Chapter TWO

Sophy sat uncomfortably on the long leather couch in Adam’s sumptuous Manhattan penthouse. To keep from fidgeting, she wrapped her slender fingers around her steaming mug of chamomile. Given the way this conversation was going, she’d need something a little stronger than herbal tea to soothe her frazzled nerves. A nice shot of tequila sounded good.

A shame Adam didn’t stock any.

God, she was tired. The show had ended an hour ago, and the post performance buzz had worn off with a vengeance, as it usually did. Sophy reserved her energy during the day for the show and then spent every ounce of it on the stage. She didn’t believe in giving less than one hundred percent when she performed. The consequence was, of course, that she was ready to drop afterward. She wanted her soft pillow, down comforter, and a straight eight before having to face the world again. And yet here she was, sitting with Adam, and it was all against her better judgment.

She was tired of it, she thought again, sick and tired of this routine. He knew she didn’t like to stay out late after a show and had often made fun of her for it. Adam had said on more than one occasion, and frequently in front of his friends, how Sophy preferred “country hours” to town ones. He found her rural background amusing and often kidded her about it. It was beyond annoying.

Trying to be totally honest with herself, Sophy admitted freely that she was not firm enough with him. She allowed herself to be dragged out, and this was the price she paid—she got pissed off and had no one to blame but herself. Which brought her around to something else that was weighing on her mind tonight.

No matter how often she argued against herself, she knew this marriage would never work. No matter how good it looked on paper, no matter how much business sense it made, it just would not happen. She was attracted to him, of course, but well, she also enjoyed looking at Versace models. That didn’t mean she wanted to marry one.

What she felt for Adam, her longtime friend and manager, was warm enough, she supposed, but it was no raging inferno. When he kissed her, she didn’t see stars or feel swept away, or feel anything, dammit, that you should feel for the person you claimed to be in love with.

Besides all of that, her mother wasn’t crazy about him. It wasn’t that her mom didn’t like him, per se, just that she had never warmed to him. The whole situation seemed laughable now. Sophy couldn’t believe her mother’s opinion on this subject meant so much to her. In high school, the principle of that had been enough to make Sophy pursue a boy, but as she’d gotten older, well, she had learned to trust her mother’s “bad boy radar.” Elizabeth had yet to be wrong.

Sophy took a sip of her tea and let the hot fluid soothe her sore throat. She was still fighting a cold, (who knew they could last so long?) but—a professional to the core—she had performed tonight anyway. She felt a strong responsibility to her fans; they had paid to see her as Annie Oakley, and by God, that was what they were going to get. Sophy sighed. She was paying for it now. Shifting a little on the couch, she heard the faintest crackle of paper. The newest letter weigh like a stone in her pocket, adding another layer of unease to the already mounting pile.

“You’re not listening,” Adam said patiently, leaning back against the arm rest. In the low light and with the red and gold flickering of the crackling fire, he looked like a beautiful god who was gently chastising a recalcitrant acolyte.

She wondered briefly what it would be like to smack him across those self-satisfied lips.

“I’m sorry,” Sophy replied immediately, knowing he was right, but she thought somewhat angrily to herself, that she had heard it all before. Did she really need to hear it again? “Go ahead.”

He smiled gently at her, as if granting absolution. “It’s okay. I was just saying that I’m worried about you. You’ve seemed out of sorts lately, and I think maybe we should consider why.”

Maybe because she was considering calling off the wedding? Maybe because she was lonely and homesick? she thought briefly, trying almost desperately to avoid thinking about what was really concerning her.

Something about the letters lent itself to a shameful secrecy, and she had told no one, not even Faith or her best friend in New York, Katie, or her family. She took a moment to think about the implications of that. Adam was fourth on her list of who not to tell, when he ought to be first. Besides the fact that he was her manager, she was engaged to him. He should be the one, above all others, she could share anything with, no matter how silly or frightening or—shameful. And yet, here she sat, another letter in her pocket with her lips stubbornly sealed.

She must be more tired than she thought, Sophy mused. She could not even keep her mind on the same subject for more than a minute. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, knowing she had to call the wedding off. And when that happened, they’d part professional ways as well.

Something told Sophy that would be what actually bothered Adam the most. He would lose his cut of her fame and salary.

Well, that was cynical, Sophia Paige, she lectured herself. But was it? Was it really? Wasn’t that part of what was wrong with their personal relationship? That it wasn’t a personal relationship at all but merely an extension of their professional one? She truely felt, and now more than ever, that he was not interested in her heart but the dollar signs he saw whenever he heard her name or saw her face.

He was still smiling beneficently at her, waiting for her attention to return to him. It was a familiar expression, one she knew was supposed to be disarming and boyish but to her seemed downright patronizing. She’d been on the receiving end of it a lot recently, and it was really starting to piss her off.

“Consider what, Adam?” Sophy could not contain the note of aggravation in her voice, and Adam heard it as well and seized it as the perfect example with which to make his case.

“That’s what I’m talking about, darling. Do you hear yourself? You all but bite my head off when I express a genuine concern over your well-being.”

Sophy bit her lip. She had been snapping at him and felt badly about it. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she had suddenly become so uncomfortable with the idea of marrying him. Then she kicked herself mentally for being a pushover and a wimp.

Hell yes, it was his fault she was uncomfortable—he was a money grubber. Then she sighed internally. While his attitude had certainly not improved her mood, she had taken her unease out on him instead of actually doing something about it. She heard herself apologize again and cringed inwardly.

What precisely had she just apologized for anyway?

He nodded again, accepting her submission easily, as he always did. “What I think is that you’re having some natural, pre-wedding jitters. Planning the wedding so far has been tedious and nerve racking, what with rehearsals and performances and the other functions we’re required to attend.”

He paused and looked at her expectantly. Since everything he had said so far was pretty much true, she nodded noncommittally and took another drink from the tea. Of course, he didn’t know about the letters, and above all else, those were most on her mind.

Adam moved closer to her and took the mug from her hands, placing it on the coffee table. How she hated it when he did that. She could put her own damn mug down if and when she wanted to. Deliberately, and with her eyebrow raised, Sophy picked up her mug. He ignored her small rebellion.

“Not to mention that it’s not safe for a woman alone in the city. I worry about you in the apartment by yourself. I want to take care of you. I love you, Sophy.”

She shifted uneasily as her mind flickered back to the letter in her pocket. Perhaps he had a point. She should tell him about the letters. He was her manager after all, and he’d been in the business a long time. He would know if they were something to really be worried about, or just a part of the trade. You couldn’t have fan mail all the time.

Then Adam took her hand in his and placed his other gently, intimately on her thigh, stroking up and down from her knee. All thoughts of the letters evaporated in light of this new threat.

Instantly wary, Sophy tried to think of a diplomatic way to disengage herself.

Then something clicked inside her head—or was it her heart?—and she relaxed, having finally found the impetus to call off the wedding. When your fiancé put the moves on you, it should excite you, not make you want to run for cover.

Adam sensed her relax but misunderstood what it meant. Scenting victory, he leaned closer, brushed his mouth against her cheek. “Let me make love to you now, and then we’ll go away, maybe to Vegas or Tahoe and elope. You’ll be able to relax again. Things can be normal. I’ll take care of you.” He kissed her cheek gently, but his hand continued its foray up her leg.

Sophy supposed she would not have been more shocked than if he had asked her to give up the stage to make a career out of barreling down Niagara Falls.

Elope? Was he out of his mind?

Sophy gathered her wits and courage, pulled her hand from his. She put a hand on his chest and pushed him away none too gently.

“I’ve told you before, Adam, I’m not sleeping with you before we get married. Being stressed out is not going to change my feelings in that regard.” It sounded so lame, even to her, but she always stuck to her guns, and it was too late to change her grip now. “As for eloping—” she paused, steeling herself for the announcement she had not known she was going to make tonight, had only just decided herself. “As for eloping,” she began again, and then was relieved, in an admittedly cowardly way, when her cell phone rang. She reached for the welcome diversion, ignoring the look of frustration and missing altogether the anger in Adam’s face.

“Hi, Carter,” she said brightly, thrilled that God had blessed her with a brother in possession of such perfect timing.

“Sophia,” Carter began, his voice hoarse and low, “It’s Mom and Dad.”

***

While luscious and verdant during the spring, summer, and fall, when winter comes to Georgia, it comes with a vengeance. The only green visible on the drive from Hartsfield International Airport to Tomorrow came from the pines and magnolias along the highway. It was depressing to see the naked branches of the oaks and mimosas outlined against an equally bleak sky. Steel grey clouds promised rain before their journey was over. Sophy sighed and watched the brown grass whip by as Adam wove them skillfully in and out of traffic.

Sophy understood she was running strictly on autopilot. Adam had made all the arrangements, booked their flights, arranged for the time away from the show. He’d even packed her bags for her. Knowing she needed to pull herself together did not make it any easier for her to actually do it.

They were in Georgia now, she thought, watching the terrain pass from the window of the rented Mercedes. The crops were in; as they drove, she sat quietly, looking at miles of empty acres, the big irrigation units still standing sentinel over their fields.

It would be Thanksgiving next week, she thought dully. Thanksgiving without her parents. Adam reached over and gripped her hand tightly in his own, his thumb soothing a gentle pattern against her palm. He said nothing, which was uncharacteristically wise of him. She remained silent as well, grateful for the human contact, and continued to stare out the window.

As they entered her home town, a large freshly painted sign read, “Welcome to Tomorrow where it’s always another day!” It almost made her smile. Oh, how the town council had argued about that sign, over whether or not the famous Gone With the Wind line should be used, seeing as how the town had been established long before Ms. Mitchell was even born. She supposed the nay-sayers had finally been shouted down. Tourism, you know.

Tomorrow owed its existence to her family and the Westmorelands. Partners in a London-based shipping business, Michael Westmoreland and Richard Whittaker had moved their families to Georgia in the late eighteenth century in order to be near the crop they sold, some of the world’s finest cotton.

Well-to-do, they bought up as much land as they could, built their homes on an adjoining piece of property and the Whittaker-Westmoreland plantations, and the town of Tomorrow, were born. Fueled as most things are, by economy, the town grew quickly. There were people with money to spend or goods to barter living here, and merchants found a very willing market once they set up shop.

This was still true today, as most people who lived in Tomorrow either worked at the plantations, which now boasted peach orchards and pecan groves in addition to the original acres of cotton, or in the “support services” of restaurants, shops, schools, and markets. Even her sister’s stables were turning a very steady, extremely respectable profit.

The main bi-way of Tomorrow was Market Street. It opened onto a large square filled with live oaks and flower beds full of brilliantly colored pansies. In the spring, white and pink azaleas would open beneath the deep shade lent by the oaks, and the multi-colored heads of bearded irises would bob and sway in the breeze.

Adam drove around the square, steering them east off Market onto Spanish Moss Road, which ironically, boasted no Spanish moss. The police station flashed past, followed by a gas station, and an old diner.

Soon they approached the turn for her house, a long driveway flanked by enormous cross oaks, and she felt a weight lift away from her shoulders. No matter what there was to face, she could do it here, with her family.

She was home.

Before the car had even pulled to a complete stop, Sophy was out, running up the stairs, opening the front door. Her brothers and sisters were in the living room, just off the front door to the right. She stopped abruptly at the threshold, looking at her family. They were all here, and she knew they had been waiting for her.

She saw her sister Julia, the hard-as-nails veterinarian tomboy, try to smile and felt the tears slip down her own cheeks. Griffin grabbed her and held her tightly to him. The tears Sophy hadn’t been able to shed since she’d heard the news the night before came flooding out as he stroked her hair. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed like a child.

***

The planning wasn’t so bad, really. Sophy was goal-oriented, and having something specific to accomplish, a task to cross off the list she had made, took her mind off the awful reality. Julia and Carter still had stables and land to manage, but she was at loose ends. Broadway didn’t just up and move to rural Georgia because Sophy was there. With no work to occupy her, she appointed herself the One In Charge and made several lists of things she and her siblings needed to accomplish.

A million details were involved with death, she considered morosely. Maybe two million. Mass. Choir. Coffins. Tombstones. Wills. Insurance. Deeds. Company stocks. Wakes. Flowers. The gracious acceptance of all those goddamn casseroles people brought. Why did death always mean food? If she so much as laid eyes on another tuna casserole, she was going to scream. God, she hated tuna.

She glanced at her to-do list. The obituary still needed to be written. She’d have to light a fire under Sebastian’s ass to get it done. He was dragging his feet, not that she could blame him. She wouldn’t want to sum up her parents’ existence in five hundred words or less, reduce them to a morbid curiosity in a newspaper. And things still weren’t settled with the insurance company or the lawyer. Griffin could handle the lawyer, she decided, scratching a G next to it, and Jack and Ellie could do insurance if only because Sophy really didn’t want to. She was already handling the funeral and wake arrangements.

Closing her eyes, she set her pen down on the table and sighed deeply when heavy hands closed on her shoulders, gently massaging away some of the tension.

“It’s almost done,” Gideon said. It pained him to see her like this, looking bruised and broken. He remembered feeling the same way all too well.

Sophy reached a hand up to hold on to one of his. “Yeah. Two more days and this will be over. Sorta.”

With a last squeeze, Gideon walked over to a heavily laden kitchen counter. “Want something to eat? One of the ubiquitous casseroles, perhaps?”

“I was just thinking about how much I hate them.” She gave a weak laugh. “I suppose I ought to eat something. No tuna, though, okay? And I won’t eat alone. Grab yourself a plate too.” Sophy rose and took two glasses from a cabinet. “Coke sound good?”

“Yeah.” He watched as Sophy poured the drinks, and then he reached for a bottle of rum her dad had kept on top of the kitchen cabinets. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he said, a charming smile on his lips. Anything to make her laugh, he thought.

“I won’t argue with you,” Sophy said. Gideon poured generous amounts of the Captain into both glasses and, casserole forgotten, they sat back at the table.

“Where’s Adam?” he asked. Gideon swirled the liquid in both glasses and handed one to Sophy.

“Back in New York. He’ll be here for the wake and funeral. There were just a few things he needed to take care of personally. We left the city pretty abruptly.”

Gideon wondered if Sophy knew she sounded defensive. Personally, he was glad the guy was gone. Something about Adam made him tense.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Something about Adam made Sophy tense, he amended, and that was what made him tense.

“Okay,” he said purposely keeping his tone neutral. Low key was the way to go with Sophy sometimes. He didn’t grow up in a house full of women and not learn something.

Sophy sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m snapping at you. That wasn’t called for.” She looked guiltily at her drink.

Gideon leaned forward and laid a sympathetic hand on hers. “Goes with the turf.”

She smiled faintly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Things are okay with the show? They’re not floundering without you?” God, that sounded stupid even to him. Why couldn’t he say something to make her feel better? Something that was more than just idle chit chat. He should probably just leave this part to his mother and sisters, but David and Lizzie had been like family, their children his brothers and sisters, their loss his as well.

“Nah. Alicia Cane is filling in for me. Maybe you’ve heard of her? She’s fabulous. They’re doing just fine without me.” He heard the exhaustion in her voice and wished again there was something he could do to help her.

After a lengthy silence, the easy kind shared by people who had known each other a long time, she said, “She’s actually going to replace me when my contract’s up. I won’t be renewing it. I’m going to take some time off. Come home and rest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a vacation. That’s one of things Adam’s taking care of up there.” Adam had not been happy about it, but he had known better than to argue.

“Makes sense. You told the family yet?” He watched her throat work as she swallowed another sip of the rum and Coke and surprised himself by thinking about how beautiful Sophy truly was. It was strange, really. He knew his sisters were beautiful, and he had always placed Sophy under the same umbrella. Today, she seemed, curiously, to be outside of it. Today she looked different to him, and he wasn’t sure what the difference actually was. He only knew he didn’t like the sensation. It made him, suddenly, very uneasy.

“Not yet. I’m not hiding it or anything. I’ve really only just made the decision yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to object. God knows Carter and Julia will be thankful to have someone around who can cook,” he joked feebly, trying to rebound from the unsolicited bite of attraction.

Sophy laughed a little bit. “They’ll demand five course meals for the first month, I’m sure.”

“You can count on that.” Feeling completely inadequate in the role of comforter, Gideon pushed his drink away and stood rather abruptly. Better to end the misery now than make it worse. “Keep your chin up, kid. I’m going to go check on Carter, then head back to the house. I have a few things of my own to check on back there.” At least with Carter he knew where he stood. Sophy suddenly confused the hell out of him.

Sophy looked up at him, taken aback by his abrupt change of mood, and found herself distracted by his face. God, was he beautiful. His golden hair gleamed in the late afternoon light, and those eyes—every time he looked at her, her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t look away from him.

Afraid that she saw something in his eyes that was best left alone, Gideon kissed the top of her head, as brotherly a move as he could think of, and let himself out of the kitchen.

Sophy heard the rumble of Gideon’s ancient truck a few moments later. She watched through the big bay window as the truck faded into the distance. Thank God for Gideon, she thought. Carter needed someone to hold on to, and Gideon was a rock, always had been. She imagined he always would be. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle his calm. The only time she had ever actually seen him agitated was the night of his father’s wake, but by the next day, he had pulled even that fear in, putting up a strong front she doubted he had even let his family through.

Ellie walked in, pulling her long dark hair into a ponytail. “Gideon just leave?” she asked, taking his seat.

“Yeah. How did you know?” Sophy gave herself a mental shake.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes.” Ellie picked up Gideon’s glass and took a deep drink, then nodded appreciatively. “Captain’s good stuff.”

Startled and more than a little embarrassed, Sophy straightened in her seat. Looking down at her glass, she said, “What are you talking about? What look?”

“Oh please, Sophia. You’ve been in love with him for ages.”

Sophy bobbled the glass she had been lifting and spilled some of the amber liquid on the table. Dumb, dumb, dumb, she scolded herself. “Don’t be ridiculous, Elinor.” Sophy mopped the mess up with some napkins.

“Don’t you be ridiculous.” Ellie reached over and stilled the hand that was wiping at the now dry table. “You need to do something about Adam,” she said firmly, looking straight in Sophy’s eyes.

“I know,” Sophy said, and stood to throw away the wet napkins.