Part 2 (2/2)
Annie made herself speak, but she kept her eyes averted. ”Yes, Mr. Carpenter, thank you.”
”You're welcome, Miss Sweet.w.a.ter.” He paid their bill, then took charge of her chair, wheeling her out the door.
She focused all her attention on not thinking that he'd be lifting her again-holding her close against his chest. She stood and took a step to hang on to the corner of the wagon while he helped Charmaine up to the seat.
”You're standing!” he said, returning to her. The surprise in his voice embarra.s.sed her.
”I can stand,” she replied.
He remained a few feet away. ”Can you walk?”
She lifted her chin. ”Yes.”
”Well, come over here to me then.” He reached a hand toward her.
His words froze her to the spot. Face burning, she shook her head. ”Charmaine will help me up if you don't want to.”
”I didn't say I didn't want to.” Stepping forward, he swept her up so quickly, her breath caught. ”I just wanted to see you walk.”
”I'm not a side show,” she said, bristling.
He climbed into the back of the wagon and knelt to lower her to the blankets. Without standing back up, he knelt before her, reaching out to catch her chin on his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze. ”I'm a friend, remember?”
Lord, those eyes were blue. And filled with compa.s.sion. She hated his pity. ”My friends don't ask me to humiliate myself.”
”Is that what I did?”
She nodded best she could with him holding her chin.
”I'm sorry then. I would never hurt you, Annie.”
He wouldn't. Of that she was certain. And he was a friend-or he had been-for a wonderful fleeting afternoon long ago. ”I know.”
He released her and sat back on his haunches. ”See you at the wedding.”
She lowered her gaze to her gloved hands in her lap and nodded.
He jumped down from the tailgate, raised and latched it. ”Afternoon, Miss Renlow,” he called to Charmaine.
”Bye!” she called. ”Thank you for the ice cream!”
At her urging, the horse pulled them away.
”Why are you so p.r.i.c.kly around him, Annie?” she called over her shoulder.
Annie moved to sit behind her cousin. ”I wasn't p.r.i.c.kly.”
”You were almost rude.”
”I was not.”
”Were so.”
”You know how my parents feel about him.”
”And I don't know why. He's charming.”
”I know you think so. You're going to have bruises on your cheeks from pinching them every time he looked away. And where did that dreadful accent come from? You forgot it part of the time.”
Charmaine groaned. ”He probably thinks I'm an idiot.”
”He wouldn't think that.”
”No, he wouldn't, would he? We'll see him again at Lizzy's wedding-and at the reception. Maybe he'll ask me to dance!”
Annie's heart fluttered, then sank at the thought of seeing him again-of watching him dance with Charmaine. She cast the hurt firmly aside. Annie loved her cousin. Charmaine was a lovely young girl, and she deserved someone nice-someone handsome and thoughtful. As much as it disturbed her to think it, Luke and Charmaine would make a lovely couple. Both were strikingly attractive, both graceful and energetic and good with people.
She had no right to feel possessive about Luke Carpenter. Just because he'd been kind to her on more than one occasion didn't mean anything. Quite likely, he felt sorry for her.
And that thought broke her heart.
”Annie,” Mildred Sweet.w.a.ter said in her most discouraging tone.
Two weeks had pa.s.sed and Annie was standing before her dressing table, a dozen ribbons scattered across the top, searching for just the right shade of blue.
”Oh, Mama! I need your help with some of these b.u.t.tons.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder at her lower back in the mirror.
”Your dressing table is made so you don't have to be bothered with getting out of your chair,” her mother said, gliding forward.
”I can't do things from that chair,” Annie complained. ”And no one can see me in my own room.”
”Make certain you stay seated throughout the wedding and the reception,” her mother admonished her.
Annie sighed heavily at her reflection. ”I always do.”
Her mother b.u.t.toned her dress and kissed her cheek. ”You're my good girl.”
Annie handed her the ribbon she'd selected and seated herself in her chair.
Her mother wound the length of satin through the curls Annie had artfully arranged. She found a lap robe that matched Annie's periwinkle blue dress and draped it over her knees.
Annie looked at the Persian blanket with disappointment. ”It hides half of my dress.”
”It keeps you warm as well as covers the outline of your limbs. Don't be obtuse, Annie.”
”It's May, Mama.”
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