Sweet Annie Page 2

  "We're going to make boutonnieres for Lizzy's wedding," Charmaine called. "Lavender ribbon, with tiny paper flowers." Her cousin chattered on, and An­nie surveyed the spring-dressed countryside. Purple as­ter blanketed the hillsides with brilliant color.

  "I'm going to stop at the stable and ask someone to drive us to Lizzy's, then take the rig back until we're ready," she called down. "That way we don't have to try to wheel you over the boardwalks and stairs and the dirt street on the way."

  Annie nodded her consent. Charmaine did like to make things convenient, and Annie hated to be an en­cumbrance. Her cousin slowed the rig in the shade of a new building.

  "So this is the new livery!" Annie said, shading her eyes and perusing the freshly painted building. "I heard the hammering and pounding from my room for weeks." The Sweetwater home was several streets away, but close enough for the sound to carry on a clear day. Annie's curiosity had been piqued, but to her frustration, her dinnertime queries had been ig­nored.

  A tall, broad-shouldered young man stepped into the wide-open doorway, and the reason for her parents' stubborn refusal to discuss the new livery became un­mistakably clear.

  Sun glinted from hair as black as midnight. He wore a loose shirt, laced up the front, and trousers tucked into tall black boots. A healthy-looking male, tanned and confident in his surroundings.

  Luke Carpenter.

  Chaotic images tied to more chaotic feelings bom­barded Annie's senses: Luke smiling his irrepressible smile and giving her a forbidden taste of freedom; Luke with blood spattered on his shirt, blood trickling from his lip, looking confused and humiliated; Luke noticing her in the mercantile and nodding her way before her father caught him; Luke riding that beau­tiful white-stockinged horse as though he and the an­imal were one.

  Once, a few weeks after that horrible incident at her birthday party, he had leaped the hedge as she sat in her chair on the side lawn, enjoying the sun.

  She'd inquired about his injuries, and he'd shrugged off the subject. And then Burdy had arrived home.

  They'd crossed paths only briefly through the years—a banker's daughter moved in different circles than the ranchers—but Annie had seen him many times from a distance.

  "Mornin', ladies." His voice, now a deep mellow tone, brought a tremulous flutter to her chest. He stepped toward the horse. "Put 'im up for you?"

  "Actually, if it wouldn't be a bother, we'd like you to drive us to the Jamison home, then bring the rig back." Charmaine's voice had changed since Annie had last heard her speak sixty seconds ago. Where had that throaty breathlessness come from?

  "No bother at all," Luke said, and leaped up onto the springed seat beside Charmaine. The wagon dipped with his weight and Annie's stomach did the same.

  "You two ladies look mighty pretty today," he said, and cast an inscrutable look over his shoulder.

  Annie blushed, thankful he had to turn back to nav­igate the street. She studied her hands against the blue-sprigged satin of her velvet-trimmed dress, then grabbed the side of the wagon when he clucked and the horse stepped forward.

  "We're helping with the decorations for Lizzy's wedding," Charmaine said. Good Lord, was that a Southern accent? "The wedding is only two weeks away, you know."

  "You'll both be going?"

  "Oh, yes, we wouldn't miss it, would we, Annie?"

  Luke nodded and listened to Charmaine's girlish chatter. Within minutes he drew the horse and wagon up before their destination. He helped her cousin down from the seat. Charmaine blushed and cast him a co­quettish glance from beneath the brim of her bonnet.

  Annie stood. Normally, she would have walked to the end of the bed and waited for her uncle's or cousin's help, but she didn't want Luke to notice her clumsiness, so, feeling painfully awkward, she stayed put.

  He rounded the wagon and lowered the gate. She avoided looking at him as he lifted her chair effort­lessly to the ground. He leaped onto the back of the wagon beside her, and her gaze flew upward.

  His thin and lanky body had developed into an eye-pleasing study of muscle and grace. Broad shoulders blocked a good portion of the street behind him. De­liberately, she refocused her attention.

  Eyes as blue as the boundless spring sky studied her back. Her gaze lowered a notch, took in a fine straight nose, mobile lips curved into a smile, and a scar at the edge of his upper lip.

  "Let me help you, Miss Sweetwater," he said po­litely in that disturbing voice.

  Her face flamed, yet somehow she managed to speak. "Thank you."

  He gathered her into his arms, just like her brother and father and uncle did all the time, but this was different. He was not a family member. He was a full-grown man—a strong, graceful stranger. Annie was self-conscious of her helplessness, ashamed to be such a burden and to have him see it.

  She immediately circled her arms around his neck, feeling his hard body pressed along her side and hip, and studiously avoided the sun-kissed face so near hers.

  With amazing agility, he crouched on the back of the wagon then lowered her to the ground. With a few powerful strides, he carried her around the back of the wagon. Annie felt like one of her Dresden dolls in his solid arms.

  Hands fluttering between the handles and her stand-up collar, Charmaine stood waiting behind Annie's chair. Annie had never hated the conveyance as much as she did at that moment. She wanted Luke to carry her on past, carry her somewhere where there were no wheelchairs or limits or attentive caregivers.

  But of course, he didn't. Luke placed her gently on the seat, disentangled his arm from her skirts and ar­ranged them neatly across her knees.

  "Thank you," Annie said, but she couldn't make herself meet his eyes again.

  "My pleasure." He must have glanced at Char­maine. "What time would you like me to bring the rig back for you?''

  "You'd better come by three, if that's convenient. My Mama expects me home to help with dinner."

  "I'll see you then. Ladies."

  Annie saw only his boots move away and then glanced up to watch him leap onto the wagon seat with an economy of motion.

  "My, my, my..." Charmaine said breathlessly. "You know he built that stable and owns it himself," she offered.

  Annie hadn't known that. "I don't hear news of Luke Carpenter."

  "No, I guess you wouldn't." They both watched until the rig was around the corner and out of sight. "Word has it he saved on his own to build the place."

  “He did?'' Annie knew little of business or the cost of things.

  "That's a big accomplishment. Most people would have taken a loan."

  "Oh." She met Charmaine's eyes, comprehending the significance. A loan came from a bank, and her father owned the only bank in Copper Creek. Sudden embarrassment at her father's unjustness flared hot in her cheeks.

  "I barely remember that day of your birthday party," Charmaine said, apparently thinking back to where the trouble had started. She was almost two years younger than Annie. “How old were you?''

  "Ten."

  Charmaine pushed the chair toward Lizzy's house. “But you remember it well?''

  Hardly a day went by that, while being tied to the earth in this chair, she didn't remember the day that she rode into the wind and tasted freedom for the first time—only to have it snatched away and scorned like it was something ugly.

  She remembered all right. How could she ever for­get? And how could she forget that Luke had been the one to suffer for it? In more ways than one, she knew now.

  "I remember it very well."

  Chapter Two

  There were dumber things he could do than show up early and ask Annie Sweetwater and her cousin to join him for ice cream. Like lie down in the middle of Carver Street and wait for a buckboard to run him over. Or walk up behind that skittish sorrel he was boarding for Ike McPhillips and startle her good. The results would be the same.

  Once Burdell Sweetwater found out Luke had so much as spoken to his sister, he'd march out of his fancy bank in his fancy clo
thes and run Luke over, kicking 'im a couple o' times for good measure.

  Reckon it'd be worth it if she gave him one of those smiles.

  Luke stood in the narrow sleeping room of his spar­tan quarters in the rear of the livery and adjusted the collar of his clean chambray shirt. He glanced at his appearance in the grainy mirror over his washstand, assured that his unruly hair had momentarily been tamed.

  Leading Mort Renlow's freshly washed and curried mare into the center of the stable, he fastened the har­nesses and hitched her to the wagon. Miss Renlow had told him three, but he would be at the Jamison place a good forty-five minutes early—enough time to buy the young ladies a treat.

  A colorfully dressed gathering of young females graced the gingerbread-trimmed porch of the home; heads turned and voices hushed as he halted the horse and wagon and climbed to the ground.

  Charmaine set aside a delicate cup and saucer, stood and came down a few steps to meet him. "Why, you're early, Mr. Carpenter."

  "I was hopin' you and your cousin would join me for a dish of your favorite flavor at Miss Marples' Ice Cream Emporium."

  Charmaine fluttered her eyelashes, and two dimples winked becomingly as she gave him a flirtatious smile. "Why, we'd be delighted to join you!"

  A few girlish whispers echoed across the distance.

  In the bevy of starched and ruffled girls, Annie Sweetwater was easy to spot. Not because of the chair in which she sat, because they were all sitting, whether on chairs or a swing or a cushion; not because she was dressed any differently, since her attire lit right in with all these frilly schoolgirls; not even because she was older, which she was. No, it was because something drew his gaze unerringly to hers and made his heart lift when he saw her.

  She wasn't even smiling; in fact she wore an ex­pression of apprehension on her delicately featured, ivory-skinned face. He'd have been hard-pressed to think of a time when he'd wanted something more than he wanted Annie to show a little enthusiasm over his invitation. She fascinated him, and the desire to know her better clouded his thinking.

  "Charmaine, Uncle Mort wants us home," she said, rolling her chair forward, past the now silent girls on the porch. She stopped at the top of the stairs.

  "We have plenty of time, silly," Charmaine assured her.

  "Yes," Luke agreed, not wanting to accept her ex­cuse. "I'll return you in time to help with dinner." He moved up the stairs and Annie's eyes grew alarmingly wide. He paused, torn between wanting this and not willing to make her do anything she really didn't want to do. He knelt beside her chair and said so that only she could hear, "Only if you want to, Annie. It's okay if you don't."

  She seemed to lose herself in his eyes for a moment, giving him precious time to examine her face up close: bright green-gray eyes, winged reddish brows, a deli­cately bowed upper lip and a charming smattering of nearly invisible freckles. Springy wisps of red-gold hair curled along her hairline and in front of her ears.

  "I want to." It was a tentative whisper, as though she were admitting something to herself, and the con­fession took his breath away.

  "Here's your bonnet, Annie." One of the girls handed her the hat.

  He recovered and managed a smile, then nodded to the watching girls and set the brake on Annie's chair. Annie placed the bonnet over her hair and tied the starched ribbons in a wide bow beneath her chin.

  She raised a slender arm to his shoulder, and that

  measure of surrender, of trust, was like the kick he

  was expecting from her brother. How he hated that

  she had to entrust her care to others, but how he loved

  that at this moment he was the one blessed with the

  privilege.

  She wasn't tiny, but neither was she heavy. Her pleasant tactile weight, her feminine softness, and the delicate scent of lilacs were reward for his persistence. He carried her down the path toward the street, wish­ing the distance was farther.

  She peeked at him from beneath the floppy brim of her bonnet. He met her gaze, only inches from his.

  "You have the bluest eyes," she said softly. "I've never forgotten."

  His breath hitched in his chest. She'd remembered his eyes all this time? He couldn't help wondering what else she remembered—if she resented his intru­sion in her life—if she'd been humiliated over the scene at her party? Afterward, he'd tried several times to get close enough to speak to her. He'd even taken another licking from Burdell. But nothing had daunted his unexplain-able captivation with the girl.

  Even now, after all these years, he wanted to take her for a ride—buy her ice cream—do anything that would bring joy to her expressive face.

  He reached the wagon and lowered her to the pallet of blankets in the back. She arranged her skirts, delib­erately avoiding looking at him. He returned for her chair and assisted Miss Renlow up to the wagon seat. With a giggle, Annie's cousin waved to her friends.

  Miss Marples' wasn't very busy that afternoon, and the pudgy woman herself waited on them. After taking Charmaine's order, she asked, "And what will she have?" indicating Annie with a nod.

  "Well, I don't know, why don't you ask her?'' Luke replied. "She's in a wheelchair, but she's not deaf or stupid."

  Miss Marples recovered quickly, her round cheeks pink. "No, of course not. Uh-what will you have?"

  "I'd like a dish of peppermint ice cream, please," Annie replied, her own cheeks aflame. Being treated as though she were an idiot because she couldn't walk was one of the most irritating things about her life situation. And usually, her parents ordered for her, making the matter even worse.

  No one had ever addressed the situation bluntly in her presence before, and secretly, she took delight in Luke's words.

  Returning with their orders, Miss Marple fussed over them. Luke had asked for black walnuts for his vanilla ice cream, and she supplied him with a bowl­ful. He shared with the ladies.

  "My Daddy says you're quite a businessman, Mr. Carpenter," Charmaine said, delicately nibbling a wal­nut meat. "He says that's a right fine livery you built there and that you know your horses."

  "Your daddy would be the one to know," he re­plied, pleased with the compliment from a man he respected. "He takes good care of his animals and runs a fine ranch."

  Charmaine giggled as though he'd complimented her. He couldn't help but smile at her obvious flirta­tion.

  Annie, with cheeks as pink as the peppermint swirls in her ice cream, kept her gaze lowered to the frosty dish. She wasn't as flattered by his attentions as her cousin, and he wondered how to rectify that.

  "Do you still live on your Uncle Gilbert's ranch?" Charmaine asked.

  "No. I have a couple of rooms in the back of the livery for now."

  "For now?"

  "Eventually I'll build a house."

  "In town?"

  The silly girl was full of questions, while he was still trying to think of something to say to Annie. "Probably just outside town," he replied distractedly.

  “Do you still have Wrangler?''

  The softly spoken question came as a surprise. Even Charmaine turned to look at Annie.

  Luke jumped on her first sign of interest and nodded in reply. "He's at Gil's."

  "Do you still ride him?"

  "Yes. He's fifteen now, but I still take him out for exercise."

  Her lashes rose. She looked right at him. And smiled. Her gray eyes were filled with a passionate yearning he wanted to fulfil. If only he knew how. If only her family didn't think of him as the scourge of the earth.

  Maybe he hadn't been born under the same affluent circumstances as the Sweetwaters, but he'd worked long and hard to save and start his own business. As soon as he rebuilt his savings, he would build a house—a home. One he could bring a wife to.

  But money was only a secondary reason for her family to scorn him. He'd lost their favor the day he'd taken their little girl for a ride.

  He had never decided if it had been worth it or not.

  She didn't s
ay she'd like to see his horse—or that she'd like to ride him again. Her disturbing eyes said the words for her. She lowered her lids as if to hide the longing reflected in their depths.

  "I could bring him out to your cousin's," he of­fered.

  Annie blanched at his suggestion. "Oh, no, you mustn't!"

  "Wouldn't you like to see him?"

  "Yes, but, I couldn't—I mean, you shouldn't— well, it's just not possible."

  Annie folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. She couldn't bear for him to endure any more harm because of her. That one time had been enough to give her nightmares for years. "No," she affirmed, with a certain shake of her head.

  Luke's name had been an unmentionable profanity in her home for as long as she could remember. She didn't want to imagine what would happen if her fam­ily discovered she'd encouraged him.

  The last bites of ice cream sat melting in the bottom of her bowl. Annie didn't look up to see Luke's ex­pression.

  After an awkward stretch of silence, Charmaine piped up, "Will you be at Lizzy and Guy's wedding, Mr. Carpenter?"

  "I wouldn't miss the event of the season," he re­plied, his tone still good-natured. “We're having a lit­tle prewedding celebration at the Red Garter tonight, as a matter of fact."

  "What do gentlemen do on those occasions, any­way?" she asked, curiously.

  "Would your mother want you to know?" he asked.

  Annie couldn't help looking up to catch the mis­chievous lift of his ebony brow.

  "Probably not," Charmaine said with a matching grin. "Tell me anyway."

  “We drink whiskey and smoke cigars and tease the groom mercilessly."

  "That doesn't sound like much fun." Charmaine's forehead creased.

  "I'd say it's as much fun as sipping punch and giv­ing feminine presents is for you ladies."

  "Now, that's a lot of fun."

  "It wouldn't be fun for the men unless you spiked the punch and passed out stogies."

  Charmaine laughed and Annie couldn't help joining her at the thought of their prissy girlfriends smoking smelly cigars.

  "I'd better see you on your way now," Luke said, standing. "I promised that you'd be home in time to help with the meal."