Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

the top button of his trousers when he heard her footsteps coming toward him. He watched the quilt slide back a few inches.
    “I thank you most kindly fo’ the food, suh. My little ones is tired from their long day. They’ll be asleep in a minute, but my Cleveland is in some pain.” Only her face showed through the quilt. Her eyes rested on the bottom of the windowsill next to Alex. “If it pleases you, suh, now that they’ve got some food in their bellies, I will have my children asleep right at dark tomorrow night. Would you care to come back then?” Her eyes sidled from the sill to the top of his head.
    Despite himself, Alex had to admire this woman. Here she was still trying to bargain with him when the deal was long closed. He reached for a small metal flask in his pants pocket. Unscrewing the cap, he leveled it toward her.
    “Give him this. It’ll cut the pain.” He didn’t bother to suppress the little smile that kept coming to his lips. His excitement for this woman was growing by the minute.
    “Suh?” She looked puzzled, confused.
    “It’s whiskey. Give him a tablespoon and take one for yourself.” Alex pushed the flask at her.
    “My babies don’t take no strong drink, suh, and neither do I.” Her eyes went directly to his own. Her head bobbed her no thanks.
    Alex’s smile broadened. “It will cut the pain. Give it to him.” Alex moved toward her. She took a half step backward, almost pulling down the quilt. He pressed the flask into her hand.
    Her eyes looked at him, wide apart. Alex smiled as he reached for the second button of his trousers. The woman stumbled away from the quilt. Alex nearly laughed out loud. Sitting on the corn husk mattress, he removed his boots.
    Thank goodness the living quarters were small enough for him to almost make out the sound of sleeping children despite the muffling of the quilt. Unlike adults, they didn’t snore and it was hard to figure out their sleep-breathing. He was certain the two youngest had been out for nearly twenty minutes and the middle boy’s—Doug was his name—asthma-wracked breathing showed that he had soon followed. Alex just wasn’t sure about the one the woman called Cleveland. He’d heard her administer the whiskey and the boy’s reaction to the burn as it went down his throat. That had been nearly fifteen minutes ago. Behind the quilt, Alex took off his shirt.
    Finally, he heard the woman stirring. He listened to her footsteps as she walked around the room and paused. He guessed she was making sure each child was asleep. He pulled his trousers over his feet. The woman’s footsteps slowed as she neared the quilt. She stopped right on the other side. He heard a long-drawn intake of breath as she eased herself around to his side of the blanket. Wearing only his summer drawers, Alex stood to greet her. Her hand went to the makeshift partition, almost pulling it down again. He steadied it as he pulled her toward him.
    “It’ll be cold tonight without that blanket.” The woman pointed to the askew quilt. “Sorry, suh, I don’t have another.” She held her crossed hands over her chest.
    Her gaze must have been on some faraway star she spotted out of the small window above the sleeping alcove, because they sure weren’t on him. She nodded toward the temporary wall.
    “If you want, it might be best to do this tomorrow. I can borrow a quilt from my Aunt Becky by then.” She couldn’t quite disguise the note of desperate hopefulness that fleshed out her words.
    Alex sucked in his lips to dampen his smile. She was running out of excuses, and Lord knows, she’d tried just about every one. Soon, she’d concede defeat and come to him willingly. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. She lowered her eyes.
    “What do they call you, woman?” He turned her chin to look at the planes of her face. Even with her wide-set eyes held nearly closed, he liked their look. But they came in second to those pouty lips. He ran his thumb from her lower lip to chin. Alex’s breath came in hot spurts.
    “Annalaura. Annalaura Welles. My husband is John Welles.”
    Just when he thought she was ready to give in to him on his own terms, she fired back with her little reminder. No husband foolish enough to leave such a woman was coming back tonight, and tonight was all he needed.
    “No, no. Anna was my momma’s name, and it ain’t my momma I want to think about tonight. I’ll call you Laura.” He pulled her closer, feeling