“It feels like Fourth of July, doesn’t it?” Arlois asked Jessica as she settled her youngest boy with a pewter plate on his lap.
Jessica nodded, remembering picnics from her childhood, and for a moment she was lonesome for the company of her parents, who were lost to her now. She would write them, she determined, before they arrived at Council Grove, and send the letter back to Saint Louis. By that time she would be able to tell them her news, of Lyle’s death and the man who would be her husband from this time on.
“You’d think we were celebrating July fourth early, wouldn’t you?” Finn picked up a drumstick from his plate and bit into it with gusto.
“That’s almost the same thing Arlois said,” Jessica told him, enjoying the smile he tossed so casually in her direction. She watched him eat, noting the manners he exhibited with unconscious ease. His upbringing had obviously contained the presence of a mother who taught her son well the everyday courtesies, judging from his ability to make himself at home with any company.
“I think these folks will take any opportunity to have a good time,” he said, waving his drumstick in the general direction of the men and women sitting in small groups beneath the shade of the willow trees. He looked down at his plate. “I’m glad the ladies were able to come up with picnic food. I saw some of them picking berries at daybreak. Must’ve been for this cobbler.”
“Hazel O’Shea contributed three eggs to make that,” Jessica said. “They’re about worth their weight in gold. Her husband had a fit when she insisted on bringing along her hens in a cage, but I’ll bet he’s happy now that she won that fight. He’s about the only man on the train who eats eggs for breakfast a couple of times a week.”
“How about seeing if we can pick up a couple of hens for you once we get to Council Grove?” Finn asked. “I can make a cage for them if there’s wood available.”
“Would you?” she asked. “I thought of it in Independence, but Lyle said it would be too much trouble turning them loose to scratch every evening, and they’d probably get eaten by hawks once we let them run free a bit.”
“You just have to keep a close eye on them,” Finn told her. “We could manage if it’s something you’d like. We’ll have a chance to buy some supplies at the general store there, too. The prices are high, but you’ll know better now what things you need to fill in the gaps in your supplies.”
“Your hunting expedition is what made this such a good meal, you know,” Jessica told him. Finn had headed up the group of hunters early in the morning while the women did their washing, and the wild turkeys and rabbits they’d shot and prepared for roasting over the fires formed the basis of the meal they shared. Along with the berry cobbler, another of the women had generously used her store of dried apples to make fried turnovers, then cut them in pieces for the children to share.
It was almost like being a part of a family, Jessica decided, and though the group would split off into different directions in a few weeks, she knew she would never forget the unexpected delights of this day.
The laundry hanging on the makeshift lines was ready to be tended by the time their picnic was finished, and the women turned back to their mundane chores as the menfolk watered the stock and carried quilts and weary children back to the circle of wagons.
It had been a joyous day, Jessica thought as she folded Finn’s shirts. She inhaled the fresh scent of the prairie breeze that seemed caught up in the very fabric of each garment, then stacked them neatly on a box. As she turned from the chore with the last of his shirts in her hands she caught sight of him, striding with long, firm steps toward her wagon, her quilt across one arm, a basket of her belongings from the picnic swinging from his other hand.
“I’ll take care of your clothesline,” Finn said after he deposited her things inside the wagon. He reached up to unfasten the length of rope from a hook on the rear bow, and walked slowly toward the next wagon in line, looping the coils over his elbow and hand as he went.
She watched, enamored by the idea of a man doing chores for her. She’d been so long without tenderness in her days and nights. And now Finn provided that quality in abundant measure. He twisted and turned the rope, forming it into a neat figure eight, and then leaned past her to hang it on the nail where she stored it.
Her fingers faltered as she smoothed the fabric of his blue work shirt, and she tugged the collar, straightening it a bit. “You do that so nicely,” he told her. “Reminds me of the way my mother used to handle the washing when I was a boy.” He watched as she tucked the sleeves inside and smoothed the placket down, then lifted the stack of his belongings into his arms, inspecting the top item more closely.
“Thanks for sewing on a new button for me,” he said. His brow lifted and a grin curved his lips. “I’ll be spoiled with you taking such good care of me.”
“It was an odd one I had and it doesn’t really match the others, but it’s better than nothing, I figured. And if that’s all it takes to keep you happy, who am I to complain?” she teased, and then felt her stomach clench as his gaze narrowed on her face. His eyes darkened with a look she recognized as a yearning—a yearning probably for the easing of his masculine need. Just such a look from Lyle had meant harsh hands that groped and demanded her compliance to his wants.
Not so, it seemed, with this man, for his fingers against her shoulders were soothing, and his lips formed words of promise against her skin. “You’ll find me easy to please, Jessica,” he said. “In fact, just being with you makes me happy.” He bent close to claim the softness of her cheek, and his breath was warm against her ear. His mouth formed a caress, his lips pressing against her flesh. And then she felt the dampness of open lips, as his murmur offered assurance. “All you have to do is smile in my direction.”
Such foolishness. She turned her head sharply and looked into eyes that seemed not to consider such flattery as nonsense. “A smile will do it?” she asked.
“Just looking at you gives me pleasure,” he told her, and she laughed, a quick, harsh sound.
“I’d put some stock in that if I didn’t know how I look these days, Finn. Those sweet words would be more credible if you aimed them toward a pretty young girl, or whispered them to a woman who’s been a success at pleasing a husband.” She set her jaw, deliberately acknowledging her own shortcomings.
He laughed at her. The man had the audacity to touch his fingers to her cheek and then bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jessica,” he said. His blue eyes lowered slowly, touching the bit of skin exposed at her throat, where her collar was undone, and then settled seductively on the fullness of her breasts.
Heat rose to color her cheeks as his gaze measured the rounding curves of her bosom, and her lungs expanded as if they required an inordinate amount of air. His smile was slow, as her breasts lifted with each indrawn breath, and his murmur was low, words she strained to hear. He leaned toward her, brushing their bodies together, and she felt the distinct swelling of his male arousal against her belly.
“Finn?” Her voice was choked, her throat too dry to swallow, and the fire from her rosy cheeks descended to diffuse its heat throughout her body, as if a fever had taken hold and spread languor the length of her limbs. She leaned against him, unable to remain upright without his support.
“I suppose I should apologize Jess,” he told her, his smile a bit crooked, as if he were embarrassed. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I can’t seem to help the way you affect me. Surely you’re not surprised.”
