Every day since she'd left Oregon, she'd been on guard, searching the eyes of strangers for a startled look of recognition or a shadow of suspicion. Clover was a long way from Portland, and she'd covered her tracks well. But she could never allow herself to think that time and distance would keep her safe.
Even though she knew she was behaving irrationally, she was nearly frantic by the time Ford pulled into the narrow driveway next to the boarding house. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he opened the door and climbed out, circling behind the car to open the passenger's door. Lights blazed from the downstairs windows, illuminating the scowl on his face.
"I did offer to take a cab, if you'll recall," she muttered, speaking in a low voice so that that she didn't wake the baby.
"What does that mean?" he demanded, his tone polite, but his scowl deepened.
"Never mind," she said, climbing out.
"Go on up to the house," he ordered. "I'll bring the rest of your things."
Biting her tongue to keep from telling him not to bother if it was so darn much trouble, she headed up the walk toward the deep front porch. As soon as she set foot on the bottom step, the door opened to reveal her two elderly friends, still in their night attire.
"We just spoke with Hammond, and he told us about that nasty old ear infection," Miss Fanny exclaimed, clearly worried. Her thinning white hair was confined into a long braid that hung over one shoulder, and her eyes were shadowed with weariness.
"No wonder our little angel was fussin' so," Miss Rose Ruth added, stepping back so that Sophie could enter. "I was just fixin' to make us all some hot milk. I'll bring it up when it's ready."
"Please don't bother making any for me," Sophie said with a tired smile. "I'm going to give Jessie her medicine and put us both to bed."
"Nonsense, child. Hot milk is just the thing to ward off a chill this time of year." Without giving Sophie a chance to answer, she turned and headed for the back of the house.
"I'd best help Rose Ruth with that milk, or she's liable to burn down the house," Miss Fanny proclaimed as she ushered Ford in and closed the door.
"While you're at it, splash some brandy in that milk, and I'll have a cup, too," he drawled, glancing toward the stairs.
Miss Fanny managed to look flustered and offended at the same time. "Now, Ford Maguire, you know Katie does not allow spirits in her house."
Sophie caught the quick flash of amusement in his eyes before he shifted his gaze from her face to Miss Fanny's. "Yes, ma'am, that's true," he said gravely. "But I also remember you once telling me that spirits used as medicine weren't in the least sinful, or did I misunderstand you?"
A delicate pink bloomed in Miss Fanny's cheeks, reminding Sophie of faded rose petals. "Don't get sassy with me, young man. I used to wipe your bottom when you weren't any bigger than that sweet little angel in her mama's arms, and you'd do well not to forget that, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, his grin flashing even as he ducked his head like a chastised little boy.
Sophie wasn't fooled. There was a man's strength in that tired, not-quite-handsome face, and a lifetime of experience in those cynical gray eyes. She'd learned tonight that he also had a stubborn streak bordering on a form of masculine dominance that unsettled her—just one more reason to avoid him.
Avoiding him was one thing, ordering her body to ignore the purely male signals of sexual interest he kept sending out was something else again, she discovered, listening to the thud of his boot heels as he followed her up the stairs. He smelled like soap and the night air, and his rangy body moved with a restrained, sensual grace that had her imagination spiking and her blood heating whenever he walked into Peg's.
Her room was the only one on the right and looked out over the street. "Looks like you're already thinkin' like a Southerner," Ford said when she simply turned the knob and pushed open the door.
"Sorry?" she murmured, drawing her brows together.
"Folks around here are so used to leaving their doors wide open in the summer months it's hard to remember to lock 'em when it turns chilly." He offered an easy smile that erased much of the cynicism from his face. But not all—nor the subtle hint of loneliness around his mouth. "I keep raggin' at 'em to take more precautions but some habits are hard to break."
"It's easier for the ladies when they're baby-sitting if I leave it open."
The clown lamp was still burning, and the room was just as she'd left it, with the exception of Jessie's blanket, which had been folded neatly at the bottom of the crib.
"Where do you want this?" Ford asked, indicating the diaper bag. The anger she'd sensed in him when he'd stalked out of Phelps's Pharmacy had disappeared. Or perhaps he'd simply willed it not to show, something she suspected he did often and very well.
"On the dresser, please," she murmured, laying Jessie on her back in her crib. The baby fluttered her lashes and whimpered, but she didn't wake, even when Sophie stripped off the furry pink jacket. Sensing his presence, she glanced up quickly to find him standing behind her right shoulder, watching the baby with anxious eyes.
"Cliff said to be sure and get her to drink as much water as possible while she's taking the antibiotic," he said when he realized she had looked his way.
"I could have sworn she was perfectly fine when I went to work," she murmured. "Otherwise, I never would have left her."
"Seems to me my sister had an ear infection when she was just about Jessie's age. Doc pulled her through just fine."
It would be easy, she realized, to get used to the way his eyes warmed when he spoke of his sister. Too easy.
"In other words, give her the medicine and stop acting like an hysterical mother," she murmured, reaching for the pharmacy sack he'd set next to the diaper bag.
"You're not hysterical, far from it. And you'd be a sorry excuse for a mama if you weren't worried."
"I can't help worrying," she admitted before reading the instructions on the small pink bottle.
What if it had been something worse? she thought on a wave of pure panic. What if Jessie had had to be hospitalized? Or required surgery? She couldn't even afford a few bottles of medicine, let alone expensive treatment.
"Oh, hell!" she murmured, turning away before he could see the tears already filling her eyes.
"Hey, none of that," he said, gripping her shoulder just hard enough to turn her his way. "No reason to be embarrassed for cryin,' not after the night you've had." He brushed a knuckle over her cheek and it took all of her strength to keep from turning toward that gentle touch.
"If something happened to Jessie—" Her voice broke, and she clamped down hard on her lower lip with her teeth.
"It won't, Mama. Not with you on the job." He rubbed his callused palms over her shoulders in a gentle friction more soothing than erotic. It felt good, just to be touched again, even though she'd made herself so numb, she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to accept even the gentlest of human contact.
"Sometimes raisin' a youngster all on your own can get mighty lonely, though, especially when there's no one around to lean on now and then."
"Who did you lean on?" she asked, seeing shadows darkening his eyes.
"Southern men aren't real big on askin' for help."
Stunned by the tension in the small, rigid shoulders, Ford concentrated on lightly massaging the tight muscles of her neck with only his fingertips at first, and then as she accepted his touch, more intensely.
"Northern women sometimes have trouble, too," she murmured, swaying under his ministrations like a half-hypnotized, but still touch-wary, barn kitten.
"Relax," he urged, careful to keep his voice low and easy. "You're carryin' a lot of weight on these little bitty shoulders."
"Not so little," she said, her lashes fluttering.
Ignoring the heat that was slowly but surely pooling between his legs, he massaged her shoulders with slow, even movements, until he saw the knot between her silky eyebrows ease and her lips part in a half smile of pur
e pleasure.
It moved in him to kiss her then. Just thinking about rubbing his mouth over that sulky curve had tension skating along his shoulders before settling in the hollow between his shoulder blades. In her relaxed state she was more receptive than she might ever be again. Only a few inches separated his mouth from hers—and a sense of honor he couldn't quite make himself violate, though he was sorely tempted. Too tempted. Abruptly, he withdrew his hands before he forgot the oath he'd taken to protect victims, not take advantage of them for his own selfish reasons.
"Better now?" he asked, his voice hoarser than usual.
"I didn't mean to unload on you," she murmured, lifting her lashes with obvious difficulty as though she were only now coming back into her body.
"Feel free to do it again anytime." Watching a smile crinkle the corners of those ever-watchful eyes gave Sophie a fast little jolt, and she realized that, just for a moment, she had thought of him as a man instead of the sheriff of Clover. A man who was solid and reliable and, in his own reserved way, disturbingly sexy.
He would be a thoughtful lover, she was sure of it. And he would have a beautiful body, with long roped muscles and lean, agile hips. She saw herself lying next to him, her hands running over his tanned skin, feeling the veins throbbing beneath the surface, trapped between pliant skin and hard muscle. And she saw him touching her, his callused hands gently kneading her breasts instead of her shoulders, his fingertips caressing the aching nipples, then slowly trailing lower to her belly, her thighs, lower. Needs she had successfully quashed for a very long time suddenly surged to life again, stronger than ever. Mortified, she felt heat rush to her face and quickly lowered her gaze to the bottle in her hand.
"Uh, before you go, I need to give you a check," she said, setting the medicine on the dresser before reaching into the bag for the receipt. As soon as she saw the amount, her heart sank. "I can give you half tonight and the rest on Friday when I get paid. Maybe earlier, if my tips are good."
"Be easier if you just waited till Friday."
Sophie stiffened her spine. "Not for me."
Frowning, he waited while she wrote him a check for exactly half the amount. "I want your word you'll cash this tomorrow."
The subtle shift in his expression told her he'd intended to do just the opposite. "I knew my sister was kin to a mule, but I believe you've got her beat," he muttered, drawing his eyebrows together in an impressive frown.
"If you're suggesting I'm stubborn, you're right," she admitted, walking him to the door. If she hadn't been stubborn, she most likely would be dead by now.
Ford glanced back at the pretty white crib with a bunch of wild-looking parrots swinging from some kind of contraption hanging above it. Across the room, Sophie's bed was still neatly made, big enough for two. He didn't belong here. He didn't even want to be here, so why was he all of a sudden wanting to stay?
Dumb question, Maguire, he thought, jerking his gaze back to Sophie's face. He wanted to stay because he was a man and she was a woman, and somehow she just naturally had the knack of making him remember that every time she turned those bluer-than-blue eyes his way.
"You get some sleep, you hear?" He jerked open the door and left before he forgot how tired she really was.
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
It was just past eight when Ford pulled into the driveway of Katie's house. He'd finished typing out his report at half past three the night before and taken it home with him, intending to show it to Sophie over his morning coffee. But Peg had been behind the counter when he'd walked into the diner at his usual time. Sophie had taken the day off in order to take care of Jessie.
Never one to mince words, Peg had lit into him but good for not locking up Rans Talley before he could cause trouble, then proceeded to give him a double order of bacon on the house for shoving his shoulder into Talley's gut in the nick of time.
He'd let Peg talk herself out, then spent the time it had taken to wolf down his breakfast trying to convince himself he wasn't in a black mood because Sophie wasn't there to refill his cup or chide Bram Washington for ordering eggs again.
Exiting the squad car, he scowled again, just thinking about the way a woman could mess with a man's mind—if he wasn't the careful type, that is.
Katie answered his knock at the back door, her smile quick as always. "What brings you around so early?"
Ford held up the manila folder. "Wanted to get Sophie's signature on this statement I typed up from my notes before I made it official."
"She's upstairs changing the baby," she said before once again expressing her opinion of Rans Talley's character.
"How's the little one feeling this mornin'?" Ford asked, grinning at Katie's less than genteel choice of words.
"Almost as sweet as usual. Sophie's the one who needs lookin' after. I don't think she got a wink of sleep all night, what with givin' Jessie her medicine every four hours and walkin' the floor with her when she fussed."
Ford frowned. "Guess it was a good thing she took the day off."
Katie sneaked a quick glance over her shoulder. "I've never seen a woman more upset than Sophie when she called Aunt Peg to ask for the time off. I swear she was shaking like a leaf. Told me afterward she didn't know what she would have done if Aunt Peg had fired her." She shook her head. "She offered to make up the time by working double shifts when Jessie was well again."
"Did Peg take her up on her offer?"
"Come to think of it, Sophie didn't say exactly. What I do know, though, is that she's very relieved to still have a job. It's got to be hard on her, supporting herself and Jessie on waitressin' pay like she does." Katie sighed, then glanced at her watch. "Go on up if you want. As soon as I finish the breakfast dishes, I'm meeting Emma at her place and we're drivin' over to Charleston to look for bridesmaid dresses."
"Sounds like fun."
"Ford Maguire, you lie like a rug!" Setting her hands on her hips, she eyed him disapprovingly. "I don't suppose you've given any thought to the bachelor party you're supposed to be having for Mike next month, have you?"
"Some." Actually he'd been trying to figure a way around having it at all without making Mike mad as sin at him.
"Like what, exactly?" she demanded, going back to stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.
"Like figurin' I'd pay the bills and let you women do the plannin'."
Katie snorted. "That's exactly what Lucy and Emma and I thought you'd say."
"What's wrong with that?"
She put the last of the plates in the bottom of the washer and closed the door. "It's lazy, that's what."
"Lazy, hell, it's pure self-defense," he muttered, wondering if Sophie had been in on the discussion of his shortcomings. "I know my sister, and I know you. Doesn't matter what I decide to do, one or the both of you will just change it, so why not cut to the chase and save myself the aggravation."
Katie punched a button, and the dishwasher groaned into action. "If you had your way, you'd serve that horrible Texas chili you're so fond of and beer with whiskey chasers, and half the men in the wedding party would be sick as dogs during the ceremony."
"A blatant exaggeration," he declared, more than a little annoyed that she was close to being dead right. He'd figured on topping off the chili with some of that new peanut-butter chocolate ripple ice cream from the convenience store.
"Take my advice, and hire yourself a caterer. I hear there's a new one just opened for business." Grabbing her purse, she shot him another disgusted look before heading for the door. "I have a hunch she's going to be very busy, what with the wedding and all, so you'd better book her quick."
"What new caterer?" He didn't like the glint in Katie's eyes. She was up to something, and he had a hunch he wasn't going to like it.
Katie pulled open the back door. "Her name is Sophie Reynolds. Everyone I know is tired of Miss Clara Barnwell's pimento cheese loaf on soggy white bread, and Sophie has some really clever ideas. If you're very nice t
o me, I might just put in a good word for you."
He figured he must have some dumb look on his face because Katie was giggling as if she was fifteen again and tickled at the success of a joke she'd just played on her best friend's gullible big brother. Ford muttered his favorite curse word, the one he only used when he was alone or in exclusively male company, before heading toward the stairs. If he'd had any sense, he would have planned to take a good long vacation right around the time Mike and Emma were walking down the aisle.
The third floor seemed deserted. Only the door to the bathroom stood ajar. The other three were firmly shut, and he wondered if all three ladies living on the top floor were catching up on their sleep. Correction, four ladies, he thought, remembering tiny Jessie snuggling against her mama's soft, warm body when he'd driven them home. He suspected that was a picture he would carry with him for a long time.
He had to knock two more times before Sophie opened the door, her eyes still drowsy from leftover sleep, and her skin dewy from the warmth of her pillow. She was dressed in a pale yellow running suit at least two sizes too big, and her feet were bare.
Ford's mind made a fast trip into a life where morning kisses were slow and lazy and got a man's day started off right. How long had it been since she'd awakened in a man's arms? he wondered, and then knew that sooner or later he was going to feel that small, ripe body snuggled up next to his. And when that happened, he would make darn sure there weren't any baggy sweats to come between his flesh and hers.
"Sheriff. I meant to call you." She blinked, but her eyes were still dream dark. "Last night you mentioned something about needing my signature?"
"On your statement," he amplified. She smelled like soap and baby powder, and her hair swooped over one pale cheek, just begging for a man's hand to smooth it back.
"Would you mind if we talked downstairs?" she murmured, glancing over her shoulder at the sleeping baby. "She just dropped off to sleep a few minutes ago."
"How's she feelin'?" he asked as he took a step backward to allow her to exit.
THE BACHELOR PARTY Page 7
