Love's Fortune by Laura Frantz Page A

She longed to be like them, to glide through her present predicament composed and queen-like. Leaning over, she studied her flushed reflection in the still water, the blossom in her hair a ghostly white.
    She could hear boyish shouts and laughter back at the house as she felt her way over the pond’s pebbly bottom. The urge to shuck off all her clothes and swim was strong. The sun sank lower, but she was hardly conscious of the time, unmindful of anything but the delicious coolness of the water.
    When she looked up again, the yew hedge seemed to melt away.
    In the shadows stood James Sackett. He looked down at the ground as she let go of her skirts. The fabric balloonedaround her, riding the surface of the water like a lily pad. Without a word he turned his back on her.
    Heat prickled her skin at the sight of her discarded clothes. The high-minded pilot of the Ballantynes’ . . . here? There was little to be done but hurry out of the water and wring out her skirts. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sackett. Seems like the heat went to my head.”
    “Your father asked me to find you.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Izannah would have come in my stead, but she’s with her mother.”
    So Aunt Ellie’s baby was about to be born. What else could it be? She swallowed down a sigh. She’d rather Izannah had come. It was plain James Sackett didn’t relish the task. “You needn’t trouble yourself on my account.”
    “It’s no trouble, Miss Ballantyne,” he said smoothly. “I just didn’t expect to find you . . .”
    “Wading?” She half smiled at his careful phrasing. “I suppose barefoot Ballantynes are rare as hen’s teeth.”
    He glanced at her and she caught a flash of green. The sun lines about his eyes were chiseled deep, reminding her of mossy rocks in a millstream. Her insides gave a little lurch. His handsomeness was a heart-catching thing. Despite his wall of reserve and too-fine manners, she could see why Izannah was smitten.
    “Have you never been wading, Mr. Sackett?” She drew abreast of him, missing Selkirk and their easy banter.
    “Every day I’m on the river I’m in danger of wading, Miss Ballantyne. It’s not a favorite pastime.”
    “Yet you fancy being a pilot.”
    “It’s all I’ve ever known.”
    She bent to gather up her discarded underthings, her hair coming free of Molly’s hastily placed pins. It spilled roundher shoulders, the ends brushing the cool grass. What a sight she must look! Izannah flashed to mind, nary a hair out of place . . .
    She fumbled with her flimsy slippers, trying to stuff her damp feet into them while he averted his eyes again. Giving up, she decided to go barefoot.
    “I’d suggest you keep your shoes on while in Pittsburgh, Miss Ballantyne.”
    She straightened, searching for the slightest sign of teasing in his face. “I’ve been barefoot all my life, Mr. Sackett.”
    “I don’t doubt it, but Pennsylvania isn’t Kentucky, understand.”
    “I won’t be staying long.” She met his green gaze head-on. “Not long enough to mend my ways.”
    “I don’t remember hearing of your return downriver.”
    “You will once the wedding’s through.” If there was a wedding . . . if Charlotte didn’t run away. Unsettled, she turned and took a last look at the swans. “I plan to be back home by the first killing frost, if not before.”
    “The killing frost . . .” His eyes held a query.
    “When the last of the tobacco is cut and the late apples get sweet.” She could tell he didn’t have any inkling about such things.
    He gave a thoughtful nod. “Before the rivers freeze.”
    “Yes.” She’d canoe home if she had to. Could he sense that?
    He started walking and she stayed slightly in back of him, wet hem dragging. Thoughts of Charlotte crowded in, raising more questions. Had she sent the note asking for his help? If not for the curt way he clipped his words as if each one was ground out of him, she’d ask. Charlotte might have changed her mind,