by Pamela Morsi
"I'm afraid your friends have led you wrong," he answered, keeping his voice friendly and purposely not looking at Hannah. He hoped that she wouldn't say anything to contradict him, or give him away with a facial expression. There was no time to warn her, he would simply have to trust her to trust him.
"You won't sell us your whiskey?"
"I don't sell whiskey," Henry Lee answered him calmly. "And I don't own a still."
Pathkiller stood up. Pulling a bag from inside his coat, he poured out coins of silver and gold onto the table.
"We have money," he said angrily, fruitlessly, already knowing that the trap had not worked.
"I'm sure your money's good," Henry Lee agreed. "But I have nothing to sell, unless you'd be willing to buy some of my wife's blackberry preserves?"
Pathkiller picked up his money and prepared to leave. He knew when the game was over. When a man couldn't win he made a dignified retreat.
Tom Quick, who with his deputies had come quietly up to the house, listened with anger at the interchange between the two men. Watson had already got the best of him once and he would be damned if he'd let him do it again without a fight. With all the pent-up anger of a man who's been sitting patiently in the hot sun all day, Quick burst into the kitchen.
Hannah gave a little startled scream before she recognized the angry marshal. Henry Lee drew her to him protectively. He had hoped they would accept defeat and just go away, but he could see that Quick was too enraged to do that.
"You don't get off that easily, Watson," the marshal barked angrily.
"Marshal," Henry Lee said, refusing to act surprised that he was there. Henry Lee just hoped that he hadn't found the still. If there was no still, there was no way he could take him to jail. The marshal's next words caused Henry Lee to give an inaudible sigh of relief.
"It's got to be here in the house," he said to his deputies. "You men search every inch of this place, I want that still found!"
The men began turning over the furniture, pulling things out of the cabinets and generally creating havoc in Hannah's well-ordered house. When one of the deputies carelessly knocked over the dainty little milk pitcher that belonged to her mother, she moved to stop them. Henry Lee's strong arms came around her and held her fast.
"Let the men do their job, Hannah," he told her, planting a consoling kiss on the top of her head. As his arms held her, she relaxed. Having a group of lawmen tear up your house is not a pleasant experience, but being cuddled in Henry Lee's arms made it bearable.
The mattress off the bed was lying in the middle of the sitting room, her clothes from the wardrobe were scattered everywhere. The deputies had a field day figuring out the Dufold. Hannah hoped it was not permanently ruined.
The men were stomping around on the floors when one said, "Marshal Quick, there's a cellar beneath this kitchen."
"Where's the door?"
"Don't see one, sir."
"Miller," he called out. "Go get an axe and bust open this floor."
"No!" Hannah screamed furiously. Pulling away from Henry Lee she spoke sharply to the man called Miller. "For heaven's sake, there is no need to tear up my floor! The door to the cellar is right over here. Follow me and I'll light a candle."
As Hannah opened the well-hidden door, she led the deputy down inside. Picking up a candle and matches from the stock kept back behind the ladder, she lighted his way. The deputy looked around for several minutes, noting the well-stocked shelves of vegetables and examining the rows of potatoes and barrels of cured meats. He finally nodded and they returned upstairs.
"Well?" Quick boomed the question at him.
"Looks about like my mother's cellar," the young deputy answered.
Quick was mad as well as disgusted.
"We must have missed it," he told the men roughly. "Get back out there and search this place again, and I don't want to hear from you until you've found it."
Deputy Miller shot Pathkiller a look and a bond of understanding emerged between the two of them.
"Marshal," Miller told his superior. "There is no still here. He knew we were coming. I don't know how he knew but he knew. Do you think that he would still be here if there was evidence to be found? He'd be sitting in Amarillo resting his can if there was anything to find."
Quick realized that his deputy had the right of it. And cursed himself that he hadn't realized the truth himself without having to be told by a whippersnapper still wet behind the ears.
The marshal turned to Henry Lee. He didn't look much like his father, the old man thought. None of the snake-eyed evilness showed in this one. And he was a hell of a lot smarter, that was for sure. He could almost have liked him, if he hadn't been a lawbreaker.
"Watson, I guess luck was with you again this time. But it won't always be. I don't like wasting the taxpayers' money trying to catch no-accounts at their thieving business. If I so much as catch you spitting on the sidewalk, I'll throw you in jail and toss away the key."
"I'll keep that in mind, Marshal."
As the men filed out and headed on their way, Henry Lee turned to Hannah.
"Wasn't much of a welcome home, darlin'." His voice was a loving, velvet caress. "But I'm glad you're here."
Hannah was still slightly overwhelmed by the events of the last hour. But she, too, was glad to be home. No matter how unlawful, or frightening, or dangerous, she wanted to be with Henry Lee. Without a word she stepped eagerly into his embrace.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sunlight was fading as Hannah hung the last of the soiled curtains on the clothesline and used the hot soapy water in the huge black kettle to douse the fire in the outdoor hearth.
After Tom Quick and his men had made their angry exit, she and Henry Lee had spent the better part of the day trying to put the house back in order.
Henry Lee told her the whole story, from the indecipherable note to the decision not to run away, but to risk imprisonment by standing his ground.
Once Henry Lee got her to see the funny side of it, they laughed together until Hannah couldn't stop. The shock the lawmen must have suffered at going to the whiskey peddler's to attend Sunday prayer service was enough to make her clutch her side in painful hilarity. When she could no longer stand she collapsed on the Dufold.
When Henry Lee lay down beside her and pulled her to his chest, the laughter gently subsided.
"I love you, Hannah," he stated firmly. "Last night I hadn't the courage to say it to your face, but I do have it now. I love you and I'm so glad you've come back to me.
Hannah smiled at the memory of the love that had shone in his eyes. He had been quick to lose her. The sparks that flew between them were too volatile to ignite unintentionally. They had laughed together and worked in harmony, taking care of the place they both now called home. They exchanged bashful blushes and confident looks as they both dutifully took care of responsibilities and secretly indulged in fantasies of the night to come. Hannah glanced toward the western horizon. She had never known the sun to take so long to go down!
Henry Lee brought down the last load from the cave to the small clearing in the woods. The cave would remain a secret. He would never tell a soul about it. Well, he reconsidered, perhaps he would tell Hannah. The wedding whiskey was still there. Carefully stored in barrels, he planned to let it age a good long time. Maybe for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he'd take her there and they'd break into a barrel. He imagined the two of them, hiding out from a flock of grandchildren and making love in the afternoon when everyone thought them busy at work. The idea made him smile. Any idea of making love to Hannah could put him in a good mood.
They had talked at the wellhouse about their lack of a proper courtship. Well, perhaps it was too late for a proper one, but Henry Lee could easily imagine a very improper courtship between the woman he loved and himself.
With that in mind, as he started toward the cabin, he began looking around for wildflowers in the grass. It was hopeless. Too late in the year, too hot and too dry for wildflo
wers. He did, however, see a big ugly brown-faced sunflower staring at him from the corner of the pigsty.
Taking his pocket knife out and carefully cutting it with about a foot of stem, he decided to carry it home to his pretty wife. It wasn't a bouquet of roses, but theirs was not an ordinary love.
As he walked to the house, he spotted her. Standing near the back door, she was gazing off into the sunset; her work dress was dusty and several of those precious honey-colored curls had escaped the confines of her neatly twisted plait. She was beautiful, Henry Lee thought. A strong, beautiful woman, so full of heart and love. He truly did not deserve her. He was very glad that men don't always get what they deserve.
Hannah looked up to see Henry Lee coming toward her and a buzz of excitement fluttered through her. In his hand he carried a sunflower and she knew that he had picked it for her.
He handed it to her, and she held it in her hands as if it were precious and fragile.
"Oh Henry Lee, this is beautiful. Thank you so much. You are so sweet to me."
"I wish it were something better, Hannah. You deserve something better than a sunflower and a mixed-breed whiskey peddler."
She brushed the bright yellow petals tenderly against her lips. "No, Henry Lee," she protested. "I've been a very good girl for so very long. I deserve to have exactly what I want."
Laying her hands on his shoulders she raised herself on tiptoes and angling her head slightly kissed him with all the expertise she had learned from her whiskey man.
"Oh Hannah," he whispered moments later. "That's what I want, too."
Henry Lee slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms, whirling around in a circle. Her skirt flew in the breeze, giving her a strange surge of wanton freedom and him a tantalizing glimpse of black cotton stockings.
"Henry Lee, it's still daylight!" she objected half-heartedly as he leaped up the back steps with her laughing and squealing in his arms.
In answer he tossed her lightly in the air and then clasped her to him tightly.
"Don't expect me to wait until tonight, Mrs. Watson. Your husband has waited all that he's going to!"
He whisked her on into the bedroom, whirling her around twice more for good measure, and then leaped onto the bed. He landed on his back with Hannah astraddle him, both laughing like wayward children playing hooky from school.
As he gently rolled to the side, they faced each other; their bodies close, touching and trembling, they became more serious. Spending a moment just looking at each other, they realized that they were both anxious, both excited, both a little scared.
"Sometimes it hurts the first time, Hannah," he told her solemnly. "I'll try not to hurt you, but I can't promise."
"I'm not afraid, Henry Lee. I belong to you, it was meant to be this way."
He smiled lovingly at her. He'd never felt about a woman like this, and he wanted to make it so good for her.
"Take down your hair for me."
Hannah sat up in the bed and quickly undid the braided coil. She handed him the pins and he merely tossed them on the floor, not willing to look away long enough to set them on the table. Hannah giggled at that and then loosened her braid until her hair was a mass of wild curls around her head.
Henry Lee pulled her toward him and ran his hand lovingly through that mass of hair. Rubbing it against his cheek and offering it a kiss, he wrapped it around his fist like a rope and pulled her to him. Their lips met, gently at first and then with more passion as they both reacted to the fire that blazed between them.
Henry Lee had to remind himself to go slow as his hands explored her, cherished her. Tenderly he stroked her from her throat to her knees, then back again. He eased open the buttons of her bodice, untied the neckline of her chemise and bared her bosom to his eyes. Whispering words of praise and devotion he lowered his mouth to her firm, white breast. He sucked gently, then with more pressure as his tongue teasingly flicked the turgid nipple. He gave equal attention to the second breast, until both were full, hot, and wet.
Hannah, gasping for breath, couldn't seem to hold herself still and her reaction delighted Henry Lee. He ran a loving caress down her hip and leg to where her skirts bunched up at her knees. Running his hand underneath her dress he slowly explored the inside of her thigh, bringing the skirts up with him. When he reached the apex of her thighs he covered her womanhood and she immediately raised her hips from the bed, pressing against his hand. He returned the pressure, reveling in the heat and dampness he found there.
He brought his lips back to hers with fiery little kisses and cooing words, promising release and bliss. He struggled momentarily with the tie ribbon on her drawers, but it gave way and he pulled them down off her legs and threw them from her.
He sat back on his knees, surveying the abundance before him. Her bodice was spread open and her chemise down as if to frame the work of art that was her generous bosom. Her skirts were rucked up around her waist like a curtain at the theater and the show they displayed, the gentle curve of her belly, the riot of honey-colored curls covering her secrets, the long sturdy thighs, naked until just above the knees where plain white garters held her stockings in place, delighted him.
Her thighs trembled under his regard. His glance went to her face to see she was looking at him, awaiting his decision.
"You are beautiful, Hannah. More so than I ever realized." He laid his hand gently upon her belly. "I want to touch you, I love to touch you."
Hannah sat up in bed taking him in her arms. "I want to touch you, too!" With that she eased the suspenders off his shoulders. With a smile of tender delight, he helped her. He pulled the shirt out of his pants, and without bothering to unbutton it, pulled it off over his head and cast it away.
Hannah pulled him to her and cried out in rapture as she felt his naked flesh against her own. Henry Lee grasped her naked bottom in his hands, and they rolled on the bed, teasing and kissing, stroking and learning the feel of the other. Henry Lee's trousers became not only uncomfortable, but an impediment and he quickly loosed himself from them.
Hannah didn't yet have the courage to look, but she felt him hot and hard and massive against her. Their kisses became hotter and Henry Lee's hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Coaxing, teasing, finding the places that could pop Hannah's eyes open and quicken her breathing.
He lovingly stroked her hillock of curls and gently parted her, easing his finger a little inside. She jerked responsively at the contact and he knew she was ready.
To hold himself off, he thought only of her. Her laughing, her dancing, her grinding corn at the mill, singing hymns in his kitchen. He brought himself into position and kissed her repeatedly on the lips, the throat, the eyes. He whispered lovingly in her ear.
"I love you, Hannah. I'll try not to hurt you, but you're very tight. Trust me, Hannah."
He entered her then slowly, she was hot and eager, but her maidenhead was strong. When he tried to breach it, she cried out.
"Easy, Hannah, easy." He gentled her with sweet kisses, trying desperately to maintain control when her hot, tight cavern offered such relief.
"It doesn't fit!" she cried pitifully.
Henry Lee couldn't keep the smile from his face and the humor helped rein in his desire.
"Don't worry, Hannah, we're going to make it fit."
And he did, slowly stroking, coaxing, kissing, easing his way past her barrier until the pain was swallowed in a maelstrom of desire.
Hannah lay beneath him crying and pleading for what she didn't yet know. She opened her eyes and saw him above her, the power, the intensity, the glaze of passion in his eyes. Then she could hardly see at all as a red haze clouded her vision and she fell into an abyss of sensual pleasure, screaming his name.
They lay in each other's arms, still touching, still stroking, not willing to stop even as they waited for their breathing to return to normal.
"I'm sorry I hurt you." His voice was husky, and his breathing labored.
"Oh, Henr
y Lee, it was worth it."
He smiled and planted a kiss on the end of her nose.
"Is it always like this?" she asked him.
"Hannah, it has never been like this for me. Nothing I have ever done, no woman I have ever known, has even come close to the feelings I've had with you today."
She smiled a pleased but weary smile and they held each other close.
The sun was well up in the sky the next morning as the weary but sated couple woke to the distinct sounds of a wagon coming up the road.
"Somebody's coming," Hannah screeched, leaping out of bed, grabbing her dress and looking for her drawers.
Henry Lee only rolled over on his back and looked up at her. They had spent the entire evening and most of the night discovering each other and the meaning of conjugal bliss. Lack of sleep shadowed his eyes and every muscle in his body ached, but he had never felt better in his life.
"Get out of there and get dressed, Henry Lee! What will folks think if they come here in the middle of the day to find us still in bed."
"They'll think we are newly wed," he teased, "and they will be exactly right." But with her anxious prodding he slowly rolled himself off of their comfortable nest and began the search for his own discarded clothing.
"Hurry, they are almost here!" she told him, trying unsuccessfully to tie her drawers and braid her hair at the same time.
"Don't panic, darlin'. You can take your time getting dressed and I'll go out and keep them busy for a few minutes. It's just Zanola and Jones and they won't be speculating on anything or spreading any, absolutely true, gossip about us."
"How do you know it's them?"
"Because I told them to come over this morning, that I'd have the still ready and they could pick it up."
"The still?"
"Yep, Zanola's always admired the whiskey from my still, so I decided to sell it to her. I've promised to give her a few whiskey-making lessons and then she's on her own."
"You've sold your still?"
"That's right, Hannah." His smile was self-effacing, but he continued in mock solemnity. "It was a business decision. Not everybody drinks whiskey, but everybody sits at a table. For better or worse, the whiskey man is now in the furniture business."
