it you don't understand about needing to keep some distance between us?"

Sophie was surprised he'd brought it up again. When they were on the bridge the night before, she'd thought things were a little better between them, although afterwards, when he'd learned about his mother, Rick made it clear to everyone that he wanted to be alone. But that's not the way it was going to be. More than being alone, he needed someone to talk to. He was holding far too much inside.

"I understand why you told me that, and I don't plan to cross the line again," Sophie said, "but we've been friends for years, and right now you need a friend. And you look terrible." Without giving him a chance to send her away, she swept past him and walked into the cabin.

"Then there's no one with you?" Rick asked, in a morose voice.

"No," Sophie replied. "I plan to stay overnight. On the couch. Uncle Jack approves."

Rick stood in the doorway looking out, his face tipped up as if scanning the sky, which was already darkening with dusk, but while he was deliberating whether to send her back in the dark or let her stay, Sophie looked around the cabin and saw no dirty pans or dishes or utensils on the table or in the sink, and no opened cans or the remains of boxed meals. Only a package of beef jerky and a few granola bar wrappers indicated that Rick had eaten.

She immediately went to the cabinet above the sink and scanned the contents. Taking cans of peaches and pork-and-beans off the shelf, she set them on the counter, then retrieving a can opener from a drawer, she clamped it onto the rim of the beans. "You can't just hold up here and waste away," she said, while cranking the handle of the can opener, "you need to eat. And you also need to wash. Have you even cleaned at all since you got here?"

Rick didn't respond, just shut the front door and stood looking at her. But after a few moments, he said, "I'm trying to sort through things and I need to be alone to do that."

Sophie looked into dark troubled eyes, and said, "If you really want me to go I will, but I'm worried about you and I want to stay here. Even though I walked in on a very disturbing scene, I had two special days with your mother and that's what I intend to remember. You need to focus on your good times with her too. It's not healthy to stay hung up on her dark side, and I know that's what you're doing."

Rick combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up on top, which Sophie would have found comical if not for the situation, then he went over to the couch, sat down and folded his arms, so she knew he wasn't ready to talk.

Deciding that coffee and food was what he needed most at the moment, she opened the iron door to the fire box in the wood cook stove, scrunched up newspapers that were sitting in a stack on the floor and shoved them in, then placed several pieces of kindling and a couple of small logs on top and lit the paper. While the cook stove heated, she filled a bucket with water from the hand pump on the sink and put it on the stove to heat so Rick could wash. Scooping the pork and beans into a small pot, she set it on the stove, along with a pot of water for making coffee in the French press on the counter. Then opening the can of peaches, she set it on the table, together with two small bowls with spoons.

While everything was heating, Sophie leaned against the kitchen counter and scanned the surroundings—the stone fireplace with an opening beside it for stacking logs, the old clock on it's own shelf high on the wall, the rustic coffee table surrounded by leather-covered furniture and a braided rag rug that Grace made years before, and a couple of old rockers, the same pieces that were there when she was a child. Her earliest memory of being at the cabin was shortly after she'd been turned over to her father, and a man claiming to be her legal father was trying to take custody of her in order to get her inheritance. Her father and Justine fled with her from the ranch, in the middle of a snowy night, and they stayed in the cabin as a family until it was safe to return. She remembered those as the first happy days she'd had since her mother died.

"What's going on at the ranch?" Rick asked, after some time had passed.

Encouraged that Rick was talking, Sophie replied, "Pretty much the usual. Your dad's involved in labeling wine bottles, Jayne's occupied with guests, Aunt Grace is cooking up a storm and Uncle Jack's keeping the boys busy in the stable."

"That's not what I meant," Rick said. "Are they talking about my mother?"

Sophie went to sit beside Rick on the couch. "They are all respecting the fact that she was your mother. There's no animosity. When you return to the ranch they'll be there for you as they've always been. Yours is a close family, and you need to let them help you through this. They want to but you've shut them all out."

"Yeah, well I'm not ready for all that sympathy," he said. "I'd be happier if they said nothing. I'm aware of how they felt about my mother, and most of it was justified. She could be a shrew when she wanted."

Sophie was surprised at the rancor in Rick's words. She also realized he was more angry than grief stricken by his mother's death, and all the anger he'd held inside for years needed an outlet. "In what way was she a shrew?" she asked, deciding to give him the chance to vent.

Rick let out cynical snort. "For years she's been bosom buddies with the woman who killed Uncle Jack's son. She even went to visit her in prison. She also made sure everyone in the county knew Jayne had been in prison, but she forgot to mention that Jayne was an innocent victim of a crime. Yeah, my mother could be a shrew."

"Aren't we all at times?" Sophie said. "Well, maybe not you," she corrected, "and I'm not being sarcastic. I've never known you to do anything to hurt anyone, which is one of the reasons I've always had so much respect for you. In fact, I try to be more like you, but then I slip back into being self-centered again, and I'm the first to admit it."

"You were right the first time."

"About what? You being a shrew?"

Rick nodded. "When Becca caught you and me at the hot springs when we were kids, I was so mad to be caught showing you my plumbing I ratted to my friends that Becca's mother was a jailbird. The whole school knew by the next day. Becca said nothing to anyone, and I felt like crap. That's when I realized what a rotten bastard I was and how special Becca was."

"I know what you mean," Sophie said. "I always wanted to be more like Becca too. One of the reasons I loved coming here was because I could be one of a pack of kids instead of an only child in a house where the world revolved around me. I always wanted siblings."

Rick said nothing, but Sophie knew it was because that was how she'd viewed him over the years, and all the while he'd looked at her in an entirely different light, the way she was looking at him now. "Meanwhile, you need to clean up and eat," she said. "From the looks of it, all you've eaten since you got here was a couple of granola bars and some beef jerky."

Noticing steam rising from the bucket on the stove, she carried it into the bedroom and poured half into a bath basin unit that drained to the outside. As she set the bucket on the floor, she noticed the old tin tub propped in the corner, the same tub she'd bathed in during the time they were hiding out at the cabin. An image came to mind—Justine helping her bathe and she asking Justine if she would be her mommy. They started playing a game that they were a family, but when her dad said the game would be over once they got back to the ranch, all she wanted was to stay in the cabin forever.

A feeling of remorse swept over her. Justine had been everything to her then. Mother, rescuer, the person who made her life right again. And for the first time since she took off from California, she wanted to call Justine Mom again, and tell her she was sorry for the things she'd said, and try to undo the damage she'd caused. Turning away from the tin tum, she returned to the living room, and said to Rick, "There's hot water in the basin. Go wash up. You look like a bum." To her surprise, that generated a little one-sided smile.

Rick stripped off his shirt and headed to the bedroom. And Sophie turned to stir the beans on the stove, the image of Rick's muscular chest, and the desire to run her hands over it, making her feel restless. It was odd being alone with a man who, for the first time in her life, made her want things she shouldn't want, like crawling into the quilt-covered bed with him and feeling his arms around her, and having him take her virginity.

I plan to get screwed. Actually, if I like it, I might get screwed twice...

At the time, she'd never expected to want that man to be Rick.

Fifteen minutes later, Rick returned to the living room. He still hadn't shaved, and she assumed he didn't have a razor. It was odd seeing him that way. Although she didn't like men with day-old-whiskers, for some reason, the sight of Rick the way he was—barefoot, shirtless, tight jeans, five-o'clock shadow—had her heart skipping, along with strange reactions below her waist. She turned away from him and the disturbing effect he was having on her, and started spooning beans from the pot on the stove into soup bowls, and peaches from the can into cups.

By the time she set the food on the table, Rick was wearing a black tank top, which covered his chest, but left his muscular arms bare. "Come eat," she said, wanting to focus on food instead of him. "It's not fried chicken and all the trimmings, but it'll keep you from getting grumpy."

When Rick smiled in memory, Sophie couldn't help but smile back. During that same stay in the cabin so many years ago, Grace sent Rick and his dad up with a feast of fried chicken and oatmeal cookies. She remembered the awe she'd felt on seeing Rick riding a horse by himself, and when Rick hoisted his leg over the horse's rear and slid to the ground, she also remembered looking way up at the horse and saying, "He's really big." And Rick replying, "Yeah, but I can handle him." He'd been so confident, the little six-year-old boy who would one day grow up to be the man Rick was now.

"You got after me for grabbing a piece of chicken before anyone said prayers," Rick commented, also remembering.

"I’d never heard prayers before meals until we were at the cabin," Sophie said. "We still do at home. After twelve years in a parochial school it's routine now."

"Then go ahead," Rick said. Setting his fork down, he waited.

Sophie felt awkward. While at the ranch, she'd never said prayers aloud before meals, and never with Rick.

"Do it for your mother, Soph," Rick said.

Hearing her nickname coming from Rick was the first sign that things might be right with them again, not right the way it was before, with Rick having romantic feelings for her, but right because he cared. Big brother reminding her to do the right thing.

Bowing her head and closing her eyes, and lacing her fingers together, she said, "Thank you God for this meal, but mostly because I know you're watching over Rick right now. And help him get through this, and open his mind so he can remember the good times he had with his mother. I know you have a place up there for her too. Amen." She opened her eyes and looked across the table to find Rick staring at her with the intense look he got when he was deliberating about something. Maybe something about her. Maybe about his mother. But when he picked up his fork and started eating, she knew he wouldn't share it.

Late that evening, while Rick was feeding and watering the horses, Sophie unrolled her sleeping bag on the couch and placed one of the throw pillows on one end. Then she looked around at the cozy cabin and wished they could play their own game of pretend. A pioneer couple, living and loving in the wilderness, cuddling up together on the couch until bedtime. Making love in the quilt-covered bed.

Rick looked like a mountain man now, with his beard growing thicker. Oddly, there was something about the way he looked that she found sexually attractive. She still preferred him clean-shaved, but within the golden-brown backdrop of log walls, and with a glow from the crackling fire that Rick prepared on the hearth to cut the chill of evening, and a single lantern on the kitchen table, she could imagine him as her mountain man, and she his wilderness wife. The hardest part about the night ahead would be resisting the urge to go to Rick's bed and offer him comfort in a way that would probably do him the most good at the moment, and she wasn't completely confident she wouldn't act on that urge.

CHAPTER 7

When Rick returned from feeding and watering the horses and saw the sleeping bag rolled out on the couch, he said to Sophie, "You're not sleeping there, I am."

When he started to reach for the sleeping bag, Sophie moved to block him. "Did you sleep on the couch last night?" she asked, thinking maybe the bed was lumpy and she was taking the most comfortable place in the cabin.

"No, but I'm not sleeping in a bed while a woman sleeps on a couch," Rick said. The tone of his voice surprised Sophie. It was different from the Rick of the past. No longer uncertain when telling her something. He took her by both arms to move her away, but instead of stepping aside, Sophie braced her hands on his waist and looked at him, and said, "I'm not just any woman; we've been friends for years so you don't need to cater to me. And I didn't come here to be shoved aside. I came to be with you and help you get through things."

Rick's hands tightened on her arms, but when she looked up at him and offered her lips for him to kiss, he moved her aside and released her arms, then bundled up the sleeping bag and carried it into the bedroom. He returned with his own sleeping bag and a bed pillow, and said, "There's another pillow in the bedroom. You'll have some privacy there."

We need some distance between us... things are complicated now...

"Okay then, have it your way," she said, feeling the sting of his rejection. "I'm going to the outhouse." She swept open the front door and stepped into the night.

As she crossed the clearing to where the outhouse stood silhouetted against a moonlit sky, the memory that time came back. A blanket of snow covered the ground then, and when she stepped out of the outhouse she scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a ball and announced that she was going to build a snowman. She started rolling her little ball around, making a path in the snow, and Justine started rolling her own little ball, pushing it in a worm-like track alongside her. She remembered giggling and asking Justine if they could stay there forever. She couldn't remember Justine's reply, but she did remember thinking that Santa had not let her down after all, but had brought her another mother…

By the time she returned to the cabin, Rick was stretched out on the couch, half inside his sleeping bag. She knew he was wearing nothing but briefs because his jeans, tank top and socks lay in a heap on the floor, and there was an expanse of naked torso exposed from waist up. He sat half propped against his pillow. "You can take the lantern," he said. "I won't need it."

"Can't we talk some before going to sleep?" Sophie asked.

"Talk about what?"

"Just talk," Sophie said. She knew he had conflicting feelings about his mother that needed to come out. "You tried to get me to talk at the spring and I wouldn't, but I want to now if you're willing to listen."

Rick looked at her dubiously, like he wasn't really buying what she was saying, then he dragged himself up to a sitting position and waited for her to talk.

Sophie was still amazed at how solidly-built he was. "Have you been working out or something?" she asked, while staring at an expanse of chest she felt restless to touch. "You're a lot beefier now."

"I go to a gym," Rick replied. "Too much sitting and studying and too little mucking out stalls. I was starting to get flabby."

"You're not flabby now," Sophie mused, her gaze zigzagging over his torso, but when she looked up and saw wariness in Rick's eyes, she got the message.

Sitting on an overstuffed chair angled between the couch and the fireplace, and tucking her legs under her, she started in by saying, "I never thanked you for coming after me at the party. I was in a snit when you did, but I got over it the next day and I should have said something then."

Rick shrugged. "I wouldn't be much of a friend if I hadn’t come."

She still had only a vague memory of what happened that night, and it bothered her that she felt no remorse for the way she was told she behaved, but she had no image in her mind to hold onto. The term
wasted
came to mind, though she'd never thought of that before, but since Rick now viewed her as a sort of wayward little sister, she decided to face the truth of her misconduct, and he was the only person she trusted to fill in the details.

While gazing at the fire instead of at him, she said, "At the party, was it really like you told me, with that guy's hands on me, or did you exaggerate to get your point across?"

"You really want to talk about this?" Rick asked.

"Yes," Sophie replied, continuing to stare at the fire. "I can't imagine letting a guy I didn't know kiss me and not do anything."

"He was doing a lot more than kissing you, Soph. I told you what he was doing."

"You said he had his hands on me, but I have this big blank in my mind. I need an image to hold onto so I can feel some remorse."

"Alright then. You were draped across the guy's lap in a hot kiss and he had one hand inside your shirt, and the other shoved down the front of your pants while getting you ready for sex."

Sophie stared at Rick, stunned. Hearing his description was like watching herself in a B-movie through Rick's eyes. But as she mulled over Rick's account, she had a fuzzy recollection of the guy triggering erotic sensations that left her wanting more, just as she was having now, by seeing Rick bare-chested and looking at her like he wanted her too. "I know why you're disgusted," she said, as the reality settled in. "I also know why Buzz expected what he did."

"If Buzz ever comes around the ranch I'll beat the crap out of him," Rick said in a low quiet tone that left no doubt in Sophie's mind that he meant every word of it.

Sophie wanted to ask if this was Rick the big brother talking, or Rick the man who was once in love with her. He seemed to shift between modes, leaving her confused and disturbed. But at least he was calling her Soph again. It felt good. "For whatever it's worth, what happened at the party was a one-time experience," she said. "Maybe in time you'll believe me."

Rick was silent and Sophie knew he wasn't convinced. But she'd also wondered about him over the years. He'd never had any lengthy relationships, and he was not a one-night-stand kind of guy, and she wondered if he might still be a virgin. To look at him, it would seem illogical, but she couldn't imagine him having sex with a woman who wasn't his wife. "Since we've been pretty open about discussing me tonight," she said, "can I ask you something?"

Rick eyed her with wariness. "Go ahead."

"I assume you've had sex before," Sophie started in, "but you've never talked about anyone special and you're obviously a functioning male."

Rick didn't respond, and Sophie figured she'd asked something he considered none of her business and didn't intend to answer, but after a few moments, he said, "I've been with women. Humans are sexual creatures. There's a need that doesn't go away. But I felt something each time. A nice woman I'd dated a while, fun to be with, pleasant conversation, getting comfortable together, then sex. Pretty elemental when it's all done."

Sophie wished now she hadn't asked. It bothered her that some nameless women had had their hands all over him and that he'd enjoyed it. But now she wanted Rick all to herself, his love, his devotion, his body. Yet she didn't even have him at the moment.

After another long stretch of silence, Rick said, "You need to leave in the morning. I have things to sort out alone."

"Things like what?" Sophie asked.

"I don't know. Just things." Rick folded his arms and hunched his shoulders and stared at the fire and looked completely desolate, which was out of character for Rick. But then, hearing her account of his mother then having his mother take her own life, would challenge anyone's coping mechanisms.

"I know something's eating away at you that you don't want to talk about," Sophie said, "but you can talk to me about it. When I arrived at the ranch I dumped a whole carload of crap on you and you took it, and still you made sure I didn't carry out my threat to get screwed. Now I want to at least be your sounding board. Let me do this for you."

Rick stared at the fire for a while, then he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, as if releasing a whole lot of pent up anxiety, and said, "I feel like hell because I feel nothing. My mother killed herself and I should be broken up about it, and when I try to feel something, it's just a big, nothing."

"Maybe that's because reality hasn't hit yet."

"Or maybe it's because I'm relieved she's gone and I don't have to deal with her anymore."

Sophie wanted to remind him that there had been times when Susan was a good mother, but she knew he needed to vent. "Everyone grieves in different ways," she said. "Just because you feel nothing doesn't mean you didn't love her. You might even be feeling a certain amount of guilt and remorse for things you said, or wished you'd said or done."

"I don't feel a certain amount of guilt," Rick said, "I feel guilty as hell. I'm trying to grieve over a woman who never wanted me in the first place, who all the years I was growing up I wanted hidden away so my friends wouldn't know she was my mother. I hated when she came to school wearing low-cut, tight-fitting clothes that made her look like she wanted to get screwed, and it bugged the crap out of me when she'd show up for school functions with her current stud draped around her, like it made up for her not being a mother like the other kids had."

Sophie was tempted to suggest he get counseling but knew he wouldn't be any more receptive to the idea than she was. Instead, she said, "Unfortunately, you can't tuck messy emotions into neat little packages."

"Yeah, but I can try," Rick said, "which is why you need to leave in the morning and let me stay here until I can make those neat little packages." He plumped his pillow and turned on his side facing away from her, and Sophie knew he was done for now.

Refusing to let him shut her out like he had the others, she moved out of the chair, placed her hand on his shoulder and bent down and kissed him on the side of the face, and said, "I love you Rick, and you can take that any way you want." Taking the lantern from the table, she made her way to the bedroom and shut the door, knowing she'd be spending another restless night. It seemed to be her lot ever since arriving at the ranch this time.

***

The following morning, when Sophie returned from the outhouse, Rick was exactly as he'd been when she crept through the room on her way out, with his sleeping bag open to just below his waist, and his head thrown back, and soft burrs rumbling with his breathing. The room was warm, so he'd gotten up during the night and banked the fire then later unzipped his sleeping bag because he was too hot. She suspected, from the depth of his breathing, that it had been the early hours of the morning before he finally fell asleep.

As she stared at him, she was tempted to close the sleeping bag, but she knew it would wake him up. She also wanted to look at him a little longer. With his two-day-old beard, his dark wavy hair mussed and standing in all directions, his lips parted slightly, and the sleeping bag open to reveal a solid chest and lean hard abdomen, she wanted to do all kinds of things—comb her fingers through his hair to straighten it, run her palm across the stubble on his chin because it looked so incredibly male, kiss him on the lips instead of the temple, open the sleeping bag wide and crawl in on top of him.

Instead, she went into the bedroom and dressed. But before returning to boil water for coffee and instant oatmeal, she made a point of rattling around in the bedroom to give Rick a chance to either pull the sleeping bag around him, or get up and get dressed. After a few minutes she heard him moving around and poked her head out the door to find him in his jeans and boots. He shrugged into his tank top and left the cabin, and she imagined he was heading for the outhouse.

While he was gone, she made a fire in the firebox of the wood stove, and set on top of it a big pot of water for cooking and making coffee, and a bucket of water for washing. Rick was gone longer than she expected, and by the time she saw him heading across the clearing toward the cabin, the oatmeal was ready and the coffee in the French press was brewed. She had just set the bowls of oatmeal and mugs of coffee on the table when Rick walked in.

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he mumbled, "I feel like a grunge. I didn't bring a razor."

Sophie eyed the grizzle on his chin and scanned the rest of him, and said, "Some women would find you irresistible. You could pass for a celebrity on the covers of scandal sheets at check-out counters." She hoped her attempt at humor would help lift his dour mood.

Instead of smiling, he looked at her moodily, and said, "I saddled your horse. You can start back after we eat."

"I guess I have no choice," Sophie replied, "but why are you so anxious for me to leave?"

"Like I said before, things are complicated." He washed his hands at the hand pump on the sink and sat at the table.

Sophie sat across from him, and when he didn't start eating right away, she realized he was waiting for her to say grace, which surprised her. Although she knew he was doing it as a courtesy, she bowed her head. But before she started, Rick said, "You need to include your folks this time." She looked across the table at him, but by then his face was tipped down, and although his eyes were open, he looked as if her prayer was important to him.