Bartered

Chapter Four

They's large Negro men workin' in the fields when we arrive. A rush of sympathy floods over me, 'cause them's the ones that's got it the worst, Negros. Once the stock market crashed an the Dust Bowl set in, all the coloreds 'round town lost their jobs, replaced by white folks.

"I don't recognize none of them colored folks."

"Most of them are from out of town," he explains, dismountin' the horse as he talks. "They can't find work anywhere else. Most of them are living in my barn."

"In your barn?"

"Yes," he responds, slidin' them hands to my waist an assistin' me down from the mare. "In my barn. They live too far from home to travel back and forth every day, so I suggested they take residence in my barn."

My body feels light in his arms, as he pulls me from that horse, my breasts skimmin' across the hard planes of his chest as I land on my good leg. Them arms stay on my waist as he helps me up the driveway, me hoppin' on one leg past his shiny, black motorcar an up the fancy steps leadin' to the Cullen mansion.

"I don't thank I can make it inside," I admit between clenched teeth, the pain increasin' with each jolt of my body.

"Sit here and I'll bring a wrap for your ankle," he replies, practically carryin' me the rest of the way to a large, white rockin' chair.

I rest in that rockin' chair, gazin' around at the Magnolia trees shadin' the yard along with ancient Oaks an tall Pines. When Eddie returns, it's not only with a wrap, but with a glass pitcher of water an two glasses.

Eddie pours me a glass of cool water, then takes my sore leg in his lap as I sip from the glass. Watchin' him remove my old shoe, threadbare sock, an runnin' his fingers lightly over my tender ankle makes me feel all balled up inside.

"You've got a big heart."

Eddie pauses, glancin' up at me in confusion, waitin' on me to elaborate.

"Lettin' them Negros work the fields an live in your barn. I reckon you've got the biggest heart in the whole world."

"That's where you're wrong, bird thief," he quietly argues, gracin' me with a sweet smile. "You're the owner of such a heart."

"Why you say that?" I ask, my eyebrows all knotted up.

"Well, you resorted to chicken thievery to prevent your family from starving, even though you look entirely ashamed of yourself every single Sunday morning at church."

"Your father beats you, yet you linger in his home. You provide the most labor inside the home and on the farm, because you love your family so much, including your wretched father. You would never leave your sister and the baby behind."

"Naw," I murmur, sadness floodin' my heart. "I don't reckon I will ever leave them behind."

Takin' the wrap in his hand, he slowly winds it around the top of my foot, guidin' it over my heel an then tightly around my swollen ankle. He secures it with a diaper pin, remindin' me of the lil 'un back home, which brangs a smile to my face.

Once he finishes bindin' my ankle; he rubs gentle circles above it, easin' his fingers up my bare calf as he carefully watches my face. I'm a-shiftin' in that rocker 'cause he's doin' them thangs to me down yonder, thangs I'm unfamiliar with.

"It's ungentlemanly of me to touch you," he sighs, lightly strokin' my calf.

"I like it when you touch me."

I admit this behind the glass I sip from, hidin' my face but not really hidin' it 'tall. My cheeks burn with a blush that can probably be seen ten miles away. Eddie smiles at my admission. His fingers dance further up my calf, pushin' my skirt to my thighs, playin' me like a fiddle. Then he stops strokin' an stokin' my fire, as his fingers abandonin' my leg, but not 'fore he bends an places a gentle kiss on my exposed knee.

"Let's get you home before I change my mind, bird thief."

"Change your mind 'bout what?"

"Keeping you here to myself. Forever."

I smile an set down my water glass. Then he helps me to my feet, the pain now somewhat more bearable. Once we git back on that mare, I feel that same old feelin' again. An I know it ain't nothin' but lust.

We've been ridin' that old mare fer awhile, headin' to my home place. Eddie explains that his motorcar is in need of some part that I ain't never heard of, but I don't reckon I know anythang 'bout motorcars to begin with.

Them magazines I see at the general store are always covered in photos of shiny, new motorcars, if they're not covered in pictures of them fancy girls. Them girls in the photos wear tight dresses an beaded headbands with plucked feathers stickin' out. It ain't nothin' but an illusion, 'cause I ain't never seen a gal such as that runnin' around my town, nary a day in my life. I bet Eddie has, bein' from a big, fancy town such as Knoxville.

We've been ridin' an talkin' so long that Eddie gits real quiet. His arms are growin' tired; at least that's what I think at first. Them long arms wrapped around my waist, holdin' them reins, grow heavy an fall. They eventually wind up on the curve of each of my hips. The weight of his arms pressin' 'gainst me causes me to fidgit around on that saddle, my hind-end wigglin' 'gainst him.

Eddie lets out a low groan behind me as I waller around. I feel him growin' hard 'gainst my backside, causin' my eyes to widen. Them able fingers of his drop the reins, the horse follerin' the path of the road on instinct alone.

Them fingers drift down my hips. From the corner of my eye, I watch as my pale, pink dress creeps up my leg, exposin' my bare flesh as his hand casually tugs it up. I close my eyes, breathin' it in, him an the feelins' he's causin', an I don't want it to end. I don't want it to stop, even though I should, 'cause this man is spoken fer, an I ain't no floozy.

"Bella."

My whispered name sounds pained, fallin' from his lips. I bask in it, the sound of yearnin' an hurtin' an needin'. I need it too. I need to feel hands other than mine skimmin' across my flesh, settin' my soul on fire. I need his hands.

"Don't stop."

My own voice betrays me, tellin' him what I want, what I need. Lips pressed to my neck is his response, that an those long fingers of his dippin' beneath the hem of my dress, strokin' my thighs an makin' me tremble. His tongue is hot, his lips soft, as he kisses the delicate curve of my neck 'fore cuppin' my sex with one hand. My step-ins grow wetter an wetter with each deft stroke over my cotton-covered flesh.

Mouth, lips, an nose skim the length of my neck. Eddie tugs my earlobe in his mouth; his tongue an teeth teasin' me so. I continue to rock 'gainst his fingers, a wonderfully peculiar twistin' sensation buildin' in the pit of my stomach.

Eddie's free hand cups one breast, causin' me to gasp an my face to burn even hotter. He gently massages my breast, flickin' his thumb lazily 'gainst my hardened nipple. Grindin' his pelvis 'gainst me, I cry out as his fingers finally delve inside my slip-ons.

"Lord, this is a sin," I moan, the rockin' of the saddle, the strokin' of his fingers … such a sweet torment.

"You can repent later."

I see Eddie every day after the day he touched me.

It's a promise he makes me keep, an I do well to keep it on my end. Sometimes he sneaks through the woods that separate our two homes. I reckon he's a lil scared of them woods. He always looks like he's seen a haint. I laugh an tease him 'bout it, offerin' sweet kisses to heal his troubled soul. He tells me he wants to marry me, wants me to bear his young 'uns. We kiss an touch on the bank of the dried creek bed beneath the stars, always takin' thangs a lil too far, until one night, he takes somethin' away from me that I can't never git back.

I don't regret what we did. Hell, I'm the one that offered it up to him in the first place, but it sure hurt like hell an didn't sound near as nice as when Ma an Pa do it. I can't help but hear them at night, huffin' an puffin' in the room across the breezeway. Alice just snores right on through it. I hide my head beneath a pillow to drown out the sound.

The second time we laid together was better. The third time made me tremble. But this last time, this last time made me see stars. Since then I've seen stars every time.

Bein' with Eddie Cullen drives the pain from my life: hunger pains, an the pain of Pa's belt when Alice an I don't git our work done by the end of the day. But they's one pain that lingers, an that's the memory of old Mrs. Henderson's words spoken in the church yard.

I'm livin' in a fantasy world, sleepin' with a man who's gittin' hitched, but I can't seem to make myself stop. I can't even brang myself to ask him 'bout the Hale girl he's marryin'. Just the thought of that gal makes my belly hurt an my chest tight.

Turns out I don't have to brang the Hale girl up 'tall.

Reviews = Alabama heat