Love, Come to Me(25)

Heath smiled. “He must have been a remarkable canine.”

“Not an ounce of talent,” Lucy said, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Or discipline. He didn’t interpret his part in the way the author had originally intended.”

“Who was the author?”

“Lucy, of course,” Sally said. “When we were little, she was always writing theatricals and stories. Some of them were absolutely nifty.”

“Nifty?” Daniel repeated the unfamiliar word with distaste.

“Short for magnificent,” Sally translated for him, and giggled.

Heath looked at Lucy, his eyes warm and speculative. “You like to write. I didn’t know that.”

“Is there any reason you should have?” Daniel interrupted shortly.

Heath regarded him expressionlessly. “Not at all.”

“Whatever happened to that dog?” Sally asked of Lucy, breaking into the conversation hurriedly. “You never really told me. I went to visit relatives one summer, and when I came back he was gone.”

“I couldn’t talk about it then.” Lucy smiled reminiscently. “Do you remember how he used to run out into the street, yapping at anything that moved? He got caught under a carriage wheel.”

“How awful,” Sally said sympathetically.

“Oh, it took me weeks to recover,” Lucy replied lightly. “Ridiculous, to be attached to such a scraggly little thing. He wasn’t very handsome.”

“He was ugly,” Daniel corrected.

“I guess he was,” she conceded. “Poor thing. I found him near the milldam when he was no bigger than a fist. Someone had abandoned a litter of puppies, and he was the only one still alive. Father was appalled when I brought the puppy home, but he let me keep it. That dog was a lot of trouble, always getting into things, but you can’t imagine how sweet he was. I never had another pet after that.” Suddenly Lucy’s eyes watered, and she laughed self-consciously while searching for the handkerchief. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what brought this on.”

“It doesn’t take our Lucy much to boo-hoo.” Sally smiled affectionately and patted her on the back.

“That’s something that’s going to change,” Daniel said, looking embarrassed and annoyed as he watched Lucy dab at the corners of her eyes. “No one should be so emotional over a dog that died years ago!”

Lucy flushed at the reprimand and didn’t know where to look. There was a second or two of silence.

“Well, now,” Heath said gently, “I don’t see anything wrong with a woman having a tender heart.”

“A woman is supposed to set an example to her children,” Daniel contradicted. “If she doesn’t learn to control her emotions, her children will turn out to be a bunch of mollycoddles who’ll cry as easily as she does.”

Heath said nothing, his eyes flickering to Lucy’s pinkened face. The depths of his gaze were bright with exasperation. Lucy knew that he was wondering why she didn’t talk back to Daniel, the way she usually did with him. But there was no way that she could make Heath understand how it was between her and Daniel. I don’t need defending from him, she wanted to tell him, and especially not by you! She had to content herself with giving him a “don’t make trouble” look. Heath turned his eyes to the river. The sharp, clean edge of his jaw took on a stubborn slant as he clamped his teeth together.

“Does anyone want more almond cake?” Lucy asked.

“At least a dozen pieces,” Sally said, grateful for the change of subject. But the two men were strangely silent, as if neither of them had heard a word.

Lunch dissolved into leisurely socializing. While the women cleared away the food, repacked the baskets, and folded the blankets, the men gathered together to exchange bits of masculine talk and jokes that were not considered fit for the ears of ladies. Lucy and Sally sat together, talking with shared relief after Heath and Daniel separated and went to different groups.

“I never dreamed there’d be a problem with putting those two together,” Sally said, shaking her head in dismay. “Daniel’s always been so . . . so sweet, so friendly to everyone, so gentlemanly. And Mr. Rayne—why, he’s one of the most charming men I’ve ever met, even if he is a traitor and a Rebel.”

“For Daniel it’s still too soon after the war to be friends with a Southerner,” Lucy explained quietly. “Daniel can’t forget what the Confederates did to some of his friends. Even though Hea . . . Mr. Rayne didn’t do anything against him personally, the fact is they both fought on opposite sides and neither of them can forget it.”

“I always thought the Confederates were mean and wild,” Sally remarked thoughtfully. “He doesn’t seem to be—”

“Of course not. He’s a man just like Daniel or any of the rest of our friends.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Sally began, and then she was interrupted by the volley of rifle shots and masculine whoops that came from a meadow far beyond the picnic ground. “A shooting match,” she said, her voice rising in pitch with her excitement. “So that’s where they all went. Daniel and his friends are at it again.”

“I’ll be glad when they grow out of it,” Lucy said, standing up and arranging her dress properly before going with Sally to the clearing. Several of the couples and groups they passed on the way were grumbling about the noise that disrupted the formerly peaceful picnic—the boys setting off firecrackers, the men aiming rifle shots at cans, the girls giggling loudly with each other. None of the complaints were serious, however, since they all knew that such things were to be expected on the Fourth of July.