Heaven in a Wildflower by Patricia Hagan Read Free Book Online Page B

the way Simona and Emalee live such carefree lives. They’ve told me about the singing and dancing, and I’ve always wanted to be a part of it.”
    He raised a mocking brow. “Maybe I’m just a field worker, but I do know a bit about social life among the planters, how some of them keep houses in New Orleans for the opera season, how a few even have steamboats for entertaining on the river. And then there’s the horse races and all the fancy parties that go along with them. So don’t expect me to believe you actually have a yen to go into a mosquito-infested swamp to feast on turtle stew and stomp dance to a fiddle,” he finished with a sneering chuckle.
    Even though he was half a head taller, she met his challenging gaze with one of her own, and her voice did not falter as she pointed out, “You don’t know anything about me, Gator, or whatever your name is, and until you do, don’t sit in judgment. It just so happens I don’t enjoy fancy parties and balls, because I find most of the people stuffy and boring.
    “But the last thing I’d ever want to do is jeopardize anybody’s livelihood, much less their lives, so you don’t have to worry about me bothering you or your people again.”
    For an endless moment, their gazes locked. Finally, Anjele drew a breath and murmured, “I think you’d better go now. Thank you for bringing my clothes.”
    He nodded and moved from the caressing web of the willow tree. He took a few steps, then turned to sweep her with a thoughtful gaze, his dark eyes twinkling with secret mirth. “You don’t have to cross the bayou off your list of places you’d like to visit, Miss Sinclair. Next time you want to go there, let me know.”
    He walked up the grassy bank to disappear over the top.
    Anjele felt a strange warmth flowing through her veins that was disturbing.
    He had not touched her, yet she felt somehow caressed.
    It was a feeling she’d never before experienced…but one she would long remember.

Chapter Four
    The pealing of the big iron bell, signaling another day’s end at BelleClaire, broke the stillness of the sultry July evening. Slaves and hired hands sighed with relief and began to shuffle from the fields, shoulders stooped in weariness.
    Among them was Brett Cody, known only as Gator. As was his way, he walked alone, not joining the grumbling ranks of fellow Cajuns heading for the intricate paths leading into Bayou Perot. He preferred being alone. Companionship led to intimacies he didn’t want, questions he wouldn’t answer.
    Heavy in his thoughts was regret for having left the sea. No matter that New Orleans was a lifetime away from Vicksburg, Mississippi, and his growing-up years in the mysterious Black Bayou. The wild sweetness of the tangled green foliage, combined with the lush fields of cane and cotton and rice, evoked bitter memories he’d thought long buried.
    Worse, he mused with furrowed brow, was how his first glimpse of Anjele Sinclair had made him think, for one frozen moment, he was actually looking at Margette. He’d quickly dismissed that painful illusion.
    The flame-haired beauty he’d spied among the scrub palmettos bore no resemblance to the petite blond whose memory evoked bitterness, anger. Besides, dainty little Margette would never think of venturing into the wilderness. Hers was a pampered world of luxury wrapped in lace and satin and honeysuckle and magnolias. The only thing about Anjele that reminded him of Margette was the image of yet another wealthy plantation owner’s spoiled, bored daughter seeking forbidden excitement.
    “Hey, you, Gator.”
    He glanced around, annoyance mirrored on his sunburned face, but didn’t pause, doggedly continuing on his way.
    Simona was running between the cane rows to catch up.
    “Hey, we got to talk.” Panting, she swung into step beside him. “I’m worried about my friend. She not come back to see me.”
    “Good.”
    “Hey…” Simona dared poke his shoulder, immediately wishing she