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Authors: A Taste of Honey
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relaxing. Gently, without any
of the anger Annie expected, he asked the girl, "What in the world were
you doing in this wagon?"
Hannah
looked around, frightened eyes wide, as she took in all the people gathered
about her. Most of Annie's family, the Lutefoots, Miller Winestock: they were
all waiting for her to answer. She trembled and her lower lip quivered so badly
Annie wasn't even sure she could talk. Her heart went out to the child.
"Were
you looking for more cookies?" she asked, keeping her voice low, tenderly
cupping Hannah's chin in her hand. The tiny chin didn't belong to one of her
own brood, but it had an awfully familiar feel in Annie's palm.
The
girl shook her head. A tear was knocked loose from her eye and crawled down her
cheek.
"Good
children don't worry their parents," the minister told her. "I know
you are a good little girl, and you must never do something so thoughtless
again."
Noah
stiffened beside Annie, shifting slightly so that Hannah's back was to the
minister. "I don't think Hannah was trying to worry me. I think she had
something else in mind altogether." His arms wound protectively around his
daughter while he glared at Miller Winestock.
Somehow,
and not just because she stood between the two men, Annie felt as though she
were a part of a dance they seemed to be doing, as though Hannah's actions and
the proper response to them had something to do with her. She took a step
backward, as if that would take her out of the line of fire, but Hannah reached
two shaky arms out for her and she couldn't move away.
***
Noah
tried hard to keep the smile off his face. Had anything ever fit together as
perfectly as this? Annie, so smart to know that a child, his child, would be
seeking a dream. Hannah, picking Annie out like that, hiding in her wagon,
stretching out her arms to her. And all just a day after that remarkable letter
from Francie. It was as if he'd planted trees in his fields, gone to sleep and,
after an evening of rain and a morning of sunshine found a harvest of apples
just ready to be picked.
He
might not be much of a farmer, not yet, but he knew this was the time to pluck
the fruit God had offered him.
"I
think Hannah was hoping Miss Annie might just take her home if she hid out in
her wagon. Can't say I blame her. I only wish I thought of it first."
"Me
too," little Julia chimed from within Annie's arms.
The
color rose in Annie's cheeks. My, how that woman could blush! And the pink of those
cheeks against that golden complexion would be enough to warm a man's heart in
January.
The
minister wasn't satisfied. "Well, yes," he said. "I'm sure the
little girl misses her mother, as I know you do. Still, it's a parent's duty to
raise a child with a firm hand."
If
Miller Winestock was waiting for Noah to take that firm hand and lay it on his
daughter's bottom, he'd be old and gray and toothless before it happened. The
child missed a mother, all right. Who could blame her? She'd never really had one,
and now that she'd laid eyes on Annie she didn't seem about to let her go.
There was something about the woman that was so natural, so nurturing, so warm,
even a child could feel it. Without any effort at all she could make a person
feel safe.
"Sweetie,"
Annie said to Hannah in the softest voice he'd ever heard, a voice that flowed
like golden honey from lips Noah wanted like the dickens to touch, "I don't
have any more cookies with me."
The
sun was hitting her hair, turning it into burnt sugar strands, and Noah could
hardly pay attention to the words she was saying. He'd like to see that hair
tumbling down her back, her naked back, taffy strands teasing tanned skin. But
of course, her back would be paler, untouched by the sun....
"Mr.
Eastman?" Annie was staring at him as she lowered Julia to the ground. So,
for that matter, was Charlie Morrow's wife, Risa. There was a funny smile on
the other woman's face, a smile that implied she had been reading his thoughts.
He shifted Hannah in his
of the anger Annie expected, he asked the girl, "What in the world were
you doing in this wagon?"
Hannah
looked around, frightened eyes wide, as she took in all the people gathered
about her. Most of Annie's family, the Lutefoots, Miller Winestock: they were
all waiting for her to answer. She trembled and her lower lip quivered so badly
Annie wasn't even sure she could talk. Her heart went out to the child.
"Were
you looking for more cookies?" she asked, keeping her voice low, tenderly
cupping Hannah's chin in her hand. The tiny chin didn't belong to one of her
own brood, but it had an awfully familiar feel in Annie's palm.
The
girl shook her head. A tear was knocked loose from her eye and crawled down her
cheek.
"Good
children don't worry their parents," the minister told her. "I know
you are a good little girl, and you must never do something so thoughtless
again."
Noah
stiffened beside Annie, shifting slightly so that Hannah's back was to the
minister. "I don't think Hannah was trying to worry me. I think she had
something else in mind altogether." His arms wound protectively around his
daughter while he glared at Miller Winestock.
Somehow,
and not just because she stood between the two men, Annie felt as though she
were a part of a dance they seemed to be doing, as though Hannah's actions and
the proper response to them had something to do with her. She took a step
backward, as if that would take her out of the line of fire, but Hannah reached
two shaky arms out for her and she couldn't move away.
***
Noah
tried hard to keep the smile off his face. Had anything ever fit together as
perfectly as this? Annie, so smart to know that a child, his child, would be
seeking a dream. Hannah, picking Annie out like that, hiding in her wagon,
stretching out her arms to her. And all just a day after that remarkable letter
from Francie. It was as if he'd planted trees in his fields, gone to sleep and,
after an evening of rain and a morning of sunshine found a harvest of apples
just ready to be picked.
He
might not be much of a farmer, not yet, but he knew this was the time to pluck
the fruit God had offered him.
"I
think Hannah was hoping Miss Annie might just take her home if she hid out in
her wagon. Can't say I blame her. I only wish I thought of it first."
"Me
too," little Julia chimed from within Annie's arms.
The
color rose in Annie's cheeks. My, how that woman could blush! And the pink of those
cheeks against that golden complexion would be enough to warm a man's heart in
January.
The
minister wasn't satisfied. "Well, yes," he said. "I'm sure the
little girl misses her mother, as I know you do. Still, it's a parent's duty to
raise a child with a firm hand."
If
Miller Winestock was waiting for Noah to take that firm hand and lay it on his
daughter's bottom, he'd be old and gray and toothless before it happened. The
child missed a mother, all right. Who could blame her? She'd never really had one,
and now that she'd laid eyes on Annie she didn't seem about to let her go.
There was something about the woman that was so natural, so nurturing, so warm,
even a child could feel it. Without any effort at all she could make a person
feel safe.
"Sweetie,"
Annie said to Hannah in the softest voice he'd ever heard, a voice that flowed
like golden honey from lips Noah wanted like the dickens to touch, "I don't
have any more cookies with me."
The
sun was hitting her hair, turning it into burnt sugar strands, and Noah could
hardly pay attention to the words she was saying. He'd like to see that hair
tumbling down her back, her naked back, taffy strands teasing tanned skin. But
of course, her back would be paler, untouched by the sun....
"Mr.
Eastman?" Annie was staring at him as she lowered Julia to the ground. So,
for that matter, was Charlie Morrow's wife, Risa. There was a funny smile on
the other woman's face, a smile that implied she had been reading his thoughts.
He shifted Hannah in his
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