With a widening grin, Cleav dropped down on the grass beside her. "You bragging or complaining, ma'am?"
"Just stating the facts, sir," she responded with a snappy challenge.
Cleav reached over to give a playful tug to a loose strand of hair near her ear.
"Some of the facts, ma'am, but not all of them," he said lightly. "You forgot to mention how you wake up two or three times a night to come crawling all over the poor abused man."
Esme's smile brightened. "Us mountain folk are used to sleeping nine to a bed. Snuggling just comes natural for us," she declared.
Cleav leaned forward and placed a kiss on the end of her nose.
"It's getting to be pretty natural for me, too."
Having already decided that people didn't call the first month of marriage "honeymoon" for nothing, Cleav was content. Any hesitation he'd had about marrying Esme had evaporated like mud holes in a drought. She was loving, affectionate, fun to banter with, and eager for his touch. Surprisingly, he felt more relaxed around her than anyone he'd ever known.
There was a lot to be said for a relaxing woman. With Esme he was free to say and do what he wanted. She didn't know or care what was "proper behavior." She listened to his opinions, but she definitely had her own. But more than her good humor and her easygoing ways, she genuinely liked Cleav for himself and never hesitated to say so. That was a heady novelty.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked. "Except for grumbling about your new husband."
Esme's grin was downright naughty. "Just daydreaming a little. Wondering how scandalized the good people of Vader might be to catch a pair of newlyweds sparking in the grass in the middle of the afternoon."
Cleav raised an eyebrow. "Well, Mrs. Rhy, we will never know," he stated with firm good humor. "Not that you aren't an extreme temptation," he admitted. "But those fish are very hungry."
"Then let's feed them!" Esme agreed and hurried to her feet, holding out her hand to help him up.
He took it and kept it when he got to his feet. The two walked hand in hand to the meat house.
"I've been looking over all the fish," Esme told him. "Trying to get to know them better."
Cleav smiled.
"I still think they should have names," she said, then continued with a shrug. "But we've got more fish here than there's names in the Bible."
"Oh, I don't know. We could go through all the 'begats' and probably get enough," he said. "But I'm not about to call one of my fine trout Jehoshaphat."
Esme giggled.
Together they gathered up a bucket of the ground meat and carried the smelly mix back to the water's edge.
"These are my favorites," Esme told him as she indicated the full-grown fish swimming leisurely in the water. "They are just so pretty."
"The Rainbows," Cleav said, nodding his understanding. "They are a very pretty fish, and good fighters. But for my table, I prefer the Browns. Not much to look at, but fine eating."
"I can't even think about eating them!" Esme said, dismayed.
"That's what they're for."
"I know. No use getting sentimental about where your food comes from. But they are mighty pretty."
While he scattered in the other ponds, Cleav let her hand-feed. She loved feeding the brooders, and it pleased Cleav to watch her.
For her part, Esme thought that caring for his fish was a lot like caring for Cleav.
"What are these gray ones?" she asked him. "The ones that always run with the Rainbows." He looked to where she pointed. "That's a Steelhead," he answered. "It's the same as the Rainbow."
Esme looked up quizzically. "What do you mean the same? They look completely different."
Cleav nodded as he squatted down beside her.
