Suzanne Brockmann

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

  "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."

  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 umbrella, 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."