THE BACHELOR PARTY

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Ford glanced at his deputy with narrowed eyes. "How can you tell?"

  "He has sweet eyes."

  "Sweet, huh?" His mouth twitched. "Guess that's somethin' only a woman would notice."

  Glancing around, Sophie drew a nervous breath. Everywhere she looked, she saw color—twinkling lights on the trees, garlands of red and green crepe paper, candles in colorful holders. It was a young crowd, and the music had a pounding beat. It came to her that she couldn't remember the last time she'd been to a party without engraved invitations, tuxedoed waiters and a lot of bored faces.

  "C'mon, help me find the bar." Ford had to lean close to be heard. Though his breath was warm, she felt a shiver run through her.

  "Okay."

  He led the way, stopping now and then to introduce her to one of the other guests. She was surprised at the number of familiar faces she saw. With Ford's help, she was soon matching names to faces and feeling much more at ease.

  The kitchen was empty. With the door closed, the music was reduced to a muted throb, and the temperature was a few degrees cooler than the crowded living room. As Eli had promised, the kitchen counter was practically sagging from the weight of bottles, along with a plentiful supply of ice in a plastic bucket and an array of plastic glasses.

  "Somehow I thought people didn't drink much in the Bible Belt."

  "Only on special occasions," Ford told her solemnly. "Like the first and last day of the month and the thirty or so days that come between."

  "Aha. Sounds like timber country."

  He glanced at her curiously. "I thought folks in Montana considered themselves cowboys."

  Sophie felt a quick stab of anxiety. "Some do."

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied, but her throat was suddenly dry, though, paradoxically, her hands felt revealingly damp.

  "What would you like?" Ford asked, still watching her with eyes that were very clear and very steady.

  "Something soft, please," she murmured.

  "Ginger ale okay?"

  "Fine."

  While he poured, she wandered over to the window overlooking the floodlit backyard. Azaleas were blooming beneath the window, their bright red blossoms clearly visible through the lightly misted panes.

  "I still can't get over it," she murmured. "Flowers blooming on New Year's Eve."

  "Guess it's gotta be depressing up north around this time," he said, handing her a glass. He gave off waves of pure male energy, carefully controlled.

  "Yes," she said. "Very depressing." She'd spent last New Year's Eve heartsick and pregnant, lying in her narrow prison bed when the calendar had clicked over to a new year.

  "Guess you know I damn near swallowed my tongue when I saw you in that dress." His voice was suddenly a half octave deeper than usual, and her pulse was at least a dozen beats faster.

  "It belonged to Miss Fanny's mother. When I saw it, I wanted to roll back the rug and do the Charleston."

  His grin flashed. Finding his eyes, it lingered. "Seems fittin'."

  She shook her head. "No, the mood's all wrong," she declared with a mournful sigh.

  "It is?" Though not as broad, his smile still played at the corners of his mouth. It suited him, she thought, that restrained way he had of handling amusement.

  "Oh, yes. We should have had to give Eli the secret password before he let us in." She took a sip of her drink and let the bubbly ginger ale slide down her throat. "And we should be drinking bathtub gin out of teacups instead of ginger ale and…" She glanced pointedly at the drink in his hand.

  "Scotch." He drank it neat, and he knew his capacity to the sip.

  "Scotch," she repeated, smiling. "Not some of Frenchy's finest?"

  "Not with most of Clover's police force just outside that door."

  "Ah, but you're the boss. You can break the rules."

  "I can, but I don't."

  "Never?"

  "Never." Ford wondered if she had any idea what she was doing to his control every time she moved. If there was anything but silky warm skin under that dress, it was whisper thin. Just imagining how it would feel to shimmy that scrap of material, beads and all, over those sleek feminine curves was doing serious damage to his self-control.

  Already seriously tempted to make some excuse and spirit her away to someplace private and quiet, good manners be damned, he couldn't for the life of him figure out how he was going to make it to midnight without going stark staring mad. Scowling suddenly, he took a hefty swallow and waited for the liquor to blunt the sharp edges of need.

  "How about something to eat?" he asked, gesturing with his drink toward the door.

  "Sure," she said, curving her lips, even as the playful softness faded from her eyes. "Maybe I'll pick up some new catering ideas."

  She walked out of the kitchen ahead of him, her hips teasing him with every step. He'd disappointed her. He didn't know why, though it didn't particularly surprise him. He hadn't been a particularly lovable little boy, though he'd tried to be for a lot of years, and he wasn't a lovable man. Once he'd accepted that, it had gotten easier to accept the solitary life everyone just naturally believed he'd deliberately chosen for himself.

  "Ford! Is it really you, you old hermit, you?"

  Ford nearly groaned aloud as Deputy Mervin Grimes's wife, Karen, charged toward him. "Happy New Year, Karen," he said, turning his head at the last minute so that her exuberant kiss landed on the flat of his cheek. It didn't help his mood to see three of his so-called good buddies closing in around Sophie before he could stop them.

  "I swear I called Merv a liar right to his face this afternoon when he said you'd promised to show up tonight," Karen gushed as was her wont. "'You've got to be jokin' with me,' I told him. 'Ford never goes to parties.'"

  He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a drink. Over the rim he saw Sophie laughing at something Nick Fielding had just told her. For a man supposed to be grieving over a failed marriage, old Nick was spending a lot of time looking at Sophie's dress as though he couldn't wait to strip her out of it. Not that Ford could blame him much. It wasn't much more than a scrap of fabric and a bunch of little bitty beads that stopped just a full hand's width above the knee.

  She had pale satiny thighs to go with the sleek calves he'd already decided were the sexiest thing he'd seen in a coon's age, and just enough curve to her hips to boost a man's blood pressure a good ten points. If the surge of hot blood in his veins was any indication, his was rocketing toward the red zone.

  "Ford?" Karen's plaintive voice jerked his gaze back to her face. She was a nice woman, he reminded himself, and Mervin had been sober these past five years mostly because of her.

  "How's the family?" he asked, knowing that she would tell him. And that he would listen politely until she ran out of things to say.

  By the time Merv came looking for his wife, taking her away in the midst of a detailed replay of Merv, Jr.'s last wrestling match, Ford's glass was empty, and Sophie was nowhere in sight.

  Ellie Grover was as plain as Eli was handsome, with flaming orange hair, pale skin dotted with freckles and a charmingly crooked smile. Small-boned and dainty, with golden eyes and pale, pale lashes, she was hugely pregnant with their first child, and when she'd found out that Sophie had a daughter, she'd insisted on showing her the nursery.

  "I made the curtains myself, but my mama and sister helped me with the quilt."

  Sophie fingered the soft coverlet draped over the rails of the shiny white crib and fought down a wave of bitterness. When she'd given birth to Jessie, the prison officials hadn't even let her keep the baby with her overnight.

  "I love the colors. I didn't realize there were so many different shades of pink."

  "Eli wanted our first to be a son, but I think he's finally gettin' excited about seein' his daughter." Ellie Grover rubbed a caressing hand over her bulging tummy, her eyes lit with so much love Sophie had trouble breathing.

  "I'm sure he'll adore her," she murmured, hoping she was right.

  Ellie smile
d. "Did your husband want a son, too?"

  Sophie felt her stomach twist. "We never really had a chance to talk about the baby very much before he died. In fact, I'd only just learned I was pregnant."

  "Oh, I am sorry," Ellie said, her pretty face registering genuine dismay. "I could just bite my tongue for speakin' so thoughtlessly."

  Sophie touched the hand Ellie rested on her stomach. "Please don't give it another thought."

  "How long has it been since he died?"

  A lifetime, and yet not nearly long enough to enable her to forget that horrible night. "Almost eighteen months."

  "It must be hard raisin' your little girl by yourself." Ellie drew a breath.

  "It's had its moments, but I've been fortunate to find good friends here to help."

  Though Ellie smiled, Sophie sensed that something was troubling her. About the baby? she wondered. The delivery?

  She remembered how frightened she'd been those last few weeks before she'd delivered. And at the same time, how eager to see the face of the child she'd already come to know and love. Her cell mate by then, Darlene had held her hand during the long hours of labor she'd been forced to endure without medication or medical attention until the last possible minute. And it had been Darlene who had heard her sobbing out her nearly unbearable anguish when a hatchet-faced social worker had taken her baby from her only a few hours after delivery.

  "When are you due?" she asked casually.

  "In two weeks. Eli's already arranged with the sheriff to take time off. At first he was sort of afraid to, for fear that Sheriff Maguire would think we were ungrateful, him lending us the money for the down payment on this house and all so soon after giving Eli the job."

  "I'm sure that even Sheriff Maguire understands how special babies are."

  "Oh, he does," Ellie was quick to reply. "Eli said he's even delivered one himself. Or maybe you heard the story?"

  Sophie shook her head. "No, but I'd like to."

  "The mama's name was Alice Freedlander, from up on the mountain? Her husband got killed in an accident at the rock crusher, and when Ford went up to tell her the news, he found her about ready to deliver, poor woman. It was her first, and the baby was shifted all wrong."

  "Did everything turn out all right?"

  "Yes, praise the Lord, although it was a near thing. Being winter and all, those mountain roads were really dangerous, even with four-wheel drive. Sheriff had to park at the bottom of the Freedlanders' lane and hike two miles to the house. Had to carry Alice and the baby back those same two miles. Got himself a good case of pneumonia for his trouble, too. Alice swears he saved her life, and Doc Gossely pretty much agreed. Alice even named her little girl Fordene."

  Sophie blinked. "Oh, my."

  Ellie giggled. "Awful, isn't it?"

  "It's unusual, to say the least," Sophie admitted, choosing caution over brutal honesty. "Was Ford … the sheriff pleased?"

  "I hope to shout! He fairly doted on that sweet little girl. Grieved some when her mama got married again and moved to New Orleans. Folks swore Alice was really in love with the sheriff, and would have married him in a minute, only everyone knows he's not the marryin' kind." Ellie bent forward to rearrange the pile of stuffed animals in the corner of the crib. "Guess you know you've got folks wonderin' if he's changin' his mind about that."

  Sophie drew a breath. "If you're asking if Ford and I are involved, we're not."

  "Truth to tell, I didn't think you were, but Eli, he and the other deputies were hopin' the sheriff had finally found a woman who could put up with him. Sort of mellow him out some, you know?"

  "They don't like working for him?"

  "Oh, no, it's not that," Ellie said, managing to look guilty and worried at the same time. "It's just that, well, he's a perfectionist, you know?"

  "That can make things difficult sometimes."

  "Very!" Ellie glanced around nervously, then leaned closer. "He fired a deputy once for not arrestin' a man for drunk drivin' because he was a judge. Said some innocent person might have gotten hurt or even killed because of that."

  "He's right."

  "Sure, but that poor old deputy had three kids at home and a brand-new house. I mean, everyone's entitled to a second chance, don't you think?"

  "I believe that, yes. But I also know that life doesn't always work that way."

  "That's what Eli said." The young mother-to-be drew a long breath. "Guess we'd better get back to the party before Eli starts worrying about me."

  Ford was sorting through the CDs lined up neatly on a shelf near Eli's sound system when he saw Sophie and Ellie emerge from the hall, laughing together. For an instant, his mind played him dirty, mixing the two so that he could suddenly see Sophie in the full bloom of pregnancy, her belly swollen with his child.

  Faster than he could take a breath, his stomach muscles twisted into knots. A man who'd given up a dream learned never to dream again. But now, suddenly, he saw himself standing next to Sophie in a nursery like the one Ellie was so proud of, maybe decorated in blue for a son. His son.

  A longing so great swept over him, nearly sending him to his knees. He could almost see himself teaching the boy to fish for mud cats on the bank in front of his place. And Jessie, too, he thought, smiling to himself at the thought of becoming that little hellion's daddy. But first, he had to convince Sophie that he would be a good one.

  Drawing a breath, he watched her head for the buffet table, her dress shimmering and swaying with every step she took. It was just possible he'd been all wrong about marriage being as good as prison for a man like him, especially when he had a woman like Sophie in his bed every night. Because he was tempted to throw her over his shoulder and head for his place at a fast trot, he made himself concentrate on the CDs he still held in his hand.

  When he came to vintage Johnny Mathis, he grinned to himself. He wasn't the greatest dancer in the world, but he could manage to keep from bumping into the furniture for a dance or two. And if his luck held, he might not have to do much moving around at all.

  Sophie was piling pimento cheese spread on a cracker when she felt a funny little tickle run up her spine. "Good recipe?" Pitched low to carry over the music, Ford's voice rumbled through her like unexpected desire.

  She took a moment to let her pulse settle before lifting her gaze to Ford's. His gaze had lost none of the directness she'd come to associate with him.

  "Try it and see." Feeling just a little daring, she held the cracker close to his mouth, offering him the bite she'd been about to take for herself. His gaze flickered, grew wary, but he allowed her to feed him.

  "I'd rather have chili," he said, running his tongue between his lips.

  Sophie laughed. "Your sister warned me I'd have trouble with you."

  "My sister has a vivid imagination and a big mouth."

  "And you love her very much, big brother."

  His face took on a sudden flush. "Sometimes." He shifted his attention to the center of the room where several couples had started swaying to the music.

  "How about it?" he said, feeling fourteen and dry-mouth scared he was going to be turned down.

  Her gaze followed his. "I haven't danced for years," she murmured, looking sad and eager at the same time.

  "About time you did, then," he said, taking her hand. He led her to the darkest spot he could find, then swung her into his arms.

  "We fit," he murmured, drawing her closer. "Must be an omen."

  He hadn't held a woman for the pure pleasure of feeling her body gliding against his since he couldn't remember when. She was all silk and sheen, melting in his arms. Her skin was glass smooth where his hand rested against her back, and her hair smelled like roses.

  "Everyone's watching," she murmured when he lowered his head to nuzzle her ear. He knew damn near everyone in the room was watching. He knew what they were thinking. He didn't give a holy spit what they thought.

  "Let 'em watch. Tomorrow morning I'll line up every man that's here tonight and make
'em swear they'd spent the whole evening struck blind."

  She sputtered a laugh. Damn, even her laughter had a sexy sound, he thought, conscious of the hot fingers of desire spreading inside him. He closed his eyes, knowing that he was vulnerable then, something he normally made a point to avoid at all costs. It annoyed him a little that he would be willing to break his own rule for her. It didn't surprise him. Ever since he'd met her, his carefully ordered regimen had taken more than a few hard shakes.

  Tomorrow he'd get himself on track again, he thought, feeling her thighs moving against his. Tomorrow he'd sort out his options and plan his campaign. Definitely tomorrow, he thought, drawing in the warm, sensuous scent of her perfume. She was so softly alluring, so feminine. And he'd gone to bed alone too many nights lately.

  He held her shamelessly close, his movements slow and sinuous, each shift of lean hip and muscular thigh sending pulsing jolts of desire into Sophie's bloodstream. She'd always loved dancing, but she'd never felt quite so dominated on the dance floor. His arms were like steel, and yet she felt wrapped in cotton wool like one of Katie's delicate glass ornaments, as though she were a treasure to be protected at all costs. It was a lovely feeling, almost as lovely as the slide of his hard thighs against hers and the press of his callused hand against her spine.

  Snuggled tightly against him, she reveled in the feeling of his muscles straining against hers, her excitement growing with each gliding move, each small shift in direction. Gradually she became acutely aware that he was as aroused as she was.

  "Sophie?"

  Suddenly aware that he'd stopped moving, she fluttered her eyes open and looked at him, aware that she was blushing.

  "Either we leave now, or I'm going to end up making love to you right here and now."

  "You wouldn't," she whispered, suddenly unsteady on her feet. Looking helplessly into those dark, unerringly focused eyes had her drawing an equally unsteady breath. She wasn't a woman given to swooning, but suddenly she felt overwhelmed. Dizzy.

  "I never say anything I don't mean," he murmured, his voice graveled. "'Course, if you'd care to test that—"