With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "For me?"

  "The box was my mother's," he said. "My father gave it to her on their wedding day. It's one of the few things of hers that I have."

  "It's beautiful," she whispered in awe.

  "I always intended it for my bride on her wedding night. Even before I had any idea who that bride might be."

  Meggie nodded and swallowed a little self-consciously as she gazed at the beautiful piece of jeweled art so out of place in the primitive Ozark cabin. "It's something that even a very fancy city woman could appreciate as a gift," she said.

  "Yes," Roe answered. "I guess that it is. That's why my father bought it for Mother, I suppose. I could have given that box to nearly any woman." Slowly a grin spread across his face. "But what I've put inside the box is something that I would only give to my Meggie."

  Her eyes widening, Meggie's heart soared with joy at his words.

  "May I open it?"

  "Oh, yes, Meggie. I want you to."

  Eagerly, but with great care she turned the tiny key in the lock and raised the delicate little latch.

  She opened the lid with joyous expectation. Then she hollered like bloody murder. A small green tree frog, at least as surprised as Meggie herself, hopped out of the satin box and onto the quilt coverlet.

  "Varmint!" she screamed, scrambling out from beneath the covers of the bed.

  Her new husband hooted with laughter.

  "Roe Farley! You promised!"

  "I didn't promise. Jesse promised."

  She jumped to her knees in the middle of the bed and delivered a blow, worthy of a pugilist, to his midsection.

  "You . . . you . . . you . . ." she sputtered, unable to think of things bad enough to call him. "You—"

  "Husband." He provided the word for her.

  With a cry of fury, she began pounding him in angry earnestness. Roe only managed to stop the rain of blows by wrapping his arms around her and falling back upon her on the bed.

  The new position offered more pleasurable pursuits and as the fight went out of her, he grinned down into her face.

  "I love you, Meggie," he said simply.

  "I should beat you senseless," she replied. "But I love you, too."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid the galluses off his shoulder and showed him that she meant every word that she said.

  As the footboard began to rock and the bedcord whined with strain, the confused little tree frog used his long hind legs to lower himself off the end of the bed. He waited nervously on the floor, sure that at any moment a new calamity might overtake him. After several minutes, when no one tried to catch him or step on him, he began hopping toward the doorway searching for the exit. It wouldn't do to spend the night with two people who had no more sense than to go to bed with the light on.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF

  J. MONROE FARLEY

  January 5, 1907

  Marrying Stone, Arkansas

  Have just this morning heard from a gentleman at the Library of Congress in the Columbia District concerning my collection of Ozark songs and tunes. The institution is actively seeking to preserve American folkways and has already contracted with at least two other music collectors in other parts of the country. He was quite interested in my premise of the perpetuation of Middle English in an isolated zone and assured me that a similar finding has been made concurrently in the Appalachians. Although he apologizes for the low sum of money he is offering (he obviously does not understand the value of actual currency in the Ozarks), he is interested in acquiring my recordings to keep for posterity. He tells me that by making gold impressions of the wax cylinders the actual sounds themselves can be saved for time in memoriam. That offers me great comfort and encourages me to continue in my efforts.

  The snows have not been too bad yet this winter, but I fear the worst of the weather may be ahead of us. Fortunately with the good crops we got last year, we have more than enough to sustain us 'til June if need be.

  Onery continues to have bouts with his bad leg, but appears in fine fettle otherwise. Our little Edith watches over him like a guardian angel. Which is, of course, not at all true to her rather devilish nature.

  Meggie has "stumped her toe" again as they say here in the mountains and professes to be grateful to be carrying this child in the winter months when she can lounge around a bit and the whole population of Marrying Stone knows nothing about it.

  Jesse was married on Christmas Day and we are all delighted for him. He and his new bride will be coming to take supper with us one day this week. Meggie has suggested rather strongly that I take Onery's Winchester and try to get her a wild turkey to roast. I see no reason to go to the trouble since she can just as easily burn a chicken or a possum head and it will taste exactly the same. Perhaps she can serve it with some of her special piccalilli.

  Preview Simple Jess

  Book 2 in Tales from Marrying Stone

  Althea Winsloe was hopping mad. Her face was red, her teeth were clenched, and she was marching down the well-worn mountain path with such determined haste that she was completely unaware of the bright blue sky, the lush fall colors of the oak and ash and elm—the beautiful autumn day that surrounded her. Her anger was a typical consequence of her morning visit with her mother-in-law.

  Beulah Winsloe had apparently made it her goal in life to frustrate, subjugate, and infuriate Althea. This morning Beulah had been in fine form.

  Althea couldn't still her thoughts as her hands tightly clenched the handle of the woven market basket.

  "That woman! That woman!" she whispered furiously to herself. "She will not run my life. I swear my soul upon it."

  Her vow offered no immediate comfort. The young woman still seethed. She made her way angrily along the steep forest path at such a pace that the little cherub-faced boy who followed her could hardly keep up.

  "Slow down, Mama," he pleaded at last.

  Startled, Althea halted immediately. She turned to the little fellow coming up behind her, her expression a mixture of surprise and guilt. She had been walking way too fast for the short legs of the small person who accompanied her. In her furious haste she'd not given a thought for this child, her son.

  "Baby-Paisley!" she called out to him as he hurried toward her. His homespun overalls were still a bit big for him. The rolled up cuffs at his ankles were at least three inches wide. He was fair and freckled, sturdy and determined. His face was flushed from exertion. His short, chubby legs had to make three strides for every one of hers.

  "I'm sorry, Baby-Paisley," she said, bending down waiting to sweep him up into her arms. "I suspect I'm walking as fast as I'm thinking. Mama didn't mean to leave you behind. Why don't you let me carry you?"

  The little boy ran up beside her. Ignoring her open arms, he dropped to his knees, taking a grateful breath at the respite. Looking up at her, he shook his head.

  "You cain't carry me, Mama," he told her, his brow furrowed in serious contemplation. "I'm too big."

  Althea's bright brown eyes twinkled. "You are a pretty big boy," she admitted. "But I can still carry you."

  "I'm the man of the house," he stated flatly and with considerable consequence as he stuck his thumb against his chest.

  The curve of Althea's smile hardened and sadness extinguished the bright stars in her eyes.

  "I suppose your grandma told you that," she said.

  The little fellow nodded proudly. "Gwamma says I'm the man of the house. So I cain't be Baby-Paisley no more."

  Althea squatted down next to him and set her hands lovingly on the small expanse of shoulders so eager to take on the weight of the world. She loved him. He was the only thing in her world that mattered and she vowed she would protect him. Planting a kiss on the top of his head, she smiled down at him, her words careful but tender.

  "You're a very brave little boy and you're my Baby-Paisley," she told him. "You and me, we don't need any 'man of the house.'"

  "But Gwamma says—"


  Althea shook her head. "What Grandma says is what Grandma says," she told him firmly. "But what Mama says is the law."

  "Yes, ma'am," the little boy answered, clearly disappointed but accepting the truth when he heard it.

  She tousled his sandy blond curls. "They'll be plenty of time for you to be a man, Baby-Paisley," she said. "You're only three years old, you know."

  "Three and a half," he corrected her boastfully.

  She nodded in agreement. "Still," she said. "Three and a half is not too old for a boy to let Mama carry him if his legs get tired."

  "I not tired, Mama," he insisted.

  Althea smiled proudly at her young son. "Why don't you hold my hand at least," she suggested.

  Baby-Paisley was thoughtful for a long minute; finally, he nodded. "I'll hold your hand," he agreed. "So you woan get lost."

  The two began to make their way along the path, Althea deliberately kept her pace slow. She smiled down at the sturdy youngster by her side. He was, to her eyes, a living, breathing miracle. From that first awful day when he came squalling into the world he was an unending source of amazement to the woman who had given him birth.

  Who would have thought, Althea often mused, that two very ordinary people like herself and Paisley Winsloe would have created this perfect little human being, this bright, happy, wonderful child.

  Paisley Orville Winsloe was smart and strong and tender and funny. Being all that at age three, his mother could only ponder in amazement what an estimable man he might grow up to be. It was Althea Winsloe's sworn duty to see that he realized his possibilities.

  And she would do that, she swore silently to herself, without the interference of Beulah Winsloe or the Piggots or anyone else. Once more she silently seethed.

  The community of Marrying Stone, it seemed, had plans for her. Plans about what would be best for her and for Baby-Paisley. Plans about what would be best for her farm. Plans that Althea was very intent upon rejecting.

  "She cain't raise that boy without a father," Beulah had declared publicly whenever she'd been given half a chance. "My own dear Paisley has been dead half that child's life. It's time he had a man to look up to."

  The whole thing had come to a head last Friday night.

  Folks had gotten together for a Spelling Bee, but it had ended in a shouting match.

  Her mother-in-law spoke for the Winsloe clan. Granny Piggott, the oldest woman in the community, usually the keeper of what wisdom ever prevailed there, spoke for their neighbors.

  "Ever' child deserves a daddy," Granny stated with conviction. "Be he upstanding citizen or piss-poor ne'er-do- well, ever' child ought to have one."

  The folks on the mountain wholeheartedly agreed with her and most of them felt compelled somehow to offer, at least, some stupid opinion of their own.

  Althea did not remain a meek and biddable daughter-in-law through this debate.

  "I have no intention to remarry," she said over and over again.

  Granny Piggott snorted in disapproval. "Of course you'll marry again," she said. "It's just a matter of who it'll be. You can take your choice among my grandsons and

  nephews."

  Those were fighting words for Beulah Winsloe. "You're just wanting the Piggotts to get their hands on my boy's farm."

  "It ain't your boy's no more," Granny answered. "It belongs to the gal and the next feller she marries up with."

  Beulah didn't argue the former. It was the latter that stuck so painfully in the old woman's craw. "That's McNees ground and always has been," her mother-in-law stated flatly. "That place is got the best corn bottom in these parts. We'd never a-given it up if we'd known that our boy was fixin' to die young."

  Mrs. Winsloe made it sound as if somehow Paisley had betrayed his family when he'd choked on a fish bone.

  "It's land up for grabs," Granny stated.

  "It's McNees and Winsloe ground," Beulah snapped right back.

  "It's Baby-Paisley's!" Althea shouted, shushing the both of them. "It's my son's farm and I intend to keep it for him until he's old enough to tend it."

  "It needs tending now."

  Althea made every effort to remain calm. Breathing deeply, she recited the Golden Rule inside her head, a tried-and-true method for avoiding trouble.

  "Perhaps I'll put in a crop next spring," she said quietly.

  "You should not have ever let them fields go fallow." Beulah shook her finger at the young woman accusingly.

  "And there ain't no telling where you're a-going to get game this winter," Granny scolded. "Your man's gun is a-rusting and his dogs are going wild."

  "That's why she ought to marry up," Beulah said with conviction. "And she ought to be marrying up with a McNees."

  McNees was Beulah Winsloe's maiden name. It was also Althea's. Besides being in-laws they were also distant cousins. And like the Piggotts, the McNees family made up a considerable portion of all the inhabitants of the mountain.

  "Lord have mercy," Granny huffed. "Althea's a McNees herself. You don't want a gal marrying up too close with her kin."

  Beulah raised a haughty eyebrow. "You should know well about that. It's the Piggotts that brung feeblemindedness to the mountain."

  Granny's eyes narrowed, but she let the insult pass. "Who you gonna marry her up with, Beulah?" she asked. "The McNees ain't got no bachelors right now, 'cepting some babies and yer brother, Tom." Granny hooted as if she'd heard a good joke. "You gonna marry her up with that old man?"

  The fact that Tom McNees was a whole generation younger than Granny notwithstanding, Beulah's favorite brother was old enough to be Althea's father.

  "Tom'd make a good husband, if he were of a mind," Beulah defended. "But now that he's the new preacher, he has no time for farming anyway."

  "There is always time for farming," Granny answered with certainty. "It's just that when a man's been a bachelor for close to fifty years, like your brother Tom, well I don't suspect he'd be much of a bridegroom for a squirmy gal still full of hominy."

  Beulah drew herself to full height with fury. "Are you a-saying that my boy's widow is prone to rollix?"

  Granny raised her chin and pursed her mouth in disapproval. "Ain't saying nothing of the sort. She's just a young woman and a healthy one. And nain brittle when it comes to man tending. The Good Lord surely meant to give her a houseful of children to raise and it's time she get at it."

  "I don't need any more children," Althea declared adamantly as she stepped between the two women. "It's my life and my son is all the babies I want."

  "A woman always needs more children," Beulah insisted. "And don't you be a-telling me otherwise. I birthed six and done buried ever' one, your husband was the last. I got nary a one to comfort me in my old age."

  "I'm sorry for that," Althea told her. "But I don't think—"

  Beulah interrupted her. "You don't need to think, Althea. You're young and the young are too busy for thinking. I'm an old woman. I got time to ruminate and consider and I've figured out what's the best for all of us."

  "Mother Winsloe—"

  "Seems to me, Beulah," Granny stated, "that you oughter be thinking more about this here gal and less about that corn bottom you're so fond of."

  "Don't you be puttin' that sin on me, Granny," Beulah snapped. "It's you Piggotts that's got your greedy hands out."

  "It ain't greed to do right. This gal'll be wanting a young man. One that'll keep her warm of a cold night. One that tends toward a breeding nature. And I'll bet she likes fellers what are handsome. They ain't none finer-looking than the Piggotts, on this mountain or the next."

  The argument had gone on and on. Ruining the whole evening as far as Althea was concerned and accomplishing absolutely nothing. Only the lateness of the hour had finally broken up the confrontation. Althea had gratefully taken herself and her sleepy child home.

  She hoped that she'd heard the last of it for a while, but this morning at her mother-in-law's that had proved not to be the case.

  "I
've been thinking about what that old windbag Granny Piggott said the other night," Beulah told her.

  "I don't want to talk about this again," Althea answered sharply.

  "No, some of the things she said is true," Beulah said, nodding. "So I been studying and studying about it."

  "There is really no need—"

  "Course there's need!" Beulah interrupted. "You are a-goin' to wed, sure as the world. It's just a matter of who and when. The when needs to be soon. You'll need a man to take care of you come winter. My Orv cain't barely fend for the two of us. And as for the who . . ." Beulah stopped to shake her head. "Well, truth to tell, gal, I won't be havin' no stranger coming in and takin' over our land."

  "Mother Winsloe, I will never remarry. I'm willing to promise you that. I would never give Paisley's birthright to a stranger," Althea assured her.

  "Sure you won't, 'cause you don't have to," she said. "We got just the right feller for you here in the family."

  "What?"

  "I sent word over to my cousin, Eben Baxley."

  "Eben Baxley."

  "You remember him from your weddin' day, don't you?" she asked.

  Althea did remember. Paisley and his cousin had gotten so drunk together the night before that even by that afternoon the bridegroom could hardly stand up for the ceremony.

  "That Eben," her mother-in-law continued. "He's a fine, good-looking feller with a way with the ladies, or so it's said. Don't worry about that, of course. A wife can always turn that nature into attendin' to breeding."

  "Eben Baxley!"

  "I know what you're a-thinkin'," her mother-in-law assured her. "You're a-thinkin' that he likes the gals what's a bit younger and prettier than you. But don't ya give it a lick of worry. I been studyin' on it and I know that Eben sets a fine store by them dogs of Paisley's. A man'll do a lot of things to get himself a fine pack of hounds."

  "Ouch, Mama! You're squeezing my hand."

  Baby-Paisley's complaint brought Althea's thoughts back to the present. They had just come around the last bend in the trail. Before them was the Phillips Store and in the distance the Marrying Stone church and school.