by Anne Brock
"I'll pick you up at one," he said, lifting his hand in a wave as she started up the path to the front door.
Lib turned and watched him walk down the street. She leaned against one of the big wooden columns that sup-ported the old house's wrap-around porch, trying to regain her equilibrium before facing a barrage of questions from Mrs. Etherton and her friends.
It had been over a week since she'd made the decision to borrow Luke's money — and the decision not to become involved with him. She smiled. Actually, she'd decided that she was going to become involved with Luke. Unfortunately, it seemed like the best way to do that was to become his friend first. It was a little scary, because being with him so often, getting to know him better, only made him seem so much more attractive. He was good company, a good listener, full of comments and insights, and hell, the fact that he was so handsome sure didn't hurt.
She knew he wasn't seeing anyone else, thank goodness. In fact, he'd told her it had been close to three years since he'd been in any kind of relationship. Inwardly, she shook her head.
According to town gossip, Luke had been something of a womanizer after he returned to town from college. Before his father had died, he'd worked for a while as a ski instructor up at Gates Mountain Resort, giving private lessons to wealthy women. Apparently, those lessons were not restricted to the ski slopes.
But five years ago, after he'd sold part of his farm, he'd changed. He spent more time working, and less and less time with the beautiful women who came into town for vacations.
Behind Lib, the front door swung open. "Don't just stand there, mooning after that young man of yours," Mrs. Etherton said. "Come inside."
Lib turned with a smile. Mrs. Etherton was a tiny, birdlike woman, well into her nineties. Her hair was thin but perfectly styled, and her eyes were still sharp. Too sharp, Lib thought. "He's not my young man," she said, opening the squeaky screen door.
Mrs. Etherton wiped her hands on her apron. "Coulda fooled me," she said.
She pulled Lib into the kitchen, where Mrs. Clancy and Miss Price were bustling about, putting mountains of food onto serving platters.
"Justin time," Mrs. Clancy smiled, her heavy face creasing with delight as she gave Lib a hug.
"She was standing out front," Mrs. Etherton said, "talking to that Fulton boy."
Miss Price sniffed. "He's a tomcat, that Luke Fulton," she said in her reedy voice. She looked at Lib, her expression dour. "I'd stay far, far away from him, were I you."
"Sure you would," Mrs. Etherton said, "and look where it's got you. Seventy-seven years old, and never been kissed."
Miss Price sniffed again. "Better that than what happened to poor Harriet."
"Now, Allegra," Mrs. Clancy bustled over, and took a platter of steaming broccoli and cauliflower from Miss Price's hands. "That was years ago, and besides, Harriet's not around to defend herself—"
"What happened to Harriet?" Lib asked, intrigued.
Mrs. Etherton put an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes into Lib's hands. "Never mind," she said. "Bring this into the dining room, and then let's sit down. Shall we, ladies?"
The dining room was elegantly set with Mrs. Etherton's best china. The table was covered with a lace cloth and a bowl of beautifully arranged flowers sat in the middle of it all.
The women sat down, and after a quick grace, they started to eat. Everything was delicious, from the country ham that almost melted in Lib's mouth to the buttermilk biscuits. She hadn't eaten food this good since... well, since the summer before Harriet had had her stroke.
What had happened to Harriet? Lib was about to ask, when Miss Price leaned over.
"That Fulton boy is only after one thing, mind you," she said, her lips taut with disapproval.
"Allegra, you old bat," Mrs. Etherton said, "enough's been said about Luke Fulton."
Allegra Price's lips got tighter. "Someone's got to tell the girl."
"That boy's got to settle down some time," Mrs. Clancy said with a gentle smile. "Maybe he really is sweet on Liberty."
All three elderly women turned to look at Lib. "Is he?" Miss Price asked.
"We're friends," Lib said. "Neighbors. That's all."
"That's what Harriet said about Trevor Fulton," Miss Price intoned ominously.
"She did not," Mrs. Etherton said, her voice raising. "Ladies, please," murmured Mrs. Clancy.
Lib put down her fork. "All right," she said. "What exactly did happen to Harriet?"
Silence.
Three pairs of eyes blinked at her from behind thick-lensed glasses.
"Well?" Lib prompted.
"She fell in love, dear," Mrs. Clancy said.
"With that awful Trevor Fulton," Miss Price said.
Mrs. Etherton smiled. "He was as handsome as the devil." She winked at Lib. "Looked a lot like your young Luke."
"He's not mine," Lib muttered, knowing her protest would be ignored.
"Trevor was quite mad about Harriet," Mrs. Clancy said with a sigh, "and she did insist at first that they were only friends."
"Some friends," Miss Price sniffed. "Considering she was carrying his child."
Lib felt her mouth drop open. "What?"
"They were going to get married," Mrs. Etherton said hastily. "Harriet told me he gave her his ring before he left."
"But he never came back, did he?" Miss Price said.
"I'm sure he meant to come back," Mrs. Clancy said.
"We'll never know, will we?" Miss Price said.
Mrs. Etherton glared across the table at Allegra Price. "You don't actually think Trevor Fulton died in the war on purpose?"
"Of course not," Allegra said, but the set of her mouth said 'you never know'.
"What about the baby?" Lib asked.
"Miscarriage," Miss Price intoned. "Thank the Lord."
"Harriet was devastated," Mrs. Etherton said, sending Allegra a scathing look. "She'd just received word that Trevor had died a hero at Normandy, and she wanted that baby more than ever. It was a tragedy."
"A real tragedy," Mrs. Clancy echoed.
"I never knew," Lib said softly. She'd never imagined Harriet had ever been in love. But... follow your heart. She remembered Harriet giving her that advice. There had been a time, Harriet had said on more than one occasion, where she was given a choice, and she had forever after thanked God that she'd followed her heart. She'd had four months of the most intense, perfect happiness, she'd said. Some people don't even get a minute of that.
It all made sense now. She must have been talking about her love affair with Trevor Fulton.
"Time for pie," Mrs. Clancy said, standing up. "Who wants coffee?"
* * *
"Hey, batter, batter, batter, batter! Swing!"
Luke stood on the pitcher's mound, glancing at first base where Lib was crouched, glove in hand, taunting the man up at bat. One look at Lib was enough to throw his concentration totally to hell. She was wearing a short cropped T-shirt over a pair of tight bike shorts, and the combination was combustible. Even covered with dust the way she was from last inning when she slid into home, even with her hair falling out of its pony tail, even with that smudge of dirt on her nose, she could make his blood boil.
Pulling in every bit of mental energy that he could, Luke focused on the softball in his hands, and pitched. It was a perfect pitch, directly in the strike zone. The batter swung, and the bat connected with the ball, sending it in a hard line drive directly toward Lib's head. She caught it effortlessly, and the inning, and the game, was over.
"Good play," Luke said, as they trotted back to the bench.
"Easy catch," Lib said, tossing him the ball.
There was blood on it.
"Oh yuck," Lib said, taking the ball back from him and wiping it on the grass. "Sorry."
Around them, their teammates were jumping around, celebrating the end of their losing streak. But Luke pulled Lib aside, holding her right arm up to the bright stadium lights. Her elbow was scraped and bleeding.
&n
bsp; "I did it when I slid," she said, wincing slightly. "I thought I got the bleeding to stop, but I guess it opened up again."
Luke's eyes were dark and unreadable. His hair was curling from the heat and damp with sweat. He hadn't let go of her arm, and she gently pulled herself free.
"You're going to need a shower," he said. "Come on, we'll get you cleaned up."
He took Lib's hand and led her to his truck. As he opened the door and helped her inside, she looked down at him. "You know, people think there's something going on between us," she said. "I spent a few hours at dinner listening to Harriet's old friends warn me about you." She smiled. "You have one hell of a reputation."
Luke shook his head in exasperation, closing the door. As he crossed around the front of the truck, he pulled his T-shirt off and wiped his face with it, throwing it back behind the seat as he climbed in.
The truck engine started with a roar and he glanced at Lib before looking in the rear view mirror. "I'm afraid more than just the old ladies in town have been talking about us," he said. "Half the town is betting there's going to be a shotgun wedding, and the other half thinks there's just going to be a shotgun — and you're going to use it to shoot me."
Lib laughed. "Sounds like the stuff folk songs are made of," she said, trying not to gawk at him sitting there without a shirt. "And just think, we're only friends. We're fooling them all."
Luke was silent. The only ones they were fooling were themselves. "Lib," he started to say.
But she interrupted, as if somehow she knew he was going to bring up the subject of their relationship. It was clear she didn't want to talk about it. "We should have the roof finished in a couple of days," she said. "And I'm almost done stripping the wallpaper off the walls in the back bedroom. That's the room that's in the best shape. Any chance I can borrow your truck and get one of Harriet's beds out of storage? I've been sleeping on the floor too long."
"Sure," Luke said, pulling into his driveway and throwing the gears into park. He turned toward her, but she'd already climbed down out of the truck.
It was obvious that Lib didn't want to risk doing or saying anything that might move their relationship from friend to lover status.
And she was right. They were doing the right thing, he told himself as he followed her onto the front porch. Staying friends was good. It felt as unnatural as hell, but it was good. Wasn't it? Sooner or later, she was going to leave, and if they weren't lovers, he wouldn't ache for her, his bed wouldn't feel too big without her there, he wouldn't miss the way her body felt against his...
Later that night, after Lib had showered and gone home, Luke lay in his bed, staring up into the darkness, pre-tending that he wasn't thinking about her. Damn, he thought, recognizing the sharp stab of physical need. But there was something else there — a duller pain that made his stomach hurt and his chest ache. It was more generalized, less specific, and it scared the hell out of him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore it.
Rich Lowell's remark about dancing in the rain and pre-nuptial agreements came back to him. No way, he thought grimly. Absolutely no way.
* * *
"Hey! " Luke called, slamming the door of his truck and
jogging toward the rickety ladder that led up to the roof.
Lib peered over the edge at him, pulling a nail out of
her mouth. "Hey yourself," she called back. "What's up?"
She glanced up at the sky. "It's not six o'clock already, is it?"
"Three fifteen," Luke said, climbing up the ladder. He scowled at her. "My deal's on hold. You know, the sale of the video stores? The buyers are in Japan for the next three weeks. I had to choose between sitting in my office, tapping my fingers and going slowly mad, or coming out here, helping you with the roof and going slowly mad."
"And my roof won," Lib said. "Lucky me."
Luke grabbed a handful of shingles and took the hammer from Lib's hand, immediately starting in with the work. "You may not think you're so lucky after about day three," he said. "I'm going to be totally nuts by then. I hate waiting. Lord, I hate waiting."
Lib straddled the peak of the roof, taking a sip from the water bottle she'd rigged to hang around her waist. "You mean... You're going to help me for three weeks?"
He glanced up at her. "Do you mind? I've got to do something, and my other businesses basically run themselves. I suppose I could go downtown and have Tony teach me to make pizzas."
Lib was sitting there, dressed in a pair of ragged cut-offs splattered with dried paint. She wore a pair of clunky boots on her feet, a bright red sports bra top, and a smile that was as bright as the sun. Luke felt his heart flipflop, and for one second his foot slipped and he skidded slightly before he regained his footing. Still, far more frightening than the thought of falling off the roof was the inward sensation of free-fall that he felt when Lib smiled at him.
Lust, he thought, fastening another shingle to the roof. That's all it was. Sheer physical need. A normal reaction. An extremely normal reaction.
* * *
Less than a week later, the roof was completed, and Lib threw herself — and Luke — headfirst into the work that needed to be done in the interior of the house. The carting company brought a huge dumpster into the yard, and it was positioned strategically under the window in the room Lib was planning to make the master bedroom.
Luke joined her energetic efforts, matching her stamina and drive, and together they cleared the house of the trash and old lumber, the rotting drywall, peeling wallpaper and shredded carpeting.
By mid-afternoon of the fourth day, they were ready for a break, and they took Luke's pickup into Bellow's Falls to get a bed for Lib out of storage.
They carried it into the house, hauling the heavy oak frame and the mattress up the back staircase. Setting the bed up was more difficult than it looked, and the sun was sinking in the sky by the time they put the mattress on top of the springs.
Lib looked at the bed critically. "It needs a canopy," she said. "With that frame up there like that, but without a canopy on it, I'm going to feel like I'm surrounded by dinosaur bones. Let's get that trunk in from the truck. I'm sure the canopy's in there somewhere."
Luke flashed her a disbelieving look. "You're a slave driver," he complained. "We haven't even had lunch yet. Let's go get something to eat."
Lib lay down on the bed, looking up at the canopy frame. "Yep," she said. "Definitely dinosaur bones. I'll have terrible dreams."
"It looks nothing like dinosaur bones," Luke said. He lay down next to her on the bed to get the proper perspective. "Dinosaur bones would curve inward. You're thinking ribs, right?"
"Yeah," Lib said, stretching her arms above her head. "Maybe it's the color of the wood—"
"It looks more like trees in winter to me," Luke said. "You know, without the leaves on — plain and stark against a white sky."
"Dead trees," Lib said. "Great. Dead trees or dinosaur bones. Either way I'll never get any sleep."
Luke rolled on his side to look at her, propping his head up with one hand. "So you want to haul a five-ton trunk up that impossibly narrow flight of stairs, and hang up some dusty old canopy?" he teased. "You still won't get any sleep — you'll sneeze all night."
"I'm not allergic to dust," Lib said, smiling up at him.
"Yeah, well, I am," Luke said, with an answering smile.
Lib became aware of their intimate position at the exact instant Luke did — she could see it in his eyes. They were lying there together, on her bed, close enough to embrace, close enough to kiss. Luke's smile faded, and his dark eyes got even darker. Lib wondered for a few breathless seconds if he could see the same burning hunger deep in her eyes. Lord knows she felt it.
He glanced down at her mouth and leaned toward her, but Lib rolled away from him, off the bed. "Let's get that trunk," she said, practically running down the stairs and out into the coolness of the early evening air.
She braced herself against the side of the truck. Heaven help
her, she didn't know how many more weeks of this she could take. But she wanted Luke to trust her. He had to trust her, or all they'd have was a fling, a brief affair. And she knew more than ever now that she didn't want to settle for that.
By the time Luke came outside, she was able to smile at him as she pushed the heavy trunk toward the tailgate of the truck.
But he caught her arm after he climbed up into the truck bed, and she could still see heat in his eyes. "I don't know how much more of this I can handle, Lib," he said softly.
She pretended to misunderstand. "Just help me get the trunk upstairs, and then we'll stop for the day," she said.
Luke wanted to kiss her. He ached to kiss her. But she pulled away, and instead he helped her carry the trunk upstairs and hang a delicately patterned blue canopy over her bed.
Now she'd be able to sleep well.
But he sure as hell wouldn't.
Chapter Six
"There I am," Lib said, pointing to the television screen. "Hit pause."
"Where?" Luke squinted at the slightly blurred image on the screen.
"There," Lib said, pointing again. "Left hand side of the screen. In the black dress, holding a martini glass and smoking a cigarette. Well, I'm not really smoking. I'm just pretending to."
"That's you?" Luke crossed his living room to get a better look at the television.
"I wore my hair really short back then," she said.
Luke pushed the rewind button, and then pressed play, watching closely as Lib, working as an extra, laughed and talked in the background of the movie scene. She was wearing long, sparkling earrings and a dress that looked as if it had been painted on. It redefined short, and her long, shapely legs ended in a pair of dangerously high heels that made her damn near close to his own height. Her hair was boyishly short, cropped closely around her ears, displaying her slender, graceful neck.
"Do you still have this dress?" Luke asked. "Or was it something they gave you to wear?"
"Yeah, I have it," Lib said. "It's my Hollywood party scene dress. Part of the deal for extras is that you have to come dressed for the scene — with the exception of period movies, of course."
