A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(59)

“Well, my lady, then you must reveal your secrets.” She was only a hand’s span away from him, and her lips were close. The fullness of them taunted him.

“If you promise to stay in bed, I’ll think about revealing my secrets.”

He wanted to know what he could do to earn a kiss from her, especially when her gaze collided with his. For a long, intense moment he had the feeling he could reach up and pull her down to him, and let his hungry lips get a taste of her. There was something in her eyes that said she wouldn’t stop him.

What was he thinking? Lord, help him. Had the typhoid completely wiped away all his self-control?

She gave a sharp gasp, sat back and put both hands on her abdomen. The muscles in her face tightened, and she gritted her teeth.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, breathing hard.

Anxiety pushed him up. “Is it time to have the baby?” He could only pray it wasn’t.

She couldn’t speak.

He scooted himself to his elbows and watched the battle of pain wage across her delicate features.

After several eternal seconds, she released a breath and her shoulders relaxed.



“Looks like the baby will be coming soon,” he said.

“These are false contractions.” She rose and helped him sit up. “They don’t mean anything yet.”

“I don’t know much about having babies or contractions, but that looked like the real thing to me.”

“I need the baby to wait a couple more weeks.”

“I hope the baby cooperates.”

“Me too.” She assisted him to his feet and back to the edge of the bed.

He might have the periodic table memorized and understand Newton’s three laws of motion, but he didn’t know anything about babies and birthing them. And he preferred to keep it that way.



“Have I told you that you make the best pie I’ve ever eaten?” Carl wiped his finger across the tin plate, cleaning the last bit of filling left from the rhubarb pie.

A smile hovered over Annalisa’s lips. “Only a hundred times.”

“Well, that’s not nearly enough.” He leaned back against the stump, where she’d helped him sit. The warm morning sunshine bathed his face, a pleasant change from the dark interior of the cabin. He’d learned his lesson after falling and gashing his head. And he’d stayed in bed several more days before attempting to get up again. “So I must tell you once again. You make the best pie.”

She stood at the clothesline and hung the sheets she’d washed that morning. With the new lever he installed before he’d contracted the fever, the line was low enough for her to reach without straining herself. Once she was done hanging the wet items, she only needed to release the block of wood and the lever would raise the line higher to catch the breeze.

“I think you’re just trying to get me to make you a strawberry pie.” She nodded toward the door, to the basket of strawberries she’d picked earlier that morning.

“I’ve never had strawberry pie.” He grinned. “But it sounds delightful. How many more compliments can I give you to earn such a delicacy?”

At his jest her lips turned up into a smile.

A breeze tugged at her skirt, flattening it against her body, outlining her slender legs and the gentle contours of her body. Stray golden strands of her hair floated around the sun-ripened flush of her cheeks.

What would it have been like to be her husband? To have the freedom to wrap his arms around her whenever he wanted—like at that moment?

He glanced away and gave himself a mental slap.

He’d worked hard over the past several days to keep his thoughts toward her sisterly. Although she was still shy and quiet, he’d found himself enjoying talking with her about farm life, listening to her opinions and dreams and plans. And he’d even found himself sharing his ideas about inventions that could make farm life easier for her.

Even so, he needed to move back to Bernthal’s barn today, now that he could walk again. He’d spent too many days and nights in close proximity to her. Now that he was regaining his strength, it was time to get out of her house—where he’d be safe from temptation.

And where she would be safe from him.

He took a deep breath of the smoky air and peered into the distance. Black plumes rose up to the west in several spots, an indication that one of the neighboring farmers was clearing more land. But with the scarcity of rain so far that summer, Carl wondered at the wisdom of the burning. The farmers should know the danger of the fire spreading. The water loss and absorption wasn’t in balance, and thus the vegetation had become more flammable.

He turned his attention to the fields, to the wilted stalks of wheat in the first field, and then beyond to the half-planted corn. At least if the fire spread, they wouldn’t have an enormous loss. According to Annalisa, with the scant rain, the crops were only half the size of where they needed to be at this time of the year.

The tender shoots of the cornstalks had poked through the hard soil, but even his untrained eye could see they were short and stunted. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be strong enough to finish planting the corn.”

“Nein. Don’t think about it yet.” She finished pinning the last sheet to the line. “You must give yourself time to recover.”