THE BACHELOR PARTY

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "The more I look at you, the more I think I might have been wrong about you bein' on the scrawny side."

  Sophie felt a low, urgent humming in her head. Like the quiet power of the sea pounding the Oregon coastline. It came to her that he wasn't going to let her go until he kissed her, and she braced for the savage assault that was in his eyes.

  Instead, his hands ran slowly up the length of her spine to cup the nape of her neck. He didn't drag her into his arms, but instead drew her closer so gently she was pressed against him before she could find words to stop him.

  "I've never kissed a Yankee lady before," he murmured, his voice rough. "Might be interestin' at that." He moved one hand lower to rub the tender hollow at the base of her spine, and she drew in air on a sudden spike of pleasure.

  His eyes stayed open and riveted on hers as he brought his mouth to hers again, slowly, gently at first, then with an absorbed possession that had her lowering her lashes on a sigh of need that wasn't to be denied. Her arms were around his neck before she'd admitted the need to be closer. Her mouth was moving under his before she wondered if that was wise.

  Expecting power, she'd been charmed by a strong man's awkward tenderness. Ready to repel force, she'd been beguiled by unexpected restraint. He didn't pressure her for more, so she gave willingly. He didn't push, so she yielded. He savored, and she savored more. Even knowing that she was being slowly, sweetly, but surely seduced, she was helpless to resist the demands of her own awakening needs.

  Ford heard the low throaty moan coming from her creamy throat and knew that he could push her up against the wall and take her hard and fast, satisfying both of them physically. But he knew that once unleashed, the part of him urging him on would ultimately destroy them both. Still, drawing back from the edge while she was so soft and pliant and willing in his arms tested the self-control he'd honed through long years of practice. His body burned for her, and his blood was running hot. When his mind turned cloudy, and the ache in him turned to pain, he stepped back and opened his eyes, supporting her until she came slowly back to reality.

  Slowly, dreamily, she opened her eyes and he saw that they were dark as midnight and misted with desire. All that was male in him cried out for him to pull her to him again and finish what he started. But he'd learned a long time ago just how destructive passion without thought could be. And she looked so easily shattered, with her lips still parted and her eyes only now finding focus.

  "I… You…" Realizing she was having trouble forming a coherent thought, Sophie paused, running her tongue over her lower lip. "We shouldn't have done that," she managed finally.

  His grin slanted, not quite as slow as before. "You don't like kissin' a Southern boy?" he asked, arching one lazy eyebrow.

  "No boy kisses like that," she muttered, and then felt her skin flame.

  His eyes crinkled, adding a nearly irresistible charm to his dark, angular face. "Why, thank you, ma'am. We aim to please."

  "In that case would you please promise me you'll never do that again?" She ran an unsteady hand through her hair, while at the same time smoothing the other over her skirt. She felt disheveled and shaken and … thoroughly kissed.

  Glancing up, she saw him watching her, the smile gone from his mouth and his eyes. "I can't make you that promise, because I'm aimin' to kiss you as often as you'll stand still long enough for me to catch."

  Even as excitement began to flutter in her stomach again, she was shaking her head. "It's best we just forget the past few minutes ever happened."

  "Do you really think you can?"

  "I don't have a choice." Her heart was beating too fast, and her palms were sweating.

  His mouth lost the last of the softness remaining after he'd ended the kiss. "There are always choices. Sometimes they're just a bit limited."

  "In this case, there's only one."

  "Why?"

  Tell him the truth, a little voice urged. He might believe you. Maybe he'll even let you go.

  "Sophie? Talk to me, honey. Tell me what's so wrong in your life that you're shutting yourself off like a nun."

  His voice flowed over her, a bit rough but gentle. The need to put her head on his shoulder came again, stronger this time and driven by a desperate need to confess her guilt. Not just for stealing the flyer, but for betraying every principle of right and wrong she'd lived with for so long.

  "Sheriff, I—"

  "Mama," Jessie suddenly piped up, obviously awake and kicking her feet so hard she shook the stroller.

  Sophie exhaled, stunned by the risk she'd been about to take. Ford might want her sexually, but he was also sworn to uphold the law, and she was a wanted felon.

  The panic returned full force, deepened by the knowledge that she was far too vulnerable to him. And his kisses. No matter what, she had to keep her vow to stay far, far away from Ford Maguire.

  "Jessie's my first priority, my only priority," she said, putting as much force in her tone as she could. "I don't have room for anything or anyone else."

  His expression turned impatient. "We can make room. Hell, I'm already crazy about her, and—"

  "Are you asking me to marry you, Sheriff Maguire?"

  The shock on his face should have made her laugh. Instead, it only deepened the shame she felt for deceiving him.

  "What kind of question is that?" he demanded. It didn't take more than a look into those suddenly flint-hard eyes to know that he could be a very violent man if pushed too hard. Still, she would risk violence and more to keep her daughter with her.

  "The kind a single mother has to ask before she even considers a relationship with a man," she said, feeling a deep, unexpected pang of regret even as the words left her mouth.

  She bent to mutter a few soothing words to the baby, but not before Ford had seen something in her eyes that had him backing down hard on a sudden surge of icy rage. Not much for words, he couldn't quite put a name to the emotions shimmering in those blue depths. Sorrow might come closest. The kind that stripped away a person's defenses and left them raw and bleeding inside.

  "Here, let me do that," he said when he realized she intended to carry the baby, stroller and all, up the stairs.

  He moved fast, needing to distance himself from her long enough to fight through the memory of another time, another place, when he'd felt that same kind of helpless sorrow.

  "There you go, sugar," he said, setting the stroller carefully on all four wheels. "Ready to burn rubber again."

  Jessie kicked her feet and regarded him imperiously as only a female could. Taking one tiny hand in his, he brushed his lips over the satiny skin. "You be good for your mama now, you hear?" he ordered with a mock sternness that earned him a toothy grin.

  "Mama," Jessie pronounced firmly.

  Straightening, he turned to look at Sophie, who was shading her eyes from the sudden glare. She looked so fragile and defenseless in the harsh light, and yet, he suspected that she was anything but.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets while he still had some control, and offered her a polite grin. "Guess I'll see you in the morning."

  "Yes, 6:20 on the dot."

  She shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other, then took a firm grip on the umbrellalike handles of the stroller. He let her get almost to the corner before he called her name, feeling his heart start to gallop again as she turned to look back at him.

  "Tell you one thing, Sophie, if I was a marryin' man, I sure would give some serious thought to your proposal." He turned quickly and disappeared into the building.

  There was a storm in the Atlantic, and the tail end had come ashore to drench the Carolinas in a cold, dreary rain that had begun shortly after Sophie had taken Jessie upstairs for her bath. What had started as a gloriously sunny, springlike morning had turned into a depressingly sodden evening. Not even the blurred twinkle of the Christmas lights outside could brighten Sophie's mood. By ten o'clock she was more than ready for the oblivion offered by sleep.

  The third floor w
as quiet as she returned to her room from the bathroom and closed the door. Her head buzzed with exhaustion as she tucked the quilt more snugly around Jessie's chunky little bottom.

  "I love you so much," she whispered, leaning over the crib's high side to breathe a kiss on her sleeping baby's cheek. Her little girl was thriving. Everyone said so. And she seemed to have adjusted beautifully to a communal life-style, better even than Sophie had dared hope. Katie and her boarders had become an extended family, as loving and supportive as her own had been when both her parents had been living.

  Sighing, she crossed to the bed and sat down. She'd been so lucky to have grown up in a stable home and a traditional life-style. It had been almost embarrassingly idyllic. One mother, one father, one little girl they adored, just as she'd adored them.

  Her father had told her not to marry Wells. "He's got eyes like a dog we had on the farm when I was growing up," he'd warned. "Good-looking cow dog, he was, and smart, but he had a possessive streak, that one. Killed a kitten of mine once because it was sitting on my lap, broke its back with one bite. Couldn't stand to share, you see."

  Sophie still remembered the sorrow in her father's eyes when he'd told her that story—and the sudden intensity that replaced that sorrow when he'd urged her to call off the engagement.

  "Judge and Mrs. Manwaring are fine people, don't get me wrong. They do a lot of good in the community, but from what I've seen, they have a blind spot when it comes to Wells. I'm not saying he's not an intelligent, well-mannered young man, because he is, but he's never been taught to share the way you have."

  But she'd known better. Wells simply appeared overly possessive because he loved her. Once they were married and he knew for sure that she was his, he would relax.

  Sophie drew a long breath, staring at the rain spatters on the window. It had gotten worse, not better. First he'd objected to her friends taking so much of her time, so she'd declined more invitations than she accepted until finally she found herself isolated from everyone but her family and his.

  Then it was her job that was coming between them. Why was she spending so much time at night on lesson plans when they should be together? What was so pressing she had to stay late after classes were over for the day? Maybe it wasn't teaching she loved, but another teacher? A male teacher.

  Tired of his constant suspicions and questions, she'd suggested counseling. She'd seen his rage for the first time then. The words he'd flung at her hadn't stayed in her mind, but the meaning had. Wells Manwaring was incapable of admitting he was wrong about anything, even the smallest detail.

  There seemed to be nothing she could say or do to placate him, short of quitting her job and devoting all of her time and attention to him. It had been an agonizing dilemma. She'd still loved Wells, in spite of his faults. Certainly she had faults of her own, but she couldn't make herself believe that a love of teaching could be wrong.

  When she'd found she was pregnant, she'd been so sure Wells would be thrilled. Instead he'd resurrected the old accusations about her and some phantom male teacher. It was his baby she was carrying, not Wells's.

  Sophie dropped her face to her hands. "Oh, God," she whispered, shuddering. It had been so ugly that night. A nightmare. Hell on earth. She could still see the virulent hatred in his eyes as he reached for her, the ugly snarl of his mouth as he ordered her to kill the baby.

  She struggled, tried to run from the names he called her, from the madness that had come over him. And then, he was falling away, the killing rage in his eyes changing to a vacant stare as his neck snapped. Sophie cringed, her eyes stinging with hot tears. Dear God, you know I didn't want him to die. I would never want him to die.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she fought for calm. Why are you torturing yourself like this? she asked herself. But the question was a foolish one. She knew why.

  It was because of the poster she'd stolen.

  Sick inside, she crossed the room and opened the door to the closet where she kept her purse. The poster was still there, waiting.

  Her hands shook as she unfolded it and stared at the cold black letters, SARAH SOPHIA GUNDERSEN MANWARING—Wanted For Child Stealing And Parole Violation. The facts were all there. Her conviction of involuntary manslaughter, the dates dispassionately detailing the year she'd spent locked away from everything that mattered to her like some kind of vicious animal.

  Sick inside, she ripped it in two, then tore those to bits no larger than confetti before letting the pieces sift through her fingers into the wastebasket by the dresser.

  When her hand was empty, she continued to stand statue still, staring at the small pile of paper in the bottom of the basket. Is this what I've become? she thought sadly. A common thief, stealing from a man who's only shown me kindness?

  "Oh, Ford," she murmured, her voice catching. "If only you knew how very much I wish things were different."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Perched on the edge of Katie's double bed, Sophie measured out a length of paper with candy-cane stripes and reached for the scissors she'd placed on the nightstand beyond Jessie's reach.

  With only two days to go until Christmas Day, the two women were in Katie's bedroom on the ground floor, wrapping the needlepoint ornaments Sophie had made to give to the kids in the Sunday school class she taught.

  Oblivious to the two adults and the carols playing on Katie's CD player, Jessie was busily crawling around at Sophie's feet, happily playing with the scraps of paper and bits of ribbon littering the carpet. Nearby, Katie sat back on her heels and arched her back, a grumpy look on her face.

  "Every year I swear I'm not going all out for the holidays, and then along about Halloween this fool stranger takes over my body, and the next thing I know I'm knee-deep in wrapping paper and Christmas cookies."

  "And you love every minute of it, too," Sophie told her with a grin.

  "I suppose I must," Katie admitted with a sigh before reaching for more ribbon. "These sure are cute ornaments, Sophie. Maybe next year you'll have time to make a few more for your friends, like yours truly, for instance."

  Friends. Sophie liked the sound of that. More importantly, she no longer felt like an outsider in the house, or even in the town itself. It was a nice feeling to be able to recognize a goodly number of the people she met in the market or at church or during the hours she spent at the diner.

  "I never thought I'd like doing needlepoint, but I love it." It was also surprisingly soothing, probably because it required so much concentration she couldn't think about anything else white she had that murderously sharp needle in her hand.

  "Miss Fanny tried to teach me once," Katie muttered. "Turns out I'm hopeless at anything having to do with a needle and thread."

  "Well, you saw my first attempts, so you know I'm close to hopeless myself. If it hadn't been for the kids and wanting to give them some little thing for Christmas, I would have given up after my first bloody finger."

  The third floor had been in turmoil for weeks, and the "ladies" had nearly come to blows over which color yarn to use. Somehow, however, the three of them had managed to finish twelve perfect miniature pillows in time for the Sunday school party tomorrow night.

  "No, no, Jessie. Ribbons aren't for eating, sweetheart." Sophie plucked the silvery ribbon from her daughter's hand a split second before it would have become a bedtime snack. "Ribbons are for tying up pretty packages to put under the tree."

  Jessie jabbered something profound, and Sophie burst out laughing. "Here, chew on this," she said, handing Jess a teething ring in the shape of a dog bone.

  "Has Ford asked you to cater his party yet?" Katie fluffed the bow she'd just tied and sat back to admire her handiwork.

  "No, and I don't expect he will. After all, I've only had one catering job so far, and it hardly counts, since it was Miss Fanny who hired me."

  "It does so count," Katie declared firmly. "And it was a lovely tea. All the ladies said so."

  Sophie watch
ed Jessie scoot crablike under the bed, her little hand reaching for something. Bending, she caught the baby's fat little foot and pulled her into the open again. Squealing, Jessie immediately brought her hand to her mouth.

  "Oh, no, you don't," Sophie muttered, plucking something shiny from the baby's fist. It was a silver earring.

  "I think this belongs to you," she told Kate, dangling the hoop from her thumb and forefinger.

  "I wondered where that went." She gave Jessie a little hug before putting the earring with its mate in a Chinese lacquered box on the dresser.

  Keeping one eye on Jessie, Sophie began gathering the leftover paper. "I still wish you'd let me pay you for the use of your kitchen."

  "You've already paid me by organizing that mess I call my recipe collection." Katie wound up the last of the ribbon and returned it to the large shopping bag containing the rest of her wrapping supplies. "By the way, Lucy called while you were bathing Jessie. She sends you her best."

  "Did she get over that awful cold?"

  "More or less, although she's still coughing. She's not sure she's going to be able to make it to the party at church tomorrow night, so just in case, she asked me to oversee the refreshment table."

  "Why don't I do that for you? You have enough to do coordinating the nativity play."

  Katie frowned. "That would be a real help, true enough. If you're sure you wouldn't mind?"

  "Of course, I wouldn't," she said as she lifted Jessie onto her lap for a quick snuggle. It was nearly bedtime for both of them, and she was tired, even if Jessie wasn't.

  "Remind me to bake an extra sweet-potato pie for Christmas dinner," Katie said as she stowed the shopping bag of supplies in the back of the closet. "It's Ford's favorite."

  Sophie felt a shiver run down her spine. She'd seen him twice since Sunday, both times for breakfast. Both mornings she'd kept herself too busy to do more than serve his food and refill his coffee cup.