Free Mittman, Stephanie by A Taste of Honey

arms, hoping that if his Sunday pants were revealing
any of the desire he was feeling, Hannah's squirming body would both hide it
and make it go away. It had been so long since physical feelings had been any
part of his life he'd almost forgotten how to handle them.
    "Mr.
Eastman? Are you all right?" It was Annie once again, her eyes searching
his face, the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip. It reminded him of a
butterscotch-colored kitten, that sudden flash of pink between her lips— lips
he knew he was going to taste sooner or later.
    "I...
It's just... with Hannah running off..." Damn and damn again! He was
absolutely incapable of uttering a complete sentence in her presence. Like some
eight-year-old caught with his hand in the candy jar, he could only stammer and
look guilty. Not that he didn't have good reason to feel guilty with the
thoughts that were barreling into his head unbidden. In his mind he saw her
fine straight hair like a curtain against the skin of her back. She was close
enough for him to smell the vanilla scent that surrounded her. His mouth
watered.
    "You
did scare your daddy," she said to the child in his arms. "Can you
tell him that you're sorry?"
    "Sissy,
I don't think a simple apology—" Winestock began. The good minister had
slipped again and called her Sissy instead of Miss Morrow. He'd heard that she
was spoken for, that there was an understanding between her and Winestock.
Though he would have preferred that they weren't, it seemed that the rumors
about their impending marriage were true. For now. But you couldn't be expected
to honor another man's claim if he hadn't actually staked it. And whatever his
reasons were, Miller Winestock had not made any announcement regarding his
affection for the lovely Miss Morrow, nor had there been any formal word of his
intentions.
    "Samuel!
Put it down! Now!" The horrid boy held a wriggling centipede not more than
two inches from little Julia's face. Her eyes were wide, but to her credit she
wasn't flinching. Peter grabbed his son's hand and the bug went flying. It
sailed through the air and landed on the puffed sleeve of Annie's starched
white blouse.
    "Here,
I'll—" the minister began, pushing himself between Annie and Noah and
reaching for her arm with pasty-white fingers.
    Before
Winestock had finished his sentence she had formed an O with her thumb and
forefinger and flicked the bug from her dress. "Hmm?" she asked,
looking up in surprise.
    "I
was only offering to help you," the minister said. He seemed mildly
disappointed, perhaps even appalled. "But you seem not to require
assistance."
    She
was no hothouse pansy, this Annie Morrow. If a hundred crawling legs on her
didn't lift one of those lovely eyebrows, nothing would shake her, Noah
figured. It didn't seem to him that Winestock had the proper appreciation for a
woman who could hold her own on a farm where any moment might demand a cool
head and a steady hand. He didn't think the minister had the proper
appreciation for much about Annie Morrow besides her undisputed cooking skills.
If he had, he'd have told the world she was his a long time ago. Well, he
who hesitates is lost, as the old saying goes. Sorry Winestock, but you lose.
    "So
bugs don't bother you?" he asked, trying to keep up a normal conversation
while his whole being was rocking to the core at just being within three feet
of her. It was his first full sentence, and it was about insects. He could have
kicked himself.
    "Mr.
Eastman," she said with a laugh that made his heart dance inside his
chest, "I'm a farm girl. Bein' afraid of bugs, likin' to stay clean,
swoonin' at the thought of wringin' a chicken's neck, and wearin' little strap
sandals—those are all privileges reserved for city women. I ain't had such luck
yet." Her eyes flew to Winestock with such longing that she might just as
well have run Noah's heart through a cider press and squeezed it dry.

CHAPTER 5
    The
first note was in the flour Bart brought home with him from