He removed his hat and let it dangle in one hand. “Called for or nay, such a kiss is not easily forgotten.”
He reached for her, his hands framing the curve of her shoulders where the ruffled edge of her fichu ended. Her breathing, shallow till now, all but stopped as his hands moved down the length of her arms before entwining her fingers in his own. In the near darkness she couldn’t see his features plainly but sensed his purpose.
With a seamless step not unlike that of a dance, he moved her beneath the smithy eave, out of sight of any on the rifle platform who might turn around and look down on them. He was close, so close she smelled the leathery-tobacco scent of him. He let go of her hands and encircled her with his arms. Gently yet boldly, as if sure of her willingness.
His mouth met hers as if he’d been kissing her for a long time. This was no called-for kiss. It felt true and sweet and good. Not obligatory but passionate. Not hasty but lasting. When it ended she wanted to begin all over again.
“To be honest, this has been on my mind since that first day we met,” he whispered against her hair.
“Truly? When I followed you outside and asked you to bring Keturah’s belongings?”
“It’s a smitten man who wants to kiss a woman at first meeting.”
“What took you so long?” she chided, wanting to reclaim all that time lost to them.
“Pure Tygart stubbornness.” The smile in his voice made her nestle closer. “If I’d known you felt the same . . .”
“I felt lightning struck at first meeting. I went into the barn when you rode off and fell back into a pile of hay. I’ve not recovered yet.”
His low laugh so near her ear was the richest sound she’d ever heard. “So, what are we to make of all this?”
“We’re not going to let any more time get away from us. Or settlement business come between us.” She sighed, mostly in pleasure, her desire for his company and to be outside fort walls equally strong. “I’ll not hide the fact I’d like to be away from so many prying eyes.”
“Didn’t I hear Cyrus say something about a pie? There’s a mess of berries a half mile from here in that deadfall near Slade Creek. Might make a good jaunt.” He seemed to reconsider. “But chancy.”
“I’ll risk it for nobody but you.” She slipped her arms about his shoulders, unwilling for their closeness to end even as his hands tightened about her waist. “A pie might help bring Cyrus round.”
“We’ll see what morning brings,” he told her.
Another lingering kiss. More whispered words. Then he took her hand and they started to inch their way toward the merriment. She’d nearly forgotten about her mother’s nuptials. How she wished they were her own, hers and Clay’s.
When they came into the circle of light made by the flickering of a pine-knot torch, heads turned. Pride and pleasure turned her bashful. She didn’t miss Maddie’s knowing smile or Hester’s unmistakable glee, or even Ma’s own pleased surprise as she stood by her groom.
Only when spies came in to give a report did Clay release her hand. There was a warmth and security in his touch that left her missing him even though he was only a few feet away in the blockhouse.
Time ticked on and Hester brought another round of flip. The watch changed. Ruth was still inside the cabin entertaining Cyrus, intent on their game. Stifling a yawn, Tessa went to sit near the doorway of Hester’s cabin, wondering what, if any, news the spies brought.
Open-eyed, she prayed for peace. For Cyrus’s healing. For Keturah and the Moravians far beyond the Buckhannon. For Maddie’s baby to be born well and safe. For Ma and Westfall to make a good beginning. In a sea of needs, her and Clay’s romantic leanings seemed small and swallowed up. How was she supposed to pray about that?
Giddy as a girl, she was. Over a few kisses. Whispered words. The clasp of a callused hand.
26
The morn was blessedly cool. Clay rued being away from the fort, from Tessa, but he couldn’t rest till he saw for himself there was nothing of concern to prevent settlers from returning to the harvest. Yet no matter how vigilant the fort spies and settlers, the Indians might strike again anytime, anywhere.
“Never saw better country,” Jude said, removing his hat to fan his face. “Except your land along the Monongahela.”
“Pity it’s a hundred miles north or we could lay out a house site.”
Jude gave him a knowing grin. “I always wondered what woman would make you want to end your roving ways. The Spinster Swan it is.”
“If she’ll have me.”
“Have you? That wedding last night should have been a double. No sense waiting. But who’s going to marry you? You can’t marry yourself.”
“That’s the trouble. As it stands, there’s no one to officiate unless an itinerant preacher happens by. I’ll not do as some and pledge troth without benefit of clergy.”
“Take her to Pitt. I recall a sober preacher there.”
