Free Marna by Norah Hess Page A

sound of her pattering feet and the whip of the
underbrush against her clothes told him she was in a
hurry. His lips turned down at the corners. "Afraid I'll
do somethin' without her say-so," he growled to himself.
    When her shy "Good mornin' "came across the few
feet that separated them, he looked up, his blood quickening. The soft, tanned leather clung to her body like a
second skin. Slender hips curved down from a tiny
waist, meeting long, slim legs that moved gracefully
toward him. His gaze traveled up to the proudly pointing breasts.
    The two top lacings of the shirt were undone, and he
became oblivious to everything except the gentle swell
of the partially bared mounds. The palms of his hands
grew moist, and a hot throbbing began to beat in his
loins. He wanted to possess that vibrantly alive body so
badly that everything else was driven from his mind. He
dropped the ax and took the one step that separated
them.
    But the spell was broken as Marna asked in a small
voice, "What can I do to help?"
    He drew a shuddering breath and pulled his gaze to her face. Her eyes peered at him through the tangled
mass of hair, and he smothered an oath.

    Hiding the pain his ill-concealed repugnance had
caused her, Marna suggested with a twisted smile,
"Maybe I can start chinking between the logs."
    Matt looked away, answering disagreeably, "If you
want to."
    Pushing up her sleeves, Marna began to gather dry
grass. When the pile grew sufficiently tall, she went
back to camp for the wooden tub to hold the red clay.
Back again, she hummed happily as she mixed clay,
grass, and water.
    As fast as Matt notched a log and fitted it over the
last one, she was there with her mixture. Carefully and
tightly she packed it in the crevices. She couldn't believe the time had gone so quickly when Matt threw
down the ax and announced it was time to stop for the
day.
    The next day, with three sides of the cabin up, Matt
was ready to start the fireplace. He eyed the huge pile
of stones heaped at one corner of the building. "You
got enough stones there to build three fireplaces," he
growled disagreeably.
    "It does look like a lot," Marna agreed softly. "But it
takes a lot to build it big enough to take a backlog.
That's the only way you can heat a cabin properly,
Grandma says. Then there's the hearth. We don't want
to burn the cabin down after all your hard work. And
of course one end will hold the oven."
    "Now hold on there!" Matt shouted, throwing down
his ax. "You might be right about the hearth, but by all
that's holy, I ain't takin' no time to build a dratted
oven. That ain't in no way necessary."
    "If you insist," Mama murmured, turning her back
and sorting through the pile of stones. "I just thought
you'd enjoy hot biscuits with your supper. Not to mention the pies and cakes I could bake in it."
    Matt picked up a stone and tossed it up and down absentmindedly. Hot biscuits and pies. Lord, that made
a man's mouth water.

    Tossing the stone to the ground, he inquired surlily,
"How big do you want the blasted thing?"
    Marna hid her smile. Her husband spent the day on
the fireplace under her carefully camouflaged tutelage.
    When it was finished, he stood back eyeing it with
pride. It was a handsome affair, he thought, taking up
most of one wall. It boasted a hearth some eighteen
inches tall, and almost the same in width. At one end
was the clay-lined oven. He grinned wryly. What would
Grandpop say to that fancy piece of work if he could
see it?
    The next day Matt started on the roof. He worked
rapidly, saying little other than issuing an order or request to Marna as she pushed the logs up to him. Dusk
came early these days, shortening the work hours, and
he must get to the business of preparing his traps. The
other men had finished their place and had moved in
already.
    He scowled as he pounded a log in place. The damn
buzzards. Wandering over here, giving him advice while
their eyes followed every