Magnolia Dawn (7 page)

“I do. But it's not the same as the connection you have with Ashland. With the South, even. If it were, I wouldn't be here.”

She nodded. “You have a way of putting things that makes sense to me.”

Rush propped himself up on an elbow. “A compliment from the mistress of Ashland,” he teased. “Could it be?”

She tipped her head back and laughed, and the sweet, throaty sound played over his senses. “Am I that bad?”

He grinned. “Much worse, actually.”

She laughed again, then shook her head, her expression growing serious. “I don't know how to explain my feelings. I feel at home here. And safe. I feel this…sense of urgency when I think of Ashland.
And when I'm here, I feel peace.”

“Have you ever lived anywhere else?”

“In Memphis for a couple years. I got a teaching position at a prestigious girls' school. It was too good to turn down, and I thought moving away was what I was supposed to do.”

“But you came home.”

“Ashland drew me back.” She tipped her face to the sky and drew in a lungful of the sweet summer air. “I don't think anywhere in the world could smell as sweet as Ashland in June.”

As if realizing how much she'd revealed of herself, she blushed and lowered her eyes. Rush moved his gaze over her profile. He liked her this way—soft and flushed and smiling. How, only days ago, had he thought her plain? How had he failed to notice her high cheekbones and straight, delicately chiseled nose; her soft, smooth skin and surprisingly full mouth?

A mouth meant for kissing.

Awareness barreled through him, catching him off guard, stunning him. He sucked in a quick breath and dragged his gaze from her too-kissable mouth.

“Tell me more about your life here at Ashland. Your parents. Your childhood.”

Anna drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. She turned her face to his. “When I think of my childhood, most often I think of Daddy. He was a dreamer. A storyteller. I grew up on tales of the Old South, tales of ladies and gentlemen and codes of honor. I was weaned on heroic tales of the Ames ancestors.”

She laughed lightly. “Daddy took his position as Joshua Ames, master of Ashland, very seriously. Serious in the sense that he believed the stories himself. He believed in his own…stature.”

She turned her gaze back to the house, with its huge square columns and massive entablature. “Unfortunately, he didn't have the drive to back up his dreams. By the time I stepped in after Mama died, there was almost nothing left. Daddy had sold off everything to maintain the Ames image and life-style. If not for Mama's hard work and business acumen, Ashland would have come to the state it is in today years sooner.”

Anna drew her eyebrows together. “I never saw his weakness. I never knew that it was Mama who ran things, Mama who held us all together.”

“You didn't want to.”

“I guess not. I guess I believed the image, too.” She lifted her shoulders. “Daddy gave me my love of this place, my love of the South. Mama gave me my strength.”

“But it was different for Lowell.” Rush regretted the words the moment he uttered them. He saw her stiffen, felt her withdrawal as an almost physical thing.

“Tell me one of your father's stories,” he said quickly, cursing having mentioned her brother, hoping he hadn't ruined the mood.

“You'd really like to hear one?” When he nodded, she smiled. “Okay, I'll tell you my favorite.” She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. “The story's about an extremely wealthy and flamboyant planter from Louisiana. On the occasion of the simultaneous wedding of two of his daughters, he imported large spiders from China and had them set free in the oak alley that led to the house. The spiders spun great webs, and the morning of the weddings, servants were given bellows of gold and silver dust. They coated the webs, and that night the couples were led by torchlight under the glittering canopy.”

“Very romantic.”

Annabelle sighed. It wasn't the sigh of a young girl's longing, but of a grown woman surrounded by bittersweet memories. The sound tugged at him in a way that was both unfamiliar and warm.

“Daddy told me that story for the first time when I was four. He promised he would do that for me when I married. The whole thing.” A flicker of regret crossed her features. “As a little girl I had no idea of the cost of something like that, or of the fact that I might…never marry.”

Why hadn't she? Rush wondered, cocking his head. She was attractive and smart; she was from a prestigious family. How had a girl with so many traditional ideas grown into such a nontraditional woman?

He thought of her friend Travis Gentry, and drew his eyebrows together. He recalled the warmth in her eyes as she'd gazed at the other man, recalled the way they'd embraced. Maybe the right man had never asked. Rush frowned, irritated by his own thoughts.

Annabelle tipped her head and
met his eyes. “Daddy told me a lot of fantastic stories. Ones about duels being fought for honor, about great balls and star-crossed lovers.”

“Why, Annabelle,” Rush drawled, “you're a romantic.”

She lifted her eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Not at all.”

“You are.” He leaned toward her. “And a dreamer. Just like your father.”

“I'm not.”

Rush reached up and curled his fingers into her hair. It felt like dandelion down against his skin. “Then what are you, Ms. Annabelle Ames?”

She drew in a shuddering breath, fighting for equilibrium. For control. “Why, I'm…practical. Logical. Pragma—”

“Uh-uh.” He tightened his fingers in her golden hair. “You're a romantic.” He curved his hand around the back of her neck, inching her face toward his. “Soft…womanly.”

Anna battled for an even breath. Dear God, she felt womanly. And soft. And sexual.

Impossible. She was none of those things. She shook her head. “I assure you, I—”

“Oh no, Annabelle. I have your number now.” He drew her face closer. “Remember what you said the other day about Yankees?”

She bit back a whimper, even as she found herself leaning toward him. “That we would have won the war, but you Yankees cheated?”

Rush laughed softly and moved his fingers in slow, mesmerizing circles. “No, Annabelle. You called us brash. And we are. Brash. And bold.” He lowered his voice. “We take what we want.”

Anna pressed her hands against his chest, her heart thundering. She searched for something to say, something bright or clever, something that would bring her crashing back to reality. Her mind was blank save for the need for his mouth, his touch.

“Do you know what I want?”

She hoped she did, but she shook her head, the breath shuddering past her lips.

“This.”

Rush brought his mouth to hers. Softly. Carefully. As if testing her response, testing his own. He brushed his lips across hers; with the tip of his tongue he tasted the tip of hers.

She couldn't judge his response, but hers was cataclysmic. The blood rushed to her head, the breath from her lungs. Parts of her body that had never known heat burst into flame. She ached; she yearned.

She wanted more.

Her head fell back and a moan escaped from deep in her throat. She clutched at his T-shirt, alternately pulling him closer and pushing him away.

He lifted his head, and she made a sound of protest. She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, his expression hooded.

He hadn't enjoyed kissing her, she thought, self-doubt worming its way into her consciousness, replacing the delight of a moment ago. He regretted it. He knew the truth about her.

It hurt. It hurt so badly she thought she might die. She curled her fingers in the soft weave of his shirt. “I thought you wanted to be friends,” she whispered, trying to sound glib and failing miserably.

“But I don't believe men and women can be friends.” Rush smiled wickedly and tumbled her to her back. “Because of sex.”

He lowered his mouth to hers once more, only this time he didn't test; he didn't request. He plundered. He took. And she followed, without thought or fear, self-doubt expunged by arousal.

Wild sensations, foreign and exhilarating, raced through her. The blood pounded in her head until all disappeared but its wild, primitive beat. What was happening to her? she wondered dizzily. She'd never wanted like this…had never behaved so…wantonly.

Anna sucked in a deep breath. The smell of the grass and the earth, of the flowers and the sun, filled her head. And with them the smell of man. This man. Of Rush. He smelled strong. Musky, like a man who had worked all day in the sun. Like a man should.

She drew in another breath, growing drunk on the scent. Drunk and unbearably wet.

Gasping, she tugged him closer, frantically digging her fingers into his shoulders, opening her mouth more, wanting him closer, deeper.

“Anna…Anna…” Rush curled his fingers in her hair, spread out on the ground around her head. The softness of her breasts flattened against his chest as he pressed himself against her. He answered her plea, deepening the kiss, his tongue stroking and twining with hers.

Yet deeper wasn't enough. Rush moved his hands from her hair to her face. He splayed his fingers over her cheeks, stunned at his response to her. At her response to him. He never would have suspected that beneath Anna's quiet, guarded reserve teemed a volcano of passion.

He never would have suspected she could ignite such an answering passion in him.

He was neither young nor inexperienced. Since he'd been old enough to care, women had been drawn to him. And he to them. Sex had come early—and naturally. But this…this didn't feel real. It felt super-real.

He wanted this woman. Beyond reason or good sense. In a way he hadn't wanted since those first desperate encounters in his youth. Or maybe ever.

Why? He tore his mouth from hers. What made her so special? What made holding her feel so new? So extraordinary?

Instinct warned him to go slow; he ignored instinct and found her breasts, cupping them, moving his thumbs across her erect nipples.

Anna froze, a memory from her fifteenth summer barreling into her head, and with it the urge to run. Arousal evaporated, was replaced by fear, icy cold and numbing.

The boy's weight pressed her back against the naked field. A stone bit viciously into her shoulder blade, and she cried out. But not in pain. In terror. She pushed frantically, ineffectually, against the boy's chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

He pawed at her, his hands clutching at her breasts, hurting her. From somewhere outside herself she heard the scream of a truck barreling past, the cry of a mockingbird, the rasp of a zipper being yanked down.

She heard Macy calling her to lunch.

Anna squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the memory from her head. Trying to rid herself of the panic coursing through her. She wasn't fifteen years old, she told herself. She was in control. She knew exactly what to do—where to strike and how—should she be attacked.

This was Rush touching her, not Lee Fuller. She wasn't being attacked. She'd invited Rush's touch, his kiss. She'd enjoyed it almost desperately.

For a moment. Only a moment.

Tears of frustration and disappointment welled in her eyes, and she wedged her hands between them. Dear Lord, how had she allowed herself to get into this situation? What had she been thinking? She couldn't do this. She didn't want it. She'd been crazy to think this time would be different.

A sob rising in her throat, she pushed against Rush's chest.

“Anna?” He lifted his head, his expression dazed, his breathing labored. For a long moment, he gazed down at her, confused. “What's wrong? What's—”

“Let me go.” She squirmed beneath him, fighting the panic, fighting the fear pressing in on her. Fear that he wouldn't let her go. That she would have to fight him. That, in the end, she wouldn't be strong enough to free herself.

What would she do if that happened? she wondered, hysteria rising like a bile inside her. This time, how would she live through it?

“Anna?” Rush curved his fingers around her shoulders. “Did I do something to…tell me what I—”

“Get off me, I said!” The panic clawed at her, and she flailed her fists against his chest. “Now, dammit!”

Rush rolled off her, his expression stunned. Without giving him a chance to speak, Anna jumped up and raced for the safety of Ashland.

Chapter Five

H
ours later, Anna paced. The brilliant light of midday had been replaced by the purple of late afternoon. The time since she'd run from Rush had passed with excruciating slowness. She'd paced and raged and cried; she'd cursed a past that refused to let her out of its grip.

She paused beside one of the parlor windows that faced the front of the house and gazed out at Sweethearts' Magnolia, at the spot that she and Rush had occupied such a short time ago. Tears choked her.
How had she allowed herself to get into that situation? She knew better. Anna covered her face with her hands. And how had she believed that it would be different with this man? With Rush?

But it had been different—it had been
worse.
Anna made a sound of humiliation and pain, shame washing over her. Because she'd felt so deeply. Because she'd wanted him so much.

Had she really arched and moaned and clawed at him? He'd done nothing more than brush his mouth against hers, and she'd all but charged him.

She'd never wanted anyone the way she'd wanted Rush. No wonder she'd hoped…hoped that maybe, just maybe this time, she would be able to be with a man without either freezing or panicking.

Anna moved closer to the window. She saw that Rush had brought the tray up to the gallery and left it there for her. She laid her fingers on the window, remembering what Rush had felt like under her fingers, wishing she touched him now instead of the unresponsive glass.

The tears spilled over and slipped slowly down her cheeks. She turned away from the window. Would she ever be free of the past? Would she ever be able to forget and go on?

For one brief, exciting moment, she had forgotten. For that one moment she had known what it was to be a whole woman.

A knock sounded on the door, and Anna swung toward the foyer, her heart in her throat. Rush. He'd come to talk to her about what had happened between them.

She clasped her hands together. She didn't want to see him. Not now. Not yet. She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe never.

He knocked again. She owed him an explanation. After all, one moment she'd been moaning in his arms; the next, flailing against his chest with her fists.

Her cheeks burned. How would she face him? What would she say when she did?

Anna glanced toward the back of the house. She could hide. Slip into her bedroom, close and lock the door. As the urge to do just that surged through her, she fisted her fingers. If she did, she would have sunk to a new and embarrassing low—hiding like a child. She shook her head. She couldn't do that and still retain a shred of her dignity.

Besides, he knew she was here.

Wiping the moisture from her cheeks, she lifted her chin and crossed to the door. She had to face Rush, just as she had to face life. She had to be strong. In control. She wished she'd had time to prepare an explanation, time to prepare herself to face him. She hadn't. She would simply tell him that what had happened between them had been a mistake. One she expected never to happen again.

Grasping the knob, Anna swung the huge old door open. “Rush, I—”

The woman on the other side of the door lifted her coal-black eyebrows in amusement. “Honey, I ain't no Rush, but I am interested in who he is. You look like you seen union troops comin' up the road.”

“Macy! I didn't expect… You're not—” Anna bit back the words and flung her arms around the other woman, squeezing her tightly.

Macy Taylor was the wife of the plantation's last overseer and had been housekeeper at Ashland the whole time Anna had been growing up. Eighty-some years old and big as a mule, Anna loved her like a second mother.

And at this moment there was no one Anna would have liked to see more. Tears of relief pricked at her eyes, and she fought them back. “It's so good to see you,” Anna murmured.

Macy drew away from her and searched her expression with eyes that saw too much. Anna felt herself flush and cursed the telling color.

“You gonna let your old Macy in? I'm too old and too fat to be standin' out in this heat.”

Shaking her head, Anna drew the other woman in. “Of course. And you're not too old for anything.”

Macy laughed, the throaty sound full of love of life. “Are you saying I'm fat, child?” The big woman clucked her tongue. “Never did have enough respect for your elders. Neither you or that sassy brother of yours.”

“I said no such thing, as you very well know.” Anna smiled and led Macy to the front parlor. She helped the older woman onto an ancient, battered settee. “By any chance is that corn bread I smell?” Anna motioned to the basket Macy clutched on her lap.

“Corn-bread muffins and honey butter.” Macy thrust the basket at Anna. “I thought we could have some tea and a chat. I like mine sweet. Don't you forget.”

As if she could.
Anna shook her head in amusement and started for the kitchen.

A few minutes later Anna sat across from Macy. “I thought your doctor told you to cut down on your sugar intake?”

“He did.” Macy selected a muffin and slathered it with the honey butter. “My fats, too.”

“And?” Anna eyed the muffin and tea meaningfully.

Macy snorted. “The good Lord's seen fit for me to live this long, no uppity boy gonna tell me how to live now. No sir.”

The “uppity boy” was in his thirties and had been the sole physician in Ames since his own father had retired over ten years ago. Anna smiled. “Then by all means, have another muffin.”

“Sassy,” the women muttered, looking Anna squarely in the eye. “Now tell your old Macy what's troublin' you.”

Macy had always been able to see when something bothered her. Always. And now, Anna knew, she would be able to see through anything less than the truth. Even if she didn't comment on Anna's evasion, she would know. It hurt Anna to have Macy think she didn't trust her or care enough to share her feelings with her.

But this she couldn't share.

Anna tried to smile and failed. “Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired. We've…I've been working too hard. That's all. So,” she continued quickly, hoping Macy would let a change of subject slip past, “are you planning to spend July in Memphis again this year? I know your sister must enjoy having you for such a nice long visit.”

Macy narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. Anna sighed. Macy didn't buy her story. She hadn't been distracted by the introduction of her trip to her sister's. Sometimes Macy pushed, sometimes she didn't. It was one of the ways the feisty housekeeper had kept both her and Lowell in line as children. Anna held her breath, wondering which she would do this time, praying she would let the subject drop.

The older woman made a sound of disgust. “I've been tellin' you that for years. You're too thin. You work too hard. But do you listen to Macy? No, sir.” She polished off her muffin and reached for another.
“You need to find yourself a good man, Annabelle Ames. Settle down and have some babies. Women ain't supposed to live this way.” She wagged a finger at her. “Listen to your Macy before it's too late.”

Before it's too late.

The words resounded in Anna's head. Usually she pooh-poohed Macy's old-fashioned sentiments, her concerns. Usually she looked around her and felt complete. Felt like what she was doing was worthwhile, like it was enough.

But today, her love of Ashland wasn't enough. Today, she felt lonely and alone. Today she wondered if it wasn't already too late.

Not wanting Macy to see the glaze of tears in her eyes, she shifted her gaze, pretending interest in a muffin.

“Seen that no-account brother of yours?”

Anna nodded but still didn't meet the other woman's eyes. Lowell had been Macy's baby, too. She knew how much it hurt the other woman to see him so bitter and unhappy.

“Damn shame.” Macy shook her head slowly. “Came by to see me, too. Didn't look good. No, sir. Fed him a meal and read him some Scripture. But he didn't seem to find no peace in it.”

Anna reached across the coffee table and covered Macy's big hand with her own. “I'm sorry.”

“You say that like you had somethin' to do with the way your brother turned out. You didn't.” Macy squeezed her fingers, then released them and rested her full weight against the settee's back. It groaned in response. “Some days I'd like to take that daddy of yours an'…” She shook her head and folded her hands in her lap. “But that ain't the Lord's way.”

Anna opened her mouth, and Macy waved her words aside. “There's nothin' more that needs to be said on that subject, child. Tell me instead about this stranger you hired.”

For the first time in several minutes, Anna thought of Rush and their encounter earlier. Her cheeks heated, and she clasped her hands together. “There's not much to tell. His name's Rush Cousins and he's an experienced builder. We've already finished the roof.”

“Hear tell he's from up north.”

“Boston.”

Macy narrowed her eyes. “Unusual name, Rush. Only known one other. Years ago.”

“Was he a Yankee, too?” Anna asked innocently.

“Sassy-mouthed young'un. I thought I done raised you up better than that.” Once again, she wagged a finger at Anna. “Just be careful, child.”

Anna smiled. “Everybody's so worried about me these days. Do I look that fragile?”

Macy gazed at her, her dark eyes soft with concern.
And affection. “I love you, Annabelle Marie Ames. You and Lowell, you're like my own babies. Don't want nothin' or nobody hurtin' my babies.”

Tears sprang to Anna's eyes again, only this time she didn't try to hide them. She crossed to Macy and hugged her. “I love you, too, Macy.”

Macy patted her cheek. “I best be goin'. Brady'll be callin' for me any minute. You know how he gets when I make him wait.”

“That I do.” Anna helped the older women up, alarmed at how their visit had fatigued her. Each time Anna saw her, Macy seemed to have aged a little more. And they saw each other every couple of weeks, sometimes more often than that. Anna couldn't imagine a day when Macy wouldn't be a phone call away.

“Big storm expected tonight,” Macy said as Anna opened the front door. “Sky's already changin'.”

Anna looked up at the sky, at the gathering clouds, then back at Macy. “Don't worry about me, I've already battened down the hatches.” They stepped out onto the gallery. “I've got plenty of bottled water and candles and…”

Rush stood on a ladder not ten feet from them, examining damage to the gallery ceiling. Anna gazed at him, her mouth dry, her palms damp. Dear Lord, not now. She wasn't ready for this, she wasn't—

Rush turned and met her eyes. Anna's heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance. He didn't smile or speak; his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

Anna sucked in a quick breath and tore her gaze from Rush's. She turned back to Macy, fighting for an air of normalcy. “Macy, this is…Rush Cousins. Rush, this is Macy Taylor. An old friend.”

Macy moved her gaze speculatively over him. “So you're the Yankee. From Boston.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, flashing Macy a brilliant smile. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

Just then, Brady drove up and honked. Macy didn't move. She continued to stare at Rush, and Anna said a silent thank-you when Brady honked again, this time with little patience. She'd seen the speculation in Macy's eyes, and she didn't want to give her too much opportunity to figure out what was going on.

A kiss, Anna thought, disgusted with herself. They'd shared a kiss; nothing else was going on.

Macy held tightly to Anna's arm as they descended the steps and crossed to the drive. “There's somethin' mighty familiar about that boy.”

Anna shook her head. “I don't know what it could be. He just arrived in Ames three weeks ago.”

“Powerful handsome.”

Anna flushed. “I hadn't noticed.”

Macy chuckled and let Anna help her into the battered old sedan. Once settled, the older woman looked at Anna in knowing amusement. “Child, if that man doesn't set your panties on fire, you ain't alive.”

“Macy!”

The older woman chuckled again. “I've lived too long and seen too much to pitty-pat around the truth. You need a man, an' there's a good one right under your nose.”

Beside Macy, Brady sighed, rested his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. Anna bit back a smile. Like she did, Brady knew from experience that when Macy had a point to make, there was no rushing her.

“First of all, Macy, I don't `need' a man, and secondly, how did we go from `be careful' to `snag him quick' with nothing more than an introduction? You don't know anything about him.”

“But I do.” She folded her big hands primly in her lap. “You can tell a lot about a man from his eyes. And smile. I can tell that this is a good one.”

Anna made a sound of exasperation. “Macy—”

“Mark my words, child, and don't let him get away.”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Anna bent and pressed a kiss to Macy's soft, dark cheek. “But I love you anyway.”

Macy's eyes filled. “I love you, too, sugar sweet.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Brady, Anna watched the two drive off. When the car disappeared from sight, she turned to Ashland.

And Rush.

Face him now, she told herself. Now, while feeling buoyed by Macy's visit. Confront the situation head-on.

Calling herself a coward, Anna turned and went around to the back door.

* * *

Rush stood just beyond Ashland's circle of light. He gazed up at the house, at the bright but empty windows, and thought of Anna. Passionate and pliant in his arms, her cheeks hot with arousal, her lips, soft and parted, moist from his kisses.

She was different from any woman he'd ever known. She was smart and strong, not afraid of doing any job she had to, even one usually reserved for men. Yet at the same time she was soft, insecure, and as she'd been this afternoon, heartbreakingly vulnerable.