He clasped her by the elbow. “Excuse us, ladies.”
Annie blinked up at him. “Is something wrong?”
He pointed to the slow-moving thunderhead a few miles away. “They called the last dance. Rain’s coming.”
“So soon?” She frowned at the storm clouds, then glanced around. “Where’s Celia?”
He shook his head. The girl had disappeared twice without permission after the pig incident. “We’ll have to put our foot down harder tonight. But after we dance.”
Annie sighed and her shoulders drooped. “I’m afraid she was involved with the pig incident.”
“I know.”
Her brows knit together. “Then why didn’t you insist we leave right away?”
He’d debated doing so on the walk back from corralling the pig, but hadn’t wanted to ruin Spencer and Annie’s fun.
Or his.
“Because I practiced dancing with my wife a few nights ago,” He gave her his most persuasive grin and walked backward toward the dancers. “So I’m not letting my chance to swing her around accompanied by a good fiddle player get away.”
At the edge of the dance floor, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against her ear so she could hear him despite the music and the foot stamping. “We can’t let that practice go to waste.”
“However.” Annie stepped back and held out stiff dance arms, though a smile seemed to be trying to overturn her lips. “Swaying won’t work for ‘Turkey in the Straw.’”
“Rather unfortunate.” He winked and was rewarded with the blush he’d hoped for.
Annie scanned the crowd, whirling about them. “But Celia—”
He jiggled her arms a bit, calling attention to the dance pose they were holding. “She’s free to wreak havoc for a few more minutes.”
“But—”
Still holding her hand, Jacob silenced her with a finger against her lips. “Dancing. We’re dancing.” He moved back into position and waited for a twirling couple to fly by before pulling Annie into the fray.
After they got their bearings and took their place in the circle, Jacob hollered back to the caller with the rest of the men. He took care to hold Annie closer than necessary, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes whenever she dared to look at him while they promenaded about.
Catching Mrs. Tate’s evil glare from the edge of the dance floor only made him pull Annie closer and wink at the vinegary old woman.
When the elderly caller commanded them to switch partners, Jacob couldn’t help but scowl. Couldn’t Fritz see how hard it’d been to keep Annie in his arms this long? She didn’t need any help getting out of them.
He steered Annie past Mr. Grayson, who was attempting to exchange Gwen for Annie, and stole Mr. Lombard’s knee-high granddaughter for his partner instead.
Annie disappeared into the crowd, and Shelby Mae kept him busy bouncing around like popcorn on a greased griddle.
“Allemande left to the corner maid, back to your own, and promenade!”
Finally. His legs were about to give out.
Finding the little brunette’s grandfather was easy considering Annie hadn’t tried to exhaust the old man by galloping around the entire dance floor. He gave the little girl a small bow before twirling her back into her grandfather’s arms and then took his wife back into the line.
While the encroaching thunder lent the band its percussion for the last round, Annie sneaked a glance at him, her eyes warmer than he’d ever seen them.
On a call to swing her around thrice, he twirled her fast enough to lift her feet off the floor.
Her cheeks brightened as she laughed full out.
His heart sped up, and he lost his breath. He slowed his twirl, his feet melting into the well-worn boards. He’d never seen her laugh before.
When he set her down, she quieted, but her lips still clung to mirth.
He’d seen her smile a few times these past several months—which had given character to her plain features—but laughter had made her positively radiant.
“Chain up, ladies, don’t be slow. Kiss the caller before you go!”
Annie tried to pull away, but Jacob held on to her.
She frowned at his hand clamped around her dainty wrist. “Didn’t you hear?” She tilted her head toward the stage. “I’m supposed to chain up.”
The women stomped past in a swirl of colorful skirts, the last one in the chain holding out her hand to Annie.
He narrowed his eyes at his wife. “Don’t you dare be kissing Old Fritz.”
The lady in yellow hooked arms with Annie and dragged her away. Annie’s gaze clung to his until the dancing forced her to pay attention to where she was going.
The men clapped as the ladies high-stepped around the dance floor, but not Jacob. He kept his eyes on his wife. Though she didn’t look back at him, the flush coloring her neck likely meant she could feel his steady gaze.
The last bars of the song ended with a flourish.
“Don’t forget about that kiss, ladies,” Old Fritz hollered above the applause.
Jacob took a few steps to snatch Annie’s hand. “Don’t you even think about it.”
Her lips wriggled with amusement. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge an old man his kiss?”
He arched his eyebrows. “If someone needs kissing...” he stepped closer and tipped up her jaw.
Her sudden stiffness stopped him.
“Best get your lady home.” Mr. Ivens thumped him on the back as he escorted his own wife toward the carriages. “That storm cloud’s enormous.”
Without turning to acknowledge the man or the storm, Jacob kept his hand on the underside of Annie’s jaw and let his thumb travel over the soft skin of her cheek.
She didn’t move, didn’t turn away. And yet, she didn’t look like a woman desiring a kiss.
He let his finger slide across her lower lip. “Later,” he whispered.
She dropped her gaze to her feet.
Would a kiss have been that bad?
Annie pivoted and hurried toward Leah, who was shaking blankets free of debris.
Despite the storm’s quick approach, he couldn’t make himself rush after her.
He’d wanted that kiss pretty badly, but not enough to force it.
After their kiss the night they’d danced to Joe’s attempts at music, he’d thought they were making progress.
Had he been so enraptured with her that night he’d missed the fear in her eyes?
When she’d told him she’d be his wife in truth soon, had she only said so because she felt pressured?
He ran a hand through his hair. As hard as it would be to refrain from tasting those lips again, he’d not kiss her again until she voluntarily raised her lips to his.
Near the schoolhouse, an angry shout drew his attention.
Harriet Butler and Celia were throwing blueberries at a young towheaded boy. Though the lad was throwing berries back, he didn’t appear to be enjoying the game.
Jacob tried to keep the scowl off his face. “Celia!”
She gave a farewell nod to Harriet and started toward him, but only after giving him a look that said she was tired of obeying him.
Which was ridiculous. He’d not asked her to help clean up their picnic or anything else that afternoon because he’d wanted to contain her petulant aftermath to the privacy of their own home.
Annie and Leah had finished packing once they reached them, so he took Annie’s baskets.
With how the wind was kicking up and the sky darkening despite it only being ten past three, they needed to get home quickly.
Bryant was having difficulty picking up all of his wife’s things along with his daughter’s since she and her husband had left early.
Jacob came alongside his friend and took one of his baskets. “Got a favor to ask.”
Bryant tensed.
Since when had he ever asked Bryant for something unreasonable? “Annie and I need to have a difficult talk with Celia as soon as we get home. Would you
mind taking Spencer to your house for supper?”
Bryant nodded a little too eagerly. “Sure.”
Leah shot him a sly wink. “Why don’t we keep him until after that meeting Annie plans to go to tomorrow? Then you won’t have to worry about the weather passing to come get him. The storm could last all night.”
“Mighty obliged.” Jacob dipped his head at her thoughtfulness, but he wouldn’t let her wink fool him into thinking he’d get far with Annie while Spencer was gone. After the coming fight with Celia, Annie’d be in no mood for courting of any kind.
The wind picked up, and the people disassembling the dance floor scurried about with extra fervor.
Bryant led Leah through the field behind the church as a distant thunderclap shook the first drops of rain from the heavens.
When they met up with the Whitsetts on the sidewalk near his house, Annie stooped in front of Spencer and swiped a damp strand of hair off his forehead. “What do you think about spending the night at the Whitsetts’? I bet they’d let you have leftover pie.”
The boy shrugged and then turned to Bryant. “Can you give me a ride? It’s a long way to your house.”
Despite carrying two quilts and a basket, Bryant went down on one knee and hooked his arms. Spencer hopped on, and Bryant jogged down the street.
“Good evening, you three.” Leah took her basket from Jacob then wrapped her other arm around Celia and gave her a big squeeze. “Love you, Celia.”
His stepdaughter endured the hug without any smart remarks, though her face couldn’t have looked more sour.
Nearly instantly, the rain turned from drizzly to steady and Leah took off after her husband. Jacob started off after Annie and looked over his shoulder at Celia. “Hurry, lightning’s coming.”
A sudden downpour caught them before they gained the porch.
Under the awning, he dropped his armful of baskets to dump the rain off his hat. Then he pulled back the shawl Annie had tried to use as a head covering. “That didn’t do you much good. You’re wet through.”
“I’m sure I look a fright.” She grimaced.
“Not at all.” He smoothed a rogue strand of hair from her face, feeling the damp soft skin at her temples.
Celia stomped onto the porch looking like a drowned scarecrow. “Let me pass, please.”
Jacob swung open the door. “After you, ladies.”
The clouds had grown thick, making the inside of the house as dark as molasses. He quickly lit a lamp and shivered.
“I’m freezing.” Celia’s teeth chattered. “I’m going upstairs and curling up under the covers and reading.” She headed for the stairs. “Since I ate plenty of pie, no need to make me supper.”
Annie’s eyes met his in silent question.
“Celia.” He wasn’t going to let her get away that easily.
She turned on the bottom step.
“You may change into dry clothing, but you will come back down.”
She frowned. “Why?”
Annie stepped beside him. “We need to talk.”
Celia dropped her shoulders and forced an exaggerated sigh. “Why can’t we talk tomo—”
“No.”
His voice had boomed enough to startle her, so he clenched his fists and continued with a little less vehemence. “Do as your mother requested. Get dressed—”
“But—”
“Not another word.” Jacob eyed her until she turned and stomped up each stair.
He had asked Bryant this afternoon how he’d handled his daughters’ insubordination, but as Jacob had suspected, neither of the Whitsett girls had given their parents this much trouble.
He looked back at Annie who was trembling. “Why don’t you get out of that wet dress and I’ll start a fire.” He got her a thick towel from the linen closet and steered her toward the stairs.
He peeled off his wet sack suit coat and hung it by the fireplace. Shivering against the drafts, he arranged his wood and stoked a healthy fire. Celia’s plan to curl up under a pile of blankets was tempting, definitely more appealing than going through with the impending conversation, but it had to be done.
Annie returned dressed in a loose-fitting dark purple gown and glided to the couch. “If you don’t mind, Jacob, it might be best if I did most of the talking.”
He held his tongue. She could at least start the talking.
Celia thumped down the stairs minutes later, her bare ankles showing below her nightgown and the quilt she’d wrapped herself in. Her slippers’ cheery red and white pom-poms looked sorely out of place on the feet of someone whose scowl could ward off a starving pack of wolves.
Jacob gestured to the rocking chair, and Celia dropped hard on the seat.
He settled next to his wife as the two ladies eyed each other.
Annie cleared her throat. “Where did you disappear to three times today?”
Celia shrugged.
“That’s not an answer, Celia.” The thin lines around Annie’s mouth deepened, and her eyes flashed.
Celia raised one shoulder. “With friends.”
“You can’t leave without telling us where you’re going.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to spend my entire day with you two.” Celia’s lips curled into a sneer.
Jacob leaned forward. “What about the pig?”
“You think I dressed up Lullabelle?” Celia straightened as if offended.
“It’s obvious—”
“You don’t have any proof.” She crossed her arms and leaned forward. “Because I didn’t do it.”
“Darling—”
“My name’s Celia, Ma.”
Annie’s hands curled in her lap, wringing the doily she’d slipped off the sofa arm. “Celia, you mustn’t be so hateful toward Jacob.”
“Then he shouldn’t accuse me of stuff I didn’t do!”
Annie scooted to the edge of her chair. “You were awfully dirty and showed up right after that pig—”
“So you believe him over me?” Celia’s nostrils flared.
Annie locked onto her daughter’s glare. “None of us can do whatever we wish, whenever we wish. That’s not how family works.”
“Then maybe I don’t want to be a part of this family anymore.” Celia puffed out her chest and tilted her chin, squaring off like the underdog challenging the pack leader.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but you have no choice.” Jacob stood. He was done watching her spar with her mother with such disrespect. “Go on up to bed. You may come down for breakfast in the morning if you think you can keep a civil tongue in your head. If not, you will stay in your room until you feel like you can handle yourself maturely. We can talk at the next meal where you believe you can control of yourself.”
Celia turned her reddening face toward Annie. “You can’t let him stuff me back into that room again for days on end.”
“He said you could come down whenever you could behave—”
“Why are you taking his side?” Celia pointed at Jacob, the quilt sliding off her arm. “He’s not my father.”
Annie stood, though she appeared ready to wilt. “Whether or not you like it, Jacob is indeed your father now, and you will honor him in that capacity.”
Snatching her fallen quilt, Celia stood with a jerk and stomped for the stairs.
Jacob caught Annie around her middle before she slumped. He gave her a squeeze, rubbing her arm. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” She fished out a handkerchief and wadded it against her eyes. “But I’m afraid I have a headache now.” She lowered herself back onto the sofa and stared at the empty stairwell.
“A quiet evening we shall have, then.” He grabbed her patchwork quilt off the rocking chair.
She stood abruptly. “But I can’t. I have to make supper.”
“There’s no need. I ate more pie than Celia. And if you want something, I can make you a sandwich.” He handed her the book she’d been reading over the last several days and slipped the quilt around her should
ers. “Don’t worry about us more than necessary.”
She sat, frowning at her book, but it looked as if she’d stay put.
He went upstairs, and after listening to the grumbling and shuffling behind Celia’s door for a moment or two, he moved to his bedroom to change into something dry. He might not have a nightshirt he felt capable of walking around the house in, but his work clothes sure were an improvement over soggy ones.
After coming back downstairs, he smiled to see Annie reading.
He settled across from her with the newspaper while intermittent thunderclaps filtered through the walls, echoing the unrest in the house, though everyone held their peace.
When the clock struck eight, he folded his paper and leaned over to pat Annie’s knee.
She startled and clasped onto the book now steepled across her chest. “I must have fallen asleep.”
He reached over to take her book. “About twenty minutes ago. Why don’t we head upstairs?”
She placed her hand in his, and his palms grew sticky.
With no Spencer to tuck in and Celia already cloistered away, it was just the two of them heading upstairs ... to separate rooms.
He suppressed a sigh.
In the upstairs hallway, Annie glanced at Celia’s door.
“Want to talk about it?”
“It’s hard to know what to do.” She looked down at where she was running her thumb along a scar that cut across her knuckles. “I’m not my mother—which might be just as bad as it is good.”
“How’s that?”
“I never dared to talk to Mother like Celia does me. Her grandmother would be appalled.”
Jacob nodded. He didn’t have to meet his mother-in-law to know that was true. Though far away, in both distance and time, she seemed to be in Annie’s head, calling into question her every decision.
“Though I was a good girl, Mother found fault with most everything I did.” She stopped twisting her hands by clamping them together. “I’d always thought if I were more lenient with Celia, the self-doubt that fills me wouldn’t cripple her. But Gregory must have disciplined her more than I was aware.” She turned to face Celia’s door, the contours of her countenance stark in the flashing light of the resurging storm. “Perhaps I’ve been too lax with her since his death. She’s far more conceited than is good for a fifteen-year-old.”
Romancing the Bride Page 21