The Wedding Garden. Linda Goodnight

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СКАЧАТЬ resisted staring out the windows, but every time he came inside for a glass of water or to take a break, she’d noticed.

      Oh, yes, she noticed Sloan Hawkins.

      “You sound as if you’ve forgiven him.”

      The unstated question gave her pause. Had she? “Time heals all wounds.”

      “What about Justin?”

      Annie froze. “What about him?”

      “Well, honey, now don’t get upset, but I always wondered.”

      A lot of people did. “Leave Justin out of this, Mother. The subject is Daddy and his ulcer. He can relieve some of his stress by forgetting about things that happened years ago.”

      “He’s still protective of you. Always was when it came to boys.”

      No, not all boys. Just Sloan. “Tell him I’m over the past and he should be, too.”

      “Okay, honey. I hear that tone so I’ll hush up. Why don’t you come to the Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting Saturday? We need to decide on a fundraiser for the orphan ministry.”

      Annie stifled an inward sigh. Before the divorce, she’d had more time for church and community activities. Now every waking moment was work, kids, or taking care of a million and one household chores of her own.

      “I’d like to, Mom, but Delaney is taking swim lessons in the mornings and Zoey Bowman invited her to a birthday party that afternoon. Plus, I need to shop for groceries and get Justin some new pants for Cheyenne’s wedding. His legs are growing again.” She squinted toward the clock above the stove. “Mom, I need to go. I’m still at Lydia’s house. Tell Delaney I’ll be late picking her up.”

      Following the usual goodbyes, she rang off and pushed a thumb and forefinger against her eye sockets. The headache was worse.

      Sloan’s hard-as-steel voice jolted her. “Don’t you ever go home?”

      Annie looked up to find him lounging against the entry to the kitchen. He wore frayed blue jeans with a giant hole in one knee and a sweaty green T-shirt minus any sleeves.

      “Do you always have to look disreputable?”

      “Clothes make the man.” He flashed a set of white teeth and shoved off the door frame to indicate the fresh garden vegetables piled on the butcher-block counter. “Where did the squash come from?”

      “Neighbors with bounty.” She swept a hand toward the fridge. “You should look in there.”

      “Nice of them.” He sauntered to the counter and picked up a yellow crook-necked squash. “I haven’t had any fried squash since—well, in a long time.”

      “Now you can have all you want.”

      “Only if I can talk you into cooking it. I never quite got the hang of frying anything. Do you know how?”

      “This is Oklahoma, Sloan. Of course I know how, except I don’t because Lydia loves fried foods and she can’t have them.”

      He frowned. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” He put the squash back on the counter. “Why are you still here?”

      “Lydia had too many visitors today.” In spite of herself Annie got out a bowl and knife, took the squash and began slicing. “I fell behind.”

      Sloan leaned a hip on the counter, standing too close for comfort. “What are you doing with that squash?”

      “Frying it.”

      “Yeah? For me?” He sounded pleased. Surprised, too. Well, he should be. She certainly was.

      “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Lydia’s asleep already. There are a few cucumbers and new potatoes. Want some of those, too?”

      She didn’t know why she felt compelled to prepare a meal for Sloan, but when he’d put Lydia’s interests first without argument, some of the ice around her heart had melted. He loved Lydia even if he hadn’t been around.

      Sloan’s face erupted in a smile. Annie’s pulse skidded like tires on hot pavement. She reined in the forbidden reaction with a vicious whack at the innocent squash.

      “Got any corn on the cob?” he asked.

      “Sorry.”

      “Too bad.” He brushed past her to the refrigerator, took out a cucumber and a red, ripe tomato. “I could see how tired she was, but she loves company. Always did.”

      Annie stopped slicing and rested the heel of her hand against the bowl. “Remember when we were kids, how Lydia would invite everyone over on summer nights to roast wieners and marshmallows?”

      “I must have sharpened a million hickory sticks with my pocket knife.” A dish rattled as he placed it on the counter next to her and began slicing the cucumber. The fresh, green scent rose between them.

      “And after dark, we’d chase lightning bugs.”

      Sloan pumped his eyebrows. “And each other.”

      She laughed and pointed the knife at him, surprised to be able to relax this much. “That was when we were older.”

      “Really old, like thirteen or something.” His twinkling eyes captured hers and she knew they were sharing the same memory. They were barely teens the first time he’d kissed her. Playing tag, she’d chased him around the big house into the dark area between the porch and gardens. He’d hidden, catching her by the arm as she’d raced by, yelling his name. The kiss had been short, sweet and innocent. Unlike their later relationship. And it was that later relationship—fueled by her father’s objection to her dating “that Hawkins boy”—that remained between them unresolved.

      She turned away from those dazzling blue eyes to reach for the flour canister. Thinking about a first kiss or any kiss with Sloan was dangerous ground.

      After battering the thin yellow slices, she poured oil in a skillet and set it to heat. As she moved around the country kitchen, Sloan seemed always in the way. They bumped and jostled until she told him to sit down and let her do the cooking.

      He didn’t. Typical Sloan. Tell him he couldn’t do something and he would die trying. He sliced the vegetables, scrubbed the potatoes, set the table with two plates, and when she protested, he just shrugged. Sloan Hawkins was pretty handy in the kitchen, which meant he’d done his own cooking. Was there not a woman in the picture?

      “Your dinner is ready,” she said, setting the golden squash and a plate of cold ham slices on the table.

      “Yours, too.” He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, waiting for her to be seated.

      Fighting an unwelcome rush of attraction, she said, “I really should go.”

      “Come on, Annie. It’s only a meal. I know you haven’t eaten.”

      When he put it that way, she felt foolish for refusing. It was only a meal and she was an adult, СКАЧАТЬ