That Carolina Summer (North Carolina) (4 page)

The line of his mouth slanted in amusement. “You were busy yesterday at the pool, weren't you?"

She gave him a blank look. “What do you mean?” Then she pretended to realize. “Oh, because I met you there, too. I guess my sister, Marsha, is the shy one in our family."

“It wouldn't hurt to be cautious,” Josh stated. “I wouldn't get too friendly with Craig if I were you.” But Annette wasn't sure whether he was really warning her away from Craig or himself.

“Why not?” She cocked her head to one side. It was very hard for her to keep a straight face.

“He runs with a pretty fast crowd,” he replied. “And you're a little young to be getting involved with college-aged boys."

“Oh.” Annette had to lower her chin to keep her smile from showing. It was extremely difficult not to inform him that she would be a junior when she entered college that autumn. But she simply couldn't resist asking him, “How old do you think I am, Josh?"

There was a slight hesitation before he said, “Seventeen.” He even sounded skeptical about that.

“Really?” She faked a disappointed look.

“Yes.” He didn't succeed too well at hiding his smile at her response. “Why?"

“I thought I looked older,” Annette shrugged. “At least twenty."

“Don't rush it,” Josh advised, his mouth twisting wryly. “You'll get there soon enough."

“Yes, I guess I will.” A lot sooner than you think, she added to herself.

Craig came back, carrying two mugs of coffee.

“Put it on my tab,” Josh instructed to dismiss him.

“But it was supposed to be my treat,” Annette protested as Craig slipped away, unwilling to wait around while she argued with the owner. “I invited you."

“I'd forgotten,” he lied. “Next time you can buy."

“Okay.” She gave in readily to the suggestion even though she knew he didn't mean it that there might be a next time. She took a sip of the steaming coffee. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?"

“No. I'm thirty-three.” When she laughed he arched an eyebrow. “Did I say something funny?"

“Not really,” Annette assured him. “It's just the advice you were passing out a while ago sounded like something from my father. And I didn't think you were his age.” She flirted a little. “You aren't that much older than I am."

“Enough older, Annette,” he countered, but his gaze skimmed her. She knew he wasn't completely indifferent to her feminine attributes, age difference or no.

“What kind of business are you in?” She discreetly changed the subject, taking a drink of the coffee.

“Real estate.” Which encompassed a lot of territory. “What does your father do?"

“He's a troubleshooter for an oil company. He gets sent to all the hot spots."

“Sounds like he does a lot of traveling,” Josh suggested.

“He does,” Annette readily agreed. “That's why the whole family vacations together when he's home. We don't get to see very much of him for most of the year."

Craig approached their table again with a pot of coffee. Josh covered his cup with his hand. “No more for me."

“Me, neither,” Annette refused. She sensed that Josh intended to bring their meeting to a close, and she wanted to be the one to do it. “I have to be getting back to the room before Dad starts wondering where I am."

“I have a business appointment,” Josh admitted, and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Have a good day,” she wished him, standing up to leave, too.

“You, too.” His smile stiffened a little at the last, then he was moving away.

Annette was slower to leave, savoring the experience. She didn't notice that Craig was lingering on the sidelines until he came forward to carry away their coffee cups. He glanced in the direction that Josh had disappeared, then looked curiously at Annette.

“You thought you recognized him yesterday,” he remarked. “I guess it turned out that you had met him before."

“No.” She shook her head in a brief denial. “We just happened to run into each other while we were out jogging this morning and decided to have coffee together."

“You work pretty fast,” he commented with a trace of jealous sarcasm.

Annette smiled. “I've heard that you do, too."

Craig straightened, suddenly uncertain if he had misunderstood. He was conceited enough to believe Annette was still interested in him. His manner changed to winning charm. “A friend of mine is throwing a party tonight. Are you free?"

“I'm afraid not,” she refused the offhand invitation.

“Maybe another time,” he suggested with renewed hope.

“Maybe another time,” Annette agreed, sincerely doubting that it would ever come. She turned to leave, tossing an airy “See you!” over her shoulder. But as she started through the breezeway between the hotel buildings, she met her father and Kathleen.

“Good morning,” her father greeted her, and let his gaze slide past her to Craig. “I see you've already made a conquest in the short time you've been here. And you wonder where the gray hairs come from,” he mocked.

“If you mean Craig, I'm not interested,” Annette retorted, but she was relieved her father hadn't arrived a few minutes earlier and seen her with Josh. She had the uneasy feeling he wouldn't have approved. Right now it was better that he didn't know about him. She pretended to scan the black hair at his temples for a silver strand. “Did you find another gray hair this morning, dad?"

“No. Surprised?” he countered.

“No.” Annette laughed, then glanced at Kathleen. “Where's Robby?"

“Marsha is getting him dressed,” Kathleen replied, explaining her son's absence. “We were just going into the coffee shop for breakfast. Do you want to join us?"

Annette was tempted to accept the invitation, but she knew they didn't have many chances to be alone. “I think I'll change first."

“We're going to Orton Plantation later on this morning, so wear your walking shoes,” her father warned.

“I will,” she promised with a smile, and started off for the room she shared with her sister.

The door was standing open when she reached the room. Robby was sitting patiently on an unmade bed while Marsha knelt to tie his shoes.

“H'lo, Annette,” he greeted her loudly when she entered the room.

“Good morning,” Annette replied.

Marsha glanced at her and observed, “You're smiling like the Cheshire cat."

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?” Annette laughed.

“I just don't understand how you get away with some of the things you do,” her sister replied, and set Robby on the floor.

“What does Annette get away with?” he wanted to know.

“Nothing that your ears need to hear about,” Marsha retorted, then turned her attention back to Annette. “I guess your mission was accomplished. You ran into him?"

“I practically fell at his feet—literally.” She made an exaggerated show of limping across the room, favoring her ankle.

“You didn't fake a sprained ankle,” Marsha accused.

“No, just a little twist, but it got me a cup of coffee,” Annette declared with twinkling triumph.

“Have you ever given any thought to what will happen when he finds out about your little tricks?” Marsha shook her head in disapproval.

“When who finds out?” Robby twisted his head back to look up at his sister. “Daddy?"

“No, pet,” Annette assured him. “Marsha and I are talking about someone else. Personally I can hardly wait for the day that he finds out the truth."

Marsha frowned. “Why?” She knew her sister too well to trust Annette in her present impish mood.

“Because he's convinced I'm seventeen.” Annette grinned.

“Did you tell him that?” Marsha squeaked, and stared at the childish pigtails. “Is that why you're wearing your hair like that?"

“I didn't tell him I was seventeen,” Annette said. “He guessed that's how old I was."

“Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

“Because he wouldn't have believed me, so I didn't try to convince him differently,” Annette shrugged.

“So who is going to tell him?” Marsha asked, then recoiled. “I told you I didn't want to become involved in this."

“I remember.” Annette sauntered to the closet to choose her clothes for the day.

“Please don't forget it.” It went against Marsha's nature to stay upset for long. She disliked arguments or anything that remotely resembled a battle of words. Her tone became placating. “Robby and I haven't had breakfast yet. Would you like us to wait for you while you change?"

“Will the restaurant have my favorite cereal?” Robby asked. “That's what I want this morning."

“It'll only take me a few minutes to change. Why don't I meet you at the coffee shop?” Annette suggested, because it was apparent her little brother was becoming impatient.

“Let's do that, Marsha,” he urged.

“Okay. We'll see you there,” she told Annette, and took Robby's hand.

“Close the door on your way out,” Annette called as she slipped a pair of white slacks off a hanger.

Chapter Three

THE LOCK DEFIED ANNETTE'S ATTEMPTS to turn the key she'd inserted in it. Hot, tired and impatient, she jiggled it angrily and tugged at the doorknob. Strands of sun-blond hair had escaped the confining elastic bands securing her pigtails. Perspiration plastered them against her neck and made the tank top to her jogging suit stick to her back.

When the lock resisted another attempt, Annette hit the hotel-room door with the flat of her hand in a fit of pique. She would have kicked it if her right foot didn't hurt so much from the blister on its heel. Her irritable mood was caused by more than just heat and fatigue. Frustration contributed a healthy amount to it.

As she yanked the key out of the keyhole to start all over again, the door swung open. For a stunned instant Annette thought it had opened of its own accord, until she saw her bathrobed sister modestly using the bulwark of the door as a shield.

“If you forgot your key, why didn't you just knock instead of rattling the doorknob like that?” Marsha complained with a trace of lingering anxiety. “I thought someone was trying to break in."

“I didn't forget my key!” Annette snapped, and limped across the threshold, a raw pain burning where her running shoe rubbed the heel of her right foot. She aimed her body for the nearest chair. “The damned thing wouldn't work!"

“What happened? Did you sprain your ankle for real this time?” Marsha asked as she closed the door and Annette flopped in the chair by the window.

“No, I didn't,” Annette sighed at the implied criticism. “I have a blister."

She untied her shoe and eased it off her foot, feeling the first glimmer of relief. There was still a sock to be removed, which produced a hissing breath of pain when she rolled it off. As Annette twisted her foot across a knee to examine it, Marsha bent toward it, too, and grimaced in sympathy.

“If looks sore,” she murmured.

“You ought to feel it from this end,” Annette grumbled as the inflamed area throbbed with the exposure to air.

“Do you want me to get you a Band-Aid or something?” Marsha offered.

“No. It will be okay.” She leaned back in the chair and let it support her head. Her mouth thinned into a disgruntled line. “Three days of jogging every morning, and this blister is all I have to show for it."

“You didn't see him this morning, either,” Marsha gathered from her remark.

“I saw him all right,” Annette admitted with frustration, “but from three blocks away. I couldn't catch up with him—not with this blister."

Marsha sat on the single bed opposite the chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Did it occur to you that this might be a sign you should give up?” she suggested.

“No, it didn't occur to me.” Annette chewed thoughtfully on a finger, her mind working feverishly. “I'm just going to have to think of some other way to see him."

“You've jogged every morning and haunted the swimming pool every afternoon,” her sister reminded her. “Maybe it just isn't meant to be."

“I can't accept that,” Annette stated with a decisive shake of her head. “This is where you and I differ, Marsha. You're content to just sit back and wait for Mr. Right to happen along, certain that he'll take one look at you and whisk you off to the altar. That isn't the way it works,” she insisted. “God helps those who help themselves. You have to make your own opportunities."

On certain things, Marsha could be stubborn. This was one of them. “But you can't make somebody love you, Annette. Either he does or he doesn't."

“Look.” Annette leaned forward, feeling that she was explaining the facts of life to a child instead of her nearly adult sister. “Josh has looked at me. He's interested. I know that. The seed has been planted and it just needs some water to make it grow.” She paused. “The difference between you and me is that you'll wait until it rains—if it ever does. And I'm going to make sure it gets water if I have to carry it myself!"

Marsha didn't attempt to deny the accuracy of her sister's assessment. “But you're practically chasing him. I don't think it looks right."