Sweet Annie (3 page)

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

T
here 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 clothes 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.