Black Locust Letters by Nicolette Jinks Read Free Book Online Page B

was which, or if it mattered. “Hi.”
    “ Lovely to meet you, Miss Cratchet. Where are you
going?”
    “ Town. She lives on the street with the old grain
silo.”
    Charles Smith checked the impatient horses with a tug on the
reins. “Nice area. Peaceful. Hop on, the both of you. I won't have
more than one lady with aching feet come morning.”
    Betty didn't need any further encouragement; the last art
festival she had been to, she'd been willing to pay to ride the hay
wagon, but she had always missed the departure times. A private
ride seemed a treat to top all others, and she climbed the two
steps on the back in a hurry, taking a seat on a hay bale next to a
gap-toothed Jack-O-Lantern made from a pumpkin with an irregular
top.
    She
was too elated with the ride to mind that Clarkin sat next to her
and put an arm behind her, grasping the railing as though to keep
her from toppling over when the wagon gave a lurch. She truly
wasn't prepared for it, as the horses seemed to hit their harnesses
eagerly, and she fell against his chest. The hands on her shoulders
were firm, strong, and the press of her exposed tops of breasts to
his shirt made her body hot to the very core. Clarkin murmured
something into her hair, something she couldn't make out, and she
looked up into amber eyes so vibrant in the moonlight that they
seemed to shed a light all their own.
    For
a long moment, they just stared at one another. Clarkin pulled her
a little tighter to him, and her hand slid around his chest. She
heard the steady pulse of his heart in her ear, felt the play of
muscles under her fingers. His body, lean as it was, was all muscle
and no bone, and the earthy sweetness of his aftershave mingled
with wood smoke went straight to her head. His face was so close
she could see tired creases at the corners of his eyes and softer,
fainter lines about his lips. This close, she saw the weariness of
a hard life and suddenly had no doubts as to his decapitaria
background.
    Flames ran through Betty, and she wanted to cling even closer
to him, for his other arm to hold her, to tip her lips up to his,
to … She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow the growing
yearning for other caresses. This was not to be borne. This was
dangerous. Not only as a man and a woman, but as a General's
daughter and a Never Were. But still, it was there, a stirring
inside her that she had not felt in such a very long time, and
never before with such a passion. She knew what this was and how to
sate it and she hated the treachery of her own body, but still she
felt it.
    “ You
must take care. Here, now, Charles, do you have anything to drink?
I daresay that Betty didn't sample an ounce at the
Carnival.”
    Betty sat upright, shifting uncomfortably as a bit of straw
poked through her dress.
    “ Wise woman.” Charles motioned vaguely over his shoulder.
“Under the loose straw. Blue Star Hard Cider. There's tart, caramel
apple, and original in the icebox. Might be a lager in there, too,
if you dig. Pass me an original. I'll hide it if we see any coppers
running about, but I think they'll be looking at the jetpacks and
cars tonight, not hooved vehicles.”
    Clarkin did so, finding the lager for himself and giving
Betty the caramel apple cider she indicated. She watched with
bemused interest as he popped the lids off using his shoe, but
Charles seemed accustomed to the trick. It was the first time she'd
had a Blue Star, and this particular one tasted like a spiked cream
soda rather than a cider. She didn't mind, cupping it in her palms
as the wheels of the wagon clattered down the road at a speed
nearly equal to the motorized vehicles. When one passed, she
thought that the car bounced much more than the wagon
did.
    Clarkin grinned. “You're feeling better. I should have
realized you were getting cold.”
    “ Hey, Hannah, what you think of the owl?” Charles called in
soft tones which implied more danger than the words themselves
conveyed. Clarkin's expression grew