Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

place. A woman who could think quick like this one was a dangerous thing. But the longer he stood close to her, the more certain he was that this was one danger he wanted to embrace. He steadied himself for patience. With a mind like hers, she would soon see that her options with him were none. He gave her a slow nod to make sure his meaning had registered before he turned and headed for the gray.
    “I’ll be back tonight,” Alex repeated as he reached for the reins. Behind him, he heard her fight a grunt in her throat.
    “I thank you kindly, suh, but no.”
    Did the wench say no? Why, even his wife had never hinted at refusing him. Not that he cared enough to press his case with Eula Mae. He turned back toward the woman, damning the hardening in his pants. Her eyes never left the dirty and scuffed toes of her own shoes. He took a step toward her. He could order this woman to do anything he wanted. Alex knew it and she knew it. He could have her on her knees with his manhood in her mouth within one minute if he wanted. Alex took another step closer and fumbled louder than he needed with his belt buckle. Though she fought hard to conceal it, he saw her cringe as she heard the rough, scraping sound of leather against metal.
    Alex stepped close enough to brush her stomach with the leather end of his belt. He dropped it just below her belly button and let it slowly search for the outline of her drawers. He could feel his lungs searching for more air, but only by a close look at her chest could he see the woman flinch. Her eyes remained on the ground, her breasts poked full against the thin, much-washed fabric of her shirt. Alex suspected she hadn’t taken a breath in many long seconds. He wanted to throw her to the ground and hike her skirt to her hips. He wanted to feel for the drawers he was certain weren’t there. He moved his chest against her breast.
    “Suh,” her voice was no more than a whisper as she tried to push the cooling biscuit pan between herself and Alex, “my husban’ would like to know if you would consider just one mo’ thing.”
    The eyes were still respectfully down, but she had just turned the key that she knew would push him back, if even for an instant. This woman had more smarts than any colored needed. She was worth far more than a quick roll around on the smoke house floor. The throbbing in his pants moved to his chest. He wanted this woman right now, but he thrilled at the excitement that would come when she fell into his arms all on her own.
    “Depends on what the one more thing is.” His breath brushed her ear, but she held both her body and eyes steady.
    “John Welles,” she drew the name out in the warming morning air as though her husband deserved all the respect of a preacher, black or white. “John Welles know he wronged you.” The eyes came up level with the lower part of the barn.
    Alex watched her chest rise and fall as she finally took in little gulps of air.
    “You been most generous to let us farm your land.” The eyes moved to the mid-planks of the barn as she eased her body slowly around toward him, the pan of biscuits sliding across his shirt.
    One breast brushed his chest as she pivoted. He laid his hand on her arm, stroked it from elbow to wrist, and flicked the pan of biscuits to the ground. He felt the recoil and quick recovery of her body.
    “Last year, you let us keep ’most half of what we brought in to you.” Without so much as a look at the fallen bread, she laid her now empty hand across her stomach like it was a metal shield.
    Alex dismissed the move and did quick mental calculations. Of the three thousand dollars brought in last year, technically the Welleses were entitled to forty percent according to the terms of their original deal.
    “Less advances I made to you, of course.” He blurted the words out as he watched her resume her slow turn until she faced him directly.
    Alex laid an arm back across the door frame. Her right shoulder touched his wrist. Her eyes stayed at pocket level.
    “That was most generous of you, suh.” The woman’s eyes lifted to his face with all the speed of a snail on a tomato vine. “This year, my husband would like to ask if you would take two out of every three parts of what we bring in to you?” She had succeeded in making her face resemble an innocent angel, but she hadn’t succeeded in masking her good sense.
    This woman could do figures in her head as good or better than Eula who had all of her eighth