Courting Trouble (14 page)

If they had taught him everything they knew, how could they have let him give up something he so clearly loved? But to ask would be intrusive.

A woman came in to place an order with Mr. Weidmann. Adam dropped a coin on the table, then he and Essie slipped out. This time Essie didn’t reprimand him when he took her elbow and stayed close enough to smell the cloves she used in her bath and for her to smell the Yankee shaving soap they sold at the Slap Out.

chapter TEN

WATCHING ADAM CONSTRUCT the rig these last few weeks reminded Essie of her embroidering. Just as every stitch she took revealed more of the final picture, each piece of lumber Adam added gave more definition to the rig.

She suggested they hire Jeremy as helper. If scrawny Mr. Upchurch could manage it, then Jeremy certainly could. Adam protested, though, saying the teener was nothing but a farm boy.

Her crossed arms betrayed her determination. ‘‘You’ll have to train him, then.’’

Jeremy was eager and hardworking, as she knew he would be, and so proud of earning ten whole cents a day. For all his previous bluster, Adam set about training the boy as if he hoped to make a top hand out of him, never hazing or harassing, always answering his questions patiently and offering plenty of encouragement.

Adam tightened the second stirrup they’d hung on the spring pole. ‘‘You ready to give it a whirl, Boll Weevil?’’

Jeremy grabbed on to the pole. ‘‘You say when.’’

‘‘Go!’’

They jumped into the stirrups, and the pole bowed down and up, responding to their lead. The shade of a bois d’arc tree in the corner of the field didn’t quite reach the workers. Some of its bright yellow leaves fell to the ground—many blowing into a freshly dug oil sump next to their new rig.

Essie watched the man and boy bounce a few more times, then clapped. ‘‘It’s working! All we need now are the cable tools.’’

They stepped out of the stirrups.

‘‘How long before Mr. Fowler’s got ’em ready?’’ Jeremy asked. He looked as if he’d grown four inches over the summer, but only in a vertical direction. He’d not added any meat or muscle to his spindly frame, and his loose clothing made him look even thinner.

‘‘He said he’d have the tools by first o’ next week,’’ Adam answered.

The three of them admired their handiwork before Essie finally stirred herself. ‘‘Well, Jeremy, I guess you’ll have yourself a few days off before the real work begins.’’ She handed him his first wages.

‘‘That’s right,’’ Adam said. ‘‘And come Monday, you be ready to sweat like a hog butcher in frost time.’’

‘‘I’ll be here and ya won’t hear me complainin’ none.’’ Jeremy palmed the bag of coins, testing its weight. ‘‘Fer now, though, I’m gonna go over to the Slap Out and get the young’uns a sassperilly candy. Boy, won’t they be surprised!’’

He took off running, shirttail flapping, skinny legs pumping. They watched him disappear across the open field, down the dirt road and on into town.

‘‘You sure were right about him, Essie. He works hard as any I seen and was all swoll up like a carbuncle just now, wasn’t he?’’

‘‘He did seem pleased. I wish I could see the expression on those children’s faces when he comes home with candy. I imagine it’ll be their first.’’

‘‘First? They ain’t never had candy?’’

‘‘I wouldn’t think so.’’

Adam loosened the bandanna from around his neck, wiped his face, then looked at the now-empty road. ‘‘Yes, sir, that boll weevil ’uld do to ride the river with.’’

She smiled. ‘‘Well, would you like to follow me to the house and I’ll give you your wages, as well?’’

Mischief transformed his face. ‘‘Actually, ya know what I really wanna do?’’

She found herself shaking her head.

‘‘I wanna ride your wheeler. Would ya mind?’’

Glancing at Peg, she worried her lip. ‘‘It’s not as easy as it looks. You can’t just swing into the saddle and say ‘giddy-up.’ ’’ ‘‘So teach me.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Teach me.’’

‘‘Here?’’ she squeaked.

He scanned the area. ‘‘No, we probably ought to go out there where you practice on your wheeled feet when you think nobody’s lookin’.’’

She took a short breath. ‘‘How do you know about that?’’

With a shrewd smile, he took her elbow and steered her toward her bike. ‘‘I already done told you, I notice everything about you.’’

————

‘‘The knack of balancing is really all that needs to be
learned,
’’ Essie said, holding Peg by her handlebars. ‘‘The rest comes with patience, perseverance, and practice.’’

Adam stood with one hip cocked, his arms crossed in front of his chest and an indulgent smirk on his face. The breeze stirred up a few fallen leaves and shook more from the branches above them.

‘‘You’re not taking this with the proper amount of seriousness,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.’’

‘‘Just show me how it works, Essie.’’

He rolled up the sleeves of his blue cotton shirt, then made sure it was securely tucked in to the denim trousers hugging his hips. Dust dulled the shine of his big silver belt buckle, but it still managed to capture a glint from the setting sun. She could tell how proud he was of it by the way he hooked his thumb behind the belt.

She wondered if he ever wore suspenders like the other men. If he had, she’d never seen him.

‘‘Well, first,’’ she said, ‘‘I’m going to have you coast down this gentle slope. When you take your seat and proceed, don’t grasp the handles too tightly, and
never
lean on them.’’

The sun blazed onto the grass-covered incline, but the ground was still a bit moist from recent rains.

Adam straddled the vehicle, grabbing the handles as if they were horns he had to wrestle with.

‘‘It’s not a bull, Adam. Relax your grip.’’

He complied.

‘‘Now, if you lose your balance and start to fall, touch the ground with your toe on whichever side the machine is falling to right yourself again.’’

He nodded.

‘‘Remember, don’t use the pedals. The incline will give you plenty of speed for balancing and steering.’’

‘‘Relax my hands and no usin’ the stirrups.’’

‘‘Exactly. Are you ready?’’

An excited smile spread across his face. ‘‘My heart’s beatin’ faster ’n a grasshopper in a chicken yard.’’

‘‘You don’t have to try it, Adam.’’

‘‘Step aside, ma’am. I got some dust to churn up.’’

Releasing the handlebars, she backed away. In one fluid motion, he spread his legs wide and rolled down the hill in perfect balance, as if he’d been riding for months.

It had never occurred to her that he would manage to stay balanced so long. But he had, and in another couple of yards the slope would turn into a full-fledged hill.

‘‘Whoooo-wee!’’ he hollered, his momentum picking up. He stayed aright even as he accelerated before finally hitting a rut and flying through the air, bicycle and all.

He tightened his grip and tried to hug the machine with his body the way a person would when jumping a horse.

‘‘Don’t lean!’’ Essie cried. ‘‘Angle your legs out! Keep the wheels straight!’’

But he curled into the bicycle as if man and machine were one, then crashed to the ground. The crunch of metal blended with his gasp as the jarring contact of wheels and ground knocked the wind out of him.

He swerved out of control, fell in a tangled mess and slid down the hill before slowing to a stop just feet before he’d have collided into a tree stump.

Essie hiked up her skirts and raced to him, slipping on the grass. ‘‘Oh my goodness!’’

He lay motionless on his back, his silver buckle winking in the sun.

‘‘Adam, Adam!’’ She skidded to a stop and fell to her knees. Moisture seeped from the damp ground through the fabric of her brown skirt and petticoats where she knelt. ‘‘Can you hear me? Are you all right?’’ She touched his forehead, brushing hair out of his eyes.

Groaning, he tried to spit a leaf out of his mouth. She snatched it away.

‘‘That saddle o’ yours hit me in the caboose and sent me fer a flight to Mars.’’

‘‘Don’t move,’’ she sighed in relief. ‘‘Just tell me what hurts.’’

He opened one eye. ‘‘I’m achin’ in a lot o’ new places.’’

She swept a quick glance down the length of him but saw no obvious injuries. ‘‘Anyplace in particular?’’

Both eyes opened. The sun reduced his pupils to mere pinpoints. The rays of his blue-green irises were like the spreading of peacock feathers.

‘‘You gonna kiss it and make it better?’’ he asked.

Her hand stilled, but her heart thar-rumped. ‘‘I’m serious, Adam.’’

‘‘You think I’m not?’’ He turned his head and gently nipped the inside of her wrist, prompting a reaction in places far removed from her hand.

She snatched it away. ‘‘You mustn’t say—or do—things like that.’’

‘‘Why? Because I’m the hired hand and you’re the boss’s daughter?’’

‘‘Because I’m a woman, you’re a man, and only engaged couples do such things.’’

‘‘That ain’t so, Essie. Lots o’ couples do it, and not ’cause they’re engaged, but because they like each other. And it feels real nice. And it chases away the loneliness. You ever get lonely, Essie?’’

Yes
.

He recaptured her hand, nuzzling it like a horse searching for a sweet, the stubble on his cheek abrading her palm.

‘‘Them married folks,’’ he said, ‘‘they never think about us. What it’s like to go without bein’ touched. Without bein’ loved.’’ He raised himself up into a sitting position. ‘‘You ever been kissed?’’

Once
.

‘‘I’d shore like to kiss you, girl.’’

And try as she might, she could not deny her interest in kissing him, too. How could she not? She’d never seen a more beautiful man. And never had one made her insides jump the way he did. Certainly Hamilton hadn’t. Not even once.

And Adam was right. She did grow tired of relying on stray animals and the occasional child for a scrap of affection. She longed for more. Much more. But no matter what he said, contact of a personal nature was not done unless the man had spoken to the woman’s father first.

But she’d let Hamilton kiss her and he’d not spoken to Papa . . . or to her. So perhaps couples did share such intimacies without parental permission.

She reviewed in her mind some of the young courting couples in town. Shirley Bunting and Charlie Ballew. Flossie Shaw and Dewey Taylor. Lillie Sue Gulick and Hugh Grimmet. Every single one of those girls had been looked at the way Adam now looked at her.

He placed a hand at the base of her head, tunneled his fingers into her hair twist, and pulled her toward him. She did not resist.

‘‘Close your eyes,’’ he whispered before covering her lips with his.

This was
nothing
like the kiss Hamilton had given her. It was all movement and coaxing and lushness. She rested her hands against his shoulders to keep from falling.

He grasped her waist and slid her close. It happened so quickly, she had no time to protest.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he released her lips only as long as it took for him to angle his head in the opposite direction and swoop in to kiss her again.

She completely gave herself over to the experience, relishing the warmth and pleasure it induced.

‘‘Open your mouth,’’ he murmured.

‘‘Wha—?’’ She never finished the question, shocked into stillness.

He gave her no quarter, no time to assimilate, no time to react. Only took and gave. Gave and took. And, oh my, but it was heady.

Breaking the bond between their lips, he buried his face in her neck. He smelled of salt and sweat and man. She hugged his head against her, registering the texture of his thick, beautiful hair, the feel of his day-old beard scratching her skin.

‘‘I’ll be hanged, but you’re sweet,’’ he said, finally releasing her.

And when he did, her sanity returned. She scurried back like a crab, plopped down, then touched her hair, appalled to find it tumbling about her shoulders.

‘‘It’s all right, darlin’,’’ he said, scooting himself next to her again. ‘‘Easy, easy. I’m not going to hurt you.’’

He reached for her.

She grabbed his wrist. ‘‘No,’’ she breathed. ‘‘We must stop.’’

He froze, his arm caught between the two of them by her hand. ‘‘Nothin’ will happen, Essie. I just wanna kiss you a little longer.’’

‘‘Nothing will happen?’’ She released him and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘‘Something is already happening.’’

Groaning, he pulled her back within his embrace. ‘‘Don’t say no, girl, please.’’ He showered quick kisses along her hairline and tugged on her ear with his lips.

She slid her eyes closed, longing to give in. He latched on to her neck with his mouth. The delicious reaction that provoked was frightening and unexpected.

She shoved him away and jumped to her feet, stumbling backwards.

He stayed on the ground watching her, propping himself up with one hand, his eyes simmering with sensual promises. She turned and raced up the hill, leaving him, the bicycle, and a temptation so strong that surely she’d burn in hell for even contemplating surrender.

————

Essie had to force herself not to run down the deserted dirt road on the outskirts of town. She slipped behind a tree to straighten her loose hair—but it was her loose behavior that made her hands shake.

Her mother would expire on the spot if she were to ever find out. Essie could not even imagine what kind of retribution such a tawdry deed would provoke.

Once, when she was a girl, she had overheard one of the men in town say Widow Edmundson had an itch, and all his friends had laughed in response.

Later that week, she’d seen their parrot, Joe, scratching himself with his beak. So she’d taught it to say, ‘‘Joe has an itch.’’

Joe started saying it all the time. And when he did, Mother would turn redder than blazes and Papa would muffle his amusement. Essie had to break a switch off a tree, then bring it to her mother for a whipping.

Essie never understood what she’d done wrong. She’d taught Joe to say lots of things and had never gotten in trouble. But now, with the aftereffects of that kiss still humming through her body, she had a very good idea what exactly an itch was.