Ballard finally caught the light of laughter in her eyes. “Wretch,” he said, and grinned when everyone laughed. “Weel, they are a wee bit dry and I think ye used a touch too much salt.”
She tossed the rest of her biscuit into the fire, and laughed when he did the same. “I thought so too.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being so kind, but I think it would be best for all of us if you were truthful. Now Molly and I can see where I erred and, I pray, fix the problem.”
Molly took a small bite of Clover’s biscuit, nodded, and tossed it into the fire. “You were that close, miss.”
“Good,” Clover said. “We cannot have Ballard drinking the well dry every time I cook something.” She laughed again.
Once the meal was over, Clover helped Molly clean up. Shelton was to take first watch, so Ballard led her to where they would sleep. He had arranged their bed under one of the wagons. Clover smiled faintly when she saw how he had tacked up blankets to give them some privacy. After indulging in a small toilette with a pan of cold water, she stripped to her chemise and slid beneath the blankets Ballard had spread on the ground. Even as Ballard tugged her into his arms, she yawned.
“Tired, lass?” He smoothed his hand over her hair.
“Yes, although I have not done all that much today.”
“Just being out of doors for a long time can make ye sleepy if ye are nae used to it. Ye are probably still suffering a wee bit from your adventure in the river.”
“Probably. At least, I hope that is it. I have never considered myself a weak or delicate person.” She moved her hand over his broad, warm chest.
“Nay, ye are nae weak or delicate. This is all new to ye, loving. Ye just need time to get accustomed, ‘tis all.” He grinned and kissed the top of her head. “Dinnae fret. I dinnae expect ye to become a tobacco-spitting pioneer woman who can chop wood with one hand and skin a bear with the other. Leastwise, not right away.” He laughed when she gave him a light tap on the arm.
“I should hope not.” She peeked up at him and was only able to discern the outline of his face in the shadows. “Do you know many women who spit tobacco?”
Ballard laughed. “Only old Mabel Clemmons. She sets in a rocker in front of the general store her son owns. She cusses like a sailor and can beat most menin a spitting contest, but once ye get past the shock of it, ye realize she is a clever old woman and worth listening to.”
“I had an aunt much like that. She dressed just as she pleased, which was usually quite oddly, said anything that popped into her head, and smoked cigars. I once asked her why she liked to upset and shock people, and she told me she had done everything she was told to do for fifty-odd years and now she insisted on being herself. And she believed that people need to be shocked once in awhile.” Clover smiled when Ballard chuckled softly.
“Old Mabel started to be herself as soon as she reached Kentucky,” he said.
He recalled the look on Clover’s face as they had passed some of the rougher places along the river. Clearly she had been alarmed by a lot of what she saw. He had never looked closely at places like Tullyville, just accepted them, but he could understand how she might feel.
“Clover, ye willnae be living in some rough hut. Ye ken that, dinnae ye?”
“Of course, Ballard.” She suddenly realized that she had revealed her occasional dismay a little too clearly. “I am sorry if I have led you to believe that I was, well, regretting this move. To be honest, it was not so much the newness or roughness of the places that distressed me, but the filth. I think even Tullyville will improve when a few families settle there. Women do not long tolerate the sort of things that make Tullyville so unsavory.”
“Nay, they dinnae, and Pottersville has families. It even has a church.”
“Pottersville?”
“That is what they are calling our town now. Truth is, that must be the fifth or sixth name it has had. They cannae seem to settle on what to call it, so most times I dinnae give it a name. They are hankering to be incorporated as a town though, so I suspicion they will make up their minds soon. How did Langleyville get its name?”
“A Langley family owns most of the riverfront.”
Ballard nodded. “We are called Pottersville now because Jedediah Potter got the church built. I swear to ye, lass, ye willnae find a squalid mudhole like Tully’s place. I live in the sort of town that draws families. It has good farming land, good stockbreeding land.”
She gently caressed his cheek, smiling faintly when he kissed her palm. “I will be fine, Ballard. I promise you, I am not one to pout because I do not have some fine brick mansion to live in. I entered this marriage with my eyes open, and I will accept whatever you have to offer.”
He held her a little closer, wanting to believe her, but finding his doubts hard to conquer. She would never complain or disparage his efforts, but he still feared disappointing her. Once they were out of Langleyville, away from all she had known, he had thought that his self-doubts would begin to ease. He had naively thought that he only needed to get to Kentucky, to return to the places he knew, to regain his confidence. Instead he was growing more and more aware of the disparities between what he could offer her and what she had known. He dreaded seeing disappointment in her fine blue eyes and knowing that he had failed her.
“Weel now, my wee wife, there is something Iwould like to offer ye now, but we will have to wait until we get home,” he murmured as he slid his hand down her side to her hip. “There isnae much privacy here.”
“None at all,” she whispered as she heard Shelton walk past the wagon.
Needing to reassure himself that they still had something in common, he kissed her, slowly and deeply. He felt her breathing quicken and the tips of her breasts harden against his chest. Their passion was still well-matched, he thought, and breathed a silent sigh of relief as he settled them more comfortably on their hard bed. All he had to do was keep that passion alive until it matured into a deeper, richer emotion which would bind her to him for the rest of their lives.
