Ben took a swallow of beer. “Nope. She prefers the shy, intellectual type.”
“Uh-huh. That goes to show how much you know about women like DeeNee Ridgeman.”
“Oh, I suspect I know her a little better than you think I do.”
“After talking to her for what? Ten minutes? Fifteen at the most?”
“I could tell everything I needed to know by the way she blinked her eyes.”
“She must have blinked in Morse code, then.”
He shifted in the seat, leaned against the door and propped his arm on the steering wheel. When his lips formed a sensual curve of challenge, the van suddenly seemed small and far too intimate. “You aren’t the only person in the world who can rely on intuition, Sara. I’ll pit my abilities against yours any time you say.”
She liked his self-assurance, even if he was overconfident. “You’re not going to trap me into betting against you, Ben. I’m on to your tricks. Besides, even if you’re right about DeeNee, you’re not her type, so it doesn’t matter, either way.”
“You’re saying I’m not a shy, intellectual male?”
“You’re not shy, that’s for sure.”
“I could be if I tried.”
“Why would you try to be something you’re not?”
“Good question.”
His expression made her uncomfortable somehow, and she rubbed the back of her neck. “Let’s leave. Everyone is gone. We’ve done all the cleanup and counted all the silverware. I, for one, am ready to close the books on this disaster.”
“I’m afraid we can’t go anywhere just yet.”
“The dog has the keys again,” she said with a sigh.
“No, I have the keys. The dog is too embarrassed to lift her head, much less play any more games.”
“Well, even if I forgot something, it will still be here tomorrow, and I can…” An unsettling realization flashed across her brain, and she squeezed her eyes shut in the vain hope of blocking it out. “The wedding dress is still under Arthur’s bed.”
“I’m glad you remember where you left it, because we’re going to have to go back for it.”
“I think I’d rather enter the witness-protection program and forget I’d ever seen that dress.”
“Not an option. For better or worse, I’m responsible for that dress until it’s delivered to its final destination. And for best or worst, that dress is your responsibility until it’s safely in my hands. So just go up there, knock on the back door and ask Arthur to give it back.”
Sara did not want to get within ten feet of the house or Arthur, much less the wedding dress. “Why don’t I wait here while you do it.”
“Arthur isn’t going to give me anything but a hard time. Go on. He likes you.”
“Oh, right. He practically caught my backside in the door when he closed it behind me. He isn’t going to give either one of us the time of day, especially not at this hour.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “Maybe you could ask West to get the dress and give it to us.”
She cringed at the thought. “I can’t face him. Not this soon after…Well, I can’t. Besides, I can’t think of any reasonable way to explain how that wedding gown got under Arthur’s bed.”
“Then I’d say we have something of a dilemma on our hands.”
“We could come back tomorrow and get it.”
“I should be halfway to California by then.”
Pursing her lips in a frown, Sara stared at the house. “We might be able to sneak in and out without either one of them knowing.”
“Ah, a plan is forming.”
“Not much of one. It would involve some climbing.”
Ben followed her gaze to the second story. “The trellis?”
“If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”
“You’re completely opposed to knocking on the door?”
“Completely. You’re positive this can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Positive.”
She looked at the trellis again. “I must be out of my mind.”
BEN LACED HIS fingers to form a cup as he bent down. “Put your foot in here and I’ll give you a boost.”
“You’re sure this trellis will hold me?”
“If it doesn’t, you won’t have far to fall.”
“And you’ll be here to catch me, right?”
“Of course.”
“If you need to climb up first, in order to prove your masculinity, I’ll step down and let you go ahead.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t strip you of the opportunity to prove the equality of the sexes. Now, give me your foot.”
“Okay, okay.” Setting her bare right foot in his palm, Sara reached for a handhold in the lattice and prayed it was strong enough to hold her. He lifted her and held her steady as she gained her balance, then boosted her up. The trellis shook with her weight, but nothing broke, so she pulled herself up, climbing a little higher and acquiring a little more confidence with each new foothold. Ben’s steadying hand slipped from her back to her waist to her hips, and a shiver rocketed up her spine, nearly costing her the footage she’d gained and making the trellis quiver with her sudden weak-in-the-knees response.
“Be careful,” he whispered.
Good advice. Ben Northcross was not a part of her plans, no matter how strong an attraction he evoked. And if she wasn’t clinging to a few insubstantial strips of wood, she might confront the issue with him here and now, just so they’d both know where they stood. Instead, she scrambled up to the second story like a long-legged spider. She gripped the balcony rail with one hand and swung one foot up to search for leverage. A sudden resistance tightened across her shoulders and grew stronger as she moved against it. “Something’s wrong.” Hanging like a sloth from a tree branch, she tried to look down to see the problem.
“You’re stuck.”
“No kidding.”
“I think your shirt is caught on a nail, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.”
“Great. Should I climb down?”
“Can you?”
“Of course—” she moved her foot off the balcony and searched for a toehold, but the shirt pulled taut around her neck, nearly choking her, and she resumed the sloth position. “Not. Now what do we do?”
“Hold on. I’m coming up.”
Dudley Do-Right to save the day, she thought. Although at the moment, she was particularly grateful. It would be very embarrassing to have West discover her in the morning dangling from his trellis like an overdressed praying mantis—and she did not want any more embarrassing moments. The wood quivered beneath her, and for a split second she had the silly thought that even wood was receptive to the touch of Ben’s hands. But it was his movements that made the whole thing shake, his weight added to hers that caused the ominous snap of a board. “Be careful,” she said.
“I’m doing my damnedest.” His voice tensed on the last word as another board creaked beneath his boots. The pull on her shoulders increased, and a moment later his hand slipped beneath the tented fabric and splayed supportively across her lower back. “Lean on me and ease your grip on the railing,” he said. “But don’t let go.”
“Don’t worry. An earthquake couldn’t move me at this point.” But as a scintillating warmth spread from the center of his palm across her back, she shifted. The warmth spiraled in new circles, like ripples on a pond, surrounding an empty place inside her. This had to stop, she decided, and got a tighter grip on the balcony rail. But as she arched her back away from his touch, the sensation moved to his fingertips and imprinted on her skin, leaving five points of rebuttal, five heated spots of awareness.
“You’re going the wrong way, Sara. Relax and let me brace you with my hand.”
Two opposing actions, in her opinion. To relax, she should move away from his touch. To get loose, she should move closer. When she weighed in the embarrassment factor, getting loose won hands down. Taking a deep breath, she released her death grip on the railing until she fel
t the smooth, strong support of his touch. Awareness fluttered down her spine in a delicate spiral, and she shivered.
“Be still,” he said. “I’m going to tear this loose.”
She stayed still through the sound of ripping cotton and lectured her body on misleading her brain. Just as the resistance on her shoulders eased, she heard another board crack. “We’d better get off this,” she said, and pulled herself up and onto the balcony.
Several splintering noises later, Ben swung up beside her. “We’re going to have to find another way down.”
Sara stepped away from him to look over the rail at the sagging trellis. “I guess I’ll add lattice repairs to my list of damages.”
“May as well add a new shirt for Arthur, too.” Ben smoothed the tails one over the other, without touching her, but evoking a startling awareness all the same. “This one is torn from…Well, you could catch pneumonia.”
“At this point, pneumonia sounds almost appealing.” She shook her head at the dilemma facing her. “If West finds out I’m the one responsible for this, too…”
“You’re going to marry him. He’ll forgive you before the ceremony.”
“As if there’s much chance for a proposal now. He was really angry.”
“I don’t see why. The party was dull as dirt until the Brody and Cleo Show.” Ben tried the window. “This is locked. Is there an alarm?”
“No.”
“No? You’re sure?”
“No alarm,” she stated firmly. “What are you going to do?”
“Break the glass.”
“Are you nuts? That would be breaking and entering. We could be arrested.” She looked around for a solution. “We’ll just have to get down from here somehow and figure out another way to get the dress.”
He jiggled the window. “Here’s a thought. You find a way down, get a ladder and rescue me.”
“There’s no point in getting snippy. This was as much your idea as mine.”
“It wasn’t my idea for you to put on the wedding gown.”
“It wasn’t my idea, either…exactly.” She still couldn’t explain what had come over her, why the dress had fascinated her so. “And there really isn’t any point in our arguing about it. You’ll get paid for your trouble tonight and you’ll get paid again when you deliver the dress, so I don’t see where you have any grounds for complaint.”
He turned toward her. “Money isn’t going to solve our immediate problem. Now, what do you want to do? Break the window? Or sit here until someone opens it?”
There had to be another option. She leaned against the rail and looked up, down and to either side. Several feet across and a few feet up was another, larger balcony, dark with shadows and the unknown. A few feet farther on in the same direction the roof slanted into a steep eave over the kitchen door. A few feet to the right of the balcony, the rock facade gave way to a decorative brick wall, which stretched to the corner of the house. Directly overhead, the roof climbed to a precipitous angle over the third floor. Below them—well, jumping didn’t seem like an appealing choice from this perspective. Gathering her courage, she took a giant step and levered her body onto the balcony railing, balancing precariously like a tightrope walker. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll return to save the day.”
BEN NEARLY CHOKED on his surprise, but by the time he reached out to stop her, she had swung her foot to the left and was climbing, finding minute toe and fingerholds in the rock facade. “Come back here, Sara.” He made a supreme effort to keep his voice low and level and not give in to the urge to yell at the top of his lungs. “That is not a good idea.”
“Ssh! Do you want Arthur to hear you?” Maybe he ought to alert the butler. Tell him to call an ambulance or the rescue squad. But even as he worried, Sara climbed the wall like a fly and reached the higher balcony. Ben shook his head in grudging and growing admiration before he swung his foot over the railing and climbed after her.
“I WOULD HAVE come around and opened the window for you,” she said when he dropped onto the balcony beside her. “Didn’t you believe me?”
“It’s one thing to let a woman risk her neck while you hold the ladder. It’s something else again to wait while she goes to get the ladder to rescue you.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s a male thing.”
“I hope it’s a male thing to carry the proper tools.” She indicated the French doors. “I’m not sure how much use your thumb will be with that latch.”
Ben moved closer to get a better look. “I told you that real men always have the proper tool.” He took his billfold from his hip pocket, pulled a piece of plastic from inside and handed it to her. “Here, hold this a minute.” He stooped to examine the lock.
“Ooh, a gold card.” Sara turned the credit card over in her hands. “Good thing it doesn’t have to be current to get us inside.”
“What?” He glanced at her.
“Your card. It expired four months ago.”
“No, it didn’t. You read the date wrong.”
She checked. “My mistake. It expired five months ago.”
“That can’t be right. I probably just forgot to take it out of my wallet when the new card arrived.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, knowing that in his position, she’d have made the same excuse. “If it’s any consolation, mine expired of exposure last Christmas. Against my better judgment, a family member borrowed my card and practically wore the magnetic strip right off. The credit-card company not so kindly decided to put the poor thing out of its misery.”
“Your credit or your relative?”
“My credit, unfortunately.”
“Was that the same family member who wrecked your van?”
“No. It was my father, the original Peter Pan.”
Ben looked at her, and even in the dusky shadows she caught the glimmer of understanding in his expression. Don’t say anything, she told him silently. Don’t try to make it better. Don’t trivialize my anger with some trite comment about loving fathers and family ties.
He reached for the card and pulled it from her fingers. “Are you sure you want to break into your fiancé’s house? It would be a whole lot easier to knock on the door.”
Her lips curved with an appreciative smile for all the things he hadn’t said. “No, it wouldn’t,” she answered.
“A minute ago you were worried about breaking and entering. What happened? Did you climb above such principles?”
“I was worried about breaking and entering noisily. It stands to reason that the less noise we make, the less the chances we’ll get caught. And if we can get in and out without getting caught, then principles won’t actually come into play.”
“And what if we should get caught?”
“Then I’ll tell West the whole story. But this way, there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance he won’t ever have to know about the wedding dress.”
“What about the fifty-fifty chance that you’ll have to tell him it’s a magic wedding dress?”
“I’m not mentioning that part, either way.”
“What a shame. He’d probably be charmed out of his socks.”
“Uh-huh. Are you going to be able to get the door open?”
The reply came in a soft, metallic click. Stepping closer to Ben, she waited for him to open the door. He stood, bringing his body into contact with hers, and the sudden tension saturated the shadows with awareness. Sara jerked back awkwardly and obviously. Her heart fluttered like a bird in flight, despite her efforts to calm it with deep breathing. She was just overexcited, that’s all. A trifle nervous, which was understandable, considering the risk she was taking. None of it had anything to do with Ben. She simply needed to keep reminding herself of that.
“Did it work?” Her voice quivered and she steadied it. “Can you open the door now?”
“I’m about to try. You’re sure there isn’t an alarm?”
“I have never seen one, and I’ve been in the house dozens of times.”
“Visiting the
downstairs bedroom. I remember.”
“You weren’t there. Here, let me do the honors.” She reached for the latch, closing her hand over his and feeling the tension surround her all over again. Before she could pull her hand back, the door opened and an earsplitting siren demolished the quiet.
“Intuition tells me that’s an alarm.” He grabbed her hand and jerked her inside. “You might want to polish up those principles you mentioned.”
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, and disaster loomed like Godzilla over Tokyo. “What should we do?” she whispered, despite the loud whooping of the alarm.
“First, I’m locking the door in the faint hope they might believe it’s a false alarm. After that, I’m open for suggestions.”
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Sara got the glimmer of a plan. “This would be an excellent time to follow the Gunnerson Rule of Thumb…”
They looked at each other and finished the sentence in unison. “Take cover!”
“HEAR THAT?” Sara whispered. “The alarm stopped.”
Ben stared at the bed slat directly above his head and wondered if this unusual evening was about to be capped off by a trip to jail. “I imagine West or Arthur turned it off.”
“Then we’re practically home free.” Her voice was rich with satisfaction. “West will never even know we were in the house.”
“Turning off the alarm isn’t exactly an all clear.”
She was quiet for a moment or two, but he could almost hear the plans turning in her head. “How long before it’s okay to make a move out from under this bed?”
“A long time.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“What? Hidden under a bed? Or broken into a house?” The ensuing quiet made him smile into the darkness.
“Either one.” Her whisper echoed with a faint suspicion, and he decided not to tease her further. “I have to confess to hiding under beds as a kid, but breaking and entering is a first for me.”
“Me, too.”
“Do you think we’ll get arrested?”
“Nah.”
The Fifty-Cent Groom Page 10