Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 36

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Hiii. I got nothin'. lol Enjoy the chapter. ❤️

TWITTER: @styles_orama

*****

It means so much to me whenever I see
that 'wanting me' look in your eyes
I don't know how I could do without holding you close every night
I've waited so long just to have you to hold
Now that I've got you, I'll never let go

There's no way I could make it without you
There's no way that I'd even try
If I had to survive without you in my life
I know I wouldn't last a day, oh baby, there's no way
—Alabama

*****

HARRY:

I press my lips to her temple, to her cheek, and then her ear, breathin' in a combined scent of Frankie and rainwater. My tongue swipes her earlobe, and she whispers my name.

"I love you, Miss Frances Tomlinson." There. I'd said it. It felt good to say it. So good, I want to say it again.

So I do. "I love you. I love you. I love you." I whisper it into her hairline between kisses, and then my mouth finds hers.

*****

FRANKIE:

It would be real easy to get caught up in Harry's kisses and forget about everythin' else. Sometimes he kisses me and I can barely 'member my own name. His lips are soft and warm like clean linens that've been hangin' on the line dryin' in the warm sunshine. And his tongue. . . (Jesus please forgive me) — his tongue makes me wanna do things I never thought I'd wanna do before. I just wanna keep on kissin' til this storm blows over, but I know that ain't right. I've gotta tell him — tell him straight out — and if he loves me like he says he does, it shouldn't matter.

Hell, even if it does matter, I still have to tell him 'cause if I don't do it myself, that medicine man fella or Reverend Payne'll spill the beans anyway, and that'd be even worse. That's gotta be why the reverend's been sniffin' around here anyhow, right? But if he wanted to ruin me, why didn't he send a letter to Harry right after Mrs. Tomlinson died so he could refuse me at the station? Why wait until I was settled in to come and muck it all up?

Shit. I can't even fully enjoy Harry's kisses cause my brain is mullin' over all this mess. Maybe we'll die tonight in a tornado and I won't have to tell him anythin' at all.

Harry's kissin' my neck and runnin' his hands up my sides in that way where I can pretty much tell he's goin' for my bosoms next, which is my favoritest thing in all the world. When his hands cup my titties I'm tempted to lie back on this work table and let him have his way with me, but I feel Duke biting' and tuggin' at my skirt 'cause, well shit, is it past his supper? What was Harry cookin' in that pot on the stove? When did I eat last?

Since I am too busy doin' things I shouldn't be instead of stoppin' this hanky-panky to set things straight with Harry, I guess the Lord has decided to take matters into his own hands cause as soon as Harry has a good handful of my left bosom, my stomach lets out an awful loud rumble that could be heard even above the thunder outside! Heavens to Betsy!

Harry's bustin' a gut laughin' while I'm truly mortified. This is not ladylike behavior.

"Is that your way of tellin' me you're hungry?" He laughs at his own comment so much he snorts, and I push him away.

"Did ya bring me back here to starve me to death or what? And you're wantin' to marry me?" I stick my tongue out at him, which doesn't help things none cause Harry growls and pulls me back into him for more kissin', despite my half-ass attempts at refusal.

Somewhere mid-kiss, he starts laughin' again right up against my lips.

"What now?" I ask.

At this point, Harry's hee-hawin' so hard he can hardly speak and tears are eekin' out of the corners of his eyes. "I was wonderin' when you were gonna put a stop to things, cause Duke's been gnawin' at your skirts for the past five minutes. Judgin' from the looks of your hemline, the poor little guy must be starvin'."

I shove Harry back and take a look at myself and lo and behold if there isn't a chunk of petticoat missin' and Duke sittin' there all guilty lookin' with some white material pokin' out of the corner of his mouth. Dagblasted!

"You better just shush up and feed your little family before we starve to death, Mr. Styles." I duck away from him to see how much of my petticoat I can retreive from Duke's mouth. Maybe I can stitch it back on, otherwise it looks like I'll have to shorten it about three inches to even it out.

Conversation flows easy while we enjoy our stew and Duke gets several rabbit scraps Harry had set aside for his dinner.

"How long you think we'll have to stay down here, Harry?"

"Probably just the night, unless the house crashes down so we aren't able to open the cellar doors. Then we might have to wait until somebody comes to dig us out." Harry's voice is casual as he drags the mattress over to a corner and spreads a couple quilts over the top.

This revelation causes me to stop cleanin' up our dinner and to turn and face Harry. "Did you say 'dig us out?'"

"Uh - yep, but that's the worst possibility. Remember, we have both the outside cellar entrance as well as the one from the kitchen," Harry explains, walkin' my way. "Both would have to be covered for us to be stuck, and in all the years I been here, I ain't never seen a storm that bad."

I'm standin' there speechless and sorta motionless-like, so Harry takes the last dish from my hand, dries it, and puts it away. He continues, "Don't worry none about it, Frankie. I'll take care of us. You know that, right?"

"But . . . but . . . what if I have to go to the outhouse?" I almost whisper, havin' needed to go for the past hour.

"The outhouse?" Harry chuckles, "Whaddya think we brought down the empty bucket for?"

"I have to go in a bucket? In the cellar? With you here?" My knees weak, I take two shaky steps and sit in a chair by the work table.

"I have to go in the bucket too, Frankie. It'll probably only be for one night."

"That's nonsense, Harry. I'm going up the outhouse," I state, risin' to my feet. Pee in a bucket? In front of Harry? Over my dead body.

As soon as my foot hits the bottom step, Harry's hands easily span my waistline. "Frankie, Jesus. There is no way on God's green earth I'm lettin' you go up there and get blown away by this storm."

While I know it's a losin' battle, I refuse to give in without a fight. I struggle to hold tight to the ladder, but Harry pulls me off easier than a shuck on a corncob and slings me over his shoulder.

He marches my ass over to the mattress and plops me down with enough muscle to shake my hair loose from the twist it's in.

"Harry Styles, if you don't —"

"I will not argue with you, Frankie. I said NO. You are my responsibility now and I'm not gonna let you run off half-cocked just cause you're too prissy to piss in a goddamn bucket! What if somethin' were to happen to you?"

He stands there, looking down at me with his hands on his hips while I struggle to my feet under his watchful eye. It's as if his gaze weighs a hundred pounds, 'cause I can feel the pressure of it tryin' to keep me down. "I am not your responsibility, Harry! I am my own person and I will do as I goddamn please!"

When I'm finally upright and stable, I push my messy hair behind my ears with a huff. Then it's just me and him. In a staredown. There's a random mix of emotions bubblin' in my veins like moonshine in a still, and I just stand there lookin' into those big green eyes and waitin' for him to move outta my way. But he doesn't.

The corners of his pink lips turn up real molasses-slow like into a handsome devil of a smile, and he shakes his head.

"I'm gonna ask you once more, you ornery woman." He takes a step forward, then drops to his knee, taking my hand in a smoother motion that I'd have ever thought him capable. "Frankie Tomlinson, will you marry me?"