Tenderly he reached out and stroked the firm young flesh of her backside. When he allowed his hand to wander down between her slightly spread legs, she gave a deep sigh of pleasure.
"Do you really want this, Hillbaby?" he asked, shaking with desire.
Esme worried that she'd asked too much.
"Do you think I am very wicked?" she asked, dismayed at her own inability to practice ladylike behavior.
"Nothing between us is wicked, my love," he whispered as he leaned over her, stroking the sides of her breast and waist as his sex pressed against her.
She purred like a cat against his caress.
"Cover me, Mr. Rhy," she said with a naughty inflection. "Cover me like the stallion covers the mare."
Cleavis did not require a second invitation.
Chapter Eighteen
The morning sun was just peeking over the top of the mountain. Cleav, impeccably groomed and ready for the workday, detoured along the banks of the trout ponds looking for any damage caused by the thunderstorm.
The memory of that wild collection of rain, wind, and lightning lingered just below the surface of his thoughts, evidenced by the naughty little ditty he hummed to himself as he made his survey.
Several of the screens were clogged with leaves and debris, which he quickly scooped out so the appropriate running ripple in the water resumed.
The screen at the lower end of the brooders' pond was blocked with more than branches and vegetation. Reaching down to clean it, Cleav brought to the surface a pair of windswept, rain-soaked, white muslin ladies' underdrawers.
The find brought a warm smile to Cleav's lips.
"So that's what happened to these."
Carefully wringing out the fabric, he let his thoughts roam back to the previous night. Their lovemaking had been as sweet and satisfying as ever, but the added excitement of the clamorous storm and illicit acts made it even more memorable.
It was near dawn when the rain finally let up. Cleav had wandered along the banks of the pond collecting their sodden clothing.
Giggling like naughty children, they'd covered themselves with as little of the cold, damp cloth as decently as possible and sneaked into their own house like thieves.
They hadn't bothered with sleep but warmed each other beneath the luxury of clean, fresh-smelling sheets and bedclothes.
The lack of rest should have left Cleavis exhausted. His jaunty walk, however, indicated otherwise. He took the scanty evidence of their wicked behavior to the hatching house. With a sly grin, he was tempted to hang the drawers from the tin roof, like a conqueror displaying a captured flag.
Propriety still had its place, he conceded, and carefully draped the unmentionable garment across the end of a hatching tank to dry. He had no intention, he decided then and there, of ever returning these underdrawers to his lawfully beloved wife. Dried and hidden in one of the drawers of the cabinet, they would be a souvenir of a very thrilling night together.
Whistling again, Cleav latched the door to the hatching house and headed for the store. He was late. Tyree and Denny would already be there wondering about him. With a shrug of unconcern, he found that punctuality no longer held much of a place in his heart. There was too much love there, and it crowded out the non-necessities.
"Morning, gentlemen," Cleav said as he came around the corner of the store and spied the two older men waiting impatiently for him to open up.
"Where on God's green earth you been?" Tyree asked him, clearly disgruntled. "It's pert-near noon, and we ain't even got our checkers laid out."
Casually slipping his watch from its pocket, Cleav checked the time. "It's precisely seven twenty-five," he told the men calmly. "No doubt there will be time for a game or two before luncheon."
Within five minutes Cleav had the store swept and open for business. The still-grumbling older men were only half-engrossed in their checkers as they speculated on what could have made the storekeep an hour and a half late that morning.
With complete unconcern, Cleav continued his tasks with a smile on his face and a whistle on his lips.
"Guess that preachin' last night was good for you," Tyree suggested.
Cleav looked up. His smile broadened. "Yes," he answered. "You could say I've been communing with heaven."
By midafternoon Cleav had already had more business than was typical for a weekday. With the revival in town, more and more families from the hills would be coming down to camp out in the valley. By Saturday night of the "homecoming," every soul in east Tennessee who'd been "saved," married, baptized, or had kin buried at the First Free Will Baptist Church would be in town for the service.
