The Stillburrow Crush (8 page)

The Stillburrow Crush

by Linda Kage

cream-colored set. It was a step up for us, but Mom still wasn't satisfied. Dad budged a little though and let her paint the walls.

"Whoa," Luke said. He ran his hand over a corner table and then examined his fingers. They came away clean and free of dust.

"I know." I stood next to him, temporarily forgetting my irritation. "I told my mom she would make millions if she ever started her own cleaning service."

"She would," he agreed. "I know my mom would hire her instantly. She's not very happy with the cleaning lady we have now."

Leave it to him to mention his family could afford a cleaning service.

"Thanks a lot."

Luke turned to stare at me. He seemed surprised to hear my tone of voice. "What?"

I looked away and started for the kitchen. "Nothing."

He followed me. I could feel him right behind me. "No.

That was definitely something. What'd I say?"

I spun around so quickly he had to pull up short to keep from plowing into me. The distance between us was close enough I had to move back a step to stay mad. Otherwise, I would've melted right there at his feet.

"I already realize your family is so much better off than mine. And I already know you could afford a cleaning lady while my family probably should be cleaning houses to put more money toward our debts. I'm also well aware of the fact I'm poor and you're rich, OK. So you don't have to rub it in."

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The Stillburrow Crush

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"What?!"
Luke grabbed my arm. "I didn't mean that."

I pulled away to ground my fisted hands onto my hips and glare up at him. "But didn't you?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted. I watched him squint his eyes and grit his teeth. "I wasn't thinking of money at all when I said it. And I wasn't trying to rub anything in."

He pointed a finger at my nose and stepped closer, towering over me until I had to crane my head back to see the fury in his eyes. "I'm sick of you always attacking me.

Who cares about who has more money? It doesn't make a bit of difference about anything."

"Oh yeah," I said. "I bet you know exactly how much my daddy owes your daddy."

Luke took a step away, breathing heavily. He ran his hand through his hair, letting the black locks fall wildly. When he eyed me again, he seemed a bit calmer. "He doesn't owe my dad anything. If he has a debt, then it's with the bank."

"But you know what his debt is, don't you?" When Luke's face flushed, I shot back. "You do!"

"Oh, who cares what I know," Luke said, his voice growing louder. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It does," I said. "It's important."

Luke stopped his argument then. He stared at me for a second, taking in my red face, my rising and falling chest, and my fisted hands. His shoulders dropped and he said, "You know, Carrie, it's only important because you're making it important."

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I looked away, a little guilty, and I crossed my arms self-consciously. "I'm not the only one. Everybody in this whole town puts value on who owns what and who makes what."

"And since when do you care what everybody else thinks?"

I looked at him, bewildered. I wanted to say, "Since I learned I was a nobody and not good enough for you," but he started in again.

"From way back in grade school, I remember you as the one who rolled your eyes at what everyone else did and then went off to do your own thing. When Jill Anderson called E.T.

Fitz 'Elmer Fudd' you were the one that gave her a black eye and became his personal defender. You were the one who showed up in a bright green dress on 'All Red' spirit day."

I grinned. "That was good, wasn't it?"

Luke smiled too. "I'll never forget the look on Principal Eggrow's face when he saw you strolling down the hall dressed like an undecorated Christmas tree."

I beamed up at him. We were standing so close, I had this powerful urge to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him for making me feel better. And I was about to do just that. I could feel myself drawing closer when I realized what I was doing. I jumped back, coughed into my hand and started for the refrigerator

"OK, you're right." I looked up and caught the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "This time, anyway," I added before dropping my gaze. "And I'm sorry I overreacted about the money issue."

"Are you going to stop making me feel like I owe you something because of it?" I nodded and he said, "Because I 73

The Stillburrow Crush

by Linda Kage

can't help who my parents are, anymore than you can control who yours are."

"I know," I said, and bent my head even more. "I'm sorry." Sheesh, he had this terrific ability to make me feel like a jerk.

"All right, then. I'm glad we got that straight."

But I couldn't raise my head. Everything I'd said to him was suddenly replaying in my head.

"Hey," he said softly, and bumped my arm with his shoulder. I looked up. "Don't worry about it anymore, all right?"

I nodded but I couldn't speak. I still couldn't believe how rude I'd been. Sure, I was honest but that didn't mean I had to intentionally say something to hurt another person. Well, unless it was Marty. And this guy was by no means my brother.

"What've you got to eat in here, anyway?" he said. I'd moved to the fridge but hadn't gotten around to opening it.

So he seized the initiative for me. It took me a second to realize he was trying to smooth us out of an awkward moment. But when I did, I fell for him even harder. And I completely forgot about why I'd been so angry with him in the first place.

Luke rested his arm on the top of the opened refrigerator door and leaned down to peer inside. I caught myself staring at him, noticing how nice he looked when he leaned over. I turned away, blushing, glad he couldn't read my thoughts.

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And that's when I saw the note lying on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. It was from my mother, telling me she'd gone to Paulbrook to buy a birthday present for Aunt Kay.

That meant I was alone in the house with Luke.

Suddenly jittery in the stomach, I reached for the fruit bowl on the counter, knowing I needed to keep my nervous fingers busy or they'd shake right off my hands. I pulled out a banana, peeled it, and took a bite just as Luke stood up empty-handed. When he saw my food of choice, he gave me an odd look.

"No wonder you're so skinny."

I shrugged and looked at my banana. "What?"

"Carrie, Carrie, Carrie," he said on a disapproving sigh.

"This is the prime time of the day for a person to splurge on junk food." He spoke seriously, as if it was a sacred belief, and I had to giggle. But he didn't catch the humor.

"Think about it," he said. "Adults stuff that nutritious garbage down us three times a day. Right after the bell rings and we've gained our freedom, we need a little brain food to recoup." He stopped lecturing then and just shook his head like I was hopeless. I took another bite and he grabbed the banana from me.

"Hey. I'm not done with that."

"Yes, you are." He found a trashcan and threw my snack away.

When he returned, I set my hands on my hips. "What do you think you're doing?"

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"Here." He grabbed my shoulders and ushered me to a chair, pushing me into it. "Sit. I see you need a lesson. So I'm going to demonstrate how to make a
true
after-school snack."

I was stunned. Before my very eyes, Luke Carter turned into some kind of Betty Crocker, opening cabinets and pulling down boxes and jars.

"Make yourself at home," I said dryly. But then I became too fascinated with watching him to comment further.

I had no idea what he was making but the ingredients were vanilla wafers, creamy peanut butter, and chocolate syrup. When he pulled open the freezer door and hauled out a tub of vanilla ice cream, I wrinkled my nose. What was he doing? Luke found a bowl in one of the cabinets and started to create his masterpiece. First, he piled on three huge scoops of ice cream and then he spread the peanut butter over it like frosting. He lined the top with vanilla wafers and then he artistically applied the syrup. When he was done he stepped back, grinning.

"Now
this
is an after-school snack."

I gaped at the formation he'd built. "You're not actually going to eat that, are you?"

He flashed his dimples. "Nope. You are. I'm going to make my own."

I surged to my feet. "No way." I couldn't eat that much in a whole day.

Luke's back faced me as he searched a row of drawers.

Either he didn't hear what I said or he simply ignored me because he said, "Where's your silverware drawer?"

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He pulled open one drawer and found it full of wine bottles.

He slipped one out and cradled it in his hands while he read the label. Then he glanced over toward me and wiggled his eyebrows. When I shook my head, he called me a party pooper and put it back, only to pull open the next drawer.

"Don't you people use silverware around here?"

"Not at all," I answered, rolling my eyes and sweeping open a drawer near me. "We eat with our bare hands like the uncouth
savages
we Paxtons are."

Luke spun around to glare at me but when he saw I'd opened the drawer he was looking for, he marched over and yanked out a spoon. He held it two inches in front of my face and nodded toward the bowl. "Eat."

I stuck my tongue out at him. It was immature but it had his face going purple and his jaw clenching.

Then his shoulders dropped. He sighed. "Come on, Carrie.

I made it just for you. You could at least try it."

I glanced at the melting mass of ice cream and other assorted goods. Food heaped in a mound three inches higher than the rim. I winced. "Make me a smaller version and I might."

His face instantly brightened. "One smaller version coming up."

He hummed while he whipped up another bowl, one that was significantly smaller but still looked like too much. When he set it in front of me, I made a face.

He growled. "You said you'd try it."

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I glared up at him. "I said I might," I reminded him. But then I saw the hint of a wounded expression and melted. "I want to see you take a bite of yours first."

His injured look flashed back into a smile. "Oh ye of little faith," he said, and to prove his snack worthy, he picked up his bowl. I watched him shovel in a large bite and almost gagged. But the abundant volume he consumed didn't seem to bother Luke. He moaned and made sounds of pleasure.

"Told you it was good."

I snickered. "You know you look totally stupid doing that, don't you?" I lied. He really looked adorable, but I wasn't about to let him know that.

He stopped with the sounds and gave me a dirty look.

When I didn't even attempt to try my share, he dished out a spoonful for me. My stomach did a little flip-flop when he held it up to my mouth, but there was no way I could refuse that bite. I opened up and squeezed my eyes shut. He muttered the word
coward
as he gave me a taste. I took my first mouthful. Cold ice cream and warm peanut butter mixed with the crunchy wafers. It was a different sensation than I expected but it grew on me. My teeth clinked on stainless steel as Luke pulled the spoon free. I heard him scoop up a second bite. OK, so it wasn't bad.

I opened my eyes and caught Luke watching me intently.

When I shrugged, he chuckled. "I bet you wouldn't admit it if this was the best thing you ever tasted."

I swallowed and dabbed at the corner of my mouth for crumbs. "It was fine," I said in my prim-and-proper voice.

"You loved it," he retorted.

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"I said it was good. What more do you want?"

Luke continued to stare at me as if he expected an attack.

I lifted my chin, meeting his challenging gaze. He really did have pretty eyes. The blue in them was so pure. But as I stared at them longer, I began to find little golden specks in the blue. And the black iris part had these lighter lines that angled in toward the center. I'd never examined someone's eyes so closely. Then I noticed he was staring at me just as intently.

I turned away slightly, dropping my gaze, and heard Luke clear his throat.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him rub the back of his neck. "I thought we were supposed to be studying trigonometry," he said.

I nodded, still unable to meet his gaze. "I'll go get our bags."

I pressed my hand over my heart as I raced back into the living room. "Calm down, Carrie. Just...breathe." But I felt exhilarated. I wanted to dance. Luke Carter was in my house.

He made me food, he spoon-fed me, and stood close enough to kiss me. There was no way I could calm down. I fanned my hot face, but it was useless. I was definitely smitten with the guy. Smitten? An old fashioned word, yes, but it suited the situation perfectly.

"Where's your room?" I heard him call from the kitchen.

I grabbed our packs and stood quickly, my eyes growing wide. "Why?" I yelled back, hoping desperately he wasn't searching for it, that he hadn't already found the pigsty which I called my lair.

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The Stillburrow Crush

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"Isn't that where we're going to study?"

I raced to the kitchen and slumped against the doorframe when I saw him still there, leaning against the counter and gobbling down his ice cream creation. "What's wrong with the kitchen table," I said, winded from my run.

He glanced up, set his bowl down on the table, and strolled over to slide his book bag off my shoulder. "What's wrong with your room?" he countered.

"I'm not going to let you see my room. Are you crazy?"

His eyebrows shot up and he took a startled step back. "I guess so."