A Woman Like Annie. Inglath Cooper
to him. But it did somehow. He’d convinced himself there wasn’t anything personal about the closing of this factory. He had a feeling he was going to be very, very wrong.
ANNIE SPOTTED HIM from the other side of the crowd.
It would have been impossible to miss him.
First of all, he was taller than nearly every other man at the picnic. Second, he looked about as comfortable being here as a cat in the middle of a dog show.
Her first inclination—the one she would have followed last night while lamenting the fact that anyone could be heartless enough to just auction off this place—was to let him feel the pinch of that a while longer.
Her second—the one that could not deny that Jack Corbin didn’t seem like a bad guy, just one misled—had her weaving her way through the crowd.
She tapped him on the shoulder. “You made it,” she said.
He turned, looking relieved to see her. “Yeah. Even brought some chicken.”
“No pancakes?”
A smile touched his too-appealing mouth.
She took pity on him. Couldn’t help it. She’d invited him here, not sure what his welcome would be. He didn’t strike her as a man to be cowed by much in life, but in his shoes, most people would have been.
“How about saying hello to a few people?”
“Sure,” he said with a nod.
Annie led the way to a group a few yards away. She put a hand on Estelle Thompson’s shoulder and said, “Estelle, this is Jack Corbin.”
Estelle stepped back to allow the two of them entrance into the circle. “Well, I’d recognize you anywhere,” Estelle said, beaming a smile at Jack. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I started working here shortly after your daddy built on the new section.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said. “It’s nice to see you.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Annie introduced and re-introduced Jack to as many people as she could. Maybe she could make him see that real people with real families were going to be devastated by the closing of this factory.
Several dozen introductions later, Annie tipped her head toward the end of the field opposite the bluegrass band where Tommy and a group of boys were hurling baseballs at one another’s gloves. “Say hi?”
Looking relieved, Jack nodded and followed her through the crowd of people. They stopped a few yards short of the boys’ circle.
“Point taken,” he said.
“Hope I didn’t use too big a stick.”
“Big enough.”
Annie looked down, feeling more like a bully than she cared to. “For a lot of people, losing their job here will mean having to change their lives, Jack. Moving to another place.”
Silence stretched out between them, more contemplative than awkward. Annie sensed he was considering her words, weighing them against his own conscience. And suddenly she felt hopeful again.
“Got a good arm on him,” Jack said finally, nodding toward Tommy who had just thrown the ball to one of the other boys.
Annie folded her arms across her chest, hoping she didn’t sound like a mother hen when she said, “I almost wish he’d show no talent whatsoever for the sport.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s an awfully hard way to make a living.”
“Aren’t too many roads that make it easy.”
“He’s just so determined to be as good as his dad. But what if he’s not? I don’t want him to spend his life feeling like he didn’t measure up.” Annie pressed her lips together. She hardly knew this man. Why had she just told him that?
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