Honeybun in a Loin Cloth

CHAPTER ONE-2

“SHE’S A PORK CHOP WENCH.” Andy informed him, a grin creasing his wide face. “And a Molly.”

Godric grinned. “Pork chop wench?”

“Yeah.” Andy infused the single word with a chuckle, making Godric smile even wider. “One of the best we have from what I understand.” Andy’s small, brown eyes sparkled with mirth.

Godric took another shot at peeling the largest potato he’d ever seen with his tiny, over-sharp knife. His long fingers were already coated in tiny slits. A long arc of potato skin came away under the knife and he twirled it as he cut, carving the skin from the potato in one, long piece.

Andy stuffed another twig under the pot and picked up the wooden spoon, dragging it through the aromatic mix inside the heavy iron pot. He was a tall, large boned man who loved the out of doors but looked as if he never left his office. With his neatly cropped black hair, tidy shirt and jeans, and large hands sporting a couple of heavy gold rings, he looked funny bending over a rustic campfire. “She’s part African American, part Native American. She uses both personas flawlessly, dressing like an Indian and refusing to talk to customers, glaring at them like a resentful slave. People love it. It puts them right smack in the middle of the history they learned in school.”

Godric shook his head. “Is she really that angry?”

Andy shrugged. “How would I know?”

“You’ve never talked to her?” Godric was more than amazed at the possibility that his female-crazed friend would resist the temptation of a woman that beautiful when thrown together with her for four, long days.

Andy smiled, his large, white teeth vibrant against his dark chocolate colored skin. “I told you she doesn’t talk.”

Godric blinked. “Oh. I thought that was just an act for the paying customers.”

“Far as I can tell she’s never said a word to anybody.”

Godric cast an eye toward the small tent at the edge of the woods, no less than thirty yards away from all the other tents in the clearing. The low-slung structure was crafted of dark tan canvas and several long, straight branches, cut from supple young trees. It was built like a lean-to, with a wide door that she could cover with a flap of canvas at night. During the day she rolled the extra fabric back to rest on top of the structure, allowing air into the tight space.

His Indian princess was bent over her own cook pot, thoughtfully stirring it. His eyes slid over the well-rounded firmness of her posterior assets under the thin caftan. His memory fed him the unclothed view until he had to shift position on the log where he sat to address a growing problem low on his body.

“I don’t know, Andy. She just doesn’t look like a pork chop wench to me.”

His friend’s low chuckle rumbled after him as Godric stood up and started toward the woman. “Good luck, man.”

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