Annabelle's Angel (3 page)

“I see.” Rick pictured Annabelle, too shy, or simply too nice, to say anything. Or maybe she'd never noticed the lack herself. Yeah, that sounded like her. Even he already knew that much about Annabelle.

“You do?”

He grinned. “Sure. You want me to take you guys shopping for her.”

“To start with, yeah.”

Rick shrugged. “OK.”

“You'll do it?” Liam leaned over the backseat.

“Of course I will.” And he might get around to asking her for a date, too. Why not? He already knew he liked her family.

Even the ones who poured sugar down his back and made coaching a game an exercise in wriggling discomfort.

 

 

 

 

3

 

He was back and Annabelle hadn't had any warning except—she studied Faith, who seemed to be concentrating especially hard on the table setting.

“Faith, did you know Rick was coming to dinner?”

“What?” Faith looked up, her eyes brimming with so much innocence that Annabelle was immediately suspicious. “Oh, yeah, Liam said they were going to ask him.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Faith shrugged. “I thought Liam did.”

Hadn't she had a similar conversation recently? Was she getting into such a rut that she had to pick on a simple visit from one of the kids' friends as something to look at with narrowed, distrustful eyes?

“I wish someone had told me.” She glanced into the living room where Rick sat with half of Annabelle's family surrounding him, laughing, as he encouraged them to join in a game he'd made up when they begged him to.

Faith put down the dishtowel and planted her hands on her hips. "Look, I don't mean to offend you or anything, but here's something for you to think about. You're turning into the crazy cat lady, and we don't even have a cat.”

"Faith," Annabelle whispered, the word full of hurt feelings.

Faith put her hand over her mouth but pulled it away. "You have siblings instead. All you do is us. Nothing else matters."

Arguments and defenses fought at the tip of Annabelle's tongue. "I—I have a job," she finally stammered. Medical transcription and it wasn't easy, either.

Faith went back to wiping dishes to put on the table. "A job you do at home. And you've got church. But you don't have much of a life."

"Well, I like it for what it is."

Tears pooled in Faith's eyes. "I just want more for you."

Annabelle fought the hurt. What was more important, her feelings, or Faith's? And here Faith only wanted good things for her. Maybe she wanted them in a way Annabelle couldn't live with, but she cared.

Annabelle pulled her sister into a forgiving hug. "And I love you for wanting so much for me, but I'm happy just the way I am."

Faith shrugged away from her. “Yeah, I bet.” She glanced into the living room. “You still OK with me going to Carrie's to study tonight?”

“Oh, sure.”

“I mean, you don't need me for moral support or anything?” She jerked her head toward Rick, who held Mattie upside down in the air. The others howled with laughter.

How well did her sister know her? Annabelle sighed. “I'm fine. You go. I think that's Carrie honking now. I'll pick you up about nine.”

Only after she watched Faith run down the front walk to join two of her friends at the curb did Annabelle wonder if she'd just told her sister a lie.

 

~*~

 

Rick glanced for the fourth or fifth time into the dining room through which he could catch glimpses of Annabelle moving in the kitchen.

“Does she always do all the cooking?” he asked. “And cleaning? Don't any of you help?”

“Yeah, sure, we help,” Joe said. “But we got company, so we get to visit.”

Annabelle called them into the dining room, and Rick waited for Mrs. Archer to shuffle through before he followed. The three youngest had disappeared, and he felt only a moment's concern before he simultaneously saw Brody standing on a chair just past the door and felt powder slide over his head and down his back.

Again.

It wasn't as itchy as the sugar. Smelled different, too, like—a baby? At least, a clean baby…

Baby powder?

“Brody!”

Brody jumped to the floor, his cheeks pink, but he was still laughing.

Annabelle advanced on him, and Rick felt an urge to block her. Maybe because she looked so adorably embarrassed more than to shield the boy.

“Why on earth would you dump baby powder on him?”

She glanced at Rick, looked away, and then reached up to bat the white off his shoulders. He stood still and let her.

“Sorry. But Torie said she wanted him to turn into a snow angel.”

“Did not. I thaid he
ith
a th'now angel.” Victoria marched past the three bunched in the doorway and slid a chair from under the table. “And it'th my turn to thit next to him.”

“Aren't you afraid he'll get powder in your food?” Mattie asked, reaching for the same chair.

“No arguments.” Annabelle pointed. “Grandma's eating with us tonight, so she gets to sit beside our guest.”

“And Annabelle gets to sit on my other side,” Rick said.

Joe and Brody gave him surprised, delighted stares.

Rick raised his eyebrows at them and then shrugged. He took Annabelle's elbow and led her to a seat two down from her grandmother, held her chair for her, then sat between the two.

As they'd done the previous night he'd shared dinner with them, the younger children brought in dishes and set them on the table.

The entire meal's conversation centered on snow angels and how to make them, and how to get snow. Joe suggested having it delivered to the front yard, but considering the current temperatures, it wouldn't last long enough to make anything out of it.

When things looked as if they'd descend into an argument, Rick intervened. “If you're so interested in snow angels, why don't we take a trip up into the mountains? I can teach you how to make them. It's not hard.”

“All of us?” Brody asked.

“Of course.”

“Even Annabelle?” Liam speared him with narrowed eyes.

He almost explained how this was his way of getting Annabelle out of the house and off somewhere—well, somewhere
somewhat
romantic—with him. Not that all those extra bodies would make for a whole lot of romance, but really, wasn't that the way to Annabelle's heart? But with all those eyes on him—some challenging, like Liam's, others trusting, like Victoria's, and some plain shocked—at least, Annabelle's expression was shocked—he was glad his tongue tended to trip over itself and keep him from an embarrassing reveal.

“If I'm taking six kids up to the mountains, I need backup.” He grinned, pleased with his strategy.

“It's not like Joe and them are little kids and can't take care of us—” Brody started.

“No, it's a good idea,” Joe said. “Then we don't have to worry about babysitting.”

Not quite the plan Rick had in mind, but then Joe winked.

Surprised, Rick stared at Joe while around them, the kids made plans.

“OK, so, this Saturday, right? We can all get up real early and go. Right, Annabelle?” Joe asked.

Annabelle looked at her plate, and her hand hovered near her cheek. “Rick hasn't agreed yet.”

“It was his idea,” Liam pointed out.

“Yeah.” Rick jumped in, terrified she'd back out before he had her completely committed. “And Saturday is the perfect day to go. Next weekend is the church Christmas Bazaar. No one wants to miss that, do we?”

A chorus answered him, the general agreement that no one wanted to miss it, and as Christmas fell the week after that, they needed to go as soon as possible.

“If you're OK with that?” Rick asked Annabelle.

She looked up. “Oh, sure.”

“We'll need snow suits,” Faith said.

“And boots,” Mattie added.

Joe and Liam looked at each other. “Thrift stores.”

Annabelle laughed. “You guys grow too fast to spend full price for something you won't use much.”

Rick spent half a second resenting how the whole family treated Annabelle and then let it go. Maybe it wasn't totally her choice, but she was a smart woman. She wouldn't live this way if she didn't like it.

“Mrs. Archer, would you like to go?”

“No, it's not anything I'm interested in. I have plenty of things to keep me busy. I'm a spry one, for my age.” She twinkled at Rick. “I don't drive, of course, but I can get myself where I want to go.”

Then why didn't she take some of the burden off her granddaughter? It wasn't Annabelle's fault the seven kids were orphans.

Then it hit him. Of course. It was her grandmother's fault—if he wanted to be cruel. She hadn't caused the accident, of course, but she'd been driving. And Annabelle had given up her life to relieve the woman of any guilt.

She'd probably been really young when she'd agreed to it. Might not have realized it then, might not realize it now. But that was exactly what had happened.

He got up, a trail of baby powder following him and his anger barely in check. “Dinner was wonderful, Annabelle. Thanks so much for including me again. I'll see you all about seven on Saturday morning.”

 

 

 

 

4

 

The entire committee for the Christmas boutique had crowded into the unused classroom and were seated in too-small chairs or perched on short desks. Annabelle hesitated on the threshold, her eyes widening as she realized Rick had come.

“Annabelle's here. We can get started.” Mrs. Veragas smiled. “You're the last to arrive.”

Annabelle slid into an empty seat and, using her hair as a curtain, looked at the others in the room.

Rick caught her glance. He must have been looking for it, because she was good at hiding. He smiled and raised one eyebrow. Beside him perched another of the sport coaches, who was a college student, and sprawled next to the student was his younger brother.

Mrs. Veragas stood, and the chatter dimmed. “I talked to the deacon, and he agrees that we can add a few incentives to our Christmas boutique this year. Along with the luncheon, the crafts sale, the bake sale, and the raffles, we've decided on a distinctly Victorian edge.”

Startled, Annabelle jerked her gaze back to the speaker. Victorian? Like her own life story?

“We've arranged for Elisa and Marisol to lead the parlor games, and Andrea and Michelle are setting up a flower arranging display. And the part closest to my heart”—Mrs. Veragas clasped both plump hands to her chest—“Country dancing.” Her smile went misty. “And that's why I invited these young men today. They'll be a wonderful part of our demonstration.”

“I'll partner with Annabelle,” Rick said.

Annabelle missed the next few decisions in a haze of shock. Rick…her…dancing…in public?

“…so we'll have practices three times a week. I've arranged with the men, because we can't interfere with their sports schedules, of course.” She handed printed pages to the three men, one to Annabelle, and one to two other young women. “In fact, our first practice is immediately after this meeting. Which is adjourned!”

Amid laughter, the group dispersed.

Annabelle stood with the paper in her hand. The page trembled.

“I figured you'd rather dance with someone you know rather than one of the other guys.” Rick took her elbow and steered her toward the hall where Mrs. Veragas and the other four were headed. “Besides, I'm a better dancer than either Greg or Anson.”

One of the young men turned. “Yeah, if you can stand on your tippy toes, you're bound to be better.”

“That's ballet,” Annabelle said and wanted to disappear.

“Is it?”

Annabelle reached for Rick's arm and then let her hand drop. “I didn't even know—” She stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “No one asked me if I wanted to dance.”

“I suppose they figured you'd say no.” Rick shrugged. “I know they were going to ask the high school kids, but they probably couldn't keep from giggling the whole time. You're not a giggler.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of course it is.” He glanced down at her, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “I didn't agree until I made sure you'd be one of the ladies.”

And what did that mean? She had to be blushing.

Inside the hall, a CD played a sparkling, almost-music-box style piece. It made Annabelle want to bounce on her toes, but she reined in the urge. Any sign of enthusiasm would be taken as—well, as enthusiasm—and she wasn't sure she wanted anyone to think she in any way agreed to dancing in public.

She really liked the music, though.

Mrs. Veragas arranged them in two lines, facing each other. “I'll be teaching you three dances. Two are very simple country dances; the third is the basic waltz.”

Using another couple, she demonstrated how they were to hold their hands, how to turn, how to step, how to bend and sway.

Annabelle felt her eyes widen at each new lesson. Would she remember all of this?

“Face your partners. Bow or curtsy. You ladies do know how to curtsy, don't you? And then step forward and join right hands.”

Touching Rick Stockton was like nothing else on earth. After the first soul-shattering moment, Annabelle tipped her face up and ordered herself to pay attention to Mrs. Veragas. Certainly learning to dance would get her further than feeding her crush.

But he'd offered to be her partner.

She shook her head. Of course he had. Out of pity, not love. Nothing like love. He knew, from her siblings most likely, how shy she'd become. How she preferred to stay out of anyone's notice. Demonstrating ballroom dancing wasn't designed to further that desire, and he'd stepped in to save her as much agony as possible. Nothing more.