"Now, honey, don't get all bent out of shape," he urged quickly. "I'm fixin' to help with the heavy jobs."
Her already morose mood took a nosedive. Tonight was the last she would spend under Ford's roof, the last time they would make love. The last time she would fall asleep in his arms. She didn't want to waste time washing dishes and polishing furniture.
Don't think about it, she warned herself sternly as she felt the tears pressing her throat. Concentrate on now, this minute. And then the next, and the next.
"I hope you know where we can rent a bulldozer, because from the looks of all those beer bottles and other stuff, that's what it's going to take," she muttered, shooting him a look that he returned with a decidedly embarrassed grin.
"I'd intended to have this mostly done by the time you got here, but Lucy showed up unexpectedly and we had one of those tussles that wear me out."
Sophie studied his face. He did look a bit frayed around the edges—and extremely virile in a red-and-black flannel shirt that added breadth to his already impressive chest.
"Let me put Jessie down, and then you can fill me in on Lucy's latest while we work," she murmured, wondering how she was going to find the strength to get on that bus in a little less than forty-eight hours.
"Here, let me," he said, slipping his hands between her and the baby. Four months ago she would have fought tooth and nail before she'd let anyone else hold her child. Now she simply smiled and let him take her. Funny how easily trust grew when you loved someone, she thought, rolling up her sleeves. And how easily it could be destroyed, sometimes with just a barbed word, or an act of cruelty.
A memory of those last strained months with Wells rose in her mind, only to be banished as ruthlessly as he'd tried to kill their baby. Ford was Jessie's father now, at least for the hours that remained to them.
By the time he returned she'd carried most of the empty glasses to the sink, and had returned to the living room to collect the empty bottles and cans for recycling.
"Looks better already," he said, looking supremely pleased as though he himself had been the one doing the work.
"I realize that washing up and disposing of the trash was included in the price I quoted you, but this place needs a good hosing," she muttered, eyeing a smear of guacamole on the coffee table, not far from an overflowing ashtray.
"You're right," he drawled, coming up behind her. "You definitely deserve a bonus."
He stroked her hair, then drew down the neck of her sweatshirt with a caressing fingertip before dropping a kiss on the skin he'd uncovered. His mouth was warm and clever, sending a ripple of sensation down her spine.
"I will never, ever agree to cater another bachelor party," she murmured on a gasp as he suddenly swirled his tongue over the skin he'd just kissed. "Ah, don't do that," she managed to rasp out between delicious little shivers.
"You don't like to be kissed?" His mouth made a seductive foray along the neckline of her shirt, pausing to trace the folds of her ear before he nipped the sensitive earlobe with his teeth.
"I, um, what did you say?" she asked, her mind suddenly attending to more immediate matters, like the invasive warmth stealing up from the cleft between her breasts.
"I said, don't you like to be kissed?" The low, throaty timbre to his voice seemed to shiver through her, leaving her feeling itchy inside.
"I … yes, when I'm not trying to, ah, work."
"All work and no play makes Ford a very horny boy." The low throb of need in his voice sent pleasure spilling into her midsection.
"Everything makes you horny," she murmured, and then felt herself grow hot when his laughter rumbled close to her ear.
"Just everything connected with you," he corrected, nipping her ear with his teeth while his arms stole around her waist to pull her back against him. "Like the smell of soap you use. And the way your hair feels against my mouth and the little snoring sounds you make when you sleep."
"I don't snore," she managed to expel along with a small gasp.
He pressed his lips to her neck, touching her with the tip of his tongue. "Well, maybe it's more like a cute little purring sound," he murmured before concentrating on her ear.
"Purring is not nearly as, ah, bad as hogging the covers."
"A traditional male prerogative."
She smiled to hear that his voice had become nearly as husky as hers. Whatever else he might be feeling about her—or not feeling—he seemed to be as vulnerable to her sexually as she was to him. It seemed a miracle that he could want her so much—the same plain, boring woman Wells had called frigid.
"Ford?" she whispered, aching to give him something in return.
"Hmm?"
She turned in his arms until they were face-to-face, his hands still linked loosely at the small of her back. "You look very tired."
He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. "I do?"
Nodding, she ran her fingertip along the taut line of his lower lip. "Tense, too."
"Yeah?" His eyes were definitely darker and definitely wary.
"I think you're right about working too hard," she murmured, threading both hands into the thick silk of his sin-black hair.
His nostrils flared, and a flame took hold in his eyes. "Maybe I should take some time off."
"Definitely," she murmured, absorbed in a study of his mouth. His lips were supple, his teeth white and not quite perfectly aligned, and he had a small white scar curving downward toward his hard jaw.
Enchanted, she arched upward until she could reach his mouth with hers. Instead of kissing him, however, she touched her tongue very lightly to the right corner, the one that never really relaxed, even when he smiled. His breath hissed between his suddenly parted lips, signaling a rare loss of control.
"I read somewhere that kissing is a great exercise for reducing stress," she whispered as she drew back far enough to watch his expression.
"Is that an invitation or a challenge?"
"Definitely an invitation."
Something wild flashed in his eyes, making the centers widen and darken. Her sudden aggressiveness was as arousing as it was unexpected. Even as he bent his head to kiss her, her fingers were busy with the buttons of his shirt.
"Whoa, honey," he said, half in protest and half in anticipation.
Ignoring him, she skimmed her hands across his belly, then tugged the shirt free. Simply the friction of shirt against skin had him half-aroused. When her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans to free the button, he felt his body surge to full readiness.
Everything happened fast after that. Between hot, drugging kisses, they undressed each other, careless of buttons and snaps and zippers until they were both wild with need. But it was Sophie who led, Sophie who took him on a breathless, sensual ride that had him mindless and wanting.
It was she who drew him to the soft cushions of the sofa, she who pushed him to his back so that she could rain soft, open-mouthed kisses over his face, his shoulders, his chest. Yielding control was as foreign to him as tears, but somehow it was easy to give when she asked, a joy to receive what he had meant to give.
When at last she straddled him, he was helpless to do more than sink desperate fingers into the cushions beneath him and try to keep from bringing down the roof with the groans each shift of her body wrung from him.
The last thing he knew before the world erupted in a savage convulsion was the sound of her voice, telling him that she loved him.
Sophie put the last of the serving bowls in the dishwasher and arched her tired back before attacking the counter full of glasses and dishes.
The smell of stale booze assaulted her nose, making her terribly sad. What had seemed so festive only a few hours earlier now seemed to mock her. All the prewedding parties were done. Tomorrow Emma and Mike would marry, and begin their life together. Sunday night, she would leave as she'd come, with only a few belongings and her daughter. Her eyes stung, and her throat ached, but Sophie refused to cry. The hours were going to tick away, no m
atter how she spent them. Besides, she didn't dare let Ford see that she was upset.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her that he was still sound asleep on the couch where she'd left him nearly a half hour before, drowsy and spent after their lovemaking. As soon as she was done in the kitchen, she would wake him with a kiss, and together they would check on Jessie, taking turns kissing her as she slept. And then they would go to bed. More than making love she wanted to sleep in his arms, so close her heartbeat would synchronize with his. And then in the morning, they would make love one last, lingering time.
Biting her lip, she reached for the last glass, only to find it sticky with the residue of a Bloody Mary. She froze, her gaze riveted on the red liquid. In her mind she heard voices—hers, begging Wells not to hurt the baby; his, an ugly snarl of sound, spewing invective. And then a last terrible scream as he lost his footing and plunged headfirst toward the floor below.
Suddenly it wasn't juice but blood she was seeing, its coppery scent filling her nostrils until she gagged. It was Wells's blood staining her hands, Wells's last terrible cry imprinted on her brain.
"Sophie?"
Dimly she was aware that Ford had come into the kitchen and was calling her name. She tried to reassure him only to discover that her teeth were chattering so violently she couldn't speak.
Ford closed his arms protectively around her and tried to make sense of the wild emotion in her eyes. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice as soothing as he could make it. "Are you hurt?"
"He was trying to k-kill me," she stammered, her teeth still chattering. "He was so s-strong, he c-came at me—" She broke off, remembering the terror that had given her the strength she'd needed to break away just as he'd been poised to throw her down the steps.
"Who tried to kill you?"
"Wells. My husband." She gulped air, chilled to the bone. She couldn't seem to stop shivering. "We argued, and he l-lost his temper. I'd never seen him like that. He was vicious, like an a-animal." Closing her eyes, she buried her face against his shoulder and tried to wash the hideous memories from her mind.
"It's okay now," he said, stroking her back slowly and gently. "It's over. It's all over."
She put her arms around his waist and hung on, needing to absorb his strength. "It'll never be over," she whispered. "Not as long as his parents blame me."
"Shh," he whispered, feeling her arms tighten around him. He'd never felt so helpless, so damned useless. It was a man's job to protect his woman, not dump his problems on her. It was also his job to take on her problems and do his best to solve them for her. What he couldn't solve, he carried without complaint, knowing that at least he was sparing her more pain. But this was beyond him.
"I didn't intend for the evening to end like this," she whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Shh." Ford brushed the disheveled hair from her face and was dismayed to find his hand wet with tears. The need to see laughter in her eyes instead of sadness ran through him with a strength more powerful than the fiercest rage. Whatever she wanted, he would do his best to give her.
"He ordered me to have an abortion," she said in a numbed monotone. "He always used s-something, he s-said, so it couldn't be his."
Oh, God, he thought, wanting to strangle the man with his bare hands. "He was wrong."
Sophie heard the quiet steel of conviction in his voice and gave her heart to him forever. "You believe me," she whispered, tears she didn't want to shed now streaming down her face.
"Yes, I believe you," he murmured, his voice thick.
"But your m-mother—"
"You're nothing like my mother, Sophie. It took me a while to let myself believe that, but, subconsciously, I think I knew that the first minute I laid eyes on you."
He took her face in his hands and kissed her trembling mouth. "Oh, Ford, I love you, more than you'll ever know, but—"
"No buts. We've done enough talkin' for one night. What you need right now is sleep, and this old boy is goin' see that you get it."
Before she could utter a protest, he'd swept her into his arms and was marching through the living room, one very dear, very tough, very naked man.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Sophie had arranged with Peg to get off early on Saturday, but she hadn't felt comfortable leaving the diner until the morning rush had eased. By the time she got back to Katie's, Miss Fanny had given Jessie her bath and settled her in her crib to play while she'd attended to her own toilette.
As soon as the bathroom had been free, Sophie had taken a quick shower, washed the smell of frying bacon from her hair and blown it dry. While Jessie chattered to the fluffy white bunny Ford had given her for her ten-month birthday, Sophie carefully applied her makeup, then slipped into her only pair of panty hose and the same cotton bra Ford had asked her to remove for him. Remembering, she felt her skin warm as the familiar heaviness settled low in her body. She suspected that it would take a very long time before she stopped missing him.
"Mama?"
"Yes, sweetie, Mama's here," she murmured, taking her new dress from the hanger. "We're going to a wedding today. Aunt Katie's going to be the bridesmaid and Ford is going to be the best man."
He was coming to pick them up in less than thirty minutes. She and Jessie were to be his guests, though Emma had made it very clear just yesterday when she'd been visiting Katie that she was happy Sophie had agreed to attend. She'd even extended an invitation to the housewarming she and Mike were planning shortly after their return from their honeymoon, an invitation Sophie had accepted, even though she knew she'd be long gone by then.
"Mama!" Jessie rattled the bars of her crib, her patience finally reaching its limit.
"Just let Mama put on her dress, and then we'll get Jessie dressed, too," she said, opening the closet door. The dress was a simple shirtwaist of crinkled periwinkle cotton. She'd bought it because she liked the way the skirt swirled whenever she walked. And because a wedding was supposed to be festive and gay, she'd replaced the simple stretchy belt with brightly colored scarves twisted into a flowing sash.
"Okay, Jessie Bear, first we'll change this soggy old diaper, and then we'll get you dressed."
Five minutes later she was buckling Jessie's fat, restless foot into one of her new white satin slippers when Katie came in, looking like a fairy-tale princess in yellow satin and lace.
"What do you think?" Katie asked, her voice a little breathy and her color heightened.
"Turn around," Sophie ordered, tilting her head for a better view. Frowning, Katie spun in a slow circle, careful to keep her hands from mussing the full skirt.
"You are utterly and truly gorgeous," Sophie told her with absolute sincerely. "Yellow is definitely your color."
"You don't think my hair's too fussy?" Expelling a nervous breath, Katie patted the cascade of light brown curls that Jeannie at the Beauty Boutique had spent a good hour creating.
"Not a bit. In fact, it makes the hat look even prettier tilted to one side."
Katie crossed to the mirror and eyed her image critically. "Considerin' that this is the third time I've been asked to stand up with one of my friends, you'd think I wouldn't be as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room of rockin' chairs."
Keeping one hand on Jessie's shoulder to keep her still, Sophie rummaged in the drawer for the mate to the shoe the baby was presently trying to remove.
"Trust me," she said, coming up with the other shoe. "You look beautiful, and you'll make a superb bridesmaid."
"I think that's becoming my callin' in life. 'Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.'" Katie drew another long, nervous breath before turning to face Sophie again. "You look pretty spectacular yourself. I love that dress, by the way. Where did you find it?"
"Just between us, I found it at the resale shop over on Cyprus Street
," she said, lifting Jessie, now coiffed, adorably dressed and fashionably shod, into her arms for a quick cuddle. "I spent more th
an I should, but I couldn't resist."
Her dress hadn't cost nearly as much as Jessie's, and yet she'd had to wrestle with her conscience before she'd bought herself anything at all. Every cent was precious now.
After four months of making every penny do the work of two, she'd managed to put aside a small nest egg, enough to buy a bus ticket to Syracuse and tide them over for the week or so it would take for her to find work and bring home her first paycheck.
Before the bank closed on Friday she'd drawn all but a few dollars from her checking account. She hadn't dared to pack yet, but she'd made sure all of Jessie's things were clean, and that she had an adequate supply of disposable diapers, baby food and canned formula.
Sunday morning, after the sham phone call, she would get out the battered suitcase she'd bought at a garage sale in Portland and fill it up with Jessie's things first, then with her own. Whatever was left, Katie could give to the Salvation Army.
"Katie? Oh, there you are, dear." Miss Fanny came bustling into the room with Rose Ruth at her heels. Both ladies were turned out in their finest—her signature rose-colored silk for Rose Ruth and flowered crepe for Miss Fanny. Both were wearing what Rose Ruth called their best "Sunday go-to-meeting" hats.
"Birdie," Jessie squealed as soon as she spied the fluttering feather trailing from Miss Fanny's hat.
"No, sugar, that's only a birdie's feather," Miss Fanny trilled, squeezing the fat little hand Jessie reached toward the tempting feather.
"Birdie," Jessie insisted, drawing her eyebrows together stubbornly.
Sophie captured Jessie's hand in hers and returned her to her crib and the toys there in hopes of distracting her. "Doesn't Katie look marvelous?" she said to the ladies while handing Jessie the bunny, which the baby promptly threw at her.
"Absolutely," Miss Fanny agreed emphatically, adjusting Katie's hat veil to hang just so. "I do believe this dress is even prettier than the last one."
THE BACHELOR PARTY Page 23
