Sweet Annie (6 page)

"Bet I can
guess."

She looked up at his
silhouette against the dark sky.

"They treat you like a
child," he said.

The
candid statement hung in the night air. They treated her like a child.
Somewhere over the years she'd grown into a woman, but they hadn't acknowledged
it. Her mother chided and protected, her father pampered and decided, and
Burdy...well Burdy was Burdy.

"They
don't see me as a person, not a real person," she said, the disclosure
tumbling out. “To my parents, to my friends, to the whole world, I'm poor
little An-me.

"But not to you,"
he said.

"Even
the things that I can do, they don't allow me to do. I'm able to care for my
nephew, I can hold him and play with him. I can help with dinner and chores and
all kinds of things." Tears had gathered behind her eyes and she swallowed
hard to keep them from her voice. "I'm not just a burden." Annie
looked up at him. "I can stand. I can walk...a little."

She'd
never shared these feelings with anyone. Sharing her secret shame made her feel
vulnerable, but also free and, somehow, unburdened.

"Well
then, stand up, Annie."

She
just stared at him.

"You
want to, don't you?"

"Yes. But—it's
embarrassing."

"To who? There's just
me and you out here."

Annie
glanced back at the light pouring from the windowpanes of the social hall. The
strains of the music reached them, sounding faraway and off-key. No one would
see.

She stepped across the
wooden footrest to reach the ground, and pushed against the arms of her chair
for leverage. Slowly, she lifted her weight until she was upright. The chair
remained safely behind her.

"Have you ever stood
outside at night before?"

"Not for years."

He
rolled the chair completely away, surprising her. She stood in the open,
nothing to fall onto except the hard earth. Her heart hammered and she felt
quite vulnerable.

Luke reached for her hand.

She grasped it like a
lifeline.

"Let's
walk away from the tree and stand under the stars," he coaxed.

"But there are
roots."

"If you fall, I'll
pick you up."

She
pictured herself falling, pictured him picking her up, dusting her off, as
she'd seen Diana do to little Will so many times. She laughed out loud.

Yes, he could pick her up.
What was so awful about falling? What was the worst thing that could happen to
her? A skinned knee? A dirty dress? A bruised ego?

Holding
his strong, callused hand, she moved forward across the grass with her
ungainly limp. Since her childhood, she'd stolen only secret steps in her room,
never outside on the ground. She'd forgotten how the grass felt beneath her
shoes.

"Wrangler's
over here," he said, leading her toward the penned horses.

"Is
he? You rode him?"

Luke clucked and his horse
stepped away from a cluster of animals and walked over to the pine pole fence.

Annie placed her left hand
on the fence for support. Luke released her other hand and turned it over, placing
her palm on Wrangler's soft nose.

Annie smiled and stroked
the horse's bony forehead. He nuzzled the front of Luke's shirt. Luke took
something from his pocket and opened his palm. The horse bit it delicately and
crunched.

"What was that?"

"A sugar cube. They
were on the table with the coffee."

"I
think those were intended for the coffee," she said with a grin.

"I had punch, which
was delicious, even without whiskey, because you poured it."

She turned toward him. Moonlight bathed his black
hair and his broad shoulders, now only an arm's length from her touch.

"I wanted to taste the
sweetness on your fingers," he said softly.

Annie's heart kicked
against her ribs at his words, at the thought of his lips, his tongue on her
fingers. This wasn't just flattery, it was a wicked thing to say, she was sure.
"Did you gentlemen drink whiskey and smoke cigars at your gathering?'' she
asked, to change the subject.

"We did."

It sounded sinful, but not
as sinful as him tasting her fingers. Her fingertips tingled at the suggestive
thought.

And then Annie did the craziest, boldest, most spontaneous
thing she'd ever done in her life. She reached across the distance between them
and touched his mouth. He had a small scar on his top lip that she remembered
seeing in the sunlight, and she traced his lip, searching by feel. "You
have a scar on your lip... here."

"Mm-hmm."

Beneath her fingers, his lips were warm and smooth,
pliant, and ever so sensual. "Where did you get it?"

His mouth formed the word she felt from her fingers
to her heart. "Burdell."

The image of that day burst
into her mind with cruel vengeance. Luke hadn't stood a chance against her much
larger and stronger brother, not to mention his crowd of friends. She vividly
remembered the trickle of crimson at the corner of his mouth. She'd cried her
heart out night after night, wondering if he was all right. If he hated her.

"Did you hate me, Luke?"

He raised a hand and
circled her wrist, his long hard fingers gently enveloping. "Of course
not."

"I'm sorry." The
words were so inadequate, she was ashamed to have said them.

"The only thing I was
ever sorry about was that your family hated
me
after
that. I never got close enough to talk to you again."

"They just meant to
protect me," she said, knowing that she was defending them, and not
meaning to excuse what had happened to Luke.

"They mean well,"
he agreed against the sensitive pads of her fingers. A moment later, he opened
his mouth and touched his warm damp tongue to her skin.

Annie's arm jerked, but she
didn't draw away. His breath, hot and moist, sent a shiver up her arm to her
breasts and tightened them. Her whole body tingled with unfamiliar
anticipation.

"I probably taste like
horse," she said in a shaky whisper.

"I eat and sleep
horses, so I wouldn't notice," he said. "I think you taste like
peppermint ice cream."

She laughed then, an
expression of nervous release and tactile enjoyment.

Luke cupped her hand and
pulled it away from his mouth at the same time he stepped in and drew her close
with his other arm. "I want to kiss you."

Annie'd seen her father
give her mother pecks on the cheek. She'd seen Diana kiss Will. But she'd seen
Guy Halverson kiss his new bride after they were pronounced man and wife that
afternoon, and she knew the kiss Luke intended to give her was more like that
one. And she wanted him to.

She moved her hand from the pine rail to his shoulder
for support. Beneath her palm he was strong and solid, the arm around her waist
muscled, yet unre-stricting.

She
raised her face expectantly. Luke lowered his head and covered her lips with
his, a sweet press of flesh and a gentle bonding of souls. She felt beautiful
and desirable and feminine in his arms, heady emotions she'd never felt
before.

There was no pity in this
kiss, no embarrassment, no condescension. The moment was filled with honeyed
yearning, joint appreciation and desire. All the loneliness of a lifetime
welled up to be purged by this one kiss.

He raised his head,
separating their lips, and Annie almost cried with disappointment that it was
over. But he made no move to pull away, placing a palm along her cheek, grazing
the curls at her temple with his fingertips. "You're delicate,
Annie," he said, his breath against her cheek. "But you're stronger
than anyone thinks."

"I'm not so
delicate," she said, denying the frailty she so detested. "I'm not
delicate at all." She threaded her fingers into the satiny cool hair at
the back of his neck and tightened them as though to hold him captive with that
gentle grip.

Luke bracketed her jaw with
both hands and kissed her deeply, stealing her breath and her hesitation, and
giving her confidence and a newfound sense of delight. She pressed a palm
against his shirtfront to steady herself and his warmth seeped into her skin.

The smell and feel and
taste of him saturated her senses. Luke was the only person in her entire world
at that moment.

Her heart raced, rushing
blood to tingle across her skin and pound in her ears. Her body caught fire and
thrummed to the beat of Luke's heart beneath her palm.

Luke raised his head, and
she had to untangle his hair from her fist. He took her hands and held them
firmly, stepping back and placing distance between their bodies.
"Annie," he said on a gust of released air. "Sweet, sweet
Annie."

Annie's heart soared with a
sense of freedom. "I never imagined," she said shakily.

"I did," came his
hoarse confession. "But this was better than my dreams."

"You
imagined kissing me?" "Yes."

Why?
Why would he even look twice at her when there were so many pretty, healthy
girls in Copper Creek? The knowledge astounded her. Pleased her beyond
measure.

"You'd
better get back," he said, "before they come looking for you."

"I'll
see you again?" she asked, then bit her lip at her forwardness.

"I'll
find a way," he promised. He placed her hand on the rail and went for her
chair. Annie seated herself and Luke pushed her close to the building. "I
promise, Annie," he said before he disappeared into the night.

She
sat alone for a few minutes, savoring the precious minutes they'd spent
together. Finally, she pushed herself toward the rear entrance, but her arms
had grown tired, and she paused.

"Annie!
There you are!" Burdell rounded the corner of the building. "We've
been looking for you."

"I just came out for
some air."

"Mama said you didn't
have your lap robe."

"I was warm
enough."

He
pushed her chair toward the social hall, and Annie didn't even dread spending
the rest of the evening sitting in her chair along the wall. She had the priceless
memory of Luke's kiss to savor until he found a way to see her again.

"I want to help with the cleaning today,
Mama," Annie told her mother the following Monday morning.

"Nonsense, Annie," Mother said, looking
up from the tasks she'd been listing on a piece of paper for the young woman
who worked for them part-time. “Mrs. Harper can handle the heavy chores as she
always does. I am prepared to do the dusting myself."

"I
can do the dusting," Annie said, pushing her chair forward.

"It's
not an appropriate task for you," her mother disagreed. "You have
your books to read and your sewing to keep you busy."

"Well
then, just what am I good for?" Annie asked in exasperation.

"We
love you, darling," her mother said in her most patronizing voice.
"You're our precious girl. We don't expect you to tax yourself with
household chores."

"Tax
myself? Mother, I'm bored out of my mind most of the time. I feel useless
sitting here. Worthless!"

"Get
that out of your head right now," her mother said sternly. "You most
certainly are not worthless."

"Then
let me help," Annie begged. "I have trouble walking, Mama. I don't
have a weak heart or a feeble constitution. I need to do something!"

As though Annie's
declaration had disoriented her, Mildred laid down the ink pen and stood,
glancing about the drawing room, her expression one of bewilderment.
"What's come over you, child?"

"She
could dust the tables and the lamps, Mrs. Sweetwater," Glenda Harper suggested
kindly.