MB02 - A Noble Groom (29 page)

“I found it very difficult to miss the fact that you had the young girl running everywhere and doing everything.” Carl’s eyes turned equally frigid.

“So you
were
watching her.”

Carl lifted his chin and peered down at Leonard. “You are the kind of man that doesn’t deserve a woman, especially one like Idette.”

Carl’s entire bearing, from his stiff posture to his clipped
tone, reminded Annalisa of someone much wealthier and more powerful than a poor schoolteacher. It was at times like these that she felt as though she didn’t really know him.

Leonard’s jaw flexed again, and the muscles in his arm rippled, as if he was thinking about hitting Carl. “Get yourself your own wife,” he finally said, in almost a growl. “Then maybe you won’t have to lust after mine.”

Carl’s gaze flickered to Annalisa. “Even if I had a wife, I’d still be unwilling to tolerate the cruelty you’re bestowing upon yours.”

“Until you’re married and have experienced the frustrations of a wife, you have no right to give marriage counsel.”

“I have plenty of right. And if you’re not careful, I shall have to thrash you the way you do her.” And with that Carl spun away, dismissing Leonard like a lord would his servant.

It wasn’t until after Carl had walked her home later that Annalisa had the chance to thank him for his kindness to Idette.

“You were very heroic to defend Idette,” she said, stopping in front of the cabin door.

Carl lowered Gretchen to the ground, having given her the usual horsey ride during the short walk from Vater’s farm. He tugged one of Gretchen’s braids, and in return she gave him a smile before dropping to crush Snowdrop in a hug.

Admiration swelled in Annalisa, as it did every time she watched Carl interact with Gretchen. It caused a pang in her chest—a longing for Carl to be a permanent part of Gretchen’s life.

The dog’s excited barking turned into slobbery licks across Gretchen’s flushed face.

Even though Carl was covered in dust and bits of hay, his
clothes stained with sweat and salt, he’d taken on a rugged, weathered look that only made him more handsome.

“Leonard’s a beast,” he said, watching Gretchen. “I don’t know why Idette puts up with him the way she does.”

“What can she do? He’s her husband. She has no choice but to do his bidding.”

“She’s created in the image of God and deserves his respect and consideration on that simple fact alone.”

Sophie wiggled within the sling and gave a tiny cry. Annalisa patted the baby’s back through the thin linen and simultaneously bounced her, wanting to linger with Carl but knowing she needed to nurse Sophie. She couldn’t keep from thinking about Idette’s advice to find a way to convince Carl to stay, about conceiving his child.

The overcast evening sky was heavy with rain that refused to fall, and the humidity had grown oppressive, sticking to every crevice of her body, making her wish she could shed her garments.

Such a tactic would definitely entice Carl.

She blushed at the brazenness of her wayward thoughts. How could she even consider such a thing? It was wrong and would displease Gott.

“Idette has a right to be treated with decency and kindness,” Carl said, peering at her.

She glanced to her small crop of hay waiting to be mowed, praying Carl couldn’t sense her wayward thoughts. “Of course I wish my sister could experience a happy life and be free of the unkindness of her husband, but that isn’t reality. She’s married to him and must make the best of the situation.”

“No one has to
make the best
of cruelty. Even a dog would run away from its master if he were beaten and intimidated the way she is.”

“Then you think Idette should leave Leonard?”

He shrugged. “I cannot advise her on whether she should stay or leave him. But I do think she deserves to have more choice in her life. She’s not his slave.”

Annalisa couldn’t formulate a response. She could only cock her head at Carl’s strange words. Since when did women have choices about anything?

“You aren’t at the mercy of the men in your life either,” Carl said, as if he could read the direction of her thoughts. “You must think about what you want too.”

She shook her head. His radical views were the makings of a good story. But they weren’t the reality of her life or any of the women she knew. She started to speak, but her rebuttal was drowned out by Sophie’s squall. Reluctantly she retreated inside the cabin to tend to the baby.

By the time she finished feeding Sophie and tucked both girls into bed, the rumble of thunder reverberated overhead. A few fat raindrops pattered against the roof, and the waft of cool air drifted through the open doorway and caressed her hot cheeks.

She unwound her hair from the braided coil she’d worn under her scarf, letting her hair fall in thick waves over her shoulders.

A gust swept into the stifling one-room cabin, lifting the strands from her sticky neck and beckoning her into the fresh coolness of the descending night. The raindrops plunked against the hard earth. Its parched cracks opened to drink, but the few splatters were not enough to satisfy its thirst.

Everywhere, the land struggled to survive. The sheaves of corn in the far field among the stumps were stunted and their leaves curled up. Mill Creek ran warm and sluggish, clogged with moss and slime. Even the leaves on the elm trees had already begun to turn yellow and dry.

They needed several days of steady rain—if not more.

And while the rain teased them with only mere sprinkles, she couldn’t resist the tug, the need to feel the wetness against her skin, to let the rare drops soothe her.

She stepped outside and away from the cabin. She lifted her face to the heavens, feeling the freshness splatter against her cheeks and tasting the coolness against her lips.

The tempo of the rain began to increase, soaking into her hair and her garments. She held out her arms and let the drops pelt against her hands.

Was this it? The end of the drought?

“Bitte, Gott,” she whispered. “Please let it rain harder.” She needed an outpouring, a true drenching for her corn to revive and give her the crop she so desperately needed.

A movement by the lean-to caught her eye.

She froze.

Through the drizzle she could make out Carl’s outline, where he was perched on the edge of one of the stalls.

“I can’t remember the last time we’ve had this kind of rain,” she called, fighting the embarrassment at being caught standing in the rain.

He didn’t say anything. He only stared at her.

“I thought you had already gone for the night.”

His gaze made a circuit around her face to her hair to her shoulders and then down the length of her body.

When she glanced down to her wet dress, she drew in a gasp. The splattering rain had plastered the thin linen to her body, outlining every womanly curve.

He slid down from the post and stepped into the rain. With a jerk he tossed his hat to the ground.

Then he came toward her, his eyes hungry, his footsteps certain, his eyes trained on one place—her lips.

The rain trickled down her face and her neck. Her body trembled with the strange need for his fingers to follow the path of the rain.

He stopped in front of her, and his breath came from deep within his chest. His gaze didn’t waver from her lips, even when he reached up both hands—one on either side of her face—and intertwined them into the long damp strands of her hair.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His fingers dug deeper into her hair, drawing her to him, and she was helpless to do anything but fall against him.

He dipped his head toward hers, and his lips came down on hers decisively, without faltering, almost as if he’d made his decision to kiss her and wouldn’t let anything stop him.

The warmth of his mouth enveloped hers, crashed into her, and swept her away. She reached her hands to his chest and clung to him to keep herself from collapsing.

His fingers threaded into her hair, locking them together, and his lips pressed against hers with all the strength that emanated from his body.

She’d never kissed a man like this before, never known such kissing was even possible, never known she could find so much pleasure in it.

As forcefully as the kiss started, he wrenched away just as purposefully. “What am I doing?” His chest heaved up and down against hers. He didn’t relinquish his grip on her. His mouth was near enough that if she wanted, she could easily dip into him and offer him her lips again.

Every nerve in her body urged her to push against him, to continue what they’d begun. The pulsing in her blood told her that she would find more pleasure in his arms, that she’d only gotten a taste of what would come.

Did she dare consider Idette’s suggestion?

He wouldn’t resist. She could see the desire rippling across his face, turning his eyes darker than wet soil.

All she had to do was kiss him again, and again, and again. And if she did, he wouldn’t be able to resist carrying her to the bed.

Then he would marry her.

She knew he would. He was too kind and honorable to do anything less.

Even so, she balked at the thought of tricking him into marriage. What good would come out of a marriage based on deception and manipulation?

And how could she live before Gott with such a sin on her conscience? If He’d been too busy for her before when she’d tried to be good, wouldn’t He give up on her altogether if she willfully enticed Carl?

His gaze danced around her face before it came to rest once again on her lips. When he bent his head, he gave a soft groan before letting his lips move against hers.

She responded again, wanting—needing—him.

His kisses made a trail from her lips to her throat.

She leaned back and gave him access to the tender skin of her neck. The rain pattered against her lips, and she could almost taste the sweetness of love.

She loved him.

Did she dare say it to him? Could she tell him she loved him? Would he feel the same?

He lifted his head, and this time his eyes met hers. The dark passion questioned her as if he sensed her turmoil.

This was it. The moment that could secure her future and the moment that could give Gretchen and Sophie a loving papa. The truth was she’d do just about anything for her daughters.

She could lead him to the barn, to a secluded spot, and could
keep on kissing him. If she did, she would have her prince charming and a fairy-tale love. They would live happily ever after.

But would they really?

Even as the question slipped into her mind, it pounded her conscience as loud as the clatter of thunder.

Would Carl be happy—truly happy—in a marriage she had contrived? If she enticed and entrapped him, wouldn’t he eventually come to resent her?

The fact was, he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to stay in Forestville. He didn’t want to be a farmer.

She would be condemning him to a life he didn’t want. And although he’d joined in the farming life for these past months without complaining, she’d seen the restlessness within him, the longing to do more than tossing hay onto a rack.

He was ready to leave. He’d been ready for a while. And she knew he’d only lingered because he was so kind and didn’t want her to lose her farm.

Ach. She loved him too much to make him remain out of obligation. If he stayed, she wanted it to be because he loved her, and for no other reason.

Slowly, she shook her head.

Confusion swirled through the depths of his eyes.

She stepped back, breaking contact with him. Reluctantly he released his tight grip.

She took another step away, putting an arm’s span between them. She couldn’t sin against Gott. And she knew he wouldn’t want to either if he were thinking straight.

His chest heaved with the passion of the moment, and she was surprised to find that hers was heaving too.

She lifted her eyes to his, wanting to hear him say he loved her, wanting to know that he cared about her as much as she did for him.

Instead he flung his head back and forth as if waking himself from a deep slumber. He crammed one hand into his damp hair. Confusion made creases across his forehead, and his eyes clouded with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Annalisa.” His voice was hoarse.

Was he sorry for kissing her, or sorry he couldn’t return the love that was written all over her face?

“I’m so sorry.” And when he stared off at the distant field, she had the feeling he was giving her an answer—only it wasn’t the one she wanted.

He gave a half sigh, half groan. Then, without bothering to retrieve his hat, he started down the path away from her, kicking at a loose stone. He didn’t stop to look back at her, not even once, even though her heart begged him to.

After he was finally gone, she released the sob that had swelled within her chest. She collapsed to the ground. Just as suddenly as the rain had started, it ceased, refusing to give them the sustenance and the outpouring they so desperately needed.

What had she done by letting him walk away?

But even as the regrets taunted her, she knew she could have done nothing less than let him go.