Saga: Contance's Story Page 5
Judd was, however, nonplused by the extra attention. He merely enfolded her hand into the crook of his arm, keeping it warmly prisoner there by folding his own large palm over the 54
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top of it, and gently patting her while they walked into the room. Margo came gushing up to them with the preacher and his wife in tow.
"Mr. Farris, may I introduce Preacher Ed Delaney and his wife, Mable." Margo turned to them with a grin, waving her hand back at him as she said, "This is Mr. Judd Farris." The Preacher shook his hand, saying, "Just come down out of the hills, did you? Was it a good season?"
"One of the best for me," Judd replied. "Though I can honestly say I do look forward to not repeating it again next year."
The Preacher arched a greying brow. "No?"
"Nope." Wrapping an arm around Constance's shoulder, he pulled her close with a familiarity that was at once both flattering and a little embarrassing. "As soon as this little gal agrees," he hugged her briefly closer. "Then I intend to start a new life up North in the Washington Territory." Constance felt that now familiar tickle of embarrassment as both the Preacher and his wife looked over at her. The Preacher's eyebrows arched in surprise. Mable, however, beamed.
"Oh, Constance!" she said. "Why didn't you tell me about him last week? You had such a glow about you last Sunday, I should have known you were in love!"
Constance craned her neck to look up at Judd, who was grinning from ear to ear. He leaned down to kiss her on the tip of her nose right there in front of everybody. The embarrassment of suffering through such an open display of 55
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affection was tempered by the seductive warmth that suffused her belly.
"If you'll pardon us," he told the Preacher and his giggling wife, "this little lady and I are headed for the dance floor."
"Well met," the Preacher said, shaking his hand again.
"When the two of you set a date, you let me know." There was a briefly uncomfortable moment, as she fit herself into his arms for that first dance, when Constance was the most conscious of her weight. A part of her knew he was much too much of a gentleman to say something unkind. A less confident part of her wondered if he would make a comment after all. She steeled herself against the hurt, just in case.
But Judd only smiled. "I have waited all week just to hold you like this."
She had dreaded it, but now that she found herself tucked so close and personal up against his strong chest, Constance couldn't for the life of her remember why.
"Smile at me, Connie," he murmured, bowing his head close to hers, and there wasn't a woman born anywhere in the world who could have refused such a captivating request. They fell into step with the music, and she stepped on his toes twice.
"I'm not used to dancing," she apologized.
"It's all right," he said, never once taking his eyes from hers. "Once we're married, we can dance together every day for the rest of our lives."
"I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she blurted as he pulled her just a hair closer than was proper. She knew 56
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the preacher noticed. So did her father for that matter. As Judd led her into a turn of the dance, she saw Buster lean slightly sideways, frowning as he looked at them around Margo's shoulder.
"We are going to dance together for the rest of our lives," Judd repeated. "And when we do, I'm going to hold you much closer. Of course, when I do, there won't be quite so many folks around watching."
She automatically tried to step back, but it was a lot like forcing a solid barn wall to move at her whim, and she quit trying before it turned into a scene. "If you're ashamed to be seen with me then you should consider asking someone else to be your wife. Serenity or Amanda..." Judd half laughed. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
"I see Lucy's watching you," Constance continued doggedly. "I'm sure she'd like to dance. And her father owns the biggest—"
"Enough." Judd wasn't smiling now. "I mean it. I'm getting a little tired of you continuously trying to pawn your sisters, not to mention the other towns women, off on me. I can see why your pa keeps a strap handy. One more time, Connie my girl, and I think I'm going to warm the seat of that pretty dress you're wearing."
Constance's jaw dropped. Painfully aware of still being a centerpiece of attention in the church, she quickly snapped her mouth closed and blinked at him instead. "You wouldn't."
"I would," he contradicted as easily as if he were commenting on the state of the weather. "Readily, if not 57
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happily. But if that's what it takes for you to trust in my intentions and leave off trying to find me a replacement of affections, then my Connie girl—"
"Constance," she huffed, and tried again to back up a step. Unfortunately, his arms hadn't weakened any since the start of the dance.
"Then I'll not only smack your sit upon with firm force of will, but I'll make a good and thorough job of it so as to keep your sense of worth firmly etched into your mind for the rest of your days." He softened his threat with a kiss to her brow. Her face would never be anything other than red, she was sure of it.
"Don't do that," she said, ducking her head a little and glancing to the side of the dance floor, where Amanda and her close knit of friends stood watching and whispering.
"Let them talk," Judd said. "They're only jealous because they know you've found someone who will love and care for you for the rest of you're life. They're still searching for theirs. But if it makes you so uncomfortable, I promise not to kiss you again ... this dance."
He did however continue to hold her, even after the music came to a stop. It was getting harder and harder for her to remember that this wasn't real. That she shouldn't want it to be. That she shouldn't want him.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Punch. I think that would be a welcome refreshment. But then it's only fair to warn you, before this night is over I have every intention of sneaking you off into a quiet, secluded place where I am going to kiss you until we are both breathless." 58
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Her knees went absolutely weak, but when she opened her mouth all that spilled out was an entirely too agreeable, "All right."
While she reeled in quiet astonishment at her own participation in this seduction, Judd chuckled and chucked her under the chin. Then he led her to one side and went to get them both something cool to drink.
Constance hugged herself fiercely. Oh, she was headed for disaster, but thus far the trip was almost glorious! She had never before danced with anyone who made her feel as if she were the whole world. She had never been kissed before by someone who made her feel as if he meant it. Even his threat had held a note of truth. As if he'd meant it and even meant to carry through from words into deed if she pushed him to it. She wasn't pretty sure she didn't want that to happen, but it did make her feel almost ... well, comforted. Maybe this was real after all. Maybe he really did want her for his wife. Mrs. Constance Farris. She shivered, she so very much liked the feel of having his last name behind her first one.
A shadow moved at her shoulder and Constance turned to see her red-headed sister coming to her.
"Oh, Constance," Grace said sadly, her eyes as large as fine China saucers and chock full of sympathy. "Oh Constance, I'm sorry."
Constance looked at her for a moment, not
comprehending, but the look on her sister's face seemed so dire that instinct compelled her to turn around. Sure enough, over by the punch bowl, stood Judd with two cups of apple 59
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cider in his hands. Amanda was just reaching out to take one from him, smiling her most coquettish come-hither turn of the lips and blinking up at him with her most beguiling
fluttering of lashes.
Constance whipped back around, though not before the pit of her stomach seemed to fall all the way to the floor. She clutched her chest with both hands, as if that could possibly stop the shattering of her heart. The room wavered and blurred as her eyes began to fill with tears.
"Oh Constance," Grace said again. "I guess neither of us gets the one we love tonight."
Her sister's sympathy hurt too much to stand and Constance pulled out of Grace's reach. "It's all right," she whispered, and even managed an offhand shrug. "It wasn't real anyway."
Without a backward look, she started walking.
"Where you going?" Buster said, as she reached the church door.
She lurched outside without answering, into the fresh night, leaving behind the lights and exchanging the lively music for the natural song of a field full of crickets.
"Constance?"
She should have known her father would follow her. She turned her back to him, not wanting him to glimpse the tears she couldn't seem to blink back. "I just need a moment alone, please." She bit her lip in a doomed attempt to stop its wobbling and just concentrated on breathing normally until he left.
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But Buster didn't move. And after a long pause, pregnant with his increasing temper, he finally growled, "I'll string him up by his—" There was an uncomfortable pause while the gruff old man struggled to censor his language, and then he snapped about and stomped back into the church. Constance lay a hand to her forehead, pressing her quivering lips tightly together. "You knew better," she told herself, swiping at the tears before they could fall more than halfway down her round cheeks. She glanced back over her shoulder, suddenly not wanting to still be here when her father caused a scene inside and everyone realized her humiliation. Stepping off the porch, she headed for home.
* * * *
That woman was a manipulative harpy, Judd thought as he broke free of Amanda's grip just as politely as was possible. He had to get another glass of cider for Constance, but as he was turning around he ran smack into Buster. The old man was stiff as a board and looked even more angry than normal. Judd almost took a step back.
"I'll be skinnin' you alive," Buster growled, dangerously soft and low enough for no one to overhear, "unless you make whatever you've done right."
Now Judd did take a step backwards. "What?" His eyes skimmed the room, but there was no sign of Constance.
"Where—"
"Walkin' home with tears on her face, the last I saw of her," Buster bit out. He pulled out his pocket watch. "You've got two minutes, and then I get my knife." 61
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"Walking home?" Judd shoved the cider at Buster and hurried outside. Sure enough, he saw the dark shapely shadow of her, marching up the road just past the parked wagons. He had to run to catch up to her, and by the time he did he was almost panting. "Hey! What happened? Where are you going?"
"You'd better go back," Constance said tersely. "Amanda's waiting."
Catching her by the shoulders, Judd spun her around. The moonlight on her face illuminated the wetness of her tears, but he was too bewildered and too hurt that she would leave him in the middle of the church to care. He gave her a shake.
"Would you get it through your head; I don't want your sisters and I don't want Amanda. I want you!"
"I'm not a fool!" she snapped, wrenching out of his hands.
"I may be ugly—" He drew back, his eyes narrowing as she spat, "—but I have learned a thing or two about men! If you think some pretty words and breathless kisses will induce me to lie back and let you take that which stupid men like you all seem to desire from easy women, then you can think again, Mr. Judd Faris! Ugly, yes, but I am not easy!" She snapped around to continue walking, but his hand closed tight around her arm and pulled her to a hard stop. A spark of temper flared and the next thing he knew, he'd dropped to one knee and he'd yanked a startled Constance down across the other.
She twisted her head back to look at her, her mouth gaping and her eyes wide. "D-don't! You can't!" 62
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She threw a hand back behind her, but he caught it and pinned it to the small of her back with very little effort.
"I want you," he told her with every bit as much force as there was in the palm of his hand as he flatted the seat of her skirts.
She stiffened. "Oh!"
"I don't want Amanda." He spanked her again, a strong resounding smack that made her legs kick out and had her quickly scrambling her feet in the dirt. "I don't want your sisters."
"Ow!" A tinge of panic and discomfort colored her yelp of pain as he walloped her bottom a third time, harder than before.
"I have absolutely no interest in anyone other than the golden haired siren who seduced me with her voice as sweet as summer's honey!"
She shrieked, squirming to roll off his knee as he delivered two more vigorous swats. "Please, stop!" her voice quavered and broke. "You can't want me!"
"Why not?" he demanded.
She kicked, twisting her wrist to break free of his iron-clad grip and crying out, "Because no one does!" He stared at her for a moment in disbelief, and then he paddled her backside with a vengeance.
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CHAPTER FOUR
Buster bought a cow and her calf from his neighbor, Hollis Rawlings. Although he hadn't had to milk one since he was a boy, milking, as it turned out, was one of those skills that stayed with a fellow throughout his life. Sighing, Buster tucked a pail under the fat bovine's heavy udders and took his seat on the stool. "My achin' back, the things I wind up doin'," he muttered. But since kids who grew up without milk didn't turn out right, and since he wasn't about to have folks showin' up on his doorstep twenty years from now, blamin' him if the three of these girls turned out to be prostitutes or—he looked at the baleful dark-haired one hovering in the barn's doorway—bank robbers, there was just no way around it. He milked the damn cow. Being busy at that chore gave him plenty of time to observe the children he'd been saddled with. The red-head helpfully hunted down the chickens and gathered the eggs, dropping about half of them and falling off the front porch steps in the process. The dark-haired one helped the red- head by chasing the chickens off their nests in the first place and, since that was such fun, continuing to chase them around the dusty yard.
And then there was the little blonde baby, who ate just about every bug in sight. Anything that couldn't move faster than she could ended up in her mouth. And she grinned as she ran to him, showing him what she'd caught. Right as he 64
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got out the words, "Don't eat—" in it would go and she'd grin at him as she crunched on it.
One less mouth to feed come breakfast, he supposed. Except that that wasn't true. She was still hungry by the time he finished with the cow and fixed up a pan of cornbread and enough eggs for everyone. Unfortunately, by the time he set her on his lap to eat, for some unknown reason she lost the ability to find her own mouth.
Consequently, by the end of the meal, she had cornbread crumbs smeared evenly all over her, from her eyebrows to her toes, and Buster had learned a very important lesson: Never hold a child eating honeyed cornbread. He had crumbs stuck to the side of his face, in his hair, and down his shirt. Even after dunking himself in the wash barrel outside, he was still picking cornbread out of his ear for a good hour afterward
... just in time to hear the barn cat squalling as the oldest child fed it into the front yard well. By the time Margo arrived around noon, the cat was rescued and Buster had the first of his new problems all sorted out. He met her at the door, a little excited in spite of himself. So excited in fact, that he didn't even wait for her to knock, he just flung the door
wide open the second he heard her steps on the porch—startling Margo near to death. He caught her by the arm and hauled her inside.
"Okay," he said brightly. "I've got it figur'd out. That one," he pointed to the plump blonde baby, who sat on the floor, cheerfully pounding on one of his pots with a wooden spoon while she sang, "AaaaA AaaaA AaaaaAAaahhhh!" at the top of 65
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her lungs. "That one is Constance." He looked at Margo with a half smile. "That's the good one." Margo's mouth began to turn up at the corners. "All right," she said, and allowed herself to be pulled into the back bedroom where the red-headed middle child was lying on his bed sound asleep. Her burned and bandaged hand was lying across her chest. To the sum total of her wounds had been added a bruise on her chin and a badly scraped knee.
"That one I'm namin' Grace," Buster said, hands on his hips. "Maybe someday, hopefully, she'll get some. She's not too bad, if'n you watch her right close."
"And the last girl?"
Margo followed him back out to the living room. Hands still on his hips, he stopped as soon as he saw her, the dark- haired little girl who glared defiantly back at him over one shoulder, her bottom lip protruding as she pouted, then lowered her eyes and faced the corner once more. Buster glared right back at her.
"That one," he said wryly, "I'm namin' Serenity."
"Oh, Buster." Margo smiled sweetly, folding her hands across her chest. "Because she brings peace to your heart?"
"Nope," Buster growled. "Because she's the devil incarnate. And because people would blame me for it if I named her Beelzebub."