Free Heaven in a Wildflower by Patricia Hagan

coiled line to play the whale, which was then killed with a hand lance when it was sufficiently exhausted.
    She drew a sharp breath before venturing to ask, “Was it terribly dangerous?”
    “Sperm whales could be real dangerous. I once saw one leap straight up out of the ocean and grab a rowboat in its jaws and bite it in two.”
    She wrapped her arms about her and shuddered. “I don’t blame you for giving it up.”
    “Oh, I didn’t give it up because of danger. I…” He paused, and gave himself a mental shake. He had vowed never to let anyone know more about him than was absolutely necessary and he wasn’t about to share his real reasons for not returning. Brusquely, he finished, “Maybe one day I’ll go back.”
    “I envy you,” she admitted wistfully. “If I could, I’d travel all over the world instead of getting married.”
    He knew of her engagement. Workers and slaves enjoyed gossiping about what went on in the master’s family. “I thought girls wanted to get married,” he teased, “especially to rich men.”
    “Raymond isn’t rich. His father is, but Raymond has never hit a lick at a snake in his whole life, as the saying goes. Oh, he’s nice enough, kind and sweet, but he’s always had anything he wanted, and…” She stopped, embarrassed by her own candor. “I’m sorry. My problems aren’t yours.”
    He surprised himself by his own frankness. “A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t have any problems, Miss Sinclair, and I figure you’ve got your pick of beaus, so why marry someone you obviously don’t think much of?”
    Anjele decided she’d already said too much and decided it didn’t matter if she confided further. “I didn’t pick Raymond Duval. He was picked for me. By our parents. And that’s the way it is.”
    He nodded, understanding, for he knew it was the way among some of the wealthy planters to arrange marriages for their children. “Well, maybe it will work out,” was all he could think of to say.
    “Maybe…” she lamely echoed.
    They sat in silence for a few moments. Anjele thought she couldn’t remember having such a nice time with a man, and Brett also mused over how much he was enjoying himself.
    Finally, reluctantly, he got to his feet and held out his hand to her, and when she touched him, there was no mistaking the caressing of their fingertips. In the soft glow, their eyes met and held. Anjele was a maelstrom of emotions within, unsure of what to say.
    Brett finally cleared his throat, released her, and murmured, “I guess it’s best we say good-night, Miss Sinclair, before somebody discovers you’re missing and sounds an alarm.”
    “Oh, that wouldn’t happen. I do this all the time.” Oh, why did she have to rattle on like a ninny, she chided herself, fearing it would sound as if she were inviting yet another clandestine meeting.
    And that was, indeed, the meaning he interpreted. Resisting the sudden urge to crush her in his arms and kiss her till she was breathless, he remarked, “Well, I’m not in the habit of wandering this far from the bayou at night, but it could get to be a habit.”
    He yielded to impulse and softly touched her cheek before disappearing into the night.
    Anjele was left shaken by the overwhelming reality that since Gator had walked into her world, nothing was the same.
    And the restlessness within burned ever brighter.

Chapter Five
    Anjele couldn’t stop thinking about him. She told herself it was wrong and crazy to fantasize about what it would be like to have those strong, bronzed arms hold her tightly, his full, sensuous lips pressing against her mouth. But her heart refused to listen to her head, and she found herself obsessed with daydreams and the memories of their time together.
    Melora Rabine, seated beside her on the piano bench, gave an exasperated sigh and complained, “No, no, Anjele. Bach intended this piece to be fluid, soft, and you make it sound like a march into war. You just aren’t