by Anne Brock
Luke rewound the tape and played it again. "I like this dress," he said. "You should wear it sometime."
"Like when?" she said. "While I'm steaming wall paper off the walls? Or maybe to church?" She laughed. "I don't think so."
"We could go out to dinner," Luke said. "Up at the resort."
Lib threw a throw pillow at his head. "Are you kidding?" she said. "And get me mistaken for one of your ski bunnies? No way."
A crack of thunder made Lib jump, and as the sound of rain started, she looked up toward the ceiling and smiled. "It's raining," she said happily. "And I don't have to run home and make sure the tarp is secure and then scramble around to catch all the leaks with buckets." She sat back on the couch, pulling her feet up onto a footstool. "Man, just sitting here like this feels decadent."
Luke stood up and turned off the television, and when he looked back at her, he had a funny look on his face. "Lib, you didn't go up on the roof to fix it in the rain, did you?"
She didn't need to say anything. He could see the answer written clearly on her face. "Damnit, I can't believe you'd do something so stupid," he said.
"Relax," Lib said. "Obviously, I lived to tell the tale."
Luke towered over her. "God damn it—"
"I was careful—"
"God damn it!"
Lib's temper was starting to fray, and she got to her feet, refusing to let him intimidate her. "What was I supposed to do, Fulton?" she asked, her voice raised. "Let the rain just pour into my house? Or wake you up at two in the morning to help me?"
Luke was silent as he stood there and glared at her. His face was tan and healthy-looking, Lib realized. And despite his stern expression, he looked relaxed, almost laid-back, more like the Luke Fulton she'd known as a child. Over the past several weeks, he'd begun to emerge from the too-serious world he'd locked himself into. Was it the fact that he was only a few weeks away from buying back his precious land, a few weeks away from victory? Or was it something else — someone else, herself for instance...? Lib couldn't dare to hope.
As she looked up at him, his expression changed, softened, and his voice was calm as he answered her.
"Yes," he said. "Absolutely. I want you to wake me up at two o'clock in the morning. Please." He smiled ruefully. "You know, I haven't had a real friend since Tommy Kearns left town back in eleventh grade. So don't go and get yourself killed, Lib. I'm just getting used to having you around."
Lib's smile was a blast of sunshine, creating an explosion of dizzying heat inside of him. Forget Tommy Kearns, Luke thought. He'd never wanted to kiss Tommy Kearns.
"Photos," she said, and he blinked. What?
Lib grinned at his expression of confusion. "You said you had a bunch of old photo albums," she said. "I wanted to see a picture of Trevor Fulton, remember?"
Luke frowned. "Trevor?" he said. "He died in the Second World War. I'm not sure we have many pictures of him as an adult."
Lib followed him into the front parlor and watched as he crossed to a built-in bookshelf that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. "He was Harriet's age," Lib said. "That would make him your grandfather's brother, right?"
"Right." He pulled a red leather-bound album from the bookshelf and flipped through it. "Lord, I haven't looked at these in years," he said. "No, this one's my mother's family."
Lib came to look over his shoulder as he took another photo album down. "Here we go," he said.
The first page of the album contained a posed family portrait taken during what looked to be the early 1920's. An older man stood stiffly next to a woman who was seated in a chair. Three solemn little girls in matching dresses with bows in their hair stood behind their mother, and two small boys stood beside her. On her lap sat a cherub-faced toddler.
"That's my grandfather," Luke said, pointing to the older of the two boys. "And that's Trevor, next to him."
Lib looked closely at the grainy old photograph. Both of the boys were successful in their attempt to keep a smile off their faces, but their eyes shone with barely repressed amusement. "Man, they were cute," she said. "Did you look like this when you were little?"
"Almost exactly," Luke said. "It's a little freaky, actually, you know, the whole family resemblance thing."
Luke turned the pages of the album, flipping quickly past photos of cousins and distant relatives. Lib was standing close enough for him to feel the heat from her body, and to smell the fresh scent of her clean hair.
"Wait," she said. "Turn back. What was that?"
Two young men, standing with their arms around each other's shoulders, dressed in overalls and straw hats grinned at the camera.
"That's them," Luke said. "My grandfather and Trevor. They must've been in high school — probably right before Trevor got kicked out."
"Kicked out?" Lib looked up at him.
"Great-Uncle Trevor was a hell-raiser," he said. "Whatever he did that got him kicked out of school triggered a fight with his father, and Trevor left home. He didn't come back until my great-grandfather died — right before the war."
"That must've been when Harriet met him," Lib said.
Luke was looking down into Lib's eyes, drowning in the amazing shade of violet. "Harriet?" he said distractedly. "She knew Trevor?"
"Fairly well," Lib said with a smile. "They were planning to get married after he came back from the war." Her smile faded. "Only he didn't come back."
"I never knew that," Luke said. He turned the pages of the album. "I think there's a portrait of him in here, you know, in uniform. It was taken right before he left. Yeah, here they are. There's two different poses."
Trevor's hair was cut shorter, and his nose was a little different, but aside from that, the man in those pictures looked exactly like Luke.
In one of the photos, Trevor looked directly into the camera, his face serious. But his eyes danced with humor and amusement. In the second photo, he was laughing, looking slightly off to the side, as if he were meeting the eyes of someone standing to the right of the photographer. There was such happiness, such love on his face.
"Weird resemblance, huh?" Luke said, glancing at Lib.
She had tears in her eyes. "Do you think there's a heaven?" she asked. "Do you think they're together now?"
"I don't know," Luke said softly. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against his chest.
"I hope so," she said. "I used to wonder why Harriet never got married. I couldn't imagine going through life that way — choosing to be alone. But she didn't make that choice. She was forced to be alone, because Trevor died. She probably never married because no one could compare to him."
Luke's arms felt so good around her, so strong and safe. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in his familiar male scent. He smelled like soap and shampoo and fresh cut grass and .. .
She pulled away from him. "How could you possibly smell like ski wax in the middle of the summer?"
He laughed in surprise, reaching up to put the photo album back on the shelf. "I've been customizing an old pair of cross-country skis out in the barn," he said. "While you were in the shower, I was scraping the wax."
Lib shook her head. "You skiers are all alike. I bet you can tell me the exact number of days until winter," she teased.
"Not this year," Luke said. "This year I'm enjoying the summer. Winter will come soon enough." Lib was a summer person. In fact, she was the summer for him. And like the summer, he had a feeling she was going to disappear when the air turned cool and frost changed the colors of the leaves.
"When winter does come," Lib said, "will you teach me to ski?"
Luke felt a wave of hope flood over him. Was it possible that she really was going to stay? He kept his voice even, afraid to hope too much. "Sure."
"Wow, it's late," Lib said, catching sight of the cuckoo clock on the parlor wall. "I should go."
"I'll get an umbrella," Luke said, "and walk you home."
He was silent as they walked together underneath the u
mbrella, shielded from the light rain that was falling. Lib had told him right from the start that she was planning to live here in town. Luke hadn't believed her. But what if she was serious?
"Thanks for walking me home," she said as they reached her front porch. She put her arms around him and gave him a brief hug, standing on her tiptoes to quickly kiss the side of his face. "And thanks for letting me see those pictures. It really meant a lot to me."
Before Luke could respond, before he could reach for her, hug her back, kiss her properly, she was gone.
"See you tomorrow," she said from inside the screen, and then the door closed.
Luke stood on the porch, grinning like an idiot. She'd kissed him.
Still smiling, he went down the steps and out into the rain. There were puddles in the middle of Forest Road, and he splashed through them, doing a little dance of happiness.
She'd kissed him!
He froze. Oh, Lord! He was actually dancing in the rain. Lib Jones had kissed him on the cheek, for crying out loud, and here he was, acting like a fool.
Stepping carefully over the puddles, he hurried home.
* * *
Luke took off his jacket and loosened his tie, looking around at the crowd of people gathered on the village green, across from the church.
"Looking for someone in particular?" Brenda said.
He turned to see his sister smiling smugly at him. "Someone named Lib Jones, by any chance?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "You know, I try calling you at work, but they tell me you're at home. And when I try you at home, you're never there, either. You haven't even turned on your answering machine. Tell me the truth, baby brother. Are you in love, or what?"
"Or what," Luke said, moving into the shade and rolling up his sleeves. "I'm helping Lib get her house fixed up. That's all."
"That's all?" Brenda crossed her arms. "Then what do you call having dinner together, and going to movies together, and showing up at softball games together, and leaving afterwards together—"
"I call it car-pooling," Luke said, looking over her head at the crowd milling around the ice cream table. He spotted Mrs. Etherton over by the iced tea stand. "I'll talk to you later," he said, leaving Brenda shaking her head in mock disgust.
Mrs. Etherton was squeezing a piece of lemon into her plastic cup of iced tea, and as Luke was approaching, she turned and gave him a long appraising look. "Young Mr. Fulton," she said in her brittle voice. "A fine day for the ice cream social, don't you agree?"
"Yes, ma'am," Luke said. "It sure is. How are you?"
"I'm eighty-seven years old," she said, "and I've still got all my marbles, so I'd say I'm better than fine, thanks."
Luke couldn't hide his amusement. "I'm glad to hear that," he said.
"You've got your great-uncle Trevor's smile, did you know that?" Mrs. Etherton asked. "He was a real rogue — at least until he met Harriet." Her eyes narrowed. "You're a lady's man, too, aren't you, Mr. Fulton?"
Luke smiled vaguely, hoping she wouldn't press for an answer if he changed the subject. "I was wondering if you've seen Lib," he said.
"Looking for her, are you?" Mrs. Etherton said, giving him another hard look. "Why?"
Why? "Because... I want to see her," he said. "Because I like being with her."
It must've been the right answer, because Mrs. Etherton smiled at him.
"It's nice to have Liberty home, isn't it?" the tiny old woman said. "I missed that girl, all those years she was away." She gestured with her head toward the center of the green. "She's helping the band set up down at the gazebo," she added.
"Thank you," Luke said, trying to stroll — not run — in the direction of the gazebo.
He spotted Lib almost right away. She was wearing another one of Harriet's dresses. This one had hundreds of blue flowers on a white background. It had short sleeves and a scooped neckline, and a long flowing skirt that moved about in the breeze, making her seem like some ethereal creature — a fairy or an angel.
Lord, I'm losing it, Luke thought desperately. This woman is driving me clear out of my mind. He watched her talking and laughing with the other people who were helping set up chairs around the edge of the big white-painted gazebo.
She did seem at home, he thought, remembering Mrs. Etherton's words, 'It's nice to have Liberty home'. Everyone in town seemed to agree.
She was going to stay. Liberty wasn't kidding when she'd told him she was going to stay in Sterling. It hit him like a lightning bolt, and he had to hold onto the banister on the steps leading up to the gazebo to keep from losing his balance.
Lib looked up, saw him and smiled. "Hey pitcher," she said, crossing toward him. "Ready for tonight's big game?"
Game. Tonight. Softball. Right. It took Luke several long seconds to figure out what she was talking about. "Yeah," he said.
"Aren't you supposed to keep your jacket on?" she asked. "You know, to keep your throwing arm warm?"
Luke laughed. "Considering it's 85 degrees in the shade, I'd say my arm's warm enough, thanks."
"Did you have an ice cream sundae yet?" Lib asked.
"Maybe later," Luke said, looking at the band tuning
up on the stage. "When are they going to start?"
"Soon, I think," Lib said. The band started to play, and she smiled. "Now," she corrected herself.
Sunday Kind of Love. The song they were playing was called Sunday Kind of Love. Luke's grandmother had had a music box that played that melody, and as a little boy, he'd spent hours in her room on rainy days, playing it over and over. The beautiful melody still fascinated him.
"Dance with me," he said. He threw his jacket over the back of a chair, and took Lib's hand, pulling her out onto the dance floor, allowing no room for argument.
"I didn't know you liked big band music," Lib said. Her voice sounded breathless, strange to her own ears. Luke was holding her tightly, his right arm around her waist, his left hand tucking her hand close to his chest. Could he feel her heart pounding, feel the blood racing through her veins?
"I didn't know five piece bands qualified as "big," Luke said.
"The church social committee couldn't afford the fourteen piece big band," Lib said, "so we got the mini version."
"Miniature big band," Luke said with a smile. "That's a great oxymoron."
Lib felt one of his muscular thighs brush against hers, and their eyes met and held. She gazed into the chocolate brown depths as his arm tightened around her, pulling her even closer, close enough that their bodies touched not just by accident, but continuously. Relentlessly.
Lib's mouth was dry and she moistened her lips. "Luke," she said. "People are watching us. They're going to think—"
"That I want you?" he said quietly. "They'll be right."
His eyes seemed to spark with a heat that pierced and flowed through her, pooling in a liquid mass deep within her. "I can't hide it any longer," he said. "Kiss me, Liberty."
It was crazy, absolutely crazy. There were so many reasons why she shouldn't kiss him. So many good, solid reasons. They were in full view of the entire town, for one. And she wasn't ready for their relationship to move in this direction, not yet, anyway.
But Lib didn't pull away, didn't move. And Luke bent his head and kissed her.
Lib closed her eyes. His lips were so gentle, the kiss so sweet. Sweet, yet with the promise of passion lurking just below the surface. She felt her arms encircling his neck, pulling him closer to her. She couldn't get enough of him. It shocked her to think what she wanted, and she pulled back.
Luke was breathing hard — as hard as she was. "Lord," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."
"I should go," Lib breathed. "I'm supposed to be dishing out the strawberry ice cream."
"You're not really going to kiss me like that, and then pretend you didn't?"
"No, of course not," Lib said, flustered. "But this is hardly the place—"
"Relax. I was ragging on you," Lu
ke said quickly. "That was like what you said to me the first day we met, remember? You can kiss me any time you want, and we don't have to talk about it at all."
He kissed her again. Lord, she was so sweet. "Don't go," he said.
"I promised I'd help—"
"Then let me help, too."
Lib pulled back in surprise. Realizing suddenly that they were standing still among a dozen dancing couples, she took Luke's hand and led him to the edge of the gazebo. "You really want to help?" she asked.
I really want to be with you. Luke didn't say the words aloud. He couldn't say them aloud. They frightened him to death. Lord only knows how Lib would have reacted. "Yeah," he said.
"Luke, we do need to talk," Lib said.
Her violet eyes were so serious, Luke felt a momentary pang of worry. But then he remembered the way she had kissed him, the way her arms had tightened around his neck. He wasn't imagining this attraction between them. She felt it, too. He knew that she did.
Even if she had a hundred reasons why they should only be friends, he could come up with a hundred reasons why they should become involved. Her eyes, her smile, her lips, her nose and every single one of the freckles on it, the way she laughed, her sense of humor, the way she made him feel...
Lord, the way she made him feel...
"Later," she said. "We'll talk later."
He nodded and she led the way across the green to the table that held huge containers of ice cream. The containers sat in tubs of ice, in a pathetic attempt to keep them from melting.
Lib spent the afternoon too busy to think, scooping out bowl after bowl of strawberry ice cream, working alongside of Luke. Every time she turned around, he was there, watching her with unmistakable heat in his eyes.
The look in his eyes was unmistakable to everyone else in town as well, Lib realized as she caught the brunt of old Miss Price's disapproving frown.
Lib wished she knew what to do.
She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to kiss Luke Fulton again.
* * *
Lib leaned in through the passenger window of Luke's truck.