The morning sun climbed steadily over the rugged mesas, bathing the construction site in a warm, golden light that chased away the night's chill. Dust motes danced in the air as hammers rang out in rhythmic unison, the Hawthorne family and their Navajo hosts laboring side by side to raise another section of the sturdy home. This new wing would serve dual purpose: additional sleeping quarters for the growing brood and a modest worship space, where Elias could carve symbols of gratitude to the land's spirits, blending his eastern faith with the tribe's reverence for the earth and herd. Poles of mesquite and pine rose like sentinels, lashed tight with sinew, while walls of woven reed and mud plaster took shape under skilled hands.
Elias directed the heavier lifts, his broad shoulders straining as he hefted beams alongside Chief Many Horses and a cadre of warriors. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down to soak his shirt, but his grin never faded. 'This frame's solid as any I've built back east,' he called to Many Horses, who nodded approvingly, his weathered face creased in satisfaction. The chief's wives bustled nearby, mixing clay with water in wide troughs, their laughter mingling with the scrape of tools. Clara worked the plaster, her arms flexing as she slapped the mixture onto the frames, smoothing it with a wooden trowel. She caught Elias's eye across the site, a knowing wink passing between them—last night's passion still lingered in the ache of her thighs and the satisfied gleam in his gaze.
The younger Hawthornes pitched in with youthful vigor. Samuel and Thomas, sleeves rolled to their elbows, sanded rough edges on the door panels, their hands dusted white from the grit. They bantered with the Navajo boys from the feast, one of whom— the knife-flashing hunter-in-training—showed Samuel how to notch a beam for a perfect fit. 'Like this, twist the knife slow,' the boy instructed, and Samuel mimicked the motion, eyes alight with focus. Thomas, ever the tag-along, hauled smaller planks, his cheeks flushed from the effort, giggling when a splinter nicked his thumb and Clara fussed over it with a quick bandage.
Eliza toddled about the edges, her tiny hands clutching a stick she used to 'help' by poking at the dirt foundations, mimicking the adults. A Navajo girl from the doll-playing group scooped her up occasionally, setting her on a low stool to 'stir' a bucket of water, both dissolving into peals of laughter that cut through the din.
Maria, barefooted as always, knelt in the shade of a half-raised wall, her skirt tucked under her knees to keep the mud at bay. She carved intricate patterns into a wooden altar panel for the worship nook—swirling vines and horse silhouettes that echoed the tribe's motifs, her chisel dancing with precision born of years in her father's shop. The earth felt cool and grounding beneath her soles, toes flexing into the soft soil as she worked, a secret thrill humming through her from the night's memories. Taniel's massages, those warm kisses on her arches, the solid press of his back under her feet—it all replayed in flashes, making her shift slightly, a subtle warmth building between her legs.
Taniel appeared at her side like a shadow merging with the sun, his loincloth low on his hips, exposing the chiseled lines of his abs and the deep V dipping toward hidden strength. Shirtless, his skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat from hauling stones earlier, muscles coiling as he crouched to examine her carving. 'The lines flow like a stallion's gallop,' he murmured, his breath brushing her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand grazed her shoulder, thumb tracing a lazy circle that made her nipples tighten against her bodice.
She glanced up, freckles standing out against her sun-kissed cheeks, emerald eyes sparkling. 'Thought it'd honor your people's guardians. Horses watching over us all.' Her voice held a flirtatious lilt, emboldened by their new courtship pact. As he leaned closer to point out a flourish, his knee nudged her thigh, and she felt the heat radiating from him, stirring that pooled ache in her core.
Across the site, Clara wiped her hands on her apron and sidled up to her daughter during a water break. The women of the tribe had taken her under wing that morning, sharing tips on blending herbs for poultices, but now Clara drew Maria aside, voice low and conspiratorial. 'Heard from Many Horses' eldest wife about last night—the foot rites, the kiss. Smart boy, that Taniel. But courtship's a dance, love. Tease him slow; let him chase the full taste.' She squeezed Maria's hand, eyes twinkling with memories of her own seductions. 'Wear that gown again tonight, but loosen the ties. Show a glimpse, make him ache for more. And when he touches... guide his hands higher, but pull back just enough to keep the fire banked.'
Maria blushed, nodding as she absorbed the advice, her mind racing with images of Taniel's lips trailing past her toes, up her calves to where her thighs met. 'Mother, it's... exciting. But what if—'
Clara chuckled softly. 'You'll know when. Just breathe into it, like I do with your father.' She glanced at Elias, who was now demonstrating a joinery trick to Many Horses, the two men deep in discussion about alliances—whispers of formal betrothals weaving through their talk of timber and traditions.
By midday, the section stood proud: walls sealed, the altar nook framed with Maria's panel glowing in the light. The group paused for a shared meal—fresh tortillas wrapped around venison and greens—sprawled on blankets under the wide sky. Taniel sat close to Maria, their thighs brushing, his fingers occasionally 'accidentally' stroking her arm as he passed her a waterskin. She reciprocated by letting her foot trail along his calf under the blanket, toes curling against his skin in playful retaliation, drawing a low hum from his throat.
As the sun arced higher, work resumed with renewed energy, the worship space taking shape. Elias etched a simple cross intertwined with Navajo spirals into the altar's base, invoking blessings for harmony. Many Horses chanted a low invocation, his voice carrying over the site, inviting the spirits to bless the union of peoples. The family and tribe joined in a circle, hands linked, the air thick with a sense of belonging. Maria's heart swelled, her bare feet planted firm in the earth, Taniel's presence a steady anchor beside her.
Yet beneath the communal labor, private sparks flew. When Maria climbed a low ladder to affix a beam, Taniel steadied it from below, his gaze lingering on the curve of her ass as her skirt rode up slightly, revealing the freckled backs of her thighs. She felt his stare like a caress, her pussy clenching with fresh need, nipples pebbling in the breeze. Later, as she hammered a peg, he pressed against her back to guide her swing—his chest to her shoulders, the bulge of his semi-hard cock nestling against her hip for a heartbeat too long. 'Steady now,' he whispered, lips near her neck, and she nearly dropped the mallet, a soft gasp escaping.
The day waned with the structure nearly complete, exhaustion mingling with accomplishment. As shadows lengthened, the group dispersed to clean tools and share evening fires. Maria lingered, wiping clay from her feet with a rag, Taniel watching from afar with hungry eyes. Their courtship was blooming, root by root, promising deeper explorations under the stars.