Courting Miss Hattie (37 page)

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T
he
loud pounding on the front door awakened Hattie with a start. It was still dark, very dark. Fumbling for a match, she lit the lamp by her bed and hurried to the parlor. With a hasty glance at the clock, she saw it was two-thirty, and her heartbeat quickened. Only a tragedy would bring someone to her door at this time of night.

Slipping back the bolt, she opened the door to see Reed standing on her porch, his coat gone and his hair mussed.

"What's happened?" she asked anxiously.

He stared at her for a minute,
then
the urgency in her voice made him realize how late it must be. "Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you."

She gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you drunk?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "You know I don't drink, Hattie. But if I were a drinking man, you're
right,
this would be a night for it."

"Well, the night will be morning before you know it," she said sternly. "You'd best go home and get some rest."

"Not before we've talked," he said,
then
sighed with disgust. "I doubt I could sleep with this on my conscience. I know I hurt you, Hattie, and I'm sorry."

"It's not important," she lied.

"It's important to me, and I want to talk about it, explain it."

Hattie wasn't sure she could live through further explanations. "Oh, I think you made yourself clear at supper."

"No," he said, a strange inflection in his voice. "I think I just muddied the waters."

She watched him for a moment,
then
realized his eyes were focused on her chest. Glancing down, she saw that in her haste she'd forgotten her wrapper. Laying her free arm protectively across her bosom, she asked, "Are you sure you're not drunk?"

He gave a little snort of derision. "I only wish I was. I have plenty of faults, Hattie, but a fondness for liquor isn't among them."

"Well, apparently your faults include waking decent people up in the middle of the night for no good reason!"

He nodded. "It's not a habit of mine, but tonight is a special occasion, I guess." Hesitating a couple of moments to gather his courage, he finally said, "May I come in?"

"Absolutely not," she answered, scandalized that he would even make such a suggestion. "It is very much past the hour for a gentleman to be calling, and inviting you into my house would be unquestionably improper."

"Well, can we talk on the porch?"

"I'm not dressed," she said, then wished she hadn't mentioned it because it drew his gaze back to the thin cotton nightgown that covered her.

"Get your wrapper."

"I'll not sit on the porch
with a gentlemen
while dressed in a wrapper!" She was shocked that a decent man would even make such a suggestion.

"Take your time. Wear whatever you feel comfortable with. I'll wait on you."

As Hattie turned to go back to her bedroom, it occurred to her simply to send him on his way. But he was right. They did need to talk. She knew she'd never get back to sleep tonight. They might as well go ahead and get things settled between them. "It will take me a few moments to dress."

Reed watched as she retreated back into the house. Slipping his hands in his pockets, he sighed loudly and walked over to the porch swing. Stretching his long legs out before him, he arched his tired back and yawned.

He hadn't bothered to go home. After Hattie had practically thrown him from her house, he'd followed the trail to the rice field. As he walked, he called himself every low, no-good name he could think of. Drayton was a weak-minded pig-brain, but Reed was no less a cad, and he knew it.

He'd felt so uncertain, so off-balance with her tonight.
Whether it was the teasing of his brothers or the knowledge that
Hattie was different from the other women he'd known didn't matter. He'd been anxious, and he'd handled it badly. No woman had ever made him feel quite so vulnerable, though. She had been appalled that he had thought to court her, as if he were some callow youth too immature to be considered. Then she had to remind him that another man, a younger, less experienced man, had just stolen his girl, and she offered sympathy. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He'd approached the idea of marriage in a businesslike manner, knowing she respected his business acumen, even if she thought him too young to wed. He'd hurt her with his cold speech, and that was the one thing he hadn't wanted to do.

It had taken him hours, gazing at the dark river as it flowed southward in the moonlight, to figure out what went wrong. When the answer finally came to him, he couldn't wait until the next day to test his theory. Hattie treated him like a boy, he decided, because he had never treated her like a woman.

Remembering her breathy moans the night he'd taught her to kiss and the sight this night of her high full breasts not quite invisible beneath her thin cotton nightgown, he doubted that being man to her woman would be much of a chore.

As Hattie at last stepped out on the porch, Reed stood in his most gentlemanly manner, smiled, and thanked her for agreeing to sit with him.

The fancy white dress of earlier in the evening had been discarded for a sturdy calico
workdress
. It was obvious to Reed that she intended to go straight from the swing to the hog trough.

Aware of his perusal, she said, "I don't wear my Sunday best for gentlemen that pay calls in the middle of the night."

His smile broadened. Her defiance was a good sign. He'd hate to think of her crying over his thoughtless words. "You look fine to me. I do regret you putting your hair up, though. How long is that braid exactly?"

She ran her hand over the neatly wrapped coil at the nape of her neck, surprised at his words. "Not quite to my waist," she said. "My hair just doesn't grow to the floor like some women's."

He reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away. He settled her on the swing,
then
sat beside her, his arm draped loosely along the seat back.

"It's thick, though," he said, casually caressing the braid. "And the color is real pretty."

"It's the color of possum fur," she said quietly. He laughed as if she had told a fine joke, then she felt his hands smoothing the tightly pinned braid.

"No possum ever looked this good. The color is wonderful. You don't see it in the sunshine like I do. It picks up the light and shines gold and red and brown." He fingered the braid gently as if to loosen it. "It's so soft, Hattie. Let me see it down."

"What?"

"Take your hair down for me, Hattie."

His words were barely a whisper, but something in his voice was so demanding, she felt compelled to obey. "It's a lot of foolishness," she said tartly but began removing the pins that held her hair in place.

Reed turned sideways, and his new position gave him an unrestricted view of Hattie's breast as she sought the pins in her hair. When she held them all in her hand, she unwound the coil so that the braid lay over her shoulder and breast.

In the dim light of the moon, she could barely see Reed's eyes, but she could feel his hot gaze on her. As an uncomfortable heat shot through her, she resolved to finish the task as soon as possible and hastened to undo the plait.

"Let me," Reed whispered, and before she could respond, his hands were there.

He gently began separating the three strands as his hands edged up the front of her body. His knuckles brushed her breast, bringing the nipple to immediate attention. Recognizing her reaction, he moved his hand against the nipple itself, teasing it as if accidentally with the hank of hair.

 
"Reed…"

He heard a thread of fear in her voice and carefully continued his task, freeing her hair from the tight bonds. When the plait was undone, he ran his hands through the silky strands, separating and stroking them, then spread the hair about her like a shawl.

"It's beautiful, Hattie," he told her.

Refusing his flattery, she replied, "You'll have it wild, running your hands through it like that."

"Wild? Is that a promise?" He leaned closer to her, his breath soft on her cheek.

She jerked back, but he stayed her with his hand, and his voice was comforting, his lips only inches from hers. "Remember what I told you when I gave you this swing? As long as you stay on the porch swing, a man can only go so far."

"How far is that?" she asked, her voice quivering with both excitement and anxiety.

"Not nearly far enough," he answered as he barely touched her lips with his own.

Reed heard her catch her breath and moved closer, sliding his arm around her back to her waist and pulling her against him. Again he touched her lips, then her throat, listening for the sweet sounds of her pleasure. He kissed her eyes, her cheek, the edge of her jaw beneath her ear, her neck, her throat.

"No," she moaned. "No, Reed, no."

He stopped abruptly, banking the fires that sparked within him. "You don't want my kisses?" he asked, his hot breath against her neck.

"Peaches," she whispered.

"What?"

"Peaches, Reed, not
pecks
. Alone at night in my bed,
it's
peaches I dream about."

His eyes widened in surprise,
then
he grinned with delight as he lifted her onto his lap. "I have bushels of peaches, Hattie, and they're all just waiting for you."

Their lips met with an eagerness and familiarity that was unique for two who had never been lovers. The teacher was delighted in the innovation of the student, and the student reveled in the expertise of the teacher.

Peaches, such peaches, were mixed with pecks and wicked
malvalvas
, and they all took Hattie's breath away. She hated to let his lips leave her own, but when she learned how good the kisses felt against her skin, she allowed him to make an occasional foray, only to pull his mouth back to hers, eager and sweet.

When he touched her breast, it seemed so wonderful, so right. She pressed against him, urging him to take what liberties he would.

Reed gasped at the sensations she evoked. He'd planned to make her see that he was a man. He realized that with her squirming on his lap, she would quickly be able to testify with certainty to that fact. He wondered with amusement if she understood that the big hard lump she was sitting on was not typical of his anatomy. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist to hold her in place,
then
pressed up against her buttocks. She wiggled in response but seemed more concerned with the touch of his hand on her breast.

As if taking her compliance as a suggestion, he quickly released the buttons at the back of her dress and began uncovering her bodice. Hattie cried out in surprise as the cool air stroked her bare skin, but she offered no protest.

He skimmed the calico down to her waist and began covering the exposed skin with kisses as his fingers sought the tiny ribbons that held the gathers of her chemise. "Do you like peaches, Hattie?" he whispered against her skin.

"Yes, oh yes, you know I do," she answered, squirming against him even more.

He gently pulled away the cotton batiste that covered her bosom. "How about here, Hattie?" he asked, gently stroking her breast with his fingers. "Would you like peaches here?" Her answer was a strangled cry as she pulled his head down to her breast. His tongue licked the
pouty
nipple. "
Malvalva
is nice here too," he told her in a hot whisper.

Her breasts were high and firm, the nipples pointing upward as if eager for his lips, one still glistening from the attention of his tongue. They were beautiful, he thought. Sweet, hardworking Hattie, so plain with her long face, had the most beautiful bosom ever admired by a man, he decided.

"Please…"
She begged only once before Reed took the nipple into his mouth to suckle it. Hattie threw her head back, moaning with pure lust. She wiggled provocatively on his lap for a moment before she found it necessary to squeeze her thighs tightly together to keep from exploding.

Reed, luxuriating in the sweet taste of her breast, was not unaware of the tensing in her thighs and understood her need. Jerking the calico up to her knees, he allowed his hand a slow and careful exploration of her black cotton stockings. Her knees opened
unhesitantly
to his crusade, and when he persevered to the tender bare flesh between her stockings and drawers, they both gasped with delight.

"I could put peaches there too, Hattie," he whispered, his words bringing a tremor to the skin he caressed. "Peaches for all your secret places," he added when she sighed enthusiastically. "But not on this damn swing."

His frustrated humor lightened the mood slightly, and Hattie found herself better able to breathe. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, her eyes glowing with passion.

"I'm sparking you," he replied as he lowered his head to give her nipple another caress of his tongue.

"Oh!" was her reply to that, but when she captured her breath, she added, "I don't feel like sparks. I feel like a prairie fire."