Arden was so busy with her hostess duties that she didn't notice the small exodus until her guest of honor pointed it out.

"I can always tell I'm back in the South," drawled gubernatorial candidate Molly Johannes, "when certain menfolk head off to talk on their own."

Then Arden saw it and silently cursed herself. True, she'd had to monitor the needs of her guests, the caterers and the string quartet. That was why she hadn't bothered with an escort tonight. Her late stepmother had done such an excellent job with such functions, Arden didn't want to disappoint her memory. And true, men often drifted away to private conversation in their social circle—a common holdover from the days of brandy and cigars. But Arden expected better than "common," especially from her father.

Her first thought was, Well, sugar. Sugar meaning something nastier.

But she simply smiled her Miss Dallas smile, complete with dimples, and covered for the men. "As long as they're talking about how to make you governor, Comptroller Johannes, I wouldn't hold their little rituals against them."

"Call me Molly, please! State Comptroller is a mouthful even for the state comptroller." The stocky, middle-aged woman shook her head with amusement. "I'm still not sure why an old boys' club like your daddy's is willing to support me, though I suspect you had something to do with it. But as long as they believe in my message, I'm willing to grant them as much time in their clubhouse as they want."

Arden laughed with her. But as soon as she got Molly talking to another guest, she took a moment to slip out back, into the shadowy August heat of her father's gardens. The c