Suzanne Brockmann

by Give Me Liberty (written as Anne Brock) (lit)

  She nodded. A trickle of perspiration ran down her neck, over her delicate collarbone and disappeared below the wide neckline of the dress. Luke felt himself start to sweat.

  "I'm not sure I would've worn this if I'd known it was going to be two hundred degrees up in the choir loft," Lib said, managing a smile.

  "Only two hundred?" Luke teased. "Not a million?"

  "No," Lib said, meeting his eyes again. A million degrees was what she felt when she looked into his eyes. The heat in the choir loft was nothing compared to that.

  "You sounded great," he said. They started to walk down the sidewalk, and he hooked his jacket onto one finger, carrying it over his shoulder. "I didn't know you could sing like that."

  Luke stopped walking when they reached the edge of the parking lot. He glanced across the gravel lot at his truck. He couldn't see Lib's blue Spitfire anywhere. "Can I give you a lift home?" he asked, trying to hide the hopeful note in his voice.

  She fanned herself with the church program. "No thanks. I'm not going home. Mrs. Etherton invited me over for dinner. Mrs. Clancy and Miss Price are going to be there, too. They miss Harriet an awful lot, and... " She smiled and shrugged. "I remind them of her."

  "Can I give you a ride over?"

  "No thanks," Lib said. "I'm going to walk. It's not far."

  "Mind if I walk with you?" He wanted to kick himself. Could he be any more obvious?

  Lib just smiled. "Of course I don't mind," she said. They started walking again. "What are you up to today?"

  "There's a softball game tonight," Luke said. "Want to play?"

  "I don't have a glove."

  "You can borrow Brenda's old glove," Luke said. "I think it's still out in the barn."

  "What time is the game?" Lib asked. "I probably won't leave Mrs. Etherton's until after one, and then, by the time I walk home... I wanted to get some more of that work done on the roof."

  "Game's not til seven," Luke said, resisting the urge to take her hand. Another few yards and they'd be in front of the old Etherton house. He tried to slow his steps. "I'll help you with the roof. And I'll pick you up after dinner."

  "You don't have to do that." Lib stopped in front of the picket fence that surrounded Mrs. Etherton's carefully tended yard. With her hand on the gate, she looked up at Luke.

  But his attention had been caught by the heart-shaped locket that was pinned to her dress. He moved toward her and reached for it, his fingers lightly brushing her chest as he looked at it more closely.

  "Was this Harriet's too?" he asked.

  Lib nodded, wondering if he could feel the increased tempo of her heart.

  "It's pretty," he said, letting it drop.

  "Yeah, I thought so, too," she said.

  He was still standing close, too close. Lib released the catch on the gate, and went into the yard, closing it behind her. Safe. Now she was safe. She tried not to sigh with relief too audibly.

  "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."

  "S
ome 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.

  "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.

  * * *

  Les
s 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?"