by Marsha Ward
“I will be well,” she whispered.
“If not, Little Sister, I will come for you,” he answered gruffly.
Julia ran up the stairs to the room that was no longer hers, changed her dress, collected her few belongings, including her recipe box, whispered to herself, “Mrs. Owen,” and went back down the stairs, her heart thumping like a drum in a brass band.
Rod waited at the foot of the staircase. He took her belongings in one hand and her fingers in the other and escorted her outside into the yard as everyone except Camilla waved and shouted, “Goodbye. Good fortune.”
Julia Owen smiled at her husband as he handed her up into the farm wagon. She mused that she was leaving the house in the same manner in which she had arrived. However, this time, she had a husband instead of a brother sitting beside her.
He lifted the lines, grinning at her like a crazy man— just as Jonathan had done— and slapped the horse’s rumps with the leather strands. “Let’s go home, Mrs. Owen.”
Julia felt her insides heating toward a boiling intensity of feeling. She didn’t know why it was happening, but she knew it was pleasant.
“How far away is it?” She would burst if the journey took much time.
“Too far,” he muttered. “Several miles.”
“Make haste, Mr. Owen. I think I’m going to melt into a puddle. You shall have to mop butter out of the crevices of this seat.” Then her stomach growled. “Oh my. Pardon me,” she said.
“You haven’t eaten. I know just the thing to cure hunger rumbles.” He grinned at her and snuck a kiss. “Virginia ash cakes. They’re quick. They’re hearty. They go well with butter.” He chuckled.
It appeared that his nerves had steadied. She smiled tentatively at his joke. “You will have to write out the recipe for my collection.”
“I plan to be too busy to deal with making such notes for you, Julie.” His voice had deepened with emotion. “Observe how to make ash cakes for yourself. My hands will be otherwise occupied tonight than in writing out receipts.” He placed his hand on her limb and she closed her eyes to better savor the heat rushing through her veins. She vaguely heard him say, “I adore all your parts, and I’m in a hurry to—”
She opened her eyes as he stopped talking. She looked at him. He looked at her.
“Julie, my heart is full to bursting with affection for you. My senses are more alive than ever they’ve been. You excite them. My body—” A wave of something that looked like pain passed across his face. “My body longs for you.”
If not for the fact that her body was in an equal state of yearning, she would have been embarrassed by his frank declaration.
“Two more miles,” he grunted, turning his face away.
***
Rod drove the interminably long miles to his home. No, it’s our home now.
He practically raced through the task of putting up the horses. His heart thundered, for Julie stood waiting beside the door, as he had requested. His work done, he joined her and pulled her into a long embrace.
“My sweet Julie,” he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open a bit with his foot. “There’s a tradition.” He scooped her up into his arms, nudged the door fully open, and crossed the threshold with her clinging to his neck.
He kissed her, then put her on her feet and said, “The ash cakes.”
Then he knelt by the hearth and showed Julie how to form the simple cakes of ground corn and water, and cover them with ashes after nudging them onto the hottest part of the hearth to cook.
They sat opposite each other at the table as they ate the hot, slightly sooty cakes with butter and cold mugs of milk from the spring house. He could not take his eyes off her. She seemed equally entranced with him.
“I’ve eaten my fill,” she announced.
He got to his feet so abruptly that his chair tumbled to the floor behind him. His heart raced in his chest. He took her hand. She looked at the floor, but followed where he led, to the room housing the bed covered by a colorful quilt.
“I am on fire.” He drew her close.
She put her hands on his head and ran her fingers through his hair. She sighed. Or did she moan?
“How is it quenched?” she asked, her voice faint.
He swallowed hard. “I hope it never is,” he managed to say, his voice husky.
***
The night was long and frenzied, and the fire was stoked instead of quenched.
Julia awoke to a raucous rooster’s crow at dawn to find Rod propped up on his elbow, gazing at her. She felt wrung dry from the connubial activities of the dark hours, but summoned a tremulous smile and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Camilla must be livid with jealousy.”
He laughed heartily. “Is that all I mean to you? A means to the end of annoying your spoiled cousin?”
Her smiled widened until she thought it would split her face. You mean so much more than that to me. She put her arms around his neck, intrigued by the way a lock of his golden hair fell over his brow.
“Rod Owen, you are my entire world.” She moved closer and giggled. “I hope you found my parts to your satisfaction.”
He groaned. “You’re going to make the animals wait for their feed, aren’t you?”
“I doubt they’ll starve.” She lowered her voice. “I do believe we suit admirably. I am the wife, the woman of Roderick Owen. You are my man.”
“And ever will be,” he agreed fervently. “Ever will be.”
The End
Thank You!
If you liked this novella, you’ll want to read the novels in The Owen Family Saga listed below under Fiction, beginning with Gone for a Soldier. Remember to recommend this book to your friends, telling them what you liked about it. Word-of-mouth recommendations are valuable rewards for authors. Finally, subscribe to Marsha’s Readers Mailing List to receive advance notice of coming book releases. http://eepurl.com/vBKEj
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my beta readers, who did such a stellar, quick job for me: Anna Wilder, Becky Rohner, Betsy Love, Deb Eaton, Debra Erfert, Sheila Summerhays, and Stephanie Abney. Your help is very appreciated.
Other Books by Marsha Ward
Fiction:
Gone for a Soldier
The Man from Shenandoah
Spinster’s Folly
Ride to Raton
Trail of Storms
The Zion Trail
Blood at Haught Springs
Faith and the Foreman
Non Fiction:
Rapid Recipes for Writers… and Other Busy People
From Julia’s Kitchen: Owen Family Cookery
THE CHECKLIST: Indie Publishing My Way
Simple Book List and Purchase Links
http://marshaward.com/bookshelf/simple-list/
About the Author
Best-selling author Marsha Ward writes authentic historical fiction set in 19th Century America, and contemporary romance. She was born in the sleepy little town of Phoenix, Arizona, in a simpler time. With plenty of room to roam among the chickens and citrus trees, Marsha enjoyed playing with neighborhood chums, but always had her imaginary friend, cowboy Johnny Rigger Prescott, at her side. Now she makes her home in a forest in the mountains of Arizona. She loves to hear from her readers.
Connect with her at:
Website: http://marshaward.com
Blog: http://marshaward.blogspot.com
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormarshaward
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarshaWard
Join Marsha’s mailing list to be notified of new releases:
http://eepurl.com/vBKEj
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