Her heart pounding within her breast, Esme looked longingly at the man before her and dared to hope. A kiss, she begged silently, a kiss.
As if he heard her mute plea, his eyes focused on her lips, causing them to part invitingly.
"Very pretty," he whispered again.
Was he going to kiss her? The dream rushed through her thoughts like a rat in a snake's nest. Here, in this tender moment, would he kiss her?
Oh, yes, please, was her silent prayer.
Esme wanted to feel his lips on hers; to breathe in the spicy smell of his throat, to be enfolded in those strong, masculine arms.
She trembled in anticipation, the way she had that day beside the pond. But Esme would not throw herself at him again. She'd wait this time. She'd wait for him to make the move.
His eyes assessed her, caressed her. She could almost feel the kiss in his gaze.
Cleav hesitated.
Esme panicked.
He wasn't ready to kiss her. Maybe he didn't really want to kiss her. Maybe he didn't really think she was pretty. Was he humoring a pitiful mountain girl?
She had to know for sure. She had to be certain. She threw out a challenge. "Am I pretty enough to take to the taffy pull?" she asked.
Cleavis sat frozen, staring at her for an instant. It took more than a few seconds for the idyll to end and for reality to come crashing down around him. More than that before his eyes widened in shock.
"I'm late!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Jerking the watch from his pocket, he glanced at its face in dismay. "I was supposed to pick up Miss Sophrona nearly an hour ago!"
Chapter Eight
Spring in full bloom all around them and the sweet smell of honeysuckle wafting through the air, the attractive young couple sat together on a whitewashed bench beneath the enveloping shade of a giant silver leaf maple.
"Can I get you some more lemonade?" Sophrona asked him.
The Tewksburys' parsonage was a mere stone's throw from where they sat, but it was the closest thing to privacy Cleav had been able to manage.
Glancing into his empty glass, Cleav thought Miss Sophrona's recipe for lemonade relied a good deal too heavily on sugar.
"No, thank you," he answered politely. "It's wonderful but I believe I've had enough."
Miss Sophrona was gowned in somber blue, which may have reflected her mood. It had been over a week since the fiasco of the taffy pull, and Cleav was just beginning to work himself back into Miss Sophrona's good graces. There had been no open discussion of the troubles between them. And that was fine with Cleav. He had no idea how to explain, and he was hoping that he wouldn't be expected to do so.
At least today the dangerous Miss Crabb was nowhere in sight. He wished she'd made herself equally as scarce on the previous Saturday.
After his hasty retreat from the clover-covered hillside with Esme, Cleav had arrived at the parsonage an hour late. He was not surprised to find the house deserted. Sophrona had waited as long as she could and finally gone on with her parents. Cleav had followed miserably and alone.
It might have worked out. Sophrona was so honest herself, the potential for deceit in others rarely entered her mind.
When Cleav arrived at the party, he found her gaily immersing herself in the infectious laughter that was inevitable when a dozen pairs of buttered hands are passing and pulling at a glob of hot candy.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," he apologized immediately.
Sophrona's smile was open and forgiving. "I know. I told Daddy that it must have been your mother's ill health that detained you."
Cleav did attempt not to lie deliberately. "Mother is feeling better this evening," he told her. "And, of course, she sends her love."
Scooting over, Sophrona made a place for him beside her on the bench. Within minutes Cleav's hands were washed and buttered, and he, too, was laughing and joking as the sticky sweet came his way.
As the young people worked the taffy, children ran around trying to steal a sweet bite, even though it was still hot enough to burn their mouths. The older folks stood watching and talking, some remembering the days of their own youthful exuberance, others gossiping about the current crop of courting couples. Armon Hightower and the Crabb twins came in for more of their share of the speculation. Hightower had arrived with one twin on his arm but was now sitting between both of them, apparently quite content with this double dose of feminine attention.
