Beloved Wolf. Кейси Майклс
let anything hurt you and Mommy again.”
“Hush, baby,” Joe said, carefully stroking Sophie’s hair. “Just rest, baby. All we want you to do is rest.”
Mary came into the room, and Joe stepped back from the bed to join River as the nurse took Sophie’s vital signs, checked her IV.
“She’s sleeping again?” River asked the senator.
“I think so,” Joe said, nodding. “Look, River, it’s been a long night, and I know you have to get back to the ranch. That new stallion’s coming in today, right? So you just go, and I’ll get a hotel room and stay until Sophie can come back to the ranch with us. Okay?”
A muscle ticked in River’s cheek. He wasn’t being dismissed. He knew that. Joe just wanted to be alone with his daughter. “What about Meredith? Do you think she’ll want me to fly her here, to see Sophie, be with you?”
Joe Colton pressed his fingers against his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll phone her later. Right now I just want to stay here.”
River nodded and patted Joe’s back. “I’ll call around, make a reservation for you, and then head back to the ranch. You’ll phone later? Keep me—keep us informed?”
Joe didn’t answer him. Mary brushed past them, leaving the room, and Joe headed toward the bed once more, dragging a utilitarian metal chair with him, then sat down beside Sophie, obviously dug in for the duration.
River left them alone and headed back down the hallway, toward the elevators. He was family, yes, and had been since his teenage years. He wasn’t being dismissed, pushed away. But blood was blood, and Joe and Sophie were blood. River understood that, respected that.
The elevator doors opened as he approached, and Chet Wallace stepped out, looking as fresh and unwrinkled as if he’d just come out of the shower. His hair was combed, his face had been freshly shaved, his tie was snug against his throat. He could have been on his way to a morning meeting.
“Wallace,” River bit out, taking hold of the man’s elbow as Chet walked past him without so much as a nod. “Where’ve you been? Consulting with your tailor?”
“I beg your pardon,” Chet answered, trying to shake off River’s hand, without success. “Do I know—Oh, wait. You’re one of the employees at Hacienda del Alegria, aren’t you? Sophie’s parents’ ranch? I think I remember you now. Are the senator and his wife here already? I went back to my condo, caught some sleep, showered and changed.”
“How nice for you,” River said, finally letting go of Chet’s elbow. “The senator is with Sophie now,” he continued, motioning for Wallace to follow him into a small alcove set aside as a visitors’ waiting room. “Let’s talk.”
“I’d rather speak with the senator,” Chet said, but River’s slitted-eye glare seemed to make him reconsider, and he followed River into the alcove. “Now, look—”
“No, Wallace, you look,” River shot back, knowing he was going to have to perform a minor miracle if he expected to keep his temper in check. The man had gone home? Grabbed a few winks and taken a shower? No-good son of a bitch. “My name is James. River James, one of Joe and Meredith’s foster children, not that you need to know any of that. What I need to know is why you let Sophie walk home alone last night. Or do the police have that wrong?”
Chet looked at River for a few moments, then shot his cuffs. He was a tall man, as tall as River, but that was where their similarities ended. Chet was sleek, pretty boy handsome, the kind of guy who wore designer sweats as he worked out at his designer gym. Shooting his cuffs, wordlessly pointing out that he was a successful man wearing a six-hundred-dollar suit, was an action meant to intimidate River.
Yeah, sure. River didn’t think so. He just stood there, glaring at Chet Wallace, a tic working in his cheek, his hands itching to take the stylishly dressed man apart, piece by designer-label piece.
Chet broke eye contact first, his artificially tanned cheeks flushing slightly as he actually stepped back a pace, as if it had finally hit him that River James was a wild animal searching for prey, and that he was reacting pretty much like a deer caught out in the open.
In self-defense, Chet went on the attack. “Now look—James, is it? I already spoke with the police. Yes, Sophie and I had dinner together last night, and then she decided to walk home. Four blocks, James, that’s all. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving the restaurant myself when I saw all the police cars and the ambulance. I went to check and found Sophie. I’m the one who identified her.”
“Well, bully for you. Why did she decide to walk home, Wallace?” River asked, putting his cowboy hat on, then looping his thumbs through his belt. “You two have a little spat? That is what you’d call it, right? A little spat?”
Chet’s hand went to his Windsor knot, and he lifted his chin as he nervously shifted the tie from side to side. “We had a slight disagreement, yes,” he conceded. “Not that it’s any concern of yours.”
“I don’t care if you had the mother of all knockdown drag-outs, Wallace,” River told him tightly. “That’s none of my business. What I do care about is that you let her walk home alone.”
Chet held up one hand. “Oh, wait a minute, fella. You’re trying to say this is my fault? How does any of this become my fault? It was Sophie who went running off, you know. It was Sophie who— What? What’s your problem?”
River had bent his head, rubbed his temples with the fingers of his right hand and laughed. He’d thought, really believed, he could get through this without losing his cool. But this Wallace was too thick for words, and River wasn’t going to waste any more of his words on the jackass. He almost wanted to thank him for being so dense.
“My problem, Wallace?” River repeated, dropping his hand and looking at Sophie’s fiancé. And then, before he could remember that he was, for the most part, a highly civilized individual, he planted his right fist square in Chet Wallace’s face.
Chet went down on his backside, holding a hand to his bloody nose.
“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” River said, settling his worn cowboy hat lower over his flashing green eyes. “Not anymore.”
Then he turned on his heels and headed for the elevator. He was not a happy man, definitely. But he was feeling somewhat better. Definitely.
For the next week, Joe Colton was never far from his daughter’s bedside. His many businesses didn’t suffer, because he’d been slowly withdrawing from those businesses, from his family, withdrawing from life itself. He’d allowed life to defeat him, again. Had it taken almost losing his daughter to wake him up, shake him up, force him to look at his life, possibly begin taking steps to fix it?
And when had it all begun to go so wrong?
Michael. Joe sighed, his heart aching as he remembered Sophie’s words that first day, her garbled thoughts that, to anyone else, would have seemed as if she were talking crazy because of her concussion.
But Joe knew differently. He knew what his daughter had meant, and was devastated that, as she struggled with her attacker, her thoughts had been of Michael. Of Meredith and himself. Of the family, and of how the Colton family couldn’t take another tragedy. Couldn’t lose another child.
In a way, Michael had saved Sophie, and that was how Joe was going to look at the thing. It was the only way possible to look at it.
Still, he had to look further than that, and he knew it. As he sat in the chair beside Sophie’s hospital bed, holding her hand, watching her sleep, he had to acknowledge that Sophie had been slowly slipping away from him these past years. All his children had been slipping away, visiting the ranch less and less, avoiding the family that was no longer a family.
At least not the family it had been, the family he and Meredith had brought into the world, added to with adopted and foster children after Michael’s death, family they’d formed