Garters.htm (6 page)

With a touch more patience he continued his explanation. "It's very difficult for me to provide enough small fish and minnows to feed this many trout. So I'm trying to extend the fish products I feed them by grinding them with pork. As far as preference, thus far they seem unable to tell the difference. But their digestive systems seem to tolerate the pork better when the meat is partially decomposed."

Esme wrinkled her brow seriously, listening to his explanation. "You mean when it's rotten?" she translated.

"Just so," he agreed, suppressing a laugh. Cleav stopped at the side of the pool, and Esme saw to her disbelief that the shadows his body cast on the water was enough to bring a bevy of huge full-grown trout out of hiding.

"Look at that!" Esme's words were whispered in stunned amazement.

"They're coming to be fed," Cleav answered cheerfully. Squatting down beside the water, Esme saw him dip his hand in the pail of coarsely ground, rotten meat. Retrieving a fistful, he put his hand just under the surface of the water and to Esme's awestruck surprise the big proud trout hurried up to get a bite.

"They eat right out of your hand!" Her eyes were wide with amazement. She looked at Cleav as if he'd just accomplished a great miracle.

Her exuberant enthusiasm over his fish delighted Cleav, but honesty compelled him to explain more fully. "It's not me," he told her. "These are my brooders. I've been feeding them at this same time from this same spot for two years."

"So they know you." Esme's eyes were bright with approval.

"They're just fish," Cleav protested good-naturedly. "They don't know anything but eating and breeding."

"That's pretty much life anyway." Esme glanced into the water. "Do they have names? What do you call that kind of grayish looking one with the black mole on her cheek?"

"I don't call them anything," he said.

"You could call her Pearly, after Miz Beachum," Esme told him. "Miz Beachum's got a big mole just like that."

Cleav gave a little chuckle. "You're absolutely right. She does look a bit like Mrs. Beachum."

Esme sighed loudly. "I'm just so proud of you," she said. "I never knew a living soul that could call the fish to come to them."

 Grabbing another handful of the vile-smelling fish food, he offered it to the still hungry swimmers. "When they see a shadow across the water, they just know that there's food here, and it's safe to come and eat it."

"Oh, but it's wonderful," Esme insisted. "The fish know you and trust you."

"No, you're thinking that these trout are like hunting dogs. And they are not."

"Of course not." Esme shook her head with agreement. "The master tames the dog and then trains him. You've got the fish a-coming to you, and they're not trained or tamed. They're still fish. It's like you talk to wild things."

Cleav laughed out loud at that. The sight of his wide, white smile made something catch in Esme's chest. The gentle afternoon breeze had mussed his curls, and his tangled brown hair accented the depth of his pale blue eyes.

"I do not
talk
to fish, young lady," he declared with a mock severity that would have made Esme giggle had her heart not been pounding like a tom-tom. How had she not realized before yesterday how handsome he was? And so smart? And so gentle even the fish weren't afraid of him.

"It's you that feeds the fish and no one else," she told him softly.

There was a fleeting curiosity in his glance, and then he motioned to her. "Come here and you can feed them."

"Me?"

"Sure. It's just the shadow that they see. They don't know the hand that feeds them."

Esme hesitated. "I'm not sure."

For some reason he wanted badly for her to do it. Intuitively he knew she couldn't resist a dare. Glancing down into the food pail, he said, "You have to be willing to put your hand in that bucket of muck." There was more than a hint of challenge to his voice.

She quickly waved away her former objections to the putrid fish food. "A little muck ain't nothing to me," she boasted. "I've limed the outhouse plenty of times, and that's a lot worse than this."

Cleav had the good manners to ignore her indelicate comment.

"I'd wash in this stuff if it suited the fish," she told him.

Cleav smiled. "I don't believe that will be necessary, Miss Esme."

Hearing him speak her given name pleased her. She wanted very much to feed the fish now. She wanted to show him that she could do whatever he asked.

"Here, come sit in front of me," he said. "We need to make the fish think that you're just another part of me."

Esme hesitated just an instant. Then she scooted closer to him. Still squatting, he spread his legs a little wider and made a place for her in between them next to the water.

"Get into my shadow," he instructed her. "If the shadow doesn't change, the fish will have nothing to fear."

She felt Cleav's hand at her shoulder, gently coaxing her into the correct position, directly in front of him, as he squatted on the grass. She felt the warmth of him surrounding her as she sat so close to him; his knee was near her now blushing cheek.

Feeling the closeness of her back to his chest, she glanced down at the shadow on the water. She was invisible. Her form had been totally absorbed in his. As the thought crossed her mind, she felt an unusual fluttering in her abdomen. As far as the trout were concerned, Esme Crabb was now a part of Cleavis Rhy. It gave her a dizzying feeling.

"Just take a handful of food," he coached. "They've really had enough, but we'll give them an extra treat today in honor of accepting you."

With his warm smile of encouragement, Esme only made a slight face as she dipped her hand in the bucket. Leaning forward, she felt him right behind her.

"Put your hand just a couple of inches under the water," he told her, "and open it up about halfway."

Esme followed his instructions exactly. She shivered slightly as her hand descended into the cold mountain pool. Stiffening herself against the chill of the water, she tried to tamp down an inexplicable trickle of fear. But she failed, however, to control the sudden jerk of her shoulders when the first big brown
brooder greedily
grabbed a bite.

"Easy," Cleav cautioned as he laid his hands familiarly on her shoulders. "They won't bite your fingers off," he whispered close to her neck."You've got to trust them, just the way you want them to trust you."

Feeling the warmth of his hands as they soothed her, Esme felt herself begin to relax. The big fish pushed each other aside and tickled her fingers with their fins as they vied for their share.

"Come on, Pearly," she coaxed the mole-faced fish. "My hand's not as big as Cleav's, but the food tastes just the same."

Cleav's breathy chuckle raised the hairs on her neck.

"Oh, it's wonderful," Esme whispered, her heart pounding from more than the exhilaration of fish feeding.

Cleav agreed, however neither his thoughts nor his senses were focused on the fish. At Esme's startled quiver, his palms had so naturally found their way to her shoulders to reassure and comfort. Now his hand sought only to caress.

Her firm, square shoulders felt unerringly feminine under his fingers. With a pretense of carelessness, he moved his thumb toward her
collar. He felt a warm stab of desire
.

Stop it! he ordered himself angrily. The woman had asked to feed the fish, not be fondled by the fish handler.

"Look at this big one!" Esme's quiet whisper bubbled with excitement.

Cleav leaned forward to follow her gaze. His chest eased up against the back of the worn wool of her coat. His chin was so close to her neck, he could have counted the tiny trickles of errant curls that had escaped the thick blond braid. He took a much needed breath, only to be assailed by the sweet scent of her. Plain brown soap and woman; it was a combination he'd never fully appreciated before.

Quite naturally his hands slid down to her waist—only to steady her, he swore to himself. He couldn't allow the young woman to fall into the water. That the water was no more than three feet deep and that she was seated firmly on the shoreline were facts he didn't bother to consider.

Her waist was not the tiny handspan that was still the rage of fashion, nor was it bound with the usual corsets that both disguised and protected it from men. Cleavis could feel the gentle give of real flesh. And it lay beneath his hands, thinly separated by her coat, dress, and chemise. His fingers tingled with the wish to dispose of those few garments. He knew he should take his hands from her person, but she felt too good.

Her charges fed and her palm empty, Esme took her hand out of the cold water. The warm comfortable feel of Cleav's fingers at her waist so captured her attention that, glancing to the side, she was startled to find his face so close. How could such pale blue eyes appear so hot, so deep?

It was desire. Desire, the same as in those well-remembered fleeting moments in the store.

But then she had felt power, control. Now, surrounded by him, his hands touching her so firmly yet so tenderly, his mouth, his lips so close, she was entranced, not entrancing. Gathering her courage, she forced herself to speak. "Should I feed them more?" she asked him, her voice trembling with its whisper.

"No." His answer was brief, but the sound of it continued to linger in her breast.

She met his gaze but couldn't hold it as time and time again his focus dropped to her lips, which warmed so quickly under his perusal that without thought her tongue snaked out to dampen them.

His eyes widened perceptibly, and the grip on her waist tightened. "Esme…" The word was a tortured whisper.

She was trembling now. The nearness of him, the desire, the fear all warred together inside her. Would he kiss her? When would he kiss her? What would she do if he kissed her? Should she scream? Should she run? Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her.

He had turned his head slightly to the side. Save to graces, Cleavis Rhy was going to kiss her! Those long muscled arms were going to hold her. That beautiful mouth was going to press against hers. Those long slender fingers were going to touch her, caress her. It was going to happen. He moved closer, only so slightly. Yes, it was going to be a kiss. She was sure of it. Any second now his lips would touch hers. Any second now. Any second. Now! Now!

She couldn't wait any longer.

Esme threw herself at Cleavis Rhy. Clasping her arms tightly around his neck, she slammed her warm wet lips against his.

At her sudden lurch Cleav lost his balance and fell back against the ground. Esme sprawled on top of him, wiggling closer by the minute. Her fingers grasped his dark hair by the handfuls. Her lips stuck to his tighter than a tick on a stray dog.

She heard a strangled exclamation from his throat and felt the strength of him as gently but firmly he tried to roll her off of him.

The feel of his long, strong body against hers and the spicy scent of his skin was more pleasurable than Esme had expected. That ball of tingling anxiety that lay low in her abdomen dropped within her, and the craving it triggered robbed the young woman of the last vestiges of her good judgment.

Instinctively Esme wrapped her strong, work-muscled legs around him and held on for blue blazes. As he rolled her to the ground, she rolled him atop her.

The fight went out of him for one shocked second as Cleav felt the soft feminine curves of her pressed so intimately against him. Then with his masculine strength he thrust her from him. Rolling to his feet, he crouched before her warily like a wrestler preparing for the next fall.

Esme sat on the grass, a look of stunned surprise on her face. Her dark serge was hiked up practically to her waist and gave much more than a cursory glimpse of her long fine limbs. One black wool stocking dangled unheeded about the ankle of her workshoe, the other clung precariously to her knee. The legs of her unadorned cotton drawers were diaphanously thin from much washing and wearing.

Shocked, Cleav turned away, as much for the sake of his own modesty as for her own.

Still stunned by her actions, Cleav struggled to regain his self-control. One minute they were feeding the fish and the next… It didn't bear close scrutiny.

How could he have… It was impossible, A gentleman did not sprawl on the ground with a young woman. And young women did not throw themselves into the arms of a gentleman they hardly knew. What was this woman up to?

The memory came back in a rush.
You wanna marry me
? Good God, did this little hill girl intend to seduce him?

As his pulse finally returned to normal and his breathing quieted, so did his thoughts. The young woman was obviously too innocent and unsophisticated to formulate such a plan. Cleav reminded himself that in indelicate situations—and this was as indelicate as anything Cleav could recall in recent memory—it was
always
the gentleman at fault.

With that in mind he turned to Esme, but his apology died on his lips.

Esme was standing before him, looking proud, controlled, and not even the slightest bit put out by the impropriety that she had just suffered. "Cleavis Rhy," she said, her voice strong, "I'm really sorry about that. Truth to tell, it's the first time I ever kissed anybody."

If a blush stained her cheek, it appeared more a fear of a loss of her pride than her virtue.

"I'm a quick learner," she told him. "I suspect if you give me another chance, well, I can be kissing better than most any girl before you know it."

He stood silent and staring. No experience in his life with women had prepared him for Esmeralda Crabb. How could he react as a gentleman if she knew nothing of the behavior of a lady?

Esme took an eager step toward him. One step was enough.

He held up one hand as if to ward her off, as if to say stay away from me, Esme Crabb.

But of course, staying away was not part of her plan.