Free His Yankee Bride by Rose Gordon Page B

him another glass of water,” she said to a grinning Bethel.
    “Yes, yous can. An' you is.”
    Carolina dropped her hands and balled them into fists at her sides. “Did I not tell you what happened last time I brought him a drink?”
    Bethel nodded. “You did, but I don't think that'll happen again this time.”
    No, it wouldn’t, because there wasn't going to be a “this time”. “Isn't there anything else I can do to get his attention?”
    Bethel's eyes narrowed at her. “Yous ta do 'xactly wot I says ta do an' I says ta take dis here wata out ta Mr. John, now.”
    “But he doesn't want it,” Carolina protested.
    “Yes, e do. He jus' want yous ta think e don't.”
    “What makes you so sure of that?”
    Bethel shrugged and snatched up a white rag from the table. “I's jus knows,” she said, reaching into the large black cook stove and removing a pan of baked treats. “Yous better hurra 'fore e goes to de well.”
    “Yes, ma'am,” Carolina said, picking up the tray with the two glasses on it. Since Mother wouldn't let him sleep or eat in the big house, this would be her last chance to see him today. If he didn't respond any better to this glass of water than he had to the last, today would be a total waste.
    “Is that for me?” Gabriel asked her as soon as she stepped out the back door and onto the top step.
    Carolina wet her lips and pulled the tray closer to her. “No. I'm bringing them to the workers.” Had he been over by John, she'd have gladly let him have one of the glasses, but she couldn't show up with only one.
    “Uh huh, and would the worker you had in mind happen to answer to the name of John?” he asked with a wide smile and a sparkle in his brown eyes she hadn't glimpsed since his return.
    “You know very well that he does.” She changed her grip on the tray and glanced over her shoulder through the window to make sure Bethel was still working by the stove and not standing by the window listening to their conversation. “Do you know why he pretends not to like me?” she blurted.
    “What makes you certain he's pretending?” he asked, not unkindly, but not in the teasing tone he'd used so many times when they were younger. Despite the wooden leg, the scar that bisected his cheek, and the decidedly harder look to his face, he was still a good-looking man, if not a little more serious.
    Carolina shook her head. “You know as well as I do that he is.”
    Gabriel forced a shrug and leaned against the side of the house. “He hasn't discussed you at all since you've arrived, so I don't know if he returns your interest or if it's you who has enough romantic interest for the both of you.”
    “Oh, and what did he say before I arrived?”
    Gabriel pursed his lips. “Not quite the same thing you're telling me.”
    She scowled. “Just because he hasn't told you how he feels about me, doesn't mean I'm imagining it. I'm not. Just forget I asked you anything.”
    “All right.” He sent her a fleeting glance then went back to work repairing the ramp that had been put in place to help Father enter and exit the house without help.
    A small measure of sadness settled over her. Gabriel was six years older than she was and, despite their age difference, they'd played together almost every day when they were younger. Back then, he'd gotten into just as much trouble as she had. She nearly snorted. That wasn't entirely true. He’d gotten into more. It was Gabriel who'd taught her if she wanted something, it was up to her to fight to get it. More times than she could possibly remember, they'd schemed up plans to avoid doing their chores so they could ride horses all day instead. Perhaps if he hadn't been injured in the war, he'd be interested in scheming up a plan to make John admit his feelings for her.
    She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat at the realization of Gabriel's lost innocence and the cynic he had clearly become. Last night after Mother had gone to bed, she'd tried to ask