by Pamela Morsi
"Well, what kind of man were you thinking of?" the pretty blond sisters finally asked her in unison.
Esme's brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "Well, I was kind of hoping for Milt Newsome, before he up and married that Maud Turhell."
The twins gave each other a wild-eyed glance that Esme didn't catch. Gratefully they both raised their eyes in thanks to heaven on Milt Newsome’s fortunate marriage.
"Milt's farm was the best run in shouting distance, and I was real hopeful about that." Esme shook her head sadly.
"Also, it's got to be someone that's got a big house. I ain't willing to live in this hole forever." Esme gave a pointed look around at their less than ideal surroundings. "We'll need room for all of us to come live with the bride." Beginning to slowly walk back and forth across the room, Esme was thoughtful. "It would be best if the man had some money stuck back for hard times. The way our luck seems to go, hard times are always cropping up."
Stopping her meditative pace, Esme stared sightlessly into the distance, mentally examining each man in the community and subsequently discarding him. Her sisters were very special to her, but the welfare of the whole family counted on one of them marrying well.
Her eyes suddenly lit with excitement. "Of course! I should have thought of him first!"
"Who?" the twins asked in unison.
"The storekeep, Cleavis Rhy!"
"Cleavis Rhy!" Their reaction was immediate. "Are you crazy?"
"He's perfect," Esme declared. "He's not nearly so old as Milt Newsome, and think of that house! There must be a half dozen rooms in there. And getting down off the mountain might be good for Pa's health."
"There is nothing wrong with Pa's health," Adelaide said.
"You can't really expect us to marry up with someone like that?" said Agrippa.
"And why not?" Esme demanded.
"He's not like us, Esme," Adelaide wailed. "He don't even talk like us. I wouldn't even know what to say to him."
"You don't have to say nothing to him, you just have to look pretty. That's all men want anyway."
The two pretty sisters refused to listen. "You don't know a blooming thing about what men want," one declared honestly. "You ain't never let one get within a stone's throw of you."
“None that was worth a poot ever tried," Esme said, then quickly she moved the subject back to the problem at hand.
"If either of you'd just give that storekeeper a second glance, the whole bunch of us would be living in a big white house and feasting on fried chicken for the rest of our lives!"
The sisters shook their heads obstinately.
"Not me," Agrippa proclaimed.
"Me, neither!" Adelaide parroted.
"You like Cleavis Rhy so much, then you marry him!"
"Why, he must be thirty years old!" the twins remarked incredulously.
"May I help you?" Cleavis Rhy had raised his head from the compelling pile of papers before him to look at his customer. His "gift-from-heaven" smile was still in place, and added to it, Esme found herself being watched by the warmest, palest blue eyes she'd ever seen.
Her throat went dry. Her heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer. She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.
"How old are you?"
Cleavis Rhy was momentarily startled by the question but quickly recovered himself.
"Twenty-six," he answered, his look now quizzical.
Esme nodded. "I thought you weren't as old as you act."
Cleav blinked at the curious statement, then looked at her more closely.
"You're one of Yohan Crabb's girls, aren't you?"
"Yep," Esme replied, raising her chin a bit defiantly.
He looked slightly uncomfortable now. "You understand that I can no longer extend credit to your father. However, if there is something vital that you need—"
"Don't need a thing," Esme answered quickly, swallowing the lump of shame that formed in her throat.
His smile returned, but it was a more kindly expression now. "There's cheese and crackers back on the barrels. Go help yourself."
"I didn't come 'cause I was hungry," Esme insisted, pride evident in every word.
"Of course not," he said. "But you can have a bite just the same."
Embarrassed now, Esme took one step away and saw him immediately return his attention to his papers.
It was now or never. She had come all the way down the mountain to say one thing. If she didn't say it now, she never would, and her family would be grubbing for toads and eating poke salad forever.
"You wanna marry me?"
"What?"
Esme stood ten feet away from him, their gazes were locked. Across the man's face she saw nothing less than shocked horror. Her face flamed like a fire, and she made a hasty prayer that the heavens would open up and strike her with lightning.
"I said, you got any huckleberry jam?"
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Also by Pamela Morsi
Territory Trysts
Wild Oats
Runabout
Tales from Marrying Stone
Marrying Stone
Simple Jess
The Lovesick Cure
A Marrying Stone Christmas (coming soon)
Small-Town Swains
Something Shady
No Ordinary Princess
Sealed With a Kiss
Garters
The Love Charm
Women’s Fiction
Doing Good/Social Climber of Davenport Heights
Letting Go
Suburban Renewal
By Summer’s End
The Cotton Queen
Bitsy’s Bait & BBQ
Last Dance at Jitterbug Lounge
Red’s Hot Honky-Tonk Bar
Contemporary Romance
The Bikini Car Wash
The Bentley’s Buy at Buick
Love Overdue
Mr. Right Goes Wrong
Single Title Historicals
Heaven Sent
Courting Miss Hattie
Sweetwood Bride
Here Comes the Bride
Novellas
With Marriage In Mind in the collection Matters of the Heart
The Pantry Raid in the collection The Night We Met
Daffodils In Spring in the collection More Than Words: Where Dreams Begin
Making Hay
About the Author
National bestseller and two-time RITA Award winner, Pamela Morsi was duly warned. “Lots of people mistakenly think they are writers,” her mother told her. She’d be smart to give it up before she embarrassed herself. Fortunately, she rarely took her mother’s advice. With 30 published titles and millions of copies in print, she loves to hear from readers.
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