Free His Yankee Bride by Rose Gordon

Charleston?” The concern and longing in her voice was unmistakable.
    “I try to make up reasons for her to see him.” She sighed and pulled more weeds. “But I think she's given up on him.”
    “Hmm,” was all she'd say.
    Carolina's hand stilled over the clump of weeds she'd just gripped and she turned to face her friend. “Marjorie?”
    “Hmm?” she said, not stopping in her work.
    Carolina twisted her lips. Other than Gabriel, who was her true sibling, she'd considered Marjorie as the sister she'd never had and while she loved them both, they both had this irritating habit of refusing to tell her things. With anyone else this wouldn't be a problem, she'd just find another way to ask until they divulged all the secrets they kept, but for some reason, she had yet to discover a technique that could work on either of them and knew better than to push as it only made them more determined not to say anything. She sighed. “Why do you tease me with your secrets so?”
    Marjorie's lips twitched. “Because if I told you, it'd no longer be a secret.”

 
     
    ~Chapter Nine~
     
     
    Carolina's jaw dropped, “A jar of water?”
    “Mmmhmmm,” Bethel said, carefully pouring a ladleful of water straight from a metal water pail into one of Mother's canning jars. “A hot day like taday, a man's be needin' some wata.”
    “But won't he already have a canteen with him?”
    “I sho e does. But tis is fresh wata an' it been sittin' in da ice hous' all morn'n so it coo, too.” Bethel put down the jar she'd filled and picked up another.
    “Why are you filling up two?”
    “If Mr. Gabriel is workin' wit him, yous need ta give him a glass, too. O else Mr. John migh' not take his.” She finished filling that jar and set the ladle back into the bucket. “But, if e alone, yous can stan' thar while e drink his glass, then leave the other one wit him.”
    Carolina wrapped her arms as far around Bethel as they'd go and gave her a tight squeeze. “Thank you.”
    “You's wec'um, chile. Now, take these out thar 'fore theys get warm.”
    “Oh, right.” Carolina released Bethel and picked up the tray with the two jars of water.
    Bethel walked to the door with her and opened it, winking to her as she passed.
    Carolina willed herself to stay calm as she walked over to where John was working on the roof of the carriage house. It wouldn't do to let her excitement get the better of her and spill the water.
    John's tall, broad form came into view, and Carolina halted beneath a shade tree to watch him for a minute as he straightened and pulled his shirt over his head. The sun glistened off the sweat that covered his muscled abdomen and chest. She swallowed. Hard. He was very well formed with hard planes and thick muscles; he looked like he'd been chiseled from marble. He balled up his shirt and ran it across his face and shoulders.
    He could certainly use some water, she thought, resuming her steps. “John,” she called.
    John's body jerked in surprise at her shout, and he lost his footing. With what Carolina thought might be an Englishman's curse—something about Zeus—or was it deuce?—John slid down the steep incline of the roof and over the edge. He was spared an untimely, and quite possibly painful, meeting with the rock-covered ground when his hands found purchase with the edge of the roof just as he went over.
    “Did you require something, Carolina?” he asked as cool as can be while dangling from the edge of the roof.
    “T-to give you water,” she stammered; still in shock.
    “I already had water,” he pointed out, taking a deep breath. He let go of the roof and jumped down to the ground.
    “I know, but I thought you could use some fresh water,” she said, walking over to him.
    John nodded once then took one of the glass jars of water, not once meeting her eyes. He took a swig. “Thank you.”
    “You're most welcome. Would you like to go stand in the shade while you drink that?”
    “No,” he said, taking a large