Sweet Annie (15 page)

They
hadn't been able to imagine how two people performed such acts with a straight
face. Now she knew. She knew the pleasure and the heat, and she welcomed
learning more, experiencing more.

Luke
rose and guided her down upon the rough wool blanket that covered his bed. She
went willingly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. This kiss was a wet
fusion of lips and breath, and it was new in that he lay with his body molded
along the side of hers, chest to breast, belly to hip, thigh to thigh, hard to
soft, his head and shoulders above her in the golden lamplight.

She
loved the feel of his muscled body pressed against her, the scrape of his chin
on her neck, the pressure of his hand, molding and shaping her breast through
layers of fabric. He pressed his cheek to hers and she found his velvety
earlobe with her lips...her tongue.

He
lifted a thigh over hers, shifting his weight, urging her down into the
mattress with firm gentleness. "Does this hurt you anywhere?"

"Oh, no," came
her hoarse encouraging reply.

Their
mouths fused, tongues and lips sleek and seeking. Annie rocked up against him,
pressing as close as she could. His body stilled, then he ended the kiss with a
series of plucks across her jaw.

Luke
moved his weight to the side and drew her into the fold of his arm, stroking
her shoulder, her hair, her cheek. Annie lay with her head against his chest
and listened to the rhythmic beat of his thudding heart as it slowed. She'd
never dreamed of anything so good, of anyone so—
alive.
Alive and warm and exciting and real. Those were only a few of
the words that described this man she wanted, this man she loved.

A
cat meowed somewhere in the darkened depths of the stable. "Luke, I
lo—"

He
pressed his fingers against her lips. "It'll only make it worse if we say
it."

She pulled his hand away
and tipped her head to look at him. “We?'' she asked hopefully.

"Even
if your family didn't hate me, I couldn't offer to marry you, Annie," he
said, regret tingeing his words with roughness she knew he didn't intend.
"I couldn't bring you here to live. I have to have a house first."

"It
wouldn't matter to me," she said. "I would live anywhere with
you."

"It
would matter to me. And to your family. And to the people of Copper Creek. I
have to do better than this for you."

She shifted and turned to
her side, raising her head to see his face. "You talked about building a
house."

“In
the future. I spent every dime I ever earned and saved to build this livery.
It's barely started to make money."

"The waiting is so
hard," she said.

He
curled a springy tendril of her hair around his forefinger. "You're not
tellin' me anything I don't know."

"Well,
why do we have to wait for a house? I'd have all I'd ever need right
here."

"There isn't even a
real stove."

"I can barely cook
anyway."

He
chuckled, but then sobered. "Annie, babies come when people get married.
We couldn't bring a baby to this place."

Warmth
seeped through her belly and her limbs at those astonishing words. Tears burned
behind her eyes at the miraculous thought of having her own baby. She laid her
forehead on his chest. "You're so sensible and so wise and...and I can't
believe you want me. I've always thought no one would want me—that I couldn't
have a life like other people. Now I believe I can."

She raised her head and met
his glistening black eyes. "I believe you can, too," he said. "I
believe you can do anything you want to."

"Well, I want to marry
you," she declared.

He
pulled her up for a sweet lingering kiss. "I want that, too. Let's be
patient a while longer."

"They're
not going to change their minds," she warned him. "I've been fighting
their constraints my entire life."

"I
know," he said, threading his fingers through hers, palm to palm.
"But we have to wait, so let's hope that somethin' changes in the
meantime."

Change
didn't seem likely to her, but she guessed she could hope if he could.

"I'd
better take you home," he said a short time later. “We both need our
sleep. If your parents woke up, we'd both be in more trouble than we can deal
with. We took a big chance tonight."

"I know. But I wish I
didn't have to leave."

He
stood and pulled her to her feet with a pained expression. "Let's
go."

"We can do this
again," she suggested.

"We
have to be careful," he replied. "I don't want to give them fuel for
their hatred."

"They don't hate you,
really."

"They'd
rather see me hit by a train than living in the same town," he disagreed.
"It's cooled off out there, you'd better wear my coat for the ride
home." He lifted a wool jacket down from a peg and held it out. Annie
slipped her arms into the engulfing garment that carried his scent.

He
saddled a different mount for the short ride home, helped Annie atop the
horse's back from a barrel near the door, and led him outside. He climbed up
behind her and she leaned back against him.

Luke
buried his nose in her hair, inhaled her sweet fragrance, and wished their time
together didn't have to be only a stolen hour here and there.

He
walked the horse along the shadowy black streets, taking as long as he could to
reach the lane where the stately Sweetwater house stood. He never traveled this
way that he didn't remember the day they'd met and think of the vivacious girl
who had captured his admiration and interest.

Annie
still possessed that same zest for life, the same youthful spontaneity and deep
appreciation for things most people took for granted.

"It's
torture not being together," she told him after he'd lifted her down and
helped her into her chair.

"How well I
know," he agreed.

"I'm
so happy," she whispered, and he knelt in front of her to kiss her one
last time. "Nothing has ever made me as happy as being with you. Not in my
whole life."

"Then
I'm a very lucky man." He took her hand from his cheek and pressed it
against his heart. "You're in here," he told her. "I'm taking
you with me."

"It's
a good place to be," she said, closing her eyes in the moonlight.
"Safe. Warm. Loving."

He
kissed her lips. "Remember that."

When
she opened her eyes, tears glistened. "I will."

"Shall
I push you closer to the house?"

"Just
a little."

He
stepped behind her chair and propelled it toward the Sweetwater home.

"That's
far enough," she said and handed him his coat.

"Remember,"
he said into her ear from behind, then turned and loped back to his horse. From
his vantage point, he watched through the trees and she rolled herself up the
ramp to the porch. Several minutes later, the light in the window she'd
indicated came on, and after a brief moment, was extinguished.

Shrugging into the coat
that now smelled faintly of lilacs, Luke hauled himself up onto the gelding's
back and with the command of his heels, rode away.

He
turned the animal's head away from town and bent low over his neck, urging him
to run. He rode with abandon, the instructions to the horse automatic, because
his mind was anywhere but on the ride.

Leaving
the road, he skirted the edge of a lake, pounded along a trail above a canyon,
and continued on. They had taken a foolish risk tonight. What if someone had
seen them—what if her parents had missed her and been waiting? What if they
sent her away to keep her from him?

That
had always been his fear, and now the fear of separation was greater. Would the
fact that she was an adult keep them from sending her off? Perhaps they would
have missed her as much as he would've, and that's why they'd never done it. He
didn't want to take her from them. He just wanted to love her.

Because
he did love her. As much as he directed his mind to steer from that thinking,
the fact was inevitable. Indisputable. He loved her. He wanted her. He needed
her. Annie. His sweet Annie.

He had reined in the horse
and now walked him around the edge of the lake to which he'd somehow returned.
His blood still pounded hot and thick in his veins. Even after the wind had
seared his face and nostrils he could smell her on his hands and his clothes
and see her face in the star-studded sky.

Luke stopped walking and
stared up into the heavens. He hadn't told her. He hadn't said the words that
would make being separated even harder. The words welled in his chest, burned
on his tongue, blurred his vision and made the stars overhead streak together.
They'd been there for so long, for an eternity, without recognition or
expression. They tore from his throat like a volcanic explosion.

"I love her!" he
shouted across the water and his tortured voice echoed back to him:
I
love
her-er-er!
"I love Annie Sweetwater!"
I
love
Annie Sweetwater-ater-ater.

A frog or a turtle splashed
into the water from the nearby bank.

The night remained as
silent as death, the stars bright pinpoints of icy brilliance. She knew. And
she felt the same.

Her frustration must be a
hundred times as bad as his, because she couldn't ride out her release,
couldn't shout to the heavens, couldn't work up a sweat over the forge and
purge her mind and body with work.

The toe of his boot came in
contact with a good-size rock. He kicked it and winced at the pain that shot
through his foot. Picking up the heavy stone, rais-

ing
both hands over his head, he heaved it as far as he could into the water.

After
a satisfying splash, a ring of circles expanded in increasing sizes in the
moonlight.

But
she loved him. He'd stopped the words from falling from her sweet lips. In her
heart she was his.

Now
he had to find a way to make her his in all respects. He needed a house. That
was the first order of business. And he set his mind to planning just how he
could make that happen. He would build Annie a house. And then he would make
her his wife. And then he could stop scaring night creatures and maybe even
sleep...in her arms.

Luke mounted the horse and kicked him into a run.

Chapter Eight

Luke
sat in the lobby of the bank, the warmth of the summer morning not enough to
cause the heat prickling along his spine and the moisture forming on his upper
lip. He withdrew the handkerchief he'd tucked into the inside pocket of his
best worsted wool coat and dabbed at his skin, hoping no one noticed.

He'd
never done this. He'd never had to ask anyone for money. He'd built his livery
the hard way, the honest way, through sweat and labor, a dollar at a time, a
horse at a time, a board at a time, until his dream had taken shape.

He'd hoped, planned maybe,
in the back of his mind, that it would never come to this—that he'd never be
sitting here—never be asking for a loan. But when life boiled down to just the
bare facts, Annie meant more than his pride.

The
man at the one open teller window cast him another quizzical glance from behind
steel bars. The bald-headed man sitting at a desk outside Eldon Sweetwater's
office had been eyeballing Luke ever since he'd arrived forty-five minutes ago.
Luke'd never been inside this bank before. He didn't trust his money here, and
he'd never doubted the wisdom of that choice.

As luck would have it,
Burdell arrived through the front door just then, did a double take when he saw
Luke sitting in the straight-backed chair, and with a scowl, marched to his
father's office and entered without knocking.

The bald fellow jerked his
gaze from Luke to a stack of papers in front of him. Undoubtedly Sweetwater
had deliberately kept Luke waiting just to see him sweat.