Chapter Eight
“Hey, you long-legged Scot, you running home already?” called a burly man from the front porch of a large wooden building.
“Clemmons, ye rogue,” Ballard called back as he pulled the wagon to a stop.
Clover sighed as Ballard leaped off the wagon seat, loped up the three steps, and exchanged a bear hug with the man. Shelton and Lambert were quick to follow. She eased herself to the ground and rubbed her aching backside. Ballard had grinned when she had put a folded blanket on the seat, but she had ignored his amusement. She knew the padding had helped her endure the rough journey.
Just as Agnes, Molly, and the twins joined Clover, Ballard looked their way. “Here, lass,” he said as he started toward her, “ye should have waited. I would have helped ye down.”
“Right about now, Ballard,” she said in a quiet voice as he reached her side, “I would have leaped back into the Ohio River rather than sit on that torturous seat for one moment longer.”
Ballard grinned and kissed her cheek, then grimaced. “Dinnae try to smooth over my error. A gentleman would have helped ye and the other women down first, then introduced them all to Jonathan. Weel, ye are here to teach me those pretty manners.”
Jonathan Clemmons stepped to the edge of the veranda. “You came back with more than you left with, Ballard m’boy.”
Clover smiled faintly at the big man, then noticed that he was looking at Molly, who was staring right back. Molly smoothed the skirts of her plain gray gown and tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her crisp white mobcap. Clover decided to take a closer look at the man as they were all introduced to him.
Clemmons was a big man, almost as tall as Ballard but of a burlier build. His face was square, plain, and weathered. He had hazel eyes with fine lines at each corner that deepened when he smiled. There was no hint of gray in his long, roughly cut brown hair, so Clover guessed that he was under forty years of age. He had a strong, deep voice and when he suddenly bellowed in surprise, she was abruptly drawn out of her thoughts.
“Married?” Jonathan stared at Ballard in openmouthed surprise. “You gotmarried?”
“I told ye I was looking for a wife,” Ballard answered as he draped his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “Me and Clover have been wed for a fortnight now.”
“I know what you told me, you lanky fool. I just did not expect you to be so successful so quick, or”—he smiled at Clover—“to get yourself such a pretty one.”
“You are very kind, sir,” she said.
“Call me Jon.”
“I knew you would do just as you claimed you would, boy,” said a deep, raspy voice.
Clover looked at the person who had spoken and struggled to hide her surprise as Ballard introduced them all to Jon’s mother, Mabel Clemmons. The woman looked too dainty and slender to produce such a manly voice. She wore a simple blue gingham gown, and her gray-flecked brown hair was neatly pinned up. There was such life in her hazel eyes, it gave her plain, slightly angular face a hint of beauty. There was a bump in one of her freckled cheeks and Clover realized the woman was chewing tobacco. She noticed several spitoons placed strategically around the porch. When the woman suddenly spat into one, Clover was a little startled by the speed, accuracy, and tidiness of the act. She idly wondered if anyone had tried to get Mabel to take up pipe smoking instead.
“Warned her about me, didn’t ya, boy,” Mabel said, fixing her gaze on Ballard.
“Weel, there are nae many like ye, Mabel,” Ballard drawled.
“Damned right. I ain’t inclined to become staid and common in my old age.” Mabel turned her sharp gaze on Molly. “A maid, eh? Are you getting high and mighty on us, Ballard?”
“Molly was hired for my sake, Mrs. Clemmons,” Clover said. “I fear I lack a few housewifely skills.”
Mabel nodded and looked at Molly again. “So you are here only for a short spell.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I am of a mind to find me a husband,” Molly said, meeting Mabel’s keen gaze squarely. “I am fair tired of being a widow.”
A faint smile briefly curved Mabel’s thin lipsbefore she turned to Agnes. “You here to find a man too?”
Agnes blushed. “Heavens, no. I am but a month widowed and much too old for such nonsense.”
“You’re still breathing, ain’t you? That’s ‘bout all it takes to get a man sniffing ‘round your skirts in these parts.” She winked at Ballard. “And it seems marrying is in the air.” She spat again and frowned down the road. “Course, there be one or two what might be displeased about your getting hitched up, Ballard.”
Clover felt Ballard tense as he followed Mabel’s gaze down the road. She peeked around him. And almost cursed. Loping toward them was a woman, her skirts hitched up to reveal well-shaped blackstockinged legs and red petticoats. Thick raven hair billowed around her head as she ran, and her full breasts seemed in danger of bouncing free of her low-necked gown. Ballard turned to greet the woman, only to grunt in surprise as she flung herself into his arms. Clover muttered a curse. Mabel chuckled.
“Elizabeth, enough,” Ballard snapped as he wrenched free of the woman’s grasp and held her at arm’s length.
“Come now, Ballard, I know we did not part on the best of terms, but—forgive and forget, I always say.” Elizabeth glanced at Clover and her family. “I see you have brought some new people to town. Do you mean to settle here or move on?” she asked Clover as she wriggled closer to Ballard.
“I rather thought I would linger in the area,” Clover replied wryly.
