VOWS by Lavyrle Spencer

Author:Lavyrle Spencer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-11-10T14:28:08+00:00

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Chapter 12

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The following morning Emily awakened as she had slept—troubled. When she was troubled she wanted to be in only one place: with the animals. She dressed in woolen britches, jacket, and bobcap and slipped from the house before anyone else was up. A new snow had begun falling, brittle and icy. Flat-footed, she skated through it, head hanging, hands buried in her rib pockets.

Inside, the stable was warm, pleasant. Familiarities soothed—the fecund smell, the morning routine, the greetings of the horses, who turned their great heads as she spoke inanities and bumped past their broad bellies while feeding and watering them.

Edwin came at his usual time.

"Up early," he observed.

"Yes," she replied spiritlessly, avoiding his gaze.

"Got the chores done already."

"Yes."

"Anything wrong?"

"Oh, Papa…" She went into his arms, closed her eyes, and gulped at the lump of apprehension in her throat. "I love you."

He drew back and held her by both arms. "Do you want to talk to your old papa about it?"

She gazed into his caring eyes, tempted. But maybe she had blown last night out of proportion. Maybe it was nothing more than a kiss in a closet, a silly game already forgotten by Tom Jeffcoat. Though her father's invitation was sincere, in the end she shook her head.

To his credit, Edwin asked no questions. He left Emily to herself and stayed out of the office, where she holed up with her books. But The People's Home Library lay between her elbows as she stared unseeingly at the overflowing pigeonholes of the scarred desk, her thumbs pressed against her chin … thinking … thinking … tangled with emotions.

A murky dawn had scarcely grayed the windows when the inset door opened and Tom Jeffcoat marched into the office in lengthy strides, a man with an objective. He spun Emily's chair and pulled her from it straight into his arms.

"Tom, I've—"

He stopped her protest with a kiss. Unapologetically. Blatantly. Without hiding in anyone's closet.

Stunned, she forgot to resist, but stood in his arms letting him kiss her until the feelings of last night rose afresh within her. In time common sense prevailed and she arched away, pushing at the thick sleeves of her sheepskin jacket.

"Tom, my fath—"

"I know." He cut her off again, bending her backward like a strung bow until he felt her remit, then drawing her up with their mouths locked. He kissed her as he had last night—tongue and lips and enough wetness to wash away logic. He caught her unfortified, spreading his taste into her mouth with a straightforward appeal she could not withstand.

By the time they parted to search one another's eyes, her resistance had evaporated.

Out of the gray murk of dawning complications splashed a golden moment of thoughtlessness, while they immersed themselves in one another—young, unchary, and greedy. His tongue came strong against hers, and she opened to him gladly, tasting him as one learning to appreciate a new flavor. The flavor was intrinsically "Tom Jeffcoat," as individual as the flecks of color in his blue eyes.

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