The Fifty-Cent Groom

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “I didn’t.” DeeNee raised her shoulders in apology. “I thought it was a joke. Really. You said you accidentally put on a wedding dress and it just didn’t occur to me that you had actually put on a wedding dress.”

  Ben felt Sara’s sigh ripple down her back. “Do you want me to button you up again?” he asked.

  “No. I want you to unbutton me again and this time, don’t stop until you see my underwear.”

  “I’m here to serve.” His fingers returned to the dress with a new energy.

  “Do you want to wear this dress?” DeeNee offered.

  Ben looked over Sara’s shoulder at DeeNee, recognizing in a glance the designer quality and total lack of fashion sense in her outfit. And he knew Sara recognized it, as well.

  “Thanks, DeeNee, but then you wouldn’t have anything to wear.”

  “I’ll put on the bridal gown.”

  “Oh, no,” Sara said firmly. “Stay away from this dress. It has been trouble from the moment I set eyes on it. Under no circumstances should you go near this wedding gown.”

  “Well, if you feel that strongly about it, what are you doing in it?” DeeNee asked.

  “Trying to get out of it,” Sara replied. “Which is no easy task.”

  “I can see that.” DeeNee smiled at Ben. “It must be awful to have an attractive, eligible man unbuttoning your dress.”

  He smiled back.

  “This has been the worst day of my life.” Sara put her hands at her waist to hold the dress together as Ben worked his way down. “And how do you know he’s eligible?”

  DeeNee slid off the bed and slipped on her cloggyheeled shoes. “No self-respecting wife would let him go out in that shirt and those pants.”

  “My pants are offended.”

  “They shouldn’t be. It’s the shirt I object to. If it was up to me, I’d have you tend bar wearing just the bow tie. It makes the outfit.”

  Ben preened the points of the D’Lur original. “Arthur loaned it to me. Think I should swipe it?”

  “Don’t say things like that.” Sara’s hair swung across her shoulders as she turned her head to give him a one-sided frown. “At Your Service employees do not swipe ties or anything else. One incident could cost me my business.”

  “Geez, Louise, Sara. Don’t work yourself into a snit.” DeeNee reached over and patted her hand. “It was just a joke.”

  “Uh-huh, and a bad one. He can say whatever he wants, but not on my time.” The auburn hair made another swing across her shoulders, signaling frustration from one gleaming strand to another. “Are you about finished?”

  Ben dropped his hands. “I’ve taken you right down to the bare essentials.”

  Sara whisked around to splash him with a hurried smile. “Thank you, Ben.”

  “My pleasure.” He had a nice view of her exposed backside in the mirror, and admiring it went a long way toward mitigating any irritation her snappish tone had aroused. “I’m considering becoming a permanent employee. Where else am I going to get paid for unbuttoning women’s dresses?”

  DeeNee sighed wistfully. “And here I am without a button anywhere on me.”

  Sara didn’t comment about bad jokes this time. Mainly, Ben decided, because she wasn’t listening to their nonsensical conversation. She was heading for Arthur’s closet, purpose in every step, the open back of the wedding gown gaping to the ribboned lace that rode low on her sexy little hips. After opening the closet door, she stood looking in, her lips pursed, her foot tapping. Ben could tell exactly how fast, too, by the tight jiggle just below her panty line. “I wonder if Arthur has another of those D’Lur ties,” she said, obviously not addressing anyone but herself.

  “What a great idea.” DeeNee voiced the thought Ben couldn’t. “You can attend West’s party wearing nothing but a bow tie. That would certainly keep things lively.”

  “I, certainly, would be lively.” Ben watched Sara step into the closet and wished he could step right in behind her…and close the door…and take her in his arms…“So far, this looks like a dull bunch.”

  “Wait,” DeeNee said. “It will get worse, believe me. Once this group of lawyers starts drinking wine, the evening is doomed. You’ve never heard such a melancholy bunch in your life. I wouldn’t even be here if Sara hadn’t promised things would be different tonight.”

  “I did not promise that.” Sara’s voice echoed from inside the closet. “And I adore being around this group. They’re all fascinating.”

  DeeNee looked at Ben and shook her head. “She’s been buttoned so tightly in that dress, it’s squeezed out her sense of humor. Trust me, the evening will go from dull to catatonic, wine or no wine.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think so,” Ben whispered, his eyes on Sara as she came out of the closet, measuring one of Arthur’s crisp, white shirts against her.

  Chapter Six

  “How are you doing?” Sara slid in beside Ben at the portable bar and reached past him to remove an empty wine bottle. “Gotten any tips?”

  “I’ve been advised to find another line of work, if that counts.” Ben wiped off the counter for probably the fiftieth time and admired her grace and composure for at least the hundredth. She was wearing Arthur’s shirt, the tails of which struck her just above mid-thigh and somewhat higher on either side. The jaunty, black-and-white checked bow tie at her neck was not an original work of art, but the slim, solid black bow ties she had fastened around each arm to push up the sleeves were masterpieces of ingenuity. If her black patent heels had been half an inch higher, or the tailored shirt half an inch shorter, or her legs not quite so long and lovely, the whole outfit could have been risqué. But Sara looked like a million dollars, and Ben was as fascinated by her sense of style as by the sheer pluck it took for her to wear such an outfit to a party of blue-serge-suited lawyers. “Can I fix something for you?” he asked.

  “Nothing, thanks. I need to keep on my toes. You wouldn’t believe the propositions I’ve gotten this evening.”

  “No.” He drew the word out in disbelief. “Some guy made a pass at the host’s fiancée?”

  “I am not his fiancée.” She looked across the room, smiled when she noticed that West was watching her and lifted her hand in acknowledgment. “Yet.”

  “Did he make any comment on your new outfit?”

  “He said I look incredible.”

  Incredible was an understatement, but Ben figured he didn’t need to say so. “That’s it?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “He’s a gentleman. Even if he didn’t like what I chose to wear, he’d never be anything but complimentary.”

  Ben had seen that he’s-so-wonderful look once too often in the past hour and a half. West Ridgeman might have inherited looks, fortune and connections from his family, but so far he hadn’t displayed any qualities that deserved Sara’s homage. “Wipe that sappy smile off your face,” he advised her. “You look like my aunt Edwynna.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Great-Aunt Edwynna. She used to smile just like that before she grabbed me by the arms and bussed me on both cheeks. It didn’t take long before I had other plans whenever she paid a visit.”

  “And I remind you of her.” Sara’s forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Is there a point to this story?”

  “I am simply making the observation that if you keep smiling at Ridgeman like a bird eyeing a worm, sooner or later he’s going to have other plans.” He opened a beer and tipped it to his lips for a swallow, enjoying the mix of frustration and thoughts that chased each other across her expressive face.

  “I do not look like a bird,” she said. “And he doesn’t look like a…put that down.” She frowned and looked pointedly at the bottle in his hand. “This isn’t your party. That isn’t your beer. At Your Service employees do not drink on the job.”

  He set the beer on the counter and pushed it to one side. “What if they’re thirsty?”

  “Be thirsty on your own time. Tonight you’re working for me.”

  “Then if
you fire me, I can finish the beer.”

  “Forget it. You’re mine until midnight.”

  “I won’t last that long if I have to watch you moon around with that sappy smile on your face. You’re wasting your time with Ridgeman, you know.”

  She reached across the bar that separated them and snatched the beer bottle. “That really is none of your business.” Turning a cool shoulder to his concern, she headed for the kitchen, and he watched the white cotton shirt clip brusquely against her thighs.

  “She’s got a killer walk, doesn’t she?”

  He drew his gaze from the sassy kick of the shirttails to the pin-striped perfection of West Ridgeman, whose lips curved with an abundance of smug. “I like her smile,” Ben said. “What can I get for you?”

  Ridgeman ignored the offer as he reached around and under the bar to retrieve his own private wine bottle. The cabernet ran into his glass like a stream of red moonlight, as if it, like everything else in the house, was eager to please him. He corked the bottle and put it under the counter. “You’re not the guy she normally brings along to tend bar.”

  “No, I’m better-looking.”

  “At least you have good taste in ties. That’s a D’Lur, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Ben flicked an imaginary bit of lint off the tie. “Could be. I was in a hurry and grabbed the first thing I found in the closet.”

  “Really?” Ridgeman lifted his glass. “Where did Sara find you?”

  “The yellow pages, under V for versatile. Where did she find you?”

  The all-American eyebrows rose a mere hairsbreadth before a well-bred laugh concealed any hint of irritation. “I won her.”

  “Like a door prize?”

  “In a raffle.”

  “Oh, like a turkey.”

  Ridgeman sipped his wine. “It was amusing, really. My secretary filled out a raffle ticket in my name, and I won four hours of service from At Your Service. I gave Sara carte blanche to find a present for my sister’s birthday, and she came back with a pug, which is an ugly, noisy little dog, but DeeNee declared it the best present I ever gave her. I took Sara out for lunch as a way of expressing my appreciation, and our mutually beneficial relationship was born.”

  Ben gave her a mental pat on the back for originality and polished the counter again. “You won her in a raffle.” He shook his head. “Some guys have all the luck, huh?”

  “What can I say?” Ridgeman shrugged without modesty and raised his wineglass in a salute. “It’s good to be me.”

  Watching him walk away from the bar, Ben made another half-hearted swipe of the wet towel over the counter and wondered what Sara saw in the guy. Take away the ego and silver-spoon manners, and he’d be just like any other boring guy with good looks, a good education and a good job in the family firm. So, okay, she knew what she wanted and had the tenacity to go after it. There was nothing wrong with that. He admired her for it, in fact. But he didn’t have to endorse her plan. And he didn’t have to like it.

  He heard the airy slap of the kitchen door as it swung open, then closed, and renewed his needless effort to appear industrious by wiping down the bar.

  “This is the last one.” Sara set a wine bottle on the counter. “When it’s empty, you’ll have to push the soft drinks.”

  “A gentleman like Ridgeman is bound to have a few extra bottles stashed somewhere.”

  “He only buys this brand for entertaining. He says this particular wine is a waste of good grapes, but apparently most of the guests don’t share that opinion.”

  “Taste is a personal choice.” Ben took the neutral, nonpartisan position. Otherwise, Sara might take away his bar towel, and he’d have to find another way to look busy. “Some people prefer to drink red wine and some prefer to drink white and some people don’t like wine no matter what shade it comes in.”

  “You, for instance, prefer beer.”

  “Not at all. I often drink plain water.” He gave her his best smile, trying to coax a similar response from her, but she had an iron will. “Your boyfriend was just here for a refill. He said he won you with a raffle ticket, which is either an amazing bit of luck for him or a brilliant marketing strategy by you.”

  “I am rather proud of that idea.”

  “How many tickets were in the final drawing?”

  “Trade secret.”

  “So you snared Mr. Wonderful with the old raffleticket ploy. Very clever. Wouldn’t have worked if you’d been ten years older and unattractive.” He smiled. “In my opinion, of course.”

  This time she smiled back. “Luckily, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Turning, she scanned the crowd. “Have you seen DeeNee since she came downstairs?”

  “No, can’t say I have. She probably knows what cheap wine her brother serves his guests and is huddled up somewhere with the cooking sherry.”

  “The wine isn’t cheap,” Sara corrected in an automatic tone. “Merely not absurdly expensive.”

  Blindly infatuated, Ben thought. And she hadn’t tasted the wine, either. “So is DeeNee still here?”

  “I guess so. Her car is parked by the van, at any rate, and Annette said she was in the kitchen a little while ago. DeeNee is a very fine cook. In case you didn’t know, she prepared all the hors d’oeuvres for tonight. You should try one.”

  “I’m not allowed to eat on the job. My employer’s real hard-nosed about it.”

  Her brown eyes skimmed to his, and her lips curved in a provocative line. “You do catch on quick…and I do appreciate that in a man.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll never convince me that Ridgeman’s a quick study.”

  “He doesn’t need to be. He was born knowing more than most men ever learn.”

  Something about that most men sounded rather personal. “Do you make snap judgments about everyone you meet or only men you find physically attractive?”

  “Meaning you, I suppose?”

  “Meaning me. You know how quickly I catch on.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have any difficulty understanding this.” A challenge sparkled in her eyes as she turned her back on him and sashayed across the room. Ridgeman looked up and smiled at her approach, then moved forward to cup her elbow in his hand and guide her into his conversational circle.

  Ben wished she hadn’t carried off his beer.

  “Quick, pour me a drink and pretend you find me fascinating.”

  Turning his head, he encountered the feisty blue eyes of DeeNee Ridgeman. She was standing next to the bar, darting glances at a particular cluster of darksuited lawyers. He leaned toward her. “Do I have to pretend or can I actually find you fascinating?”

  Her attention swung to him. “I have to tell you, Ben, you have a better line than the guy Sara usually brings.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. None of the guests have lingered long enough to hear my line. I was beginning to think I must be the dullest bartender ever to wipe down this counter.”

  “Better to be dull than invisible.” She sighed and looked longingly at the legal conclave once more. “Pour me a shot of bottled water, and we’ll be dull and invisible together.”

  Ben unscrewed a bottle cap and drowned an ice cube in sparkling water before handing the glass to her. “I made it a double,” he said. “You look like you need it.”

  She wrinkled her nose and swallowed half the water in a single draw. “Have you ever been in love with the wrong person, Ben?”

  “Are you kidding? Every single time. I’ve never been in love with the right person, or I suppose I would have stopped looking then and there. What about you?”

  “This is the first time for me.” She swirled the water in the glass and watched it go around and around.

  “To be in love?” he asked.

  “To be in love with the wrong person. Actually, he’s the right person. That’s why it’s so wrong.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Worse. He has principles.”

  “Oh, no. A fatal attraction.”

  “Yes, well, it
might be, if he could ever stop looking through me and notice that I’m not only visible, but could be his for the asking.” Plunking the glass on the bar, she splashed the counter with her futility. “Hit me again…but this time give me some of my brother’s private stash of cabernet. Pour yourself some, too.”

  “I’ve been informed that I’m on duty.”

  “Well, it’s just become your duty to entertain me. I’ll accept the responsibility and tell Sara I forced you to have a drink.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that will mean much to her.” He looked across the room, watched her move among the guests as if she’d been born for the part. “On the other hand, she doesn’t seem very interested in me.”

  “See, there’s a perfect example. She thinks she’s in love with my brother,” DeeNee said.

  Ben uncorked the bottle and filled her glass. “I’d say she’s pretty well convinced of it.”

  “He is totally wrong for her, you know. I wish she had worn the wedding dress to the party. That would have scared West right out of his Bostonians.”

  “Are you against the idea of having Sara in the family?”

  “Of course not. I’d adore having her as a sister.”

  “But?” Ben posed the unspoken objection.

  “As a brother, West isn’t so bad, but he won’t be a good husband. At least not for Sara. He’ll change her into a wife fit for a Ridgeman and make her unhappy into the bargain.” She shrugged. “Just my opinion, though. And what do I know? I’m invisible to the one man I could make ecstatically happy. Go figure, huh?”

  Ben liked her. If Ridgeman had inherited the better portion of the family looks and luck, his sister had been gifted with wry humor and a good heart. He looked at the group of men she kept eyeing. “Which one is he?”

  Her eyes widened in assumed innocence. “Who?”

  “The guy who doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  She sized Ben up with an artful glance. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Well, I’m standing pretty close.”