or doing paperwork until six in the evening. The second thing she'd learned was that he didn't seem to have enough company. After supper, with his mother, he'd sit alone in the back parlor reading until way into the night. Esme knew that for sure, since she'd sat and watched him read the previous evening.
"Where in tarnation have you been!" her father had hollered at her when she'd finally returned home near midnight.
"I been down the mountain, Pa," she told him with a tired sigh. "Don't worry about me, I told you, I'm going to be out and about for a while."
"You told me you was going courting," her father corrected angrily. "What kind of man keeps you out half the night and then don't show up here talking marriage proposal?"
Esme had rubbed her head and yawned tiredly. "He didn't keep me out," she clarified. "I kept myself out."
Yohan eyed her curiously. "A-doing what? Is that more than a father can ask?"
"Just watching him, Pa," Esme replied. "I just follow him around and watch him."
"Whatever for?"
"So I'll know him," she answered easily. Then she added, "And so he'll get used to seeing me around. He needs to get the idea to marry up with me. He ain't gonna get it if I ain't standing around getting his attention."
Her father had shaken his head in apparent defeat. "It sure ain't the way we was courting in my day."
Standing before Cleav's house this morning, Esme was pretty sure it wasn't the way they did courting now, either. But she didn't have any other ideas.
The front door opened and Cleav stepped across the threshold. His necktie was neatly knotted at his neck, and his coat was crisp, clean, and without wrinkles; he looked like the perfect man of business, as recognizable in Vader as in Knoxville or Richmond.
Preparing to follow him at a comfortable distance, Esme's eyes widened with concern as he headed straight toward her.
Since the afternoon by the pond she'd purposely kept her distance. Catching a husband was a lot like catching a chicken for Sunday dinner, she figured. Too quick a move would startle and scatter. That wonderful, dizzying, heaven-on-earth kiss they'd shared had been too quick a move. There was no way that she could take it back, and truth to tell, she would not want to if she could. Those few fleeting moments, enveloped in the warmth and feel of him, were relived nightly in her dreams. But he wanted her to stay away. So she had, far enough to let him lower his guard, but close enough to stay in his mind.
Now he walked straight toward her, his face as stern and sour as a preacher at a barn dance. "I'd like a word with you, Miss Crabb," Cleav said as he reached her side.
"I told you, you can call me Esme," she answered, deliberately making her smile bright and welcome.
He raised a critical eyebrow but didn't choose to argue. "Come along, Esme," he replied. "You can walk with me to the store."
Turning in that direction, Esme hurried her step alongside his.
She was walking with him
! The words sang
through Esme's veins. He had considerably shortened his stride to match hers, though he kept his eyes straight ahead. But Esme could see the thoughtful expression on his face.
He was tall and stately beside her. And he smelled so good. It had never occurred to her that a man could smell so good. Pa certainly didn't.
She'd never walked with a man before, but walking with Cleavis Rhy was something that she wanted to
do. She wished he'd take her arm, the way the courting couples and young marrieds walked from church. He didn't offer it, and Esme didn't have quite enough pluck to reach over and take it.
Cleav looked down at the woman's face, so eagerly turned up toward his. It was a comely face, handsome perhaps, but not truly pretty. Still, it had a great deal of appeal. And there was an interesting sparkle of intelligence behind those muddy blue eyes.
"I'd like to know what this is all about." His tone was excessively patient.
"What's what all about?"
He glanced down at her, a spark of
"Where in tarnation have you been!" her father had hollered at her when she'd finally returned home near midnight.
"I been down the mountain, Pa," she told him with a tired sigh. "Don't worry about me, I told you, I'm going to be out and about for a while."
"You told me you was going courting," her father corrected angrily. "What kind of man keeps you out half the night and then don't show up here talking marriage proposal?"
Esme had rubbed her head and yawned tiredly. "He didn't keep me out," she clarified. "I kept myself out."
Yohan eyed her curiously. "A-doing what? Is that more than a father can ask?"
"Just watching him, Pa," Esme replied. "I just follow him around and watch him."
"Whatever for?"
"So I'll know him," she answered easily. Then she added, "And so he'll get used to seeing me around. He needs to get the idea to marry up with me. He ain't gonna get it if I ain't standing around getting his attention."
Her father had shaken his head in apparent defeat. "It sure ain't the way we was courting in my day."
Standing before Cleav's house this morning, Esme was pretty sure it wasn't the way they did courting now, either. But she didn't have any other ideas.
The front door opened and Cleav stepped across the threshold. His necktie was neatly knotted at his neck, and his coat was crisp, clean, and without wrinkles; he looked like the perfect man of business, as recognizable in Vader as in Knoxville or Richmond.
Preparing to follow him at a comfortable distance, Esme's eyes widened with concern as he headed straight toward her.
Since the afternoon by the pond she'd purposely kept her distance. Catching a husband was a lot like catching a chicken for Sunday dinner, she figured. Too quick a move would startle and scatter. That wonderful, dizzying, heaven-on-earth kiss they'd shared had been too quick a move. There was no way that she could take it back, and truth to tell, she would not want to if she could. Those few fleeting moments, enveloped in the warmth and feel of him, were relived nightly in her dreams. But he wanted her to stay away. So she had, far enough to let him lower his guard, but close enough to stay in his mind.
Now he walked straight toward her, his face as stern and sour as a preacher at a barn dance. "I'd like a word with you, Miss Crabb," Cleav said as he reached her side.
"I told you, you can call me Esme," she answered, deliberately making her smile bright and welcome.
He raised a critical eyebrow but didn't choose to argue. "Come along, Esme," he replied. "You can walk with me to the store."
Turning in that direction, Esme hurried her step alongside his.
She was walking with him
! The words sang
through Esme's veins. He had considerably shortened his stride to match hers, though he kept his eyes straight ahead. But Esme could see the thoughtful expression on his face.
He was tall and stately beside her. And he smelled so good. It had never occurred to her that a man could smell so good. Pa certainly didn't.
She'd never walked with a man before, but walking with Cleavis Rhy was something that she wanted to
do. She wished he'd take her arm, the way the courting couples and young marrieds walked from church. He didn't offer it, and Esme didn't have quite enough pluck to reach over and take it.
Cleav looked down at the woman's face, so eagerly turned up toward his. It was a comely face, handsome perhaps, but not truly pretty. Still, it had a great deal of appeal. And there was an interesting sparkle of intelligence behind those muddy blue eyes.
"I'd like to know what this is all about." His tone was excessively patient.
"What's what all about?"
He glanced down at her, a spark of
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