Romancing the Rogue (154 page)

Carolina dropped her head into her hands. “I
cannot
bring him another glass of water,” she said to a grinning Bethel.

“Yes, yous can. An' you is.”

Carolina dropped her hands and balled them into fists at her sides. “Did I not tell you what happened last time I brought him a drink?”

Bethel nodded. “You did, but I don't think that'll happen again this time.”

No, it wouldn’t, because there wasn't going to be a “this time”. “Isn't there anything else I can do to get his attention?”

Bethel's eyes narrowed at her. “Yous ta do 'xactly wot I says ta do an' I says ta take dis here wata out ta Mr. John, now.”

“But he doesn't want it,” Carolina protested.

“Yes, e do. He jus' want yous ta think e don't.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

Bethel shrugged and snatched up a white rag from the table. “I's jus knows,” she said, reaching into the large black cook stove and removing a pan of baked treats. “Yous better hurra 'fore e goes to de well.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Carolina said, picking up the tray with the two glasses on it. Since Mother wouldn't let him sleep or eat in the big house, this would be her last chance to see him today. If he didn't respond any better to this glass of water than he had to the last, today would be a total waste.

“Is that for me?” Gabriel asked her as soon as she stepped out the back door and onto the top step.

Carolina wet her lips and pulled the tray closer to her. “No. I'm bringing them to the workers.” Had he been over by John, she'd have gladly let him have one of the glasses, but she couldn't show up with only one.

“Uh huh, and would the worker you had in mind happen to answer to the name of John?” he asked with a wide smile and a sparkle in his brown eyes she hadn't glimpsed since his return.

“You know very well that he does.” She changed her grip on the tray and glanced over her shoulder through the window to make sure Bethel was still working by the stove and not standing by the window listening to their conversation. “Do you know why he pretends not to like me?” she blurted.

“What makes you certain he's pretending?” he asked, not unkindly, but not in the teasing tone he'd used so many times when they were younger. Despite the wooden leg, the scar that bisected his cheek, and the decidedly harder look to his face, he was still a good-looking man, if not a little more serious.

Carolina shook her head. “You know as well as I do that he is.”

Gabriel forced a shrug and leaned against the side of the house. “He hasn't discussed you at all since you've arrived, so I don't know if he returns your interest or if it's you who has enough romantic interest for the both of you.”

“Oh, and what did he say before I arrived?”

Gabriel pursed his lips. “Not quite the same thing you're telling me.”

She scowled. “Just because he hasn't told you how he feels about me, doesn't mean I'm imagining it. I'm not. Just forget I asked you anything.”

“All right.” He sent her a fleeting glance then went back to work repairing the ramp that had been put in place to help Father enter and exit the house without help.

A small measure of sadness settled over her. Gabriel was six years older than she was and, despite their age difference, they'd played together almost every day when they were younger. Back then, he'd gotten into just as much trouble as she had. She nearly snorted. That wasn't entirely true. He’d gotten into more. It was Gabriel who'd taught her if she wanted something, it was up to her to fight to get it. More times than she could possibly remember, they'd schemed up plans to avoid doing their chores so they could ride horses all day instead. Perhaps if he hadn't been injured in the war, he'd be interested in scheming up a plan to make John admit his feelings for her.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat at the realization of Gabriel's lost innocence and the cynic he had clearly become. Last night after Mother had gone to bed, she'd tried to ask him why he'd stayed away so long, but his face had grown hard and he'd refused to answer.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she walked in the direction of the carriage house. She took a deep breath and called John's name
—
a little more delicately this time.

“Yes?” his loud voice called back.

Carolina took a deep breath. She could do this. He clearly didn't appreciate her efforts, and they seemed not to be working; but if she wanted Bethel's approval of her plan to snag John however she saw fit, she
had
to do what Bethel asked first. “Would you like to come down and have another glass of water?”

A loud grunt was his only reply.

Now,
that
was a pleasant response. Carolina felt like grunting in aggravation herself. Instead, she walked over to the side of the carriage house she was sure the grunt had emanated and tilted her head up toward the roof where he must be working out of view. “Would you quit acting like a mule and come drink some water?”

“I'll drink it as soon as you give it to me,” a soft, deep voice said behind her.

Carolina spun around so fast the jars almost tipped. “John.”

“That's what they call me.” He flashed a smile. “May I?”

“Of course. Oh, would you take them both, please?” He frowned at her, but before he could argue, she said, “I'll drink the second one. I just need you to take it off the tray so I can set the tray down.”

He gave her a queer look but took the two glasses of water, so she could set down the heavy tray. “Thank you for bringing me water,” he said, handing her glass to her.

“You're welcome.” She took a sip, relishing the way the cool water felt going down her throat. She could only imagine how much John must crave cold water. Lowering her glass, she allowed her eyes to drift down to his broad chest. She might have seen it earlier, but that didn't mean she couldn't look at it again. She cringed on his behalf. Just as she'd warned him, his skin that was once as white as a cloud had a distinctively pink hue to it now, the start of a painful South Carolina sunburn.

John cleared his throat, stealing her attention from his chest. He lifted his brows at her when she met his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about earlier—”

“It's of no account,” she said, flicking her wrist and remembering her promise to Bethel that she wouldn't mention the words marriage or wedding to John again until after he'd proposed to her. Frankly, if not for that promise, she might have demanded he make amends by putting aside his stupid pride and admitting he wanted to marry her.

A strange look came over John's face, and he dropped his gaze to where his dirty and worn leather boots were kicking at the rocks beneath his feet. “No, Carolina, it is of account,” he said, lifting his head and taking a keen interest in the jar in his hand. “I was frustrated and spoke to you in a way that was most inappropriate. You were kind enough to bring me a drink, and I should have been more thankful. It was most kind of you to bring me another glass this afternoon, but if you don't bring me another, I'd certainly understand.”

Carolina stared at him as he turned to the side and struggled through a coughing fit that had suddenly developed. Was this an attempt to get her to stop? Since he refused to look at her, she couldn't be sure; but if that
was
his plan, he was about to learn the definition of persistence. She'd bring him a glass of water every hour with the intent of getting him fired if that's what it'd take for him to stop this nonsense.

She took a long drink of her water then forced a smile. “As I said, it's of no account.”

He nodded once then drank what was left in his jar. He handed it back to her and wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand. “I must be—” He shrugged. “Well, you already know what I was about to say.”

Yes, she did already know. She also knew she was one day closer to being
done with Bethel's nonsense.

~~~~

Sadly, the second day of Bethel's plan consisted of doing exactly the same thing: bringing John two glasses of water. At first, he'd acted surprised to see her. But the second time, he looked as if he were expecting to see her.

So, it was with great reluctance that she entered the kitchen on the third day.

“Please tell me I am not supposed to bring him water again today, because I fear that plan is not working.”

“No, no wata taday,” Bethel said, offering her a wide smile. “Come back har a hour 'fore Mrs. Ellis take her dinner an' I'll have everythin' ready.”

Resisting the urge to protest, Carolina went away to amuse herself with a novel for a few hours. Not that she read any of it. She didn't. She just sat in the shade and pretended to read it while she watched John from the distance as he and Cain, an older field hand, replaced some of the boards around the storage shed.

Bethel's shout from the kitchen brought Carolina from her fog. She scrambled to her feet and ran into the kitchen.

“What's that?”

“A pic-a-nic ham'er. Wot it look like?”

“I know it's a picnic hamper. But why are you putting food into it?”

Bethel dropped two apples into the hamper and closed the lid. “Because yous and Mr. John be goin' on a picnic.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes, it is,” Bethel said, pursing her lips. “Miss Lina, a boy who work so har be needin' nour'men' an' dat food de han's make ain't good 'nuff. E's be wan'ing foo a good meal.”

Carolina nodded. That made sense. “But are you sure I shouldn't just invite him to join us for supper?”

Bethel's hands shot to her hips. “No. You's ta brin' him the pic-a-nic ham'er like I tells ya ta.”

Carolina stared at the picnic basket. What if he didn't want to eat with her? He didn't seem to be enjoying her lingering for the five minutes it took for him to drink his water twice a day. Why would he agree to go on a picnic with her?

Bethel's callused fingertips touched her chin and tipped Carolina's face up until she was looking into Bethel's dark eyes.

“You stop worrin' an' take dis ou' there 'fore e runs off wit the ot'ers ta eat.”

Carolina swallowed her nerves as she walked toward the shed. “John,” she called as she approached.

No answer.

“John.”

No answer again.

She sighed and walked to the building to see if he was working on the roof or one of the sides now. He wasn't there. She frowned and peered inside to see if he was hiding from her. No, not in there, either.

Where could he be? She lifted her hand to block the sun and walked back in the direction of the western border. Perhaps a board had come loose or something. She frowned when she reached the other side of the cluster of buildings only to find nobody near the fence.

Transferring the basket to her other hand, she spun around and walked toward the indigo fields. Surely, he hadn't been told to go work over there. But then again, there were only so many repairs that needed to be made around the plantation. Her stomach knotted at the idea of him working in the indigo fields.

The knots tightened when the field came into view and she caught sight of Mr. Haney as he walked around the field with his large whip coiled in his hand.

Nausea threatened to overtake her and she turned away. So many times she'd wished she could run away, never to witness another day of slavery again. Of course, to voice her dislike for the practice would get her ridiculed and scorned as it was the natural way of life here. But it wasn't
her
way, and she longed to be free of the plantation that seemed to enslave her just as much as it did those who worked on it.

Taking deep breaths, she walked as fast as she could away from the fields. She suspected everyone knew of her compassion for those who worked on the plantation—they just either didn't care or couldn't do anything about it. If the plantation were hers, she'd free them all. But the plantation wasn't hers.

“Is something wrong, Lina?” Gabriel asked.

She blinked in surprise. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn't realized where she was walking. “No. Not at all. I was just looking for John. I brought him lunch.” She lifted the hamper to emphasize her point.

“Check the pasture.”

“The pasture?”

He nodded. “I gave him the afternoon off while Dalton rides back to town to pick up more boards.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Gabriel looked as if he were about to say something more, but then decided against it and shut his mouth. Odd.

The pastures were on the opposite end of the plantation, and by the time she reached them, she had most certainly worked up an appetite.

Unfortunately, John was nowhere in sight.

Irritation swelled in her breast; irritation for John and his annoying pride and irritation for Bethel for making her act like some trained dog by waiting on John. This method of bringing him things several times a day might work for some, but it clearly wasn't for Carolina, and it only made her look like a fool, besides.

Too hungry and annoyed to bother to go back to the big house or search for John any longer, she decided to take the hamper to the little pond that was hidden behind the trees and have a picnic alone. Any other day, she'd have preferred to picnic at the larger pond. It wasn't surrounded by as many trees, but the picturesque view was far more impressive.

Shifting the hamper back to the opposite hand, Carolina made her way toward the little pond and froze when she heard a noise. Her eyes narrowed as she looked through the thicket of trees. Then they widened when they landed on the creator of the noise she'd heard.

There, just through the trees, in the pond swimming, was John
—
shirtless.