"Is that what you're giving him for Christmas, a sweet-potato pie?" she asked with feigned nonchalance.
"I guess it is, in a roundabout way. He and Lucy are coming for Christmas dinner." Katie slanted her a look. "Didn't I mention that to you already?"
"No, I don't think you did." Keeping her face hidden, Sophie kissed the top of Jessie's sweet-smelling curls before letting her crawl away.
"It's the strangest thing," Katie mused as though to herself. "I've been running this boarding house for six years come next June. And for six years I've been inviting Lucy and Ford to Christmas dinner. Every year Lucy comes, and Ford doesn't, claiming he has to work, which never surprises anyone who knows him because if there's one thing Ford hates it's social obligations."
"Maybe he just got tired of working every Christmas."
"Not just Christmas. Ever since Lucy was old enough to be on her own, he's worked every holiday, plus Saturdays and a lot of Sundays. When he's not working, he's out at the airport fiddlin' with that old airplane of his. Lucy swears he goes out there and works on it at the oddest times, like sometimes in the middle of the night, when no one's around. She worries about him, you know?"
"I'm sure he can take care of himself."
Katie yawned, then stretched. "Sure he can, but even a solitary soul like Ford needs some comfortin' now and then. My instincts tell me you're the one person who can do just that."
Sophie knew exactly what her friend was thinking. She and Ford were both alone and emotionally unattached to anyone else. Why shouldn't they end up together?
Sophie drew a careful breath, her skin warming everywhere he'd touched, as though her body remembered what she'd tried so hard to forget. But just the thought of lying next to that long, lean body while those sensitive hands roamed over her had her going weak with longing.
She hadn't slept well for the past two nights, and when she did sleep, she dreamed about him, and the slow, sensuous brush of his mouth over his. And then when she woke up, tangled in the sheets and breathing hard, she couldn't stop thinking about that same clever mouth moving slowly over her breasts, his tongue slowly swirling around the sensitive nipples.
She nearly moaned aloud, but caught herself in time. "Then your instincts are seriously out of whack," she declared firmly as she scrambled to her feet and swung Jessie into her arms. "I'm not Ford Maguire's type, and he's definitely not mine."
But even as she said good-night to Katie and carried Jessie up the two flights to their little nest, she was thinking about Ford Maguire and the soft, sweet smile he'd put in her heart for a few blessed minutes, just by kissing her.
It rained Christmas morning, but by the time the rooming house residents had watched Jessie open her presents and then exchanged small gifts with each other, the showers had moved on, and the sun was shining.
While Roy Dean and the other two gentlemen in residence took a morning constitutional and the Misses Fanny and Rose Ruth amused Jessie, Sophie helped Katie and her Aunt Peg with the turkey and trimmings.
By noon the house was filled with the wonderful aroma of roasting turkey, the table had been set with heirloom china and flatware, and everyone but Lucy and Ford had gathered in the parlor to have a glass of champagne and the canapés Sophie had insisted on providing as her contribution to the feast. She was just returning to the kitchen for another tray of crab puffs when the doorbell chimed.
"I'll get it," she called, setting the empty tray on the entry table before reaching for the vintage glass doorknob.
"Merry Christmas," Lucy sang out before giving Sophie a hug. "You look marvelous. Ivory suits you."
"Thank you," Sophie murmured, knowing that she looked more dowdy than marvelous in the simple rayon blouse and tan wool skirt. Since it was the best she had, however, she refused to feel depressed.
"And you look fantastic," she told Lucy truthfully. "Very festive."
Lucy was wearing a raw silk shirtwaist in a rich shade of blue that seemed to have become her favorite color of late.
"Bless you, dear," Lucy exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder at Ford. "My overprotective big brother thinks the skirt is too short."
Sophie cast a second, longer look at the skirt, noting that the soft folds ended at a far-from-daring two inches above Lucy's knees.
"I think that length is very flattering on you," she said honestly. "You have great legs, so why not show them off."
"That's what Joe said," Lucy replied, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
Sophie had heard about Joe Dooley's recent interest in Lucy and hers in him. She'd also heard that Ford wasn't pleased about either and hadn't been shy in telling Lucy so.
"Where is Joe today?" she asked politely.
"He had other plans," Lucy said, her expression revealing her disappointment.
"So he said," Ford interjected, drawing a pained look from his sister and a curious glance from Sophie.
Instead of the uniform she expected to see, he was wearing a dark blue business suit that she suspected had to have been custom-tailored to accommodate those extrawide shoulders and long legs. His shirt was the latest in trendy stripes, the paisley silk tie impeccably conservative, his cordovan loafers mirror shiny. For once his thick black hair had been blown back from his face, falling into a sexy thatch that looked soft to the touch. He looked so devastatingly appealing that she found herself unabashedly staring.
"Something wrong?" he asked, quirking a raven eyebrow.
"I've never seen you in anything but your uniform," she admitted, drawing a breath.
"You almost didn't today, either!" Lucy exclaimed. "He showed up at my house in ratty old jeans and this horrible faded work shirt that should have been in the ragbag years ago. For a formal Christmas dinner, yet. So naturally I refused to be seen with him unless he changed into something respectable."
"This is Clover, not Charleston," Ford grated. "If a man is clean and doesn't smell bad, he's respectable."
"Don't pay any attention to him, Sophie. He's gone and gotten himself into a bad mood over something or other, and heaven only knows when he's gonna snap out of it."
Ford resisted the urge to tug at his tight collar. Since he'd been elected sheriff that first time, he'd only worn a necktie twice—once when the governor swung through town on a campaign trip and insisted that Ford sit next to him on the speaker's platform in the town square, and once when he'd attended the funeral of the man he'd replaced.
"Are we gonna stand out here all day?" he groused, already second-guessing his decision to take the afternoon off.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ford, stop acting like Scrooge and give Sophie a Christmas hug like a good boy," Lucy ordered imperiously before disappearing inside.
Sophie felt a flare of panic, but managed to level it before it showed. "Don't worry, I won't hold you to it," she teased.
"Didn't figure you would."
She turned to follow Lucy. He moved closer. They didn't really collide, but suddenly Ford hooked a steely arm around her waist and spun her around until she was slammed up against him. Solid with muscle, his big chest didn't give an inch. Before she could react, his mouth was heading straight for hers.
Sensations surged through her so fast there was no time to separate one from the other. Outrage, pleasure, a delicious hunger-feelings, impressions and a swirling, intoxicating need for more. He let her go as suddenly as he'd pulled her to him, and she rocked back on her heels, her head swimming.
"I told you not to do that again," she murmured, unable to put more than token anger into her voice.
"And I told you I wasn't about to make a promise when I knew there was no way under God's blue sky I could keep it."
His grin flashed, but his eyes were liquid fire as he reached past her to open the door Lucy had closed behind her. "After you," he said politely.
Sophie walked inside without answering. She had a sinking feeling that nothing she could say would matter to him in the slightest, anyway.
Jessie had obvious
ly finished her dinner and let her mother know by banging her cup on the tray of her high chair.
"Just a minute, sweetheart, and Mama will get you down." Sophie put the last plate into the dishwasher, then closed the door and switched it on.
"Now for those sweet-potato pies I promised everyone," Katie said, reaching into the cupboard for more plates to dirty.
"The coffee's ready." Sophie wiped Jessie's face with a clean washcloth, then kissed the still-damp little cheek. "How about it, toots? Ready to go night-night for a while?"
As if she understood, Jessie shook her head.
Sophie glanced at the clock over the refrigerator. The hands read half past two, a full hour past Jessie's usual nap time. "Just a little while," she proposed in her most persuasive tone.
The baby continued to shake her head.
Sophie and Katie exchanged looks. "Guess that means I'll pour the coffee," Sophie said, laughing.
Jessie let out a screech, holding up her arms so that her mother would pick her up.
"Okay, but no more pulling ornaments off the tree, you hear?" Sophie lifted the baby free of the chair and gave her a hug before setting her on her padded bottom.
"How long do you think it'll be before she's asleep in Roy Dean's lap?" Katie teased as she opened the refrigerator door and peered inside.
"Ten minutes tops," Sophie asserted with total confidence. "Unless one of the misses gets to her first."
"Don't forget about Aunt Peg. I've never seen her so taken with a little one—not even me. And I was adorable."
Laughing, Sophie began piling coffee things on a serving tray Katie had filched from the diner. "What in the world are you looking for in there?" she asked when she noticed Katie shifting cans and containers from one shelf to the other and then back again.
"A carton of whipping cream," Katie muttered. "I know I bought some, but it's disappeared."
Sophie winced. "Uh-oh."
Katie swiveled on the balls of her feet and gave Sophie a pointed look. "Uh-oh what?"
"I used it for the mashed potatoes," Sophie admitted. "That's the way Peg has us make them at the diner, and I guess I just assumed you made them that way, too."
Katie grinned. "No wonder they were so good!" she declared, closing the fridge. "You noticed there wasn't a scrap left."
Sophie put the last of the cups on the tray and reached behind her to untie her apron. "If you'll keep an eye on Jessie, I'll just run down to Shepherd's Market and get some more. They're open for a while yet. It won't take but a minute."
"Since I'm older than you, I'll just let you do that running while I save my energy for pie. Just charge it to my account."
Sophie knew it would be useless to argue, but neither did she expect Katie to pay for her mistake. "Speaking of energy, maybe I'll take Jessie with me. She hasn't been outside today, and it's a beautiful afternoon."
Katie cast a longing look at the patch of blue sky outside the kitchen window. "Great idea. She might even nap a little on the way. I know ridin' always makes me sleepy."
Sophie opened the door to the back porch and retrieved the folded stroller she'd stored there. She was just scooping Jessie into her arms when the door to the dining room swung inward and Ford walked in, looking far too appealing in shirtsleeves and tailored trousers.
Not that she'd wanted to notice, she told herself. She just hadn't been able to ignore the way the pale-blue-and-white shirt had deepened his tan to a sexy bronze or the way the rolled-up sleeves just naturally drew her attention to his impressive biceps whenever she happened to glance his direction.
"My little sister sent me to ask if you two needed help," he drawled, glancing from one to the other casually. Too casually, Sophie suspected. If asked, she had a feeling he could describe the room and everything in it in meticulous detail—including the flush on her cheeks.
"Is Lucy offering her help or yours?" Katie asked, grinning.
"Depends on what needs doin'."
Katie cast a speculative glance Sophie's way. "Sophie's just volunteered to run down to Shepherd's for some whipping cream."
His gaze took in the baby clinging to her neck and the stroller leaning against her leg. "Be best if you had a police escort, I reckon."
"Please don't bother," Sophie said quickly. "It's only a few blocks."
"Truth to tell, Sophie, I've been feelin' so guilty for takin' the day off I'd be grateful if you'd let me walk along with you two ladies. Maybe I can trick my conscience into thinkin' I'm doin' somethin' useful."
Sophie felt her heart sink. Making a fuss would make her appear petty—or worse, afraid to be alone with him.
"Guess we can't have the sheriff's conscience kicking him on Christmas Day," she murmured before shifting her attention to Katie who had obviously been listening with unabashed interest. "Is there anything else you need?"
"Can't think of a thing." Katie's expression was too innocent for Sophie's peace of mind.
"We won't be long," she said, dodging Jessie's head as the inquisitive little girl suddenly took a notion to dive into Ford's arms.
"Whoa there, sugar," he said, catching her before she slammed into his hard chest. Terrified that the rambunctious baby would fall, Sophie hadn't quite let go, so that in the confusion Jessie ended up wedged between them, with Ford's hand pressed hard against her breast. Startled, she drew a sharp breath and stepped back. He tightened his hold on Jessie and did the same, leaving a good two feet of tense air between them.
"Ready?" he asked, his already deep voice lowered an octave. Nodding, she picked up the stroller and walked ahead of him to the back door.
"Have fun, children," Katie called after them.
Ford muttered something under his breath that had Sophie biting her lip, very grateful that Jessie was too young to understand more than a few basic words.
Outside, the air had the just-washed freshness that invariably followed a rain. A few pillowy clouds floated lazily overhead, and Roy Dean's beloved garden seemed even more vividly green after the morning shower.
Sophie waited until they were beyond the back gate before suggesting that Ford put Jessie in the stroller. He agreed without argument, then insisted on pushing her himself while Jessie chattered away, waving her arms at passing birds, and calling out greetings to neighborhood dogs.
To Sophie's enormous relief, Ford behaved as though the demanding kiss he'd given her on the porch had never happened. Not once did he glance at her suggestively or maneuver on the narrow sidewalk so that his body "accidentally" touched hers.
"You can slow down some now," he said, easily matching his long strides to hers. "Folks watchin' are gonna think something's happened to put a fire under you."
Something has, she thought, and his name is Ford. "What watching folks?" she asked, casting an uneasy glance at the small, neat houses on either side of Clover Street
.
"It's only an educated guess, but I'd say damn near everyone along this stretch of street."
"Oh, Lord."
Ford glanced at the lace curtains fluttering in the dining room of the Patterson place and imagined that Sally Patterson was already racing to the phone to alert her mother-in-law three doors up to look out through her lace curtains.
He was tempted to drop his arm around Sophie's shoulders, just to give the two devoted gossips something really juicy to chew on. Part of his reason had to do with the streak of pure cussedness he'd learned to tame over the years, even though he'd never quite rid himself of it completely. Mostly, though, he just plain wanted to touch her again.
The more he saw of her, the more she reminded him of a shy, slender-necked doe he'd seen in the Florida Keys once, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. And yet she wasn't a timid woman. Far from it.
For reasons that she kept private and he intended to respect until he had cause not to, she'd arrived with almost nothing, yet managed to provide everything her little girl could possibly need, including love.
She worked long hours, yet no matt
er how tired she might become, she was always willing to listen to Miss Milly Culpepper rattle on about long-dead beaux or to prod Catfish Williams into spinning one of his yarns for her, the ones that have long since driven most local folks into yawning boredom. And she'd handled Rans Talley and a sick baby in a span of a few hours with a gutsy strength that had impressed the hell out of him.
A gleaming 1949 Packard turned the corner and came toward them at a snail's pace, the tiny white-haired driver peering intently through the steering wheel as she concentrated on controlling the enormous sedan. As the big black car drew abreast, the driver glanced their way, then did a double take. Hiding a smile, Ford nodded and lifted a hand. Sensing Sophie's curious glance, he turned toward her. She looked lovely with her hair burnished to a deep golden brown by the sun and her eyes reflecting the clear blue of a nearly cloudless sky.
"I hope you know we're both gonna be ducking polite questions for a good week or so," he informed her solemnly. "If you get tired of answerin', just refer all questions to the sheriff's office."
"I just might do that." She smiled, and he remembered the feel of that sweet mouth against his. For an instant, right before she'd jerked away, she'd been kissing him back. At least, it had sure felt that way.
His body stirred, and he felt his neck growing hot. Good thing he'd had plenty of practice at keeping his appetites under control, he thought as he opened the door to Shepherd's for her. A damn good thing.
"…and fourteen cents is your change." Mr. Shepherd closed the cash drawer and counted the money into Sophie's hand. "I thank you, and Merry Christmas to y'all."
"Merry Christmas to you and Mrs. Shepherd," Sophie returned, stowing the whipping cream in the stroller's seat.
"I'll pass that along to the missus sure enough," the congenial grocer assured her kindly. "She'll be sorry she missed seeing that cute young 'un of yours. Sure has growed some in the last month. And gettin' prettier all the time, just like her mama."
Returning his smile, she glanced around uneasily. Speaking of Jessie, where had Ford taken her? She could hear Jessie's high-pitched jabbering and Ford's deep-throated answers coming from the rear of the cluttered market, but she couldn't see them anywhere.
THE BACHELOR PARTY Page 12
