Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

carrot greens. She bent down, busily plucking at nonexistent weeds, her heart thumping high in her throat.
    A shadow fell across the neat rows of fledgling plants. By its size, she knew it was Jack’s. She pushed her chin against her shoulder and kept her gaze low.
    ‘‘Morning, Anna Mae.’’ The soft greeting held the teasing undertone she had come to expect.
    ‘‘Morning.’’ She didn’t look up. ‘‘Everything’s in the ’fraidy hole, same as always.’’ She picked up a clod of dirt and crumbled it in her hand, then patted the particles around the root of one plant.
    The shadow shortened. She risked a quick glance. Jack crouched beside her, elbows on knees. ‘‘I got your empty milk cans in the back of the wagon. Do you want them on the porch?’’
    Marjorie leaned sideways, reaching for Jack. Anna Mae pulled her back. ‘‘Yes, thank you. That’s fine.’’
    But Jack didn’t move, and she heard him release a huff of breath. ‘‘Anna Mae, how long are you going to keep this up?’’
    Anna Mae sent a brief, sidelong glance in his direction. ‘‘Keep what up?’’
    He caught her arm and rose, pulling her with him. ‘‘Hiding.’’
    She raised her chin. ‘‘I’m not hiding. Here I am, right out in the open.’’
    He snorted. ‘‘Yeah, all squatted down like a roly-poly bug, hoping no one notices you there. Kinda silly, don’t you think?’’
    Her face felt hot, but she told herself it was because the sun hit her full force. ‘‘I’m not hiding,’’ she insisted. ‘‘I’m just too busy to chat.’’
    He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her for a long time. She met his gaze squarely, which wasn’t easy with Marjorie squirming in her arms. Finally he shook his head. ‘‘Okay, Anna Mae, whatever you say. But keep this in mind. Harley asked me to help out around here. Harley’ll be gone for quite a while. Which means I’ll be coming around for quite a while. I don’t expect any big thank-you from you, but the least you could do is be civil.’’
    Anna Mae dropped her gaze, shamed by his words. Mama would be appalled. Her mother and Ginny Berkley had been best friends. Jack was right. She should be civil. She should be more than civil.
    Dorothy suddenly tugged at Anna Mae’s arm. ‘‘Mama, what’s civil ?’’
    Anna Mae felt a grin twitch at her cheeks. ‘‘Why don’t you ask Mr. Berkley that while Mama carries the milk cans into the house?’’ She turned from Jack and headed to the back of his wagon. ‘‘And while you’re at it, Dorothy, didn’t you have another question or two for Mr. Berkley?’’
    ‘‘Oh yeah!’’ Dorothy turned her attention to their tall neighbor.
    Anna Mae carried the milk cans one at a time to the porch, all the while listening to Jack field Dorothy’s question. She had to admit, he had a great deal of patience with the child. When the cans were on the porch, she said, ‘‘Okay, Dorothy, enough now. Finish up that watering for Mama.’’
    Dorothy puckered her face, but she lifted her hand in a wave. ‘‘Bye, Mr. Berkley. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’
    ‘‘Yeah. Tomorrow.’’ Jack shook his head as the child scurried back to her task. Then he looked at Anna Mae, crossed to stand in front of her, and shook his finger. ‘‘That was sneaky, Anna Mae Elliott, and if your daddy were here, I’d encourage him to teach you some manners.’’
    Anna Mae couldn’t stop the giggle that found its way from her throat. ‘‘I’m sorry, Jack.’’ She knew she didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘‘But you did say you wanted to help. You just saved me some breath. I answer questions all day long, every day.’’
    He smirked. ‘‘That’s okay. It was worth it to get that smile out of you.’’
    She felt the smile fade.
    ‘‘Now, don’t turn sober on me again. I declare, for a pretty girl, the faces you make could curdle milk.’’
    ‘‘Jack . . .’’ She allowed her tone to send the warning.
    He shook his head