the straight, sparse brows above his eyes. With his sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the wet corn, his powerful brown arms and big hands were in sharp contrast to the whiteness of the bedsheet he was working with. Hannah remembered the strength of those arms as he had pulled her close that morning, and the remembrance of those hands moving slowly down her body, stroking and caressing, brought a flush to her cheeks and strange fluttering in her abdomen. Henry Lee finally looked up and caught her staring at him. She didn't have the fire going yet, so he thought to give her a hand.
"Here, you spread these out nice and even all along the sheet," he instructed, "and I'll get that fire started."
She leaned closer, watching him as she imitated his movements. "What is this for?"
"I'm drying them out so that I can make corn grits."
"My heavens," Hannah exclaimed. "What army are you planning to feed, there must be a bushel of corn here!"
"I feed it to the hogs," he told her, turning his face away from her so she didn't see his sly look. "They're low on feed, I need to get these dried and ground by tomorrow."
His look was a challenge. "I'm not sure that I can get it done by then, by myself. But then I remembered that I had you as my helpmate. Are you my helpmate, Miss Hannah?"
The look on his face, sort of teasing and flirty, was the same he had given her when she had brought him the water at the church. It had distinctly annoyed her at the time, now, strangely, it made her feel warm and friendly toward him.
Hannah vividly recalled the vows she had made yesterday evening. She was his wife and she wanted to show that even if he hadn't chosen her, she could still prove to be a bargain. Never in her life had she heard of pigs that had to have special food. Her father's pigs ate fodder and leftovers and whatever else they had put in front of them. But if, for some strange reason, Henry Lee's pigs ate corn grits, then she would help him make corn grits: bushels and bushels of corn grits.
"Of course, I'll help," she said enthusiastically.
Henry Lee smiled back at her, pleased with his own private joke: the preacher's daughter making corn liquor.
He seemed content with the supper put before him, even with Hannah trying to apologize for not cooking something up special. He considered himself a pretty fair cook and had always taken care of himself. But the greens were better than they ever tasted when he cooked them, and her cornbread was so smooth and slightly sweet that it was almost like cake instead of bread.
"It tastes fine," he told her. He was not yet willing to give more of a compliment than that.
"Well, of course, you didn't have anyone to cook for you, but now that I'm here, I can do for you."
"You just worry about getting that corn ground into grits tomorrow, that's what I really care about."
Hannah shook off his concern. "I'll have all that corn ground before
noon
tomorrow, don't give it another thought. You really are an unusual man, to care more about the food you feed your hogs than about the food you feed yourself."
Henry Lee choked slightly on a bite of Hannah's warm cornbread and swallowed his laughter. Could this ignorant female really believe that he would go to all this trouble to feed hogs? She was either crazy, or she thought that he was!
"Now, about the food for yourself," she began, talking to him as if she were an adult and he was a rather slow child. "It's a bit late in the year, but I thought I would try to start up a garden. We won't get too much from it this far into the summer, but everything we do will be just that much that you won't have to buy."
"Don't worry about it," he said, wondering how he would explain his trading without mentioning the whiskey, "there's no need for you to start up a garden."
"But I want to. It's part of my job to set your table."
He shook his head and waved off the idea. "Like you said, it's too late in the year. There's no need for you putting in all that work
"Here, you spread these out nice and even all along the sheet," he instructed, "and I'll get that fire started."
She leaned closer, watching him as she imitated his movements. "What is this for?"
"I'm drying them out so that I can make corn grits."
"My heavens," Hannah exclaimed. "What army are you planning to feed, there must be a bushel of corn here!"
"I feed it to the hogs," he told her, turning his face away from her so she didn't see his sly look. "They're low on feed, I need to get these dried and ground by tomorrow."
His look was a challenge. "I'm not sure that I can get it done by then, by myself. But then I remembered that I had you as my helpmate. Are you my helpmate, Miss Hannah?"
The look on his face, sort of teasing and flirty, was the same he had given her when she had brought him the water at the church. It had distinctly annoyed her at the time, now, strangely, it made her feel warm and friendly toward him.
Hannah vividly recalled the vows she had made yesterday evening. She was his wife and she wanted to show that even if he hadn't chosen her, she could still prove to be a bargain. Never in her life had she heard of pigs that had to have special food. Her father's pigs ate fodder and leftovers and whatever else they had put in front of them. But if, for some strange reason, Henry Lee's pigs ate corn grits, then she would help him make corn grits: bushels and bushels of corn grits.
"Of course, I'll help," she said enthusiastically.
Henry Lee smiled back at her, pleased with his own private joke: the preacher's daughter making corn liquor.
He seemed content with the supper put before him, even with Hannah trying to apologize for not cooking something up special. He considered himself a pretty fair cook and had always taken care of himself. But the greens were better than they ever tasted when he cooked them, and her cornbread was so smooth and slightly sweet that it was almost like cake instead of bread.
"It tastes fine," he told her. He was not yet willing to give more of a compliment than that.
"Well, of course, you didn't have anyone to cook for you, but now that I'm here, I can do for you."
"You just worry about getting that corn ground into grits tomorrow, that's what I really care about."
Hannah shook off his concern. "I'll have all that corn ground before
noon
tomorrow, don't give it another thought. You really are an unusual man, to care more about the food you feed your hogs than about the food you feed yourself."
Henry Lee choked slightly on a bite of Hannah's warm cornbread and swallowed his laughter. Could this ignorant female really believe that he would go to all this trouble to feed hogs? She was either crazy, or she thought that he was!
"Now, about the food for yourself," she began, talking to him as if she were an adult and he was a rather slow child. "It's a bit late in the year, but I thought I would try to start up a garden. We won't get too much from it this far into the summer, but everything we do will be just that much that you won't have to buy."
"Don't worry about it," he said, wondering how he would explain his trading without mentioning the whiskey, "there's no need for you to start up a garden."
"But I want to. It's part of my job to set your table."
He shook his head and waved off the idea. "Like you said, it's too late in the year. There's no need for you putting in all that work
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