This was a little vignette Jo Anzalone and I concocted during a lull in our writing for Libris Crowe/NanoCorp SubSIDiaries. We never really got to use it in anything, but its become kind of an inside story for Rachel and Cort as they play-acted...
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"Afternoon, Ma'am." Tipping of hat. "You need some help with that sack? Looks a mite heavy for such a pretty little thing."
"Why, thank you sir! If you don't mind..."
"I see you got a nice sack o' flour in here, Ma'am. Might I ask if you'd be intendin' to bake?"
"Eventually...have to sew all my buttons back on, first...they just popped right off for some reason!!"
"So I see." Much blushing and digging of boot toe into deep dust. "Here, let me help you gather them up. Can't have a lady with her bodice all, um, well,....you know. Leastwise, not out here on the street."
"There were just a couple, thank you." She wonders how much hotter it can get, standing in the street next to him... "I can't bake a thing, though, without the other items I've got here...would you please put them in the back of the cart, too?"
"You can't...bake?" he said, his eyes widening so that the late afternoon sunshine made their sea-green color sparkle like a tropic lagoon. "Well, then, Ma'am, do allow me to fetch up these scattered items for you right off!" He stepped off the plank walk in front of the old mercantile and bent under the hitching post to retrieve a small jar. Holding it in his hand, he straightened. "Now what have we here?"
"That's honey - a secret ingredient." She was tempted to give him a small wink, but as she had already disgraced herself with the buttons, thought it best to err on the side of discretion.
"Honey?" he said, casting a look up at her through his long lashes. "I might have a suggestion or two for the use of honey."
"Are you proposing to help me in the kitchen?" Dear Lord, he was devastating when he looked at her like that! "Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it."
He grinned slowly, his lips, freshly licked, moist in the direct sunlight that lay warmly on the golden tan planes of his face.
"Darlin'," he said, his voice low, soft, "I'm definitely proposin'...something." His hand went to the front of his wide hat brim, pulling it down just slightly, as his eyes lingered on her lovely face, then dropped ever so gradually to where the buttons no longer held the top of her bodice together.
He was so close now, she could smell a mixture of sun and wood-smoke coming from his clothing, and his voice was like a slow drink of bourbon in the shade. A sound of heels upon the boardwalk behind her brought her back to reality, the sharp voice of Mrs. Bridge cutting through her neck as the woman stomped her way to the mercantile, arguing in fierce whispers with her son-in-law, who offered weak ripostes.
Probably to bully her way out of another credit-ticket, Rachel thought. She returned her focus to the man before her, lost in his own thoughts.
"There's a large bag of sugar that needs to go into the cart, too," she said, wishing her voice didnt sound so strange. "I hope you don't mind."
"Sugar?" he repeated, deliberately drawing the word out long and slow-like so that it seemed to carry with it much more than a mere five letters, a meaning far beyond the refined white product used in baking. "I would be most delighted, "his eyes sparkled as he paused, leaning slightly toward her, "to attend to any need you might have for...sugar."
With that he wrapped long brown fingers around the top of the bag, swiveled with a clink of spur on the toe of one boot, stopped, looked back at her and added, "Just where would that be, Ma'am, that I should place your sugar?"
"Oh, well, now that is a dilemma," she answered, examining the cart already stuffed full of various items. Turning to him, she tried to surpress a huge grin, because this was far too much fun to end. "I think it should go wherever you think most...applicable...Mr...?" She let her own voice rise to indicate she wanted to know his last name. "Of course, you realize," she added, cutting in before he could answer, "it isnt so much the amount of sugar that goes someplace as it is...the quality."
"The quality of sugar, Ma'am? Well, now, that there'd be a thing I guess we'll just have to see about, now won't we?" He tipped his hat way back so the brim would be out of his way and leaned so far toward her their noses brushed slightly. Then he pulled back, cocking his head slightly.
"Wells, Ma'am. Like the stage line. Both of us good for takin' a gal someplace. Mind if I show you?" He leaned back, letting the sack of sugar slump to the planking beside his boot, and lightly at first lay his lips, warm and soft, atop hers. Then one hand slid into the small of her back while the other moved behind her hair and he simply gathered her into himself, setting most seriously about the business of...transportation.
And take her away he did, out beyond the choking dust of the street, the sun-dried planks of the buildings, the monotonous color of the air, forgetting that there were people nearby watching, watching all too intently, for his kiss was the very application that ended her thirst in the dry heat of the town, the unforgiving and unrelenting dryness. She didnt hear the wolf-whistles or the whoops of the voyeuristic observers; she only felt his arms about her and his lips giving her relief in the weary day.
When he broke away, they remained hovering in the shade of the brim of his hat.
"Mr. Wells," she breathed, licking her own lips to keep what remained of his taste within her, "I do believe you know what youre talking about."
"Mrs.Wells," he grinned, "you have no idea how glad I am to hear those words on your lips." He licked his own lips, very, very slowly, lowered his lids half way, and as he, almost in slow motion, leaned toward her again, added, "Though not quite so glad as to have...these...on your lips." And he kissed her again, even longer, even more thoroughly than he just had.
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"Afternoon, Ma'am." Tipping of hat. "You need some help with that sack? Looks a mite heavy for such a pretty little thing."
"Why, thank you sir! If you don't mind..."
"I see you got a nice sack o' flour in here, Ma'am. Might I ask if you'd be intendin' to bake?"
"Eventually...have to sew all my buttons back on, first...they just popped right off for some reason!!"
"So I see." Much blushing and digging of boot toe into deep dust. "Here, let me help you gather them up. Can't have a lady with her bodice all, um, well,....you know. Leastwise, not out here on the street."
"There were just a couple, thank you." She wonders how much hotter it can get, standing in the street next to him... "I can't bake a thing, though, without the other items I've got here...would you please put them in the back of the cart, too?"
"You can't...bake?" he said, his eyes widening so that the late afternoon sunshine made their sea-green color sparkle like a tropic lagoon. "Well, then, Ma'am, do allow me to fetch up these scattered items for you right off!" He stepped off the plank walk in front of the old mercantile and bent under the hitching post to retrieve a small jar. Holding it in his hand, he straightened. "Now what have we here?"
"That's honey - a secret ingredient." She was tempted to give him a small wink, but as she had already disgraced herself with the buttons, thought it best to err on the side of discretion.
"Honey?" he said, casting a look up at her through his long lashes. "I might have a suggestion or two for the use of honey."
"Are you proposing to help me in the kitchen?" Dear Lord, he was devastating when he looked at her like that! "Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it."
He grinned slowly, his lips, freshly licked, moist in the direct sunlight that lay warmly on the golden tan planes of his face.
"Darlin'," he said, his voice low, soft, "I'm definitely proposin'...something." His hand went to the front of his wide hat brim, pulling it down just slightly, as his eyes lingered on her lovely face, then dropped ever so gradually to where the buttons no longer held the top of her bodice together.
He was so close now, she could smell a mixture of sun and wood-smoke coming from his clothing, and his voice was like a slow drink of bourbon in the shade. A sound of heels upon the boardwalk behind her brought her back to reality, the sharp voice of Mrs. Bridge cutting through her neck as the woman stomped her way to the mercantile, arguing in fierce whispers with her son-in-law, who offered weak ripostes.
Probably to bully her way out of another credit-ticket, Rachel thought. She returned her focus to the man before her, lost in his own thoughts.
"There's a large bag of sugar that needs to go into the cart, too," she said, wishing her voice didnt sound so strange. "I hope you don't mind."
"Sugar?" he repeated, deliberately drawing the word out long and slow-like so that it seemed to carry with it much more than a mere five letters, a meaning far beyond the refined white product used in baking. "I would be most delighted, "his eyes sparkled as he paused, leaning slightly toward her, "to attend to any need you might have for...sugar."
With that he wrapped long brown fingers around the top of the bag, swiveled with a clink of spur on the toe of one boot, stopped, looked back at her and added, "Just where would that be, Ma'am, that I should place your sugar?"
"Oh, well, now that is a dilemma," she answered, examining the cart already stuffed full of various items. Turning to him, she tried to surpress a huge grin, because this was far too much fun to end. "I think it should go wherever you think most...applicable...Mr...?" She let her own voice rise to indicate she wanted to know his last name. "Of course, you realize," she added, cutting in before he could answer, "it isnt so much the amount of sugar that goes someplace as it is...the quality."
"The quality of sugar, Ma'am? Well, now, that there'd be a thing I guess we'll just have to see about, now won't we?" He tipped his hat way back so the brim would be out of his way and leaned so far toward her their noses brushed slightly. Then he pulled back, cocking his head slightly.
"Wells, Ma'am. Like the stage line. Both of us good for takin' a gal someplace. Mind if I show you?" He leaned back, letting the sack of sugar slump to the planking beside his boot, and lightly at first lay his lips, warm and soft, atop hers. Then one hand slid into the small of her back while the other moved behind her hair and he simply gathered her into himself, setting most seriously about the business of...transportation.
And take her away he did, out beyond the choking dust of the street, the sun-dried planks of the buildings, the monotonous color of the air, forgetting that there were people nearby watching, watching all too intently, for his kiss was the very application that ended her thirst in the dry heat of the town, the unforgiving and unrelenting dryness. She didnt hear the wolf-whistles or the whoops of the voyeuristic observers; she only felt his arms about her and his lips giving her relief in the weary day.
When he broke away, they remained hovering in the shade of the brim of his hat.
"Mr. Wells," she breathed, licking her own lips to keep what remained of his taste within her, "I do believe you know what youre talking about."
"Mrs.Wells," he grinned, "you have no idea how glad I am to hear those words on your lips." He licked his own lips, very, very slowly, lowered his lids half way, and as he, almost in slow motion, leaned toward her again, added, "Though not quite so glad as to have...these...on your lips." And he kissed her again, even longer, even more thoroughly than he just had.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
If this is all I ever know of love...
If this is all I ever know of love...
