Free Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] by River of Tomorrow Page B

tell.”
    “I’m not a blabbermouth, and you know it, Daniel Phelps!” She stood beside his chair, glaring down at him. He tilted his head to look up at her, and she could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Sometimes you make me so mad. I’m not a child, you know,” she said impudently, but she was smiling.
    A lovely, leaping flame of desire flickered through Daniel as his gaze followed her about the kitchen. She was so much a woman, he could never think of her as a child. He felt the urge, when she passed him, to seize her arm and pull her down onto his lap, bury his face against the warm, scented flesh of her neck, and tell her he had waited all his life for her to grow up. But he knew to do so would be disastrous. She was not ready to think of him as a man who wanted her in all the ways a man wanted the woman he loved. He stood. For a long moment he stared at the nape of her neck while she worked at the stove. He had an almost overwhelming desire to touch her. Why didn’t he? She was his woman, wasn’t she? What if he went to her, put his arms around her, and drew her back against his chest?
    Don’t be stupid, Phelps,
an inner voice cautioned. He must bide his time. This was new to him. He must think of what a shock it would be to her. In order to hide the feelings that had sprung up restlessly within him, he picked up the teakettle and went to the washbench to shave.
     
    *   *   *
     
    They met on the porch for the walk to the schoolhouse. Although they were unaware of it, they were a handsome couple. Rich morning sunlight filtered through Mercy’s hair, turning it to the color of ripe wheat. The head that rode proudly on her slender neck came to just inches above his shoulder. Her dark skirt and white shirtwaist were covered with a long, dark shawl, folded across her breasts and held in place by her crossed arms.
    Daniel’s dark hair was still wet from the morning combing. On his jaw, the small cut oozing a drop of blood was evidence of his inner turmoil as he attempted to rid his face of several days’ growth of dark beard. The front-lacing leather shirt hugged his broad shoulders and hung down over duck breeches that were tucked into calf-high boots. Always aware of what was going on around him, his dark eyes saw everything that moved; his ears were alert for any foreign sound.
    They walked easily, step matching step, and turned the bend in the road. The sun behind them cast two long shadows before them. As they neared the settlement, the tall shadow moved closer to the slender one, blending into one.
    “Jeems is going to dress out a chicken today,” Daniel said, his hand cupping her elbow and holding her close to his side. “Do you suppose I can have chicken and dumplings for supper?”
    “I suppose so,’” she said absently. Then, “I wonder why so many wagons are at the store this time in the morning. Is that Glenn Knibee’s?”
    “Looks like it.”
    “Could it be because of . . . Dovie?”
    “Not likely. It’s time to start planting. Mike is always busy this time of year.”
    When Daniel glanced down to see if Mercy had accepted his explanation, he saw her lips pressed so tightly together that they made a crease beside her mouth. As they passed the store, they heard the sound of male voices raised in a heated argument and Mike’s voice telling someone to watch his mouth or he would close it for him.
    Granny Halpen came out onto the porch of the rooming house as they approached. She let the door slam behind her, leaned on her broom, and watched the couple coming down the road.
    “Morning, Mrs. Halpen,” Daniel called.
    Granny turned her back, and the stiff straw broom swished vigorously back and forth across the steps. After Daniel and Mercy passed, they heard a loud, “Humph!”
    Daniel looked down at Mercy’s face. It was a dull red, but blanched to white as he watched. He moved his hand down her arm, grasped her bare wrist with strong fingers, and drew her even closer to him.