American Pie by Maggie Osborne

Stefan would explode in anger if he knew.
    Greta started to rise, offering to help with the dishes. "I won't hear of it," Lucie insisted, pressing her back into her chair. "I enjoy straightening the kitchen, really I do." When both Stefan and Greta laughed, she smiled. "You'll come again next Sunday, won't you?"
    "Thank you." Understanding and gratitude lay in Greta's smile for the small degree of privacy Lucie offered them, such privacy as could be found on the crowded rooftop.
    Once below Lucie stripped off her cotton skirt and high-necked shirtwaist and hung them on the pegs between her work clothes and the ensemble she saved for best. With a sigh she unhooked her corset and folded it on the shelf, then tied a light wrapper around her waist.
    Even half-naked she found the heat intolerable. Wetting the sash of the wrapper in the basin of wash water, she ran the wet strip over her neck and breasts. Everyone suffered. Yesterday the city had dispatched trucks to spray the tenement streets with carbolic acid, hoping to settle the dust and the spread of disease.
    After washing the supper dishes and tidying the stove, she placed the leftover chicken in the salt box, extinguished the light and sat beside the window Stefan had forced open for her, hoping for an elusive breath of cool air. Already the leaves of Greta's geranium had begun to droop in the heat. How Stefan and Jamie Kelly and others at the excavation site endured heavy labor beneath the scorching sun mystified her. But they did. According to Stefan only one man at the site had fallen from heat prostration. To Stefan's regret and her relief, the man had not been Jamie Kelly.
    She saw him every day when she delivered Stefan's lunch pail but she didn't dare speak to him, of course, knowing her brother despised him. By now Stefan had learned the true cause behind the fight last week; Henry Gustoffer had attempted to make peace between the two men by relating the entire story as soon as Stefan regained consciousness.
    Lucie believed she detected a hint of admiration beneath Stefan's grudging admission that Jamie Kelly had displayed ingenuity and courage in accepting Gustoffer's challenge. But he had not relaxed his hatred toward the Irishman. Stefan's pride had suffered for being bested before his companions.
    Lucie waved listlessly at a fly, then tucked a heavy strand of damp hair off her neck. It would be so nice to have someone of her own to sit with in the hot summer darkness. Unfortunately she had settled her heart on a man whom destiny did not seem inclined to grant her.
     
    Lucie's heartbeat accelerated as she approached the construction site to deliver Stefan's lunch pail. As it did every day, her mouth went dry when she sensed Jamie Kelly's intent gaze, and she experienced an agonizing conflict of loyalty. Stefan would rightly consider it betrayal if she uttered a single word to Jamie Kelly. But, oh, how she longed to.
    Waiting for Stefan, holding the lunch pail tightly in her gloved hand, she guiltily anticipated the moment when she could safely look into the pit. Each day she wondered if Jamie would still be there. Each day her heart soared to discover him leaning on his shovel, watching her, and Lucie felt a secret pride grow that Jamie was proving himself and making his way.
    When she was certain Stefan would not see, she darted a swift glance toward Jamie's wheelbarrow. As if he had been waiting, too, he stood looking up at her, his dark eyes moving intently over her trim figure, pausing mischievously at a glimpse of ankle revealed by the hot breeze.
    Lucie's breath caught in her throat. Sweat oiled his naked upper body, and the mat of auburn hair tangling across his chest glistened. When he saw her, tension swelled the muscles on his shoulders and upper arms and his sunburned hands tightened on the handle of his shovel. He gazed at her as eagerly as a drowning man might gaze at sky and air.
    Lucie wet her lips and swallowed, aware her pulse beat thundered in