Part 16 (1/2)
”Yes.”
She dried her hands on her ap.r.o.n. ”But Red and Gibbs just went.”
Not wanting to tell her about Bertha's husband just yet, he merely shrugged.
She propped her hands on her waist. ”Well, you sure did a lot of bellyaching about how you couldn't be away from work and how you didn't want to be going back and forth to town.”
He grinned. She was already sounding like a wife.
”You going to miss me, Anna?”
Her eyes widened. ”I . . . well, no, I just . . .” She whirled around and began hastily slicing up bread. The scissor motion caused her skirt to swirl and hug her hips.
She was wearing her dark blue dress today. As far as he could tell, she only owned it and the brown one. Threadbare as the wool dresses were, they still had to be hot in this kitchen. Particularly this time of year.
Maybe he'd pick her up some fabric. He couldn't bring her flowers. That would be too suspect. Especially after the twinflower debacle.
He'd wasted no time in gathering up those wild flowers and throwing them out, but it would be a while before he forgave himself for that impulse. Fabric, however, would be perfect. It would be something she'd love, yet something he could somewhat justify.
Scratching his cheek, he considered how he was going to give one girl fabric while being ”betrothed” to another. ”Would you like me to pick up anything while I'm there?”
She paused, c.o.c.king her head to the side and exposing the slope of that pretty neck. His gaze lingered. When they were married, that'd be his for the taking, Lord willing.
”No,” she said, returning to her bread. ”I think I have everything. Thank you, though.”
He walked up behind her. Close behind her. She took a sudden breath, her knife snagging in the bread, then stopping altogether.
Sandwich makings lay neatly stacked on the table. Reaching around her, he lifted several slices of ham and laid them on three separate pieces of bread. With each motion the inside of his arm grazed the outside of hers.
She didn't use any scents when she bathed, but he knew she bathed most every day. Not only because she was always so clean and fresh-looking come suppertime, but because each time he put the tub away, he'd find it back out that same evening propped against the side of the house to dry.
”I can do that for you,” she whispered as he added cheese and sliced pickles to his sandwiches.
”That's all right. You go ahead with what you're doing.”
She started cutting, but had taken no more than a few saws when they both froze. The motion had caused her hips to brush his legs. Joe looked down. Her chest was rising and falling in time to her quick, short breaths. The watch pin above her breast rocked.
”What do you have against marriage, Anna?”
”Nothing. I love going to weddings.”
”I'm not talking about other people's weddings. I'm talking about your own.” Placing a hand on her waist, he leaned far enough over to snag two boiled eggs. ”Why don't you want to marry?”
She began to step out of his way, but he'd boxed her in-his hand on one side of her waist, his body leaning across the other. Setting down the knife, she laid both palms flat on the table. ”I don't know. I guess I have no desire to enter into that particular state.”
”Why not?”
Looking down, she said nothing.
”Were you married before? Is that it?”
Anna shook her head.
”Left at the altar?”
”No.”
”You have a special someone you're pining for?”
”No. Nothing like that.”
”Were your parents unhappy in their marriage?”
Her gaze flew to his, bringing her face close as she looked at him over her shoulder. ”Oh no. They loved each other very much.”
Looking into her earnest brown eyes, he frowned. ”You don't have anything against, um, men, do you?”
His shoulders lost their tension at her look of confusion.
”There are some men I don't like, but I have nothing against the actual gender.”
”Then why don't you want to get married?”
”I just don't.”
”Not ever? For your whole entire life?”
”Not ever. For my whole entire life.”
”Why not?”
”It's not something I talk about.”
Joe hesitated, then released her to wrap his sandwiches in paper.
She quickly scurried to the table lined with vinegar pies. ”Would you like some pie?”
”Sure.”
She cut him a huge slice, then wrapped it.
”Thank you.”
”You're welcome.”
Dropping his sandwiches, the two eggs, and the pie into a lunch bucket, he decided not to press her anymore about marriage. He had a few weeks yet. He could afford to take his time. He headed toward the door.
”Are you leaving right now?” she asked.
”I am.”