MB02 - A Noble Groom (15 page)

He’d never given marriage much consideration. After being wounded in the war, his father had helped him run away to England so that he wouldn’t have to fight again. And during his years studying and tutoring, he’d never given much thought to settling down and having a family. He’d enjoyed the attention of women friends, had flirted and had fun with them, but that was about as far as his commitment had gone. Then when he’d had to run away from Lord Faust and England, he’d been in too much danger to consider bringing a family into his troubles.

Of course after his return, his father had wanted to arrange a marriage for him, and he didn’t blame his father for trying. At thirty-one Carl knew he was well past the age most men started their families. Being an only child, his father had made it clear he expected him to continue the family business and name.

Carl shifted his gaze away from the two heads bent in prayer and willed his heart to stop its strange flopping. He couldn’t think about marriage and children now—not when he was wanted for murder, not when he didn’t own anything but the lice-infested clothes on his back, and not when all he had to offer was trouble.

Besides, he could never marry a woman like Annalisa. They were from two completely different worlds. She was a peasant, the widow of a farmer, and the land meant everything to her. He was a scientist and inventor, a nobleman’s son. His destiny included much bigger prospects than life on a small farm in Michigan. Lord willing, he would eventually return to his home to claim his position and fortune.

And he couldn’t forget the fact that Peter hated his father, and that if Annalisa ever discovered his true identity, she and her entire family would despise him—if they didn’t kill him first.

He gave himself a mental slap and avoided looking at Annalisa and the sweet girl imitating her every move. This wasn’t the best time in his life to lose the carefree spirit that had always held him in good stead. He’d always been content being single. Now wasn’t the time to think of more, not when his life had been turned upside down.

Lord, help this dog
and help me,
he prayed.

He rubbed harder, scratching the dog’s head, neck, and chin.

The pup gave a soft whine.

Gretchen’s head shot up.

“Come on, Snowdrop.” He gently shook the dog. “Come on, boy.”

“Bitte,” Gretchen said, talking to the puppy. “Don’t die. I love you.”

Annalisa lifted her head, and her stricken eyes collided with Carl’s and begged him to do something.

He had to find a way to help. Frantically he glanced around the barren room searching for something that could assist his efforts. His neglected plate sat on a stone near the hearth where Annalisa had been keeping it warm for him.

“My supper,” he said, his mind churning. “Get my plate there.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she rose and moved to do his bidding without a word.

When she handed it to him, he pushed the plate of quail and gravy under the dog’s nose. He dipped his finger into the gravy and then wedged it into the dog’s mouth. If only he could awaken the dog’s senses.

For a long moment, Snowdrop remained motionless. But then his nose began to twitch—slowly at first, then faster until finally his eyes popped open. His slobbery tongue was suddenly at work, licking the gravy off Carl’s finger.

Gretchen squealed and a smile danced to life.

She reached eagerly for the dog, but Annalisa held her back. “Nein, liebchen. Let him wake up first.”

Gently Carl helped the puppy to sit up and directed his nose toward the quail. When the pup bent his head and began to eat, Carl grinned. “I always say, there’s nothing like a good meal to win a man’s heart.”

Gretchen giggled.

Carl couldn’t imagine a sweeter sound.

And when Annalisa looked at him, this time tears pooled in her eyes. The gratefulness there took his breath away. As her lips curved into a smile—a smile meant just for him—he couldn’t think of anything more he wanted.

His gaze lingered on her lips, the gently rounded curves, the sweet fullness, the tantalizing strawberry red . . .

Maybe he
could
think of something more he wanted.

Her smile faded.

He lifted his eyes to hers, expecting revulsion, or at the very least the cold distance that was normally there. He was surprised when instead he found her staring at
his
lips, her head tilted and curiosity brimming in her eyes, almost as if she’d never been kissed.

Undoubtedly she’d been kissed plenty of times—by her husband. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he just as quickly dismissed it. He wasn’t naive. He knew kissing wasn’t necessary for mating, that plenty of loveless marriages lacked passion and intimacy, like his parents’. In fact, he couldn’t recall his father ever once kissing his mother.

Annalisa glanced up, and seeing that he’d caught her looking at his mouth, she dropped her attention to her hands. Shyness flooded her face.

He fought the urge to pull her into another embrace. Even though he’d stolen kisses from women in the past, he knew this was neither the time nor place.

Annalisa was not like the frivolous women he’d known. She was hardworking, determined, and resourceful. She loved Gretchen with a passion he admired. And she was beautiful, with echoes of strength deep inside waiting to be released.

She didn’t deserve a shallow, flirtatious relationship with him. She didn’t need a man toying with her emotions. Especially a man like him who couldn’t give her the kind of commitment and stability she needed.

Besides, even if there weren’t so many differences between them, there was still one very big, unmovable obstacle standing between them.

Her groom. And he’d be arriving any day, expecting to marry Annalisa, take over the farm, and have a better life here in America.

He shifted his attention to Snowdrop, who was chomping on the quail that was to have been his supper. Gretchen stroked the puppy, joy shimmering in her eyes.

Carl pushed away from the bedstead and rose, unwinding his stiff limbs, stifling a groan of frustration. He’d only be setting them all up for misery if he didn’t keep his distance.

He glanced to the door. Everything within him urged him to leave, to run away, just as he’d done in all the difficult situations in his past.

But deep in his heart he knew he couldn’t run. Not now. Not when Annalisa was in so much danger with Ward, not when she needed his help and protection.

The only thing he could do was wait and pray that her groom arrived soon . . . before he did something he would regret.

Chapter
8

At the sound of horses’ hooves outside the barn, Annalisa’s stomach quivered with something close to anticipation.

Carl was coming in from the fields at last.

She brushed a stray piece of straw from the clean shirt she’d laid out for him. And then she dipped her finger into the tub of water. It wasn’t as hot as when she’d poured the last kettle of boiling water into it, but it was still warm enough.

The lantern hanging from the center beam cast a pale glow over the stall she’d cleaned out for him. Everything was ready—from the grainy bar of lye soap to the crock of salve to the thin towel.

Across the U-shaped haymow, the little red-and-white-spotted cow Mathilda chewed on her ground corn and sent Annalisa puzzled glances above the rail, as if to ask why she was still in the barn so long after the evening milking.

The grunts of the sow finishing her meal came from the other side of the barn wall, in the muddy pen. The pig didn’t seem to mind being turned out of her home so that Vater’s horse could
have shelter during the rest of the plowing. But she’d have to bring the sow back into the barn soon to provide her with better protection. Earlier in the spring she’d mated the pig with one of Vater’s boars. If all went as planned, the sow would soon farrow piglets and would have need of her stall again.

By then, Carl would be done with the plowing . . . she hoped.

Even though he’d worked steadily and without complaint, he was slow and awkward with the horses and the equipment. He’d taken much too long, and Vater was complaining about needing his horse back.

She’d wanted to ask Carl more about his work in Saxony and how it was that he couldn’t do even the most basic things like draw water from the well or set a trap. But she knew it wasn’t her place to pry, that she needed to be grateful for his help, even if it was slow and put her crops behind even more.

At least she would get the seeds in the ground.

The barn door creaked open and the chill of the oncoming night swept into the barn, chasing away the damp warmth and the familiar musty scent of hay.

“Don’t complain about being hungry.” Carl chided the horses kindly. “At least you got your meal last night.”

Her lips twitched with the desire to smile. He had a soft spot for the animals and an endearing habit of chatting with them.

“I, on the other hand, gave up a tasty quail supper to the pup.” The horses’ bridles jangled as they stepped into the barn. He followed behind them, strands of his dark hair curling up around the rim of his hat.

Annalisa’s stomach fluttered. He’d been incredibly gallant to sacrifice his supper for Snowdrop. And while she’d wanted to give him something else to eat instead, he’d insisted on leaving for the evening.

After he’d gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way
he’d protected her from Ward, and how he’d held her. The thoughts had lingered all day too, especially when she’d caught glimpses of him in the field, and when she’d taken a meal to him at noon.

His arms had been gentle and yet so solid at the same time. And he’d touched her hair. No one had ever touched her hair before—not tenderly, not the way he had.

He sidled next to Old Red and began unbuckling the throatlatch strap, obviously not seeing her yet in the dim light of the stall. “I hate to say it, old boy,” he said, brushing a hand across Old Red’s withers as he lifted the bridle over the gelding’s head and worked the bit out of his mouth, “but I think you beasts get more to fill your bellies than your masters do.”

“That’s because the animals are important to our survival.” She stepped out of the shadows. “If they starve, then so will we.”

He straightened with a start. His brows furrowed above anxious eyes. “I told you to stay in the cabin after dark and keep the door locked.”

“Ward wouldn’t dare come out here two days in a row.” With Hans she would have been worried about his anger and the reprisal for disobeying. But with Carl, somehow she figured he’d forgive her once he realized why she’d gone against his orders.

Even so, she approached Old Red and Bets hesitantly. She dug a dried cob of corn out of her coat pocket and held it out to Old Red. The horse took the whole ear into his mouth at once, wallowing it around with a contented slurping. The cobs were a special treat, and Annalisa knew the horse wouldn’t drop it until he’d cleaned off every kernel.

Annalisa reached for Bets and took the reins. “I’ll finish grooming and feeding the horses.”

From the other side of the horse, Carl’s brows rose.

Now that he could manage the chores by himself, she knew it was unusual for her to be in the barn when he returned from the fields. And it was even odder for her to offer to do his work.

She felt a tinge of embarrassment. Had she done the right thing? Or had she overstepped the boundaries of propriety?

“You’re very kind to offer to do my work, my lady,” he finally said with a half grin. “But I’ve learned a thing or two about horses over the past week, and I don’t think they’re disliking my ministrations quite so much anymore.”

She combed her fingers through Old Red’s mane and then into the forelock. “I do believe they’ve begun to tolerate you some.”

His grin inched higher. “Some?”

“Only a little.” Warmth curled around her heart, as it did whenever she entered into playful banter with him.

The dark brown of his eyes sparkled. “I suppose if I were to feed them corn every time I came into the barn, they’d like me better too.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or maybe it’s not so much the corn they like as the pretty face behind it.”

Ja, she had done the right thing. She should have done it sooner. She smiled, then nodded to the tub nestled among the fresh straw she’d laid in the empty stall. “I’ve brought you hot water for a bath.”

He glanced toward the tin barrel that also served as her laundry tub. Although it was big, a lanky man like him would still be cramped. Steam spiraled from the water, and she could only pray it would stay warm for a few more moments.

“Apparently I’m not the only one who can’t stand the awfulness of my smell.”

“Nein,” she said. “I didn’t mean that . . .”

“I can admit it.” His grin spread. “I stink worse than hydrogen sulfide.”

She had no idea what
hydrogen sulfide
was, another of his big words that made her wish she were brave enough to ask him more about his past.

“So if I didn’t stink so badly, do you think the horses would like me better?”

“Ja.” Should she play along? What if she said the wrong thing?

He watched her as if waiting for her to say more, as if he wanted her to join in his easy way of relating—a way that was unusual for her, especially with a man.

“Old Red,” she said slowly, “has begged me these past days to do something about your smell.”

He laughed, and the rumble loosened her tense muscles.

But then his smile faded, and his gaze turned somber. “Thank you,” he said. The gratefulness in his eyes reached out to her. And something else lingered there too, the same thing she’d seen last night when they’d knelt beside the bed together. She couldn’t say what it was, except that she’d wanted to be closer to him, to feel his arms around her again.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve wished to shed the grime of these past weeks.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make a bath for you sooner.”

“Providing me with baths wasn’t part of our bargain.”

Neither was saving the life of a tiny puppy or rescuing her from Ward’s conniving ways. She rubbed her shoulder where the man had nearly torn her arm out of its socket. The pain had been terrible, but even worse had been the fear that Gretchen would have to witness a murder and live with that memory the rest of her life.