THE BACHELOR PARTY

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "I promised Miss Fanny I'd be very careful." It was difficult to speak, more difficult to think clearly. "I … if you could help with the zipper," she managed to get out, turning her back to him.

  The dark behind the windows turned them to mirrors, and she found herself watching as he stepped closer. His hands were erotically slow as they traced the curve of the silken straps from her shoulders to the gown's low center. She saw the sheen of his black hair as he dipped his head to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, felt the sliding pressure of his hand as he slowly drew the zipper down to the spot where her spine curved into her backside.

  The dress fell open from its own weight, needing only a nudge from his hands to fall away from her shoulders. Even as he was very carefully laying the dress over the back of the brown chair, he was devouring her with his eyes.

  "Damn if I wasn't right," he murmured, almost reverently. "You weren't wearing anything underneath." No slip, no bra. Just sinfully sheer panty hose that had cost her a day's tips.

  "It has its own bra built in," she murmured, feeling herself trembling. Already her bare breasts were growing heavy from the weight of desire for him.

  "Pretty slick," he said, his voice hoarse. Bending, he kissed one dark nipple, then the other before lifting his gaze to her face.

  "You deserve candlelight and roses," he murmured, brushing the back of his hand over her hot cheek. "And a poet to say all the things a woman needs to hear."

  "The way you're looking at me right now is all I need," she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Ford swallowed hard. It felt like years that he'd been aching for her. Now that she was only a thrust of his body away, her eyes soft and yearning and her lips so close, he was suddenly afraid he'd made promises with his kisses he wasn't skilled enough or experienced enough to keep.

  "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you," he admitted when her gaze turned questioning. "The first time I saw you, before I even knew your name, I wanted to make love to you. I damn near drowned in coffee day after day just so I could watch you."

  "Oh, my," she murmured, bemused and touched. "And here I was thinking you were addicted to caffeine."

  "I'm addicted, all right. But not to caffeine."

  He kissed her fast and hard, then stepped back to rid himself of his sweater. His boots came next, and then his hands were working the buttons of his jeans.

  Fumbling only a little, Sophie removed her panty hose and let them fall to the floor. Then transfixed, and a little frightened, Sophie watched him, letting her gaze flow over the powerful structure of chest and shoulder, the long, muscular arms and wrists, the lean washboard torso tapering to a flat belly.

  He glanced up, his expression rueful. "Never saw it fail. In the movies, those guys can get out of their breeches as smooth as you please."

  The flash of vulnerability in his eyes had her heart opening even as she smiled. "Could be 'those guys' don't wear their jeans as tight as you do."

  He kicked the jeans away, then stripped off the pale blue briefs that were already straining to contain him. Proudly aroused, and definitely not shy now, he advanced on her.

  "Are you sayin' I'm fat?" he asked just before he took her into his arms.

  "I think I'd better take the fifth on that," she murmured, feeling the heat of his body enveloping her far more seductively than the crackling fire behind the screen.

  "Wise decision, honey." He brought his mouth down hard, yet she felt no pain, only elation. Arching upward, she dug desperate fingers into his hard shoulders, pressing her aching breasts against his chest.

  His arm circled her waist, pulling her upward, until they were thigh to thigh, belly to belly, need to need. Shifting position slightly, he drew her even more intimately to him until she was astride the hot, rigid shaft of his sex.

  He shuddered, his groan a long hoarse sigh of need that she felt all the way to her womb. Driven beyond reticence, she moved back and forth, feeling herself grow soft and moist, as tiny shivers of pleasure shook her faster and faster.

  "Hang on to me, sugar," he demanded hoarsely as she rode him faster, harder. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as she came to an unexpected climax, so dizzy she was reeling.

  She cried out, then arched her head back as he replaced his body with his fingers, driving her ruthlessly, relentlessly to yet another shuddering release.

  Half-crazed, Ford saw the rapture bloom on her face, and felt the blood in his loins surging to an almost unbearable pressure.

  His mouth still hotly welded to hers, he drew her to the floor, the taste of his need on her tongue and her lips. As her back pressed against the rough carpet, she found herself clutching him with frantic fingers, unable to lie still, her need a wild demon within her.

  "Now," she panted, desperate to feel again that glorious crescendo of sensation and emotion he'd created in her.

  He drew back, the savage side of his nature rawly visible in eyes that were no longer calm, no longer patient. This man, with fierce eyes and hands that could bruise as easily as arouse, was capable of cruelty as well as kindness. Once freed, the warrior side of his psyche would be impossible to control or resist.

  She felt an instant of fear, and then she was reaching for him again, glorying in the primitive, crystalline emotions pouring from her after being repressed for so long. All that she'd denied herself cried out for him.

  "I need to feel you," she whispered. "Please, Ford. I hurt inside."

  "Oh, baby, so do I!" he exclaimed on a groan before he broke free to draw his jeans to him. His fingers shook as he plucked his wallet from the back pocket. Nearly sobbing, she lay back, her body throbbing, her breath coming in frantic pants, impatiently waiting as he readied the protection he'd promised to use.

  Sheathed now, his own need driving him, Ford sought her mouth with his yet one more time, plunging his tongue deep. Shackling her wrists above her head with one hand, he ran his palm over the silk of her breasts, her waist, her belly, feeling the tiny tremors running under the skin wherever he touched. Inside he burned for her. Only her.

  She was quivering for him. He was throbbing for her.

  Crying his name over and over, she arched toward him, her hands frantic. Driven to the edge, he slammed her legs apart with his knee. Desperation urged him to drive himself into her, but some last thread of sanity had him remembering that she'd borne a child since she'd made love the last time, and he made himself ease into her, feeling her take him in with difficulty at first, and then more easily until he was fully inside her.

  She cried out, and he felt her tighten around him in yet another climax. Exulting, he experienced a primitive jolt of possessiveness, spurring him to mate this woman who made him feel strong and wise and powerful.

  Bracing his hands, he arched back and drove into her again and again, his need spiraling with barbed edges. He felt that first burst of heat, and then he was sucked into the blinding flash of pleasure, years and years of need pulsing out of him.

  Exhausted, and yet soaring, he collapsed, his body blanketing hers as he fought for breath, all his strength in her now. Still exultant, he struggled to draw into himself again, only to discover that the place where he went when his secret soul felt threatened had sealed over. Pouring himself into her had changed him forever.

  Fear ran through him almost as fiercely as the need to make her his. She was part of him now, and he was part of her. Nothing would be the same, and he wasn't sure he was man enough to handle the demands that put on him.

  Closing his eyes, he sought to calm his raging pulse. Beneath him she was still trembling, her breath coming in small pants. Realizing that he was crushing that small body with his, he attempted to lever himself off her, only to have her reach for him. "Don't leave me," she whispered, drawing him to her again.

  "I won't," he promised, turning them both so that she was cushioned atop him now. Cuddling her close, he stroked her hair with a hand that wasn't as steady as it should be, and stared at the ceiling. Was this what it
felt like to want to love someone? he thought. This wild, aching hunger to keep her next to him always? This vicious, desperate need to keep her safe at all costs?

  Suddenly, he was pierced with regret that honor had driven him to protect her. With all his lonely heart and soul, he wished that even now she was carrying his seed deep in her body.

  Next time, he thought, closing his eyes. But even as he let himself savor the possibility of a child of his growing in her womb, a part of him knew that it was only a dream. And he'd given up dreaming a long time ago.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Sophie lay in bed, listening to Jessie jabbering to her teddy bear in the crib across the room. It wasn't yet seven, but she'd been awake for hours, thinking about Ford. Even now, in the harsh light of day, the need for him hadn't diminished. If anything, her need for him had only increased during her fitful sleep.

  "Stop torturing yourself with what can't be," she murmured, dragging herself from the warm blankets. He'd asked for one night, and that night was over.

  Today was the start of a new year, but the harsh circumstances that defined her life hadn't changed. She was still a woman on the run, and he was the one man who could destroy the new life she'd made for herself and Jessie. No matter how much pleasure she might find in his bed, how much solace they might share, she couldn't take the chance of losing Jessie.

  The next time she saw him she would be pleasant, even friendly. They were both adults, after all, she rationalized as she slipped into her robe and tied the sash. And if he asked her out again, she would simply decline, politely but firmly. Very firmly.

  Sensing movement, Jessie turned over and sat up, her arms automatically reaching for her mother. Sophie drew a resigned breath as she slipped her feet into her scuffs.

  "Good morning, sunshine," Sophie crooned, lifting her free of the bars. "You're bright eyed this morning. We'll go visit Peter after breakfast, but first Mama has to change that soggy old diaper."

  Jessie cooed and chattered while Sophie changed and dressed her in tights and a warm shirt. "Sometimes life can be very complicated," she told Jessie sadly. "Sometimes it hurts to find out how much you care about the wrong person. I cared about your daddy until I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was. Now I'm pretty sure I'm in love with Ford, and that means you and I have a big problem."

  Jessie watched solemnly while Sophie tied her tiny sneakers. "We may have to move on, Jessie Bear. I know you'd hate that. I would, too, but staying here, feeling the way I do about Ford, it's going to be so hard."

  She was just brushing the bouncy baby curls into some kind of order when someone knocked on the door. "Come in," she called, lifting Jessie into her arms.

  It was Katie, looking harried and flushed. "Sorry to bother you before you're even dressed, but I just heard it on the radio. Ford and some of his deputies went after Frenchy Ducette early this morning, and Ford's been shot."

  Part of a state highway, Clover Street

  ran the length of Clover, from the southern limit to the northern. Katie's rooming house was no more than a half mile from the town hall, an easy walk on a pretty day, but as she hurried toward the business district, Sophie was oblivious to everything but the fear pounding in her heart and the uncertainties still whirling in her head.

  Katie had made call after call, allowing them to piece together the bare facts. Two local teenagers, members of prominent families, had gotten liquored up on some of Frenchy's finest and had decided to drag race on a lonely strip of road outside of town. One of the boys had been killed, the other grievously injured.

  Ford had been called out around 2:00 a.m. By three, acting on information he'd gotten from the seventeen-year-old survivor, he and four of his deputies had flushed Frenchy from his well-hidden digs in the densest part of the woods bordering Deadman's Slough. Shots had been exchanged, and both Frenchy and Ford had been rushed to the hospital by the fire department ambulance. Frenchy had been dead on arrival. Ford's condition wasn't known.

  Eli Grover was just stepping from his squad car in front of the fortresslike town hall when Sophie approached. Turning at her call, he waited, tight-lipped and tense, until she reached his side.

  "How's Ford?" she asked without bothering with more than a cursory greeting.

  "Last I heard, he was still at the hospital."

  "Did you see him?"

  The young deputy shook his head. "Doc wouldn't let any of us see him. I figured Ford wouldn't want me cooling my heels in the waiting room on taxpayers' time, so I went back on patrol." He glanced toward the building. "Come on in, and I'll see what I can find out for both of us."

  "Thanks."

  Clearly she wasn't the only one seeking information. The basement offices were crammed with local reporters and curiosity seekers. Following the officer to Ford's office—according to Eli, the only place where they could speak privately—Sophie spotted Clover's mayor talking with the editor of the newspaper and another man she didn't know.

  "I'll be right back," Eli said, leaving her alone in the office.

  Too nervous to sit, Sophie paced, stopping in front of the various plaques and photos on the walls without really seeing them.

  He's not dead, she told herself for the umpteenth time, pausing to stare at the collage of photos representing the chain of command.

  Ford's photo was at the top of the ragged pyramid. All the photos were similar, the background the same for all. Most of the men were young, though not all. Some were handsome, some homely, some merely nondescript. None of those faces had the same combination of strength, integrity and compelling depth that Ford's had.

  "You are so special," she whispered, caressing that seamed, angular face with her gaze. If only she'd met him first, she thought, feeling sadness well inside her.

  Hearing Eli's footsteps, she turned to face him, her spine braced.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am," Eli said, closing the door behind him. "According to Mayor Fall, the sheriff left the hospital about two hours ago, and no one's seen him since." He checked his watch, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

  "Does that mean he wasn't badly hurt?" she asked on a rush of hope.

  "Gettin' shot is always bad." Eli stared down at a stack of reports waiting Ford's signature. "The sheriff got lucky this time, is all. The bullet went clear through his shoulder. Doc said it was loss of blood that made him pass out. He damn near pleaded with the sheriff to stay in the hospital at least overnight, but Ford wasn't havin' any of that. Got up from the table after Doc pumped some blood in him and sewed him up. Just took off."

  "Maybe he's at home." Eli picked up the phone and punched out the number he'd obviously memorized. Many unanswered rings later, he hung up.

  "Maybe he's at his sister's place," he said suddenly, reaching for the phone.

  "Yes, maybe he is, although Katie and I have taken turns calling Lucy's house since we heard what happened. There's been no answer."

  "Maybe I'll have better luck," he said, flipping through Ford's Rolodex for the number. Too nervous to sit, Sophie paced while he punched the number. The result was the same. No answer.

  "It all happened so fast," Eli grated as he hung up. "Frenchy had the place booby-trapped and, dumb me, I stepped wrong, settin' up this god-awful racket. Frenchy came out shootin', and woulda got me for sure if the sheriff hadn't shoved me on my ass—beg pardon, my posterior." He cleared his throat, obviously shaken, and Sophie indicated that she understood.

  "The sheriff dropped old Frenchy with one shot, right through the heart. None of us knew the sheriff had taken a bullet until he just … folded up." His fingers plowed furrows in his short hair. "I don't mind admittin' I was damn scared." He lifted his gaze to hers, and they shared a look of misery.

  "At least he's alive."

  Eli drew a noisy breath. His face was abnormally pale, and his eyes were red-rimmed and weary. "Maybe he's sleepin'. Doc said he needed rest more'n anything."

  "You're p
robably right."

  "Ford's one tough son of a gun. He'll be fine."

  "I'm sure he will." She glanced at the ceiling, remembering the last time she'd been in the office and the crime she'd committed. A fresh surge of guilt ran through her, followed by a resurgence of worry. Dropping her gaze to Eli's face, she saw the same worry mirrored in his dark eyes.

  "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to check on him, though," she suggested. "Just in case."

  "I'm off duty in another few minutes. I'll run by his place on my way home."

  She expelled a relieved breath. "If you don't mind, I think I'll ride along."

  His mouth curved in a sympathetic smile. "I reckon that's what you had in mind all along, isn't it?"

  She nodded, her stomach knotted with nerves. "It's just that I don't have a car or a driver's license—"

  "Don't apologize for worryin' about him, Miss Sophie. Ford's been waitin' a long time for the right woman to come along. I'm right glad it's you that did."

  Eli said very little on the drive to Ford's house, and Sophie was grateful for the silence. She'd been jumpy and on edge since Katie had brought her the news.

  "Is that Ford's car?" she cried as the sun glinted off something shiny beyond the trees.

  "Looks like," Eli said, expelling a long breath.

  The woodsy clearing surrounding the house seemed to be sleeping in the bright winter sunshine filtering through the trees. The house itself seemed deserted, its large windows opaque with reflected sunlight.

  Eli parked the squad car behind its twin and killed the engine. Silence settled once again. "You want I should come in with you?" he asked, instinctively casting a quick look around.

  "No, I'll just slip in quietly and see if he's sleeping."

  "I'll wait."

  Sophie opened the car door and stepped out. "I won't be long," she said before closing it quietly.

  Crossing the lawn, she heard the sound of water rippling over rocks, but Lost Creek itself was hidden from view by thick underbrush lining the banks. She paused at Ford's front door, struck by a moment of uncertainty. It was one thing to be frantic with worry, another to barge into a man's home unannounced and uninvited.