Sweet Annie (26 page)

"You
know," he said against her hair, "it's customary for the bride and
groom to leave a little early. We can go anytime."

Glancing
over his shoulder, she spotted her mother seated between two other wives, but
not participating in their conversation. Mildred's attention was focused
unhappily on Annie and Luke. Her ominous predictions rang in Annie's head.

Annie
blocked them out and concentrated on Luke's suggestion and her joy over this
new life for which she'd been so eager. "I guess I'm a little tired,"
she told him. "I didn't sleep last night."

"Let's start saying
our goodbyes, then."

Luke
worked them to the edge of the floor and inconspicuously told a few people
they were leaving.

"Do
you want to come back for your presents tomorrow or shall we bring them to
you?" Guy Hal-verson asked Luke.

"Burt's
taking care of the livery tomorrow," Luke replied. "I appreciate the
offer, if you don't mind."

"Are
you kidding? Lizzy's been dying to see your house."

Luke shook Guy's hand.

Annie
caught her father's eye and waved. Eldon strode toward her. He and Luke stared
at each other, neither of them speaking. Finally Annie stepped forward and
hugged her father.

His
arms closed around her convulsively. "You were a beautiful bride,
Annie," he said, his voice sounding choked.

She released him, moved
back and took Luke's hand, noting that her mother deliberately turned aside and
folded a tablecloth.

Charmaine
brought their coats and Annie slipped hers on, but carried Luke's. At the door,
he picked her up and carried her to the area where the horses and buggies
waited and lifted her to the seat. “Want your coat?"

He
glanced at the sun still high in the sky. "In a minute."

She
arranged her voluminous skirts as he hitched the horse and climbed up, slipping
on his coat and urging the horse forward. He stopped at the livery and loaded
the trunks and boxes containing Annie's personal items.

"I told you I didn't
have much," she said.

"And
I told you all I wanted was you." He leaned to kiss her nose.

She pulled her coat around
herself, a chill enveloping the countryside in the shade of the mountains. The
beauty of the scenery was lost on her this time, as she thought ahead to the
afternoon and evening that lay before them.

It
was midafternoon when they reached the house at the bottom of the foothills.
Luke carried her to the door and she tamed the knob.

"Welcome home, Mrs.
Carpenter."

She touched his face, but
realized how cold her hand was and pulled it back. He carried her inside and
set her down.

Quickly
he moved to the fireplace and lit the kindling that had been placed at the
ready. Going back out, he made several trips with her belongings, carrying the
heavy trunks into the bedroom. He stopped beside her and bmshed his palms
together. "I have to put up the horse and wagon."

"Go ahead."

"I'll be right
back."

She nodded and managed a
weak smile. "I'm fine."

He
left and she kept her coat on, walking carefully across the bare floor to the
empty mantel. They would have a clock, she thought idly. Her gaze drifted to
the open door to the bedroom, and she made her way over and peered in.

A
bed with an iron headboard had been placed in the room since she'd last see it.
A plain wool blanket covered the mattress. Luke's clothing and hats hung on a
few of the pegs. A chest of drawers held a lantern, and a shiny bucket and
several towels sat on a stack of crates.

He'd done all he could to
prepare a home for her. None of it was fancy, none of it was anything like her
parents' home. But it was theirs. And he'd done it all himself. For her.

Eyes smarting she turned
back to the outer room, hung her coat on a peg inside the door and holding her
veil well away, she used a poker to help the fire along. After a few minutes,
she added a split log from the stack beside the rock hearth.

The door opened and closed
and the draft sucked the flames and sent sparks up the chimney.

Luke removed his coat and
hung it. "You got the fire going. You should have waited, you might have
gotten your dress dirty."

Annie looked down at the
yards and yards of white satin. "I'll never wear it again."

"Our daughter might."

There he went, making her blush again.

He moved to stand before
her. "It's a beautiful gown. I still can't believe you made it
yourself."

She glanced away and back.

"When I saw you walk
into church, my heart just leaped inside my chest."

She laughed nervously.
"You were probably wondering if I was going to trip over the hem and fall
headlong down the aisle."

He raised a hand to touch
her, but drew it back. "No, I didn't think that at all." He looked at
his hands. "I have to wash up. I brushed down the horse."

"I don't mind that
smell on you, you know."

"It's
a good thing, you're going to smell it a lot." He started a fire in the
stove. "You know how to do this?"

"Glenda showed
me."

Taking
a kettle from a back burner, he pumped water and placed it on the stove.
"If you bank the coals, so they're just warm, the water will stay warm in
the reservoir. I thought that would be nice for you in the mornings."

"It will be."

He
removed his dark wool jacket, revealing suspenders crossed over a white shirt
with a day's worth of wrinkles. The cotton stuck to his lean ribs and back
where moisture from his body had adhered it.

He
raised his head and gave her a questioning look. "I'm going to take off my
shirt and wash. Shall I go in the other room?''

Goodness
no! She didn't want to miss a moment of this. She shook her head slowly.

His
fingers raised to his tie and loosened it, yanking it free of the collar and
tossing it over the back of a chair. Next he unbuttoned the top two buttons,
but he paused and met her gaze.

Perhaps he was
uncomfortable with her staring at him. "Do you mind if I watch?" she
asked.

He
swallowed, but shook his head, and his fingers continued their journey down the
line of buttons until he shrugged out of the suspenders, letting them drop to
dangle at his thighs. He tugged the hem of his shirt from his trousers. The
shirt gaped open. His chest was covered with hair as black as that on his head.

Annie
stared. Her knees trembled. "Do you mind if I sit?"

"No."

She folded onto a chair.

His collar came off
separately, and he placed it on the table. With a fluid movement, he tugged one
arm from the garment and then the other, and laid the shirt over the chair with
his tie.

He was all muscle and
sinew, chest, neck, arms, belly, and she could see now that the ebony hair grew
in a triangle shape with the widest area across his chest and the narrowest
point arrowing into the waistband of his black trousers.

His skin glowed in the
sunlight from the curtainless window, dark and supple, nothing like her fair
white skin with its dusting of freckles.

Annie swallowed, realizing her throat had gone dry.

He turned and poured hot
water into an enamel basin, pulled a cup and bar of soap from a shelf near the
stove and scraped soap off with his razor. Stirring with a brush, he made a
lather, and, looking in the small square mirror on the wall, he spread it
across his cheek, chin and neck.

"What are you
doing?" She'd never seen anyone wash their face like that.

"Shaving."

"Oh." Of course.

"Didn't
you ever see your father or brother shave?" "No."

His hand lowered.
"Maybe it's ungentlemanly of me to do this here—with you watching. Where
does your father shave?"

"I have no idea."
But she didn't want him to go somewhere else. "But I like it. Didn't you
shave this morning?''

His
hand came up with the brush. “My beard grows fast." He finished lathering,
tipped his head back and guided the razor up his neck in even strokes.

Annie'd
never been so captivated, not even by one of the adventure stories she'd read
from the library. What a fascination Luke Carpenter was. Without conscious
thought, she stood and moved a little closer, leaning on the back of the chair,
his cotton shirt beneath her fingers, the smell of him bringing moisture back
to her mouth.

From
this close, she could see his eyes in the mirror. He met hers. "I can see
that fire in your eyes, Annie," he said hoarsely.

Now
he drew the razor down his cheek, across his chin, then down the other cheek
and stroked beneath his nose while he made a comical face that gave him access
to the whiskers.

Bending
forward, he rinsed the remaining streaks of lather from his face while Annie
observed the flexing muscles in his back and shoulders, noted the absorbing
manner in which his spine separated the corded muscles.

Picking
up the basin, he moved past her, opened the door and returned a moment later
with it empty. He poured more water in, and taking a cloth, he soaped it and
washed his chest and under his arms.

Water
splashed as he rinsed. He grabbed a towel to dry his face and arms.
Straightening, he turned toward her. A damp wave fell over his forehead.
Droplets glistened in the thick curls on his chest where her attention
riveted. Annie reached for a length of toweling.

Luke lowered his arms.

Annie took a step forward. He watched her.

She
raised the towel and blotted at the drops on his chest, taking her time,
inhaling the scents of soap and man. She wiped his ear, his shoulder, dropped
the towel to the floor and stretched a tentative hand to touch the black curls
matting his chest, finding them surprisingly soft.

Annie
ran her finger across his collarbone, tested the smoothly shaven skin on his
throat, then used her palm to test the skin of his shoulder and biceps. His
flesh seemed alive beneath her touch. "You are so beautiful," she
whispered.

He
expelled a breath and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

Annie
wanted to press her cheek against that chest. She stared at it hard.
Embarrassed by her boldness and the odd quaking in her abdomen, she took a step
back.

Luke
lowered his gaze. Intense blue heat raked her face and hair, the veil.
"You must be uncomfortable after being in that dress all day. Do you need
help taking it off?"

Was he thinking fair was
fair—time for her to bare herself to him? Her heart hammered up into her
throat. She raised her fingers to the pulse there, found the warm pearls.

Watching
Luke do anything was like watching a ballet or listening to music. His perfect
body moved fluidly and gracefully, each motion a synchronized harmony of muscle
and flesh.

She was clumsy and
imperfect and would never be called graceful. Luke would never watch her move
or see her without her clothes and be able to call her beautiful.

Annie
swallowed humiliating self-doubts, knowing he loved her. Never would she be
here if he didn't love her.

"Yes,"
she said, finding her voice, but it sounded as though it came from far away.
"I need help unbuttoning my dress."

Chapter Thirteen

"But
it's—" her gaze went to the window "—it's not dark yet."

"Not
yet," he said, puzzling over her words. "Should it be dark?"

"Well, I just thought,
I mean I imagined..."

The
reason for her hesitation dawned on him. "Annie, we're not gonna do
anything at any time that you're not comfortable with. I was only suggesting
that you might want to change clothes. If you want to dress in somethin' else
until bedtime, that's fine."