beasts could change at the pull of a trigger. Just like Jack. She shivered and pulled her shawl around her shoulders in spite of the warmth of the autumn afternoon.
“Just take care when you get in with them. Shoo them over to the far side then push them into the smaller pen. You gotta show ’em who’s boss! Then you can get on with mucking out.” She offered a thin smile.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” Matt replied. He looked at the pen then at Blake. “We’re gonna get covered in shi…in muck.”
Blake wrinkled his nose. “Stinks to the heavens.”
Grace realised why they were hesitating. They probably only had the one set of clothes and didn’t fancy getting them dirty. Pig dirty.
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’re gonna remove a few garments. Spare the washing.”
Grace didn’t trust herself to speak. Remove their clothes…in her yard…in the daytime?
Her heart thundered like a steam train as she watched them take off their shirts then remove their trousers. When they stood before her in their union suits and boots, she managed to shut her mouth. She should walk away, leave them to it. She knew that. So why couldn’t she move her feet?
Her eyes were drawn by an irresistible force to their groins. Like a wanton, she sought out the tell-tale bulges of their manhood and wondered how they would appear naked.
She had been alone too long. But she had never seen a man other than Jack undressed before. And every time he had divested himself of his garments, she had retreated into herself, shivered with terror. She had known what came next. But this…it was different. She was not in the direct path of danger. These men were merely removing their clothing to clean out the hogs. So, it gave her a sense of unwonted freedom to sneak a peek at them. To satisfy her curiosity. And even in their union suits, they were pleasing to regard.
“Come on then, Blake! Let’s get this done.” Matt took hold of a broom that Grace had left near the pen and opened the gate. Once Blake had followed him in, he closed it behind them.
They padded gingerly across the space, trying not to slip in the manure and rotting vegetation.
“I’ll let you guys get on then. I’ve a lot to do,” Grace called to them as she forced herself to walk away. She wanted to stay and watch them, to see how they dealt with the hogs. And…just to watch them.
She was lonely. Even though they were strangers, even though they’d just arrived and she had no idea how long they would stay, it was good just to have folks around. She’d been alone for so long. Of course, it hadn’t been two months since she’d buried Jack, but even when he’d been around, she had always been alone.
Seeing Matt and Blake, their masculine presence around the small farm, lifted her. In spite of her fear and suspicion of every other human being that crossed her path, she was gladdened that they had arrived today. She couldn’t quite understand it, but it raised her spirits higher than they had been in a long time. The young men were so full of life. They were so cheerful, so real. It had been a long time since Grace had felt real. Or alive. She just went through the motions every day. She got up early, did her chores, worked all day, ate what food she could force down then collapsed into bed at night before going through the same routine again.
She didn’t live. She existed. And being around other people made that painfully clear to her.
Jack had caused a lot of damage. She had stayed, so she could not blame him entirely. But marriage was meant to be until death. She had taken her vows seriously. To her own detriment. And where would she have gone if she had left him?
Now she was finally free. And she had no idea what the hell she was going to do next.
****
“Mrs Holbein?”
Grace looked up from the chicken she was plucking on the small pine table. The cabin door swung slowly open.
“Mrs Holbein?”
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked through the small living space to the open door. She poked her head out into the twilight.
“Evening, ma’am.” It was Blake.
“Mr Donohue!” Grace exclaimed, lifting a hand to shield her nose. She eyed him from above her fingers. He was brown from head to toe.
“Excuse the stench, ma’am.” He hung his head. “We uh…it didn’t go too well.”
Grace lowered her hand. “The hogs?” The animals were valuable and she couldn’t afford to lose them. She’d fatten the older piglets over the winter then sell some of them on in the spring. It would keep her going through the following year. Some she would slaughter…well, maybe only one this year as it was just her.
But to lose them would be a travesty. It was a loss she couldn’t afford.
Blake raised a dirty hand. “It’s okay, Mrs Holbein. Hogs are fine. We’ve cleared the pen and put down fresh straw. The fence was a bit worn in one area so we’ve repaired that too. Don’t want those valuable hogs escaping. But uh…when we let them back through they got a bit excited and uh…”
Grace started to laugh.
She couldn’t help it. It began deep in her belly and erupted from her mouth like a mountain spring. It sounded strange, hoarse, as if she hadn’t laughed in a long, long time. Blake joined in, the pig poop on his face cracking as he grinned. Grace doubled over and held her stomach, laughing until she was convinced she would faint. The hogs had knocked him over in the pen and by the state of him, trampled him into the ground. Well, serve him right. She’d warned them to be careful.
When she could finally catch her breath, she wiped her eyes and stood up straight.
“What about Mr Huntley? They get him too?”
Blake laughed. “He’s in the same state as me.”
She cleared her throat and breathed slowly, trying to suppress the laughter that the thought of Matt’s misfortune had conjured.
“There’s water in the barrel round the side of the barn. You can wash in that. I’ll bring you some rags to use as cloths.”
“Be mighty grateful for that, ma’am,” Blake replied.
As he walked gingerly away, Grace watched from the doorway. Even covered in muck, he was a fine figure of a man. His clammy union suit clung to his lean frame like a second skin. His shoulders were broad and strong, his waist was slim. She moved her eyes lower and her stomach flipped. His behind was rounded and firm, like two watermelon halves which moved up and down as he walked. He was gorgeous.
An unfamiliar warmth flooded her body. It started in her chest and travelled up her throat and into her head. Her cheeks glowed with its presence. Simultaneously, it moved down, tickling her stomach and curling like knowing fingers at the apex of her thighs. It made her want to follow Blake, to continue to watch him walking. And more. It made her think of what he would be like without his muck-covered clothing. Totally naked. Would the hair on his body be as black as that on his head?
She shook her head and dragged herself from the stoop. What was wrong with her? Was it because she had been so recently widowed that she had turned into…into what she could only think of as a wanton woman? Was this the female weakness that the preacher spoke of and that Jack had claimed he would beat out of her? If so, then they had been right. Her husband was barely cold and she was already allowing lust to take over her thoughts, her body and to lead her mind into wicked imaginings.
But as she moved through the room and rifled through a wooden chest at the far corner, searching for something to tear into cloths, she realised that she was not convinced. If these feelings were wicked then why did they feel so good? If it was wrong to appreciate a man’s form, then why make it so fine?
She was all churned up and confused. When she had been with Jack, at first, she had felt some stirrings but being married to him had soon obliterated any