Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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Bevyn held his breath, tuned his hearing to their surroundings, but heard nothing.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“That’s because your snoring scared all the birds away,” she said in a stern tone.
He snorted and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “Funny,” he countered.
Getting to his feet, he put his hands to the small of his back and stretched, his backbone
cracking beneath the strain.
“I bet you’re hungry,” she said as she looked up at him.
“I am starved,” he told her, “but steer me away from any more sugar for the day,
will you?” He held his hand out to help her up.
“That would be best,” she said with a giggle.
Walking back to Cornelia’s house with their fingers entwined, Bevyn stopped and
looked around them, a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
It wasn’t that something was wrong per se, he thought, but that everything wasn’t
right either. He felt as though he were being watched and the feeling had settled
between his shoulder blades like a wet, slimy rag. He shifted his shoulders and the
feeling faded away.
“Nothing,” he said, but unease lingered in the depths of his golden eyes.
Supper was ready when they entered the black woman’s immaculately kept house.
Baked ham, corn on the cob, mixed greens with a tart vinegar and pepper sauce
sprinkled on them, sliced tomatoes and cornbread hit the spot and Bevyn consumed
two plates full of food before finally pushing back from the table, refusing a third glass
of cold milk.
“I’m stuffed,” he admitted, rubbing his flat belly.
“Won’t offer you none of my blueberry pie,” Cornelia said as she brought the
savory confection to the table and began cutting a piece for herself and Lea.
Bevyn licked his lips, for the aroma coming from the tart berries filled his nostrils
with sheer delight.
“No,” Lea said. She didn’t even glance his way.
“Most assuredly not,” Cornelia agreed as she handed Lea her slice of pie.
Bevyn sighed deeply like a man much put upon, but had to agree he didn’t need
any more sugar. He got up and left the women to their eating, though his mouth
watered to try just a forkful of the pie.
Lea found him on the back porch after she’d helped Cornelia clean the kitchen. His
hands were hooked around the support beam that ran the length of the construction
and he looked almost as though he were hanging there. He was staring intently at the
creek.
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Her Reaper’s Arms
“Is something wrong, milord?” she asked, sliding her arms around his waist and
laying her cheek on his broad back.
“Nothing I can put a name to,” he said. “Just a feeling, sweeting.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“That someone is keeping an eye on me,” he said. “I don’t care for the notion.”
He took his hands down and shifted so he could pull her into the safety of his arms,
putting his chin atop her head. The night air was a bit chill with just a hint of wind
wafting over the grass. They stood that way for a while until Lea yawned.
“Let’s go in,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
The Reaper’s hawklike gaze was still scanning his surroundings. He felt acutely
uncomfortable but could find nothing out of the ordinary that would cause the
sensation. As he escorted his lady inside, he felt keenly the weight of unfriendly eyes on
him and shifted the muscles of his back again to rid himself of the notion someone had
a bead right between his shoulder blades.
Climbing the stairs, they were a bit surprised to find Cornelia on the landing, her
arms crossed over her large chest. She nudged her chin toward a door on her right.
“That is your room, Lea,” the black woman said. “The one on the other side of mine
is yours, milord.”
Bevyn blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, his hand tensing around Lea’s.
Cornelia shook her head. “You two ain’t married and until you are, while you’re
under my roof, one of you won’t be living in sin.”
“But we’ve already…” he began, his voice sounding like a little boy’s who was
being denied his favorite toy.
“Won’t be no hanky-panky being done under my roof,” Cornelia said. She unfolded
her arms and shook a finger at Bevyn. “And I am a light sleeper, son, so don’t think
you’ll be sneaking into her room later on this evening. You hear?” She narrowed her
eyes. “Do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, and caught himself before he could kick at the carpet
with the toe of his boot in a show of his irritation.
“That goes for you too, Lea,” Cornelia said. “No trying to tippy-toe into his
bedroom.”
“No, ma’am,” Lea agreed. “I won’t.”
“So kiss her good night, son.”
It was a chaste kiss with a minimum amount of pressure applied, but the looks the
two exchanged could have set kindling afire. Bevyn watched his lady go into her room
and close the door before he let out a long, heartfelt sigh.
“This just isn’t right, Miss Cornelia,” he complained.
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“You’d best marry her if you want to sleep with her under
my
roof.” Cornelia
sniffed and went into her own room, trusting he’d do as he vowed and not go into Lea’s
room. She—like every one else—knew Reaper vows were always kept.
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Her Reaper’s Arms
Chapter Five
Lea wasn’t the least surprised to find Bevyn had been up long before sunrise and
had already eaten a hearty breakfast before she’d even turned over to find the sunshine
streaking through the window curtains.
“Reckon he went to gather up a work crew to start that house,” Cornelia laughed.
Sure enough, Lea found out her Reaper and the sheriff had ridden to the sawmill in
Clewiston with two buckboards to bring back lumber to begin the foundation.
“They can have the shell up in two weeks if the weather holds,” Cornelia told her.
“I’m thinking the weather darn well better hold for that boy!” She’d slapped a meaty
hand on her thigh, laughing.
After a small morning meal, the women had gone out on the back porch to shell
peas for lunch. Sitting on the swing, Lea could see men clearing the lot where the house
would be built. Trenches were being dug for the waterlines that would run from the
central water tower.
“That boy means business when he does something,” Cornelia observed. “A gal
could do worse to have a husband like that.”
Lea bit her lip as she looked at the black woman.
“Uh-oh,” Cornelia said, her plump hands lowering to the pan of peas. “I don’t like
that look. What kind of look is that supposed to be, child?”
Lea said nothing for a moment as she gathered her thoughts, wanting to say the
right words, needing the older woman to understand. At last, she lowered her head,
unable to look at Cornelia as she spoke.
“I don’t want to marry him, Miss Cornelia,” she said quietly.
Cornelia’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Why not?” she asked. “You know darn well he’s
a good man and even a blind fool can see the boy loves you.”
“It’s not that,” Lea said. She lifted her head, giving Cornelia a steady look. “I love
him with all my heart, Miss Cornelia. I fell in love with him that first night but I’m not
going to marry him.” She looked down at the peas in the porcelain pan. “I can’t marry.”
“Why not?” Cornelia demanded. She waited impatiently for the younger woman to
reply.
Lea cocked one shoulder. “You know what he is,” she said.
“Aye,” Cornelia stated, narrowing her eyes. “What of it?”
“There is something inside him that makes him what he is,” Lea said.
“I’ve heard tell it’s some kind of creature that gives him his powers. You afraid it
might jump out at you and say boo?”
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Lea’s lips stretched in a reluctant smile. “No,” she answered, and then the smile
wavered away. “But I don’t want it in me either.”
Cornelia was seated in her favorite rocking chair. She set the chair into motion, her
hands in the pan shelling peas. “Who says you have to have it in you to be married to
him?”
“Being married to a man means having to do whatever he tells you,” Lea said.
“He’d have the right to demand things I don’t want to do. He’d have the law on his
side.”
“Does he know you don’t want the creature?” Cornelia asked.
“I’ve said as much,” Lea answered.
“And he agreed that you didn’t have to have it ’less you wanted it?”
“We haven’t really talked about it, but I won’t ever accept having such a thing
inside me. If I marry him, he’d have the right to insist. I’ll live with him, be his mate, but
I won’t take the Joining vows with him,” Lea declared. She shrugged. “And he hasn’t
asked.”
“If you don’t take his hellion,” Cornelia said, showing she had more than a slight
notion of what was inside the Reaper, “you’ll die long before he does. Reapers mate
only once, girl, and it will be a long, lonely life for him after you’re gone.”
“I know,” Lea said, “but that can’t be helped. I won’t ever marry Bevyn Coure.”
“I can’t ask her to marry me,” Bevyn was saying at that exact moment as he and the
sheriff halted their buckboards so they could tighten down Buford’s load.
“There will be those who’ll look down on her for living with you outside the bonds
of matrimony,” the sheriff warned.
“They’d best not do so and let me know about it,” Bevyn snapped as he jerked on
the tiedown.
“That’s just human nature, milord,” Buford said. “Can’t keep folks from yapping
about what bothers them.” He took off his hat and blotted the sweat from his brow with
his bandana. “Why don’t you want to make an honest woman of the girl?”
Bevyn’s eyes flashed auric fire but he didn’t chastise the older man for his words.
He’d given Buford leave to talk to him as he would his own sons, but the man’s
question still rankled.
“She doesn’t want one of my parasites and if we were married, I might renege on
my promise not to give her one,” he growled.
“Is having one of them things in you so bad?” Buford asked.
“If you’d asked me that when it was first put in, I’d have said ‘aye’, but I’ve had a
long time to adjust it. It takes some getting used to, that’s for sure, but the benefits of the
relationship are such that I have come to accept the negatives like the need for tenerse
and to drink blood, transitioning to a wolf-like state four times a year or so.”
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Her Reaper’s Arms
Buford braced the undersides of his forearms on the wagon bed. “Can I ask what
kind of benefits there are, milord?”
“A long, healthy life for one,” Bevyn answered. He too took off his hat and armed
away the sweat. “Then there’s the strength of ten men, the ability to influence minds, to
speak to the Shadowlords though they’re thousands of miles away, the facility to
rearrange the molecules in the air to fashion clothing.”
Buford had no idea what a molecule was but didn’t want to annoy the Reaper by
asking. “Seems the benefits outweigh the negatives to me,” he commented. “Can’t see
why the girl wouldn’t jump at the chance to have all that.”
“I can’t either,” Bevyn said, “but it seems to frighten her so I’ll leave it like it is.”
They climbed up on their respective buckboards and set the horses into motion. It
was only a few miles more to Orson and the sun was already high, the day becoming a
sweltering distraction.
Lea and Cornelia had been joined by a half dozen other women who had prepared
lunch for the workers readying the building site. His lady was pouring iced tea for a
group of diggers, who were stripped to the waist, when Bevyn drove his wagon onto
the lot. She looked up, smiled at him, but then went on with what she was doing.
“Miss me?” he asked as he came over to her.
“I did,” she said, and was amazed that he would give her a kiss on her cheek in
front of everyone. She saw glances exchanged, for no doubt the others were as
surprised by his public show of affection as she was.
“Got any food left for me and Buford?” he asked.
“It’s just chicken salad sandwiches, veggies and fried sweet potato chips,” she told
him. “Will that be enough?”
“Sounds great to me,” he said. “Let me wash up.” He unbuckled his gun belt and
hung it and his hat on the wagon’s brake then headed for the water pump behind the
mercantile store.
Lea set about preparing him a plate while Cornelia made one up for the sheriff. She
watched him out of the corner of her eye as he splashed water from the big white
enameled basin, washed his hands and then dried them on a big towel. He and Buford
were talking and then the Reaper laughed, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now that is a content man,” Cornelia observed. “Don’t see that often in one of his
kind.”
Lea watched men and women greet her lover as he came striding toward her. She
saw him smile, nod his head in passing and stop to answer a question put to him by
Nate Bundy—the foreman of the work group. She saw amazement spread over Bundy’s
face when the Reaper slapped him casually on the back before walking away.
After downing five sandwiches and a fresh batch of sweet potato chips, an entire
bowl of tomatoes and several glasses of milk, Lea was shocked to see her man
unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off.