Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer

into the backseat and sit on her knees to peer out the open back window.
    Jack turned his charming grin in Anna Mae’s direction. ‘‘Just as pretty as your mama.’’
    That comment set Anna Mae’s teeth on edge. Compliment my girls, but leave me out of it! She fiddled with the hem of Marjorie’s dress as she peeked inside the car. She straightened, panic filling her chest. ‘‘Where’s your father?’’
    Jack rested his hand on the top of the car door. ‘‘Gout’s acting up in his big toe. He couldn’t get his shoe on. And he refused to go to church barefooted.’’ Jack grinned. ‘‘Unlike your Dorothy, there.’’
    Anna Mae felt herself blush. Sticking her head in the car, she scolded, ‘‘Dorothy, you get those shoes on now, you hear?’’
    Dorothy scowled but sat down on the seat to force her feet into her shoes.
    ‘‘Here, Anna Mae, I’ll hold the baby while you climb in.’’
    Anna Mae looked at Jack, who held out his hands. Should she even get in since Mr. Berkley wasn’t going? The week stretched so long when she didn’t go to church. She needed the fellowship. With a disgruntled huff, she held Marjorie out to Jack. The sight of Marjorie in Jack’s muscled arms unsettled her. The little girl fussed, reaching one dimpled hand toward her mother. Jack gave her some bounces while Anna Mae quickly situated herself in the car’s leather seat.
    Once she was settled, Jack handed Marjorie in, slammed her door, then strode around the front of the vehicle and climbed in on the opposite side. He sent her another smile before putting the auto into gear and releasing the clutch. ‘‘Here we go!’’ He turned the car around and headed for the road. Dorothy squealed from the backseat, and Jack laughed. He glanced at Anna Mae. ‘‘You look real pretty, Anna Mae, with your hair all slicked away from your face.’’
    Dear Lord, I don’t think this is a good idea to go with Jack, but how else are the girls and I going to get to church? Every other churchgoing neighbor is on the far side—it would be out of their way to come get us .
    Anna Mae kept her gaze forward and didn’t answer.
    Jack’s chuckle rumbled, matching the tone of the car’s engine. ‘‘I know your mama taught you to say thank you when somebody gives you a compliment.’’
    Anna Mae pursed her lips for a moment. Jack was too sure of himself. He always had been. What had Harley been thinking to ask him to look out for her and the girls? She finally made eye contact with him. ‘‘Jack, I appreciate your giving the girls and me a ride to church. I appreciate your help with the chores while Harley’s gone. But we’ve got to get something straight. Our—’’ she licked her dry lips—‘‘friendship . . . ended a long time ago. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a hired hand around the place ’til my husband returns. Don’t try to make it into something more.’’
    Jack ran his fingers along the edge of the steering wheel, his gaze aimed ahead. He worked his jaw back and forth. After several long seconds passed, he gave a brusque nod. ‘‘Okay, Anna Mae. I’ll keep my compliments to myself.’’ He glanced in her direction. ‘‘But I gotta say one more thing first. If I was your husband, and you were carrying my baby, I never would’ve walked down the road and left you behind.’’
    Anna Mae’s face felt hot. She sought words to defend Harley, but none came. To her relief, the Model T rolled into the churchyard, ending their conversation. Jack killed the engine, and the automobile heaved a rattling sigh as the motor died. Anna Mae waited until Jack came around and opened the door for her. He took her elbow as she struggled out, Marjorie’s weight making her clumsy. His hand lingered a moment too long.
    She sent him a warning look.
    He backed off, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. ‘‘Sorry, Anna Mae. Old habits die hard.’’
    ‘‘C’mon, Dorothy,’’ she said, turning her back on him.