Hannah Howell (20 page)

Clover trembled as Ballard tugged off her chemise, tossed it aside, and finally pressed his body against hers. The feel of their skin touching never failed to ignite her desire. She ran her hands down his side and caressed his taut, smooth hips. She savored his warmth, the texture of his skin, and the feel of his
muscles beneath her fingers. When she slid her hand between their bodies and began to stroke him, he kissed her with a barely restrained ferocity. She liked the way his whole body expressed his appreciation of her intimate touch and the way his control rapidly began to fray. He always worried that he was too rough when his desire grew fierce, but she was determined to show him that she was not made of glass. She reveled in the full strength of his passion.

She tried to continue her caresses, but he soon moved out of her reach. As he peppered her breasts with kisses, she threaded her fingers in his thick hair. A soft cry of delight escaped her when he drew the aching tip of her breast into his mouth. He slid his hand down her stomach and she opened to him, craving the feelings his intimate caresses brought. Clover lost all sense of time and place, giving herself over completely to the desire thundering through her veins, until Ballard shifted his kisses upward along her inner thighs. For one brief moment her shock over such an intimate act checked her passion, but that shock had no chance to take root. It was banished with one slow stroke of his tongue.

With a soft groan born of both passion and a willing surrender, she opened herself to his intimate kiss. A part of her responded eagerly to his hoarse compliments and encouragement. The exquisite sensations built and built until suddenly she felt near her release. She called his name, but even as she started to recover from the semiconscious state into which her climax had hurled her, she felt her passion rising again, kept alive by his caressing hands and tongue.

Suddenly he was in her arms, holding her close as
he turned onto his back. Clover began to wonder what he would do next when he neatly joined their bodies. She gasped, shuddering with the sensations inspired by this new position. Ballard tugged her face down to his. He kissed her, grasped her hips, and silently showed her what to do. Clover needed little instruction. She wanted to test herself in this new method of lovemaking, but their desire was too hot, too greedy. Ballard gave a hoarse shout as his release tore through him. He held her firmly against him, spilling his seed deep within her. Clover quickly followed him, collapsing in his arms as the culmination of her passions raced through her, leaving her weak and trembling.

It was a long time before Ballard eased the intimacy of their embrace. He wanted to stay where he was, their bodies entwined, but there was too much work to do. As he turned on his side to look at Clover, he noticed the color tinting her cheeks and the tension in her lovely body. He began to fear that he had pushed her too far too fast. When he kissed her cheek, she barely glanced at him, blushing even more.

“Lass, there is naught to be embarrassed about in a man and a wife taking their pleasure of each other,” he said. “I told ye I had a little experience. We have nae done anything odd or unseemly.”

“Are you quite sure?” she asked, timidity stealing the strength from her voice.

“Quite sure. Ye and I will be sharing a bed for many a year to come, lass—God willing—and it doesnae hurt to have a wee bit of variety.” He took her hand in his, kissed the palm, and then frowned when
he noticed all the little wounds on the back of her hand. “Have ye been dragging your hands through the brambles, loving?”

Clover took one brief look at her hands and grimaced. “No, merely collecting eggs.”

“Ah, so The Bitch has been at ye.” He cursed, distressed to see how hard work was stealing the softness from her delicate hands.

“The Bitch? That is not really that hen’s name, is it?”

“Aye. Do ye have a better one?”

She laughed. “No. ‘Tis a terrible name, but it suits her. You could have warned me about her.”

“Sorry, loving, I should have thought. I would have roasted the cursed beastie by now, but she is the best egg-layer I have. I will be letting her hatch a clutch soon so ye can have a respite. Have ye tried tossing the food down right in front of her, then grabbing the eggs when she isnae looking?”

“It does not work. She either stays on her eggs or comes right back to fight me for them.”

“Weel, mayhap it is time to put that ill-tempered fowl on the spit,” he said as he sat up and stretched.

“Oh no, at least not until I win one battle with the wretched thing.” She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and picked her chemise up off the floor. “I will not allow her to get the best of me.” While Ballard busied himself getting dressed, she quickly slipped into her chemise. “It must be time to begin the noon meal.”

“Aye, ‘tis time we both returned to our chores.”

“You look very pleased with yourself, considering you are about to go back to work.”

At the door, he winked at her. “Ah, weel, nothing
can improve a mon’s mood more than a morning’s roll in the clover.”

Clover blushed, gasped, and looked for something to throw at him. By the time she picked up a candlestick, the door was shutting behind him and his soft laughter was fading as he hurried downstairs. She finished getting dressed and tidied her hair. He was a rogue, rough but charming. He made such remarks just to see her blush. She intended to learn to control that. One day she would surprise him and not bat an eyelash when he made one of his outrageous remarks. Perhaps she would even reply with something equally outrageous. Her modesty was slowly being banished and she was confident she would soon be as bawdy as Ballard sometimes was. But first, she thought with a sigh as she hurried down to the kitchen, she had to learn to care for the house.

She grimaced when she found Molly already in the kitchen. “Sorry, Molly,” she murmured as she moved to check the bread, which she had left to rise in bread-pans on the counter.

“No need to apologize. I was a newlywed once too.” She winked and grinned. “You blush so well.”

“‘Tis a curse. Ballard finds it far too amusing for my liking.” She eased the cloth off the bread and gave a cry of delight. “Look, Molly, I think I got it right this time.” She waited tensely as her friend inspected her efforts.

“It certainly looks so. Put it in the oven, girl, and then you can be giving me a hand in cutting up this ham.”

After sending up a brief, silent prayer that her bread would turn out well, Clover put it in the oven. She had made bread a few times in Langleyville, but always with help from the cook and the housekeeper.
Her first attempts here had been dismal failures, good for nothing more than chicken feed or hogs’ slops. She needed one success to bolster her badly sagging confidence, some sign that, with perseverance, she could be the partner to Ballard that she so badly wanted to be.

“Well?” she pressed as Molly carefully tasted the first slice of bread.

Molly took another bite and finally nodded. “It be nearly as good as mine,”

Clover caught the glint of laughter in Molly’s eyes and grinned. “At last,” she cried, clapping her hands together and doing a brief jig around the kitchen.

“Best not do too much of that, or your man will be thinking you are tippling.”

“You cannot know how badly I needed a success.” She hugged Molly, laughing at the woman’s wary expression. “I was beginning to fear I would never get it right,” she said as she put her bread on the cutting board.

“I do not think I have ever seen anyone be so delighted over one bleeding loaf of bread—well, save for them what be starving.”

“‘Tis not the bread really, ‘tis the success. I have been here a month and it seemed I would never get anything right. Oh, I have gotten close, but never from start to finish all on my own. This shows me that if I stick with it, I can succeed.”

“I understand,” Molly said as she started to set lunch out on the table. “Still, you expect too much too fast. You were not raised to this life—I was. Truth is, I have been surprised that you are learning as
fast as you are.” She looked at Clover. “Or that you keep at it when most women of your class would have given up.”

“But I am no longer of that class.”

“True, but most folk cling to old ways. If you stop fretting so, I wager it will come easier. Sweet Lord, girl, do you really think I never make a mistake?”

“I have not seen one yet.”

“Well, I be trying too hard to be perfect.” She grinned when Clover laughed. “No, ‘tis just luck. Once you learn the basics, I will be showing you the tricks I have learned to hide mistakes. Things like how to patch that shirt you done scrubbed a hole in.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you? It was silly, but I was reluctant to ask you how to get that stain out. I am forever asking you how to do things.”

“Good thing you did not waste your time. I saw that stain and knew there would be no getting it out. The shirt can be mended, and I know I will not have to be showing you how to do that. Now go and ring that dinner bell.”

Clover stepped out on the front veranda and clanged the bell. She smiled faintly as she watched everyone gather. She had only a brief sight of her mother, for the woman always went in the kitchen door and straight up to her room to prepare herself for the meal. The twins went to the pump to wash up just like the men. She watched Lambert and Shelton exchange splashes with the twins and Ballard genially scolded all four of them. Ballard was good with the twins, patient yet firm, and the boys had clearly made him their hero.

“Do not run in the house,” she reminded her brothers as they dashed past her. She had to bite back a
smile when she saw Lambert and Shelton immediately slow their pace.

Ballard draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the house, regarding her in a way that made her blush. Without words he told her he was recalling their earlier lovemaking. He grinned at the fleeting embarrassment she could not hide and she slipped free, hurrying to help Molly finish setting out the dishes.

She watched carefully as everyone ate. Her bread disappeared quickly and she savored a secret sense of accomplishment. Clover knew the quality of her cooking would never become the be-all and end-all of her life, but this first success was important.

“One of the local lads stopped ‘round this morning,” Ballard announced between mouthfuls of Molly’s apple cake. “The spring get-together is planned for a fortnight from this Saturday. There will be dancing and drinking and a fine table of food.”

“And some fighting,” murmured Shelton.

“Ye shouldnae give the ladies such ideas, lad.” Ballard smiled faintly at a frowning Agnes. “There may be a set-to, but ‘tis usually a small fracas, quickly subdued. Folk come to enjoy themselves and dinnae want trouble.”

“Can we go, Ballard?” asked Damien.

“‘Tis up to your mother, laddie.”

Agnes briefly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Are children allowed?”

“We are not children,” protested Damien.

“Here now, laddie, ye shouldnae speak to your mother that way. ‘Tisnae respectful, or kind either.”

Damien flushed. “I am sorry, Mama.”

“Much better. And aye, Agnes, they allow children,”
Ballard said. “Most folk out here must take their bairns or leave them home alone.”

“Well then, the twins shall go,” Agnes said, smiling when the boys cheered.

“Is it not a rather busy time of year to have a celebration?” Clover asked.

“Verra busy, but ‘tis one reason we started having this revel. By then most folk have done all their planting and have earned a wee bit of fun. Aye, and we like to visit after the winter.”

“Of course. I forgot how far apart people are out here. ‘Tis not like in town where you sometimes see far more of a person than you care to. Where is the get-together held?”

“This year it will be in the upstairs hall of our new church.” Ballard fixed his gaze on Clover. “I accepted for all of us but after the lad rode away, I recalled that I cannae answer for all of ye. Ye dinnae have to go.”

“And why should we refuse? It sounds lovely.”

“Weel, it willnae be like the balls or fancy teas ye went to in Langleyville.”

“I am sure it will be great fun.”

“Good.” Ballard stood up. “Everyone is expected to bring some food. Clemmons always supplies the drink and we take up a collection to compensate him, although I am certain he never gets the full cost back. Weel, laddies, back to work.”

As soon as everyone was gone, Clover helped Molly clean up. She wanted to go to the spring revel, but could not stop worrying about meeting more of Ballard’s friends. Her mother had told Mabel Clemmons their whole sad tale, and Clover knew the story would have spread far and wide. She prayed she would not face the same kind of ostracism she had in
Langleyville—the looks of pity, the abrupt dismissals. Although she would never ask her mother to lie, she did wish Agnes would be a little less forthright. They had come to Kentucky to leave the painful past behind them, to start a new life. Clover prayed she was not about to discover that one could never really start afresh.

Muttering curses, Clover hefted the pile of wood. Ballard had told her to call Shelton, Lambert, or him when she needed the woodbox filled, but she had not wanted to interrupt their field work. She decided she would not be so reticent next time. The wood was dirty, heavy, and awkward to carry. At the rate she was toting wood from the woodshed to the woodbox near the house, it would take her the rest of the day to finish. She had not yet gained the strength for such a chore and her hands were riddled with splinters.

She dumped the wood into the box, moved to brush off her skirts, and screamed. Squatting on her skirt was a huge spider, bigger than her hand. Just as she told herself not to panic, Ballard loped up to her side.

“Get it off,” she whispered pointing at the spider, afraid of speaking too loudly and causing it to move up her dress.

Ballard picked up a piece of wood, brushed the spider from her skirts, and crushed it. He watched her closely as she sat down on the back steps. Although she was pale and shaking, she looked unhurt.