by Leigh Tudor
She turned her head to look out her window. “I think Number Two, who was aptly named as he was a real shit, excuse my language, enjoyed chasing us. I mean, like it turned him on or something. Loren convinced Halstead that he was wasting money on them. That they didn’t have anything to teach us anymore. Joke was on us as he brought in bigger, meaner ex-soldiers. But at least they didn’t hold our bloody faces in the dirt while rubbing themselves against us.”
Trevor gripped the steering wheel so tight he thought it might break from the pent-up anger he felt for what she had endured in that hellhole. Loren couldn’t have been much older than fifteen and Mercy fourteen when their combat training began. It didn’t escape him that if it weren’t for her, his own daughter might have suffered the same hellish upbringing.
Continuing her meanderings, she added, “Don’t tell Pastor Roberts,” Trevor figured that was the blue-haired lady’s husband, “but there are some people in this world who don’t deserve to breathe.”
“Who doesn’t deserve to breathe, Mercy?” he asked, staring outside the window, waiting to hear the list of those that physically hurt her body, robbed her innocence and damaged her soul. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to be the one to avenge her. And cut off their air supply.
From a practical standpoint he knew he was no longer in the business. He was a dad now. And a business owner. But he would do this for Mercy. Somehow, someway, he would make sure everyone on that list paid the hefty price of causing this woman a single ounce of pain.
She chuckled but it came off as more sad than lighthearted. “We couldn’t get through them all in one night.”
And then as if a rogue ray of sunshine invaded her body she perked up. “Let’s go home and drink more champagne. Do some more naughty fake fiancé stuff.”
She was looking up at him with such innocent enthusiasm, all he wanted to do was lean down to kiss that mouth.
Dear God.
She was drunk and she was adorable and she was killing him.
Trevor took a deep breath. “The champagne is gone and I think it’s bedtime for you.”
“Noooo,” she whined, and then as if inspired, sat up and turned to him with wide eyes. “I know, let’s go on an adventure!” She sucked in. “Did you know that one time Loren had to walk across hot coals for me? We were trying to locate a smuggler when I stumbled upon this remote tribe in eastern Mongolia.”
She pulled at her lips in deep concentration as if trying to recall the details and he used the opportunity to drive out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“We got separated by a herd of wild mountain goats. Not the cute ones on YouTube that frolic around in toddler pajamas and look so freakin cute. Nope, these were big, mean cusses with curly horns. I managed to parkour my way out of that hot mess, but then got captured by a band of tribal hunters. One of them decided I was their soul mate. Or was it mating partner? You know the story, love at first sight, just because I did a backflip off a huge boulder, blah blah blah. So, the Grand Poobah of the tribe made Loren walk over a hot bed of coals to get me back . . .
“Do you know, she didn’t get a single blister? Said it had something to do with physics, some physical property . . . thermal conducive . . . conductivity, something like that. But then, they wanted her to stay. Offered to set her up in her own yurt and everything, but she graciously declined. She’s cool like that.”
By now they were home, and he opened her car door and helped her up the steps inside the house and to his bedroom.
“Did I ever tell you about the time we got ambushed by pirates off the coast of Somalia?”
He sat her on the bed and removed her shoes. “Let’s save that one for later.”
“Okay, but you gotta remind me to tell you about the earring that came off . . .” She yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers. “. . . attached to an ear.”
He pulled the covers over her. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
“One more thing,” she said, her eyes barely open. “If you made a pass at me, I’d never hurt you.”
He smiled. “Appreciate that. But just so you know, I was trained in hand-to-hand combat as well. I think I could hold my own.”
He turned off the lamp and made his way to the door, when he heard her say, just above a whisper, “But did you have to train every day as if your sister’s life depended on it?”
Wincing at the heartfelt admission, he contemplated a life where he was forced to fight to ensure Amber’s safety. The thought of waking up each morning knowing you had to give one-hundred-percent or else your sister would be the one to pay, made his chest burn and his blood boil.
He closed the door to his bedroom and crept into Nate’s empty bed.
He tossed and turned. And then gave up trying to get comfortable and stared at the ceiling with his head resting on his arm.
What would it be like to give this mercurial woman a life without the daily adrenaline rush of fear or harboring monumental expectations? To be the one to hand her a future where she never had to wait for the next shoe to drop.
Dear God.
Where was that heat-seeking sliver of light coming from?
Mercy moaned and managed to open one eye and found the glinting culprit. Cosmic flashes of light, bright enough to sear a person’s eyeballs, penetrating through the open slit of the curtains.
If only she could summon someone to come into the room and staple them together. Or maybe super-glue them.
Where was Nate? He would do it with acute proficiency and a smile on his face.
Except, she was too nauseous to call out his name.
And . . . he was staying the night at Levi’s.
Second thought, it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to see her like this. As sick as she was.
She prayed to Pastor Robert’s benevolent God and pushed herself up onto her elbow, her palm boring into the one eye where she had lost vision. Maybe that was being a little over-dramatic. But a severe case of macular degeneration wasn’t out of the question.
To her relief, her vision returned after cautiously opening her eyes, but then her head began to pound as if someone were stabbing an ice pick in the area of her brain that had just recovered from a far less painful bout of E. coli.
Suddenly a hairy arm came into her line of vision and set a glass of water on the nightstand beside her. And then, a large hand, attached to that same hairy arm, laid two ibuprofen next to it.
“I’m too incapacitated to turn my head to identify who you are, but suffice it to say I will sell all my worldly possessions to properly thank you for this.”
“As far as I can tell, you have no worldly possessions. But, okay.”
Ah, she knew that voice. She wanted to smile but it would hurt too much.
That yummy voice said, “Drink your water. Take the ibuprofen and then I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Just coffee.” She choked, the thought of eggs causing bile to crawl up her throat.
“We’ll see how you feel. Maybe some toast?”
Twenty minutes later she didn’t feel as much as death warmed over, as barely alive but willing to rally.
Today she was moving her, Madame’s and Cara’s things out of Levi’s house, or Marybell’s—although she was never there— and into the farmhouse. And Madame was going to unveil the kitchen renovation
Pulling on a man’s cotton robe she hobbled her way into the kitchen toward the coffee-bean aroma, making a beeline to the coffee pot.
After adding all of her creamers and sweeteners, and then doubling them, she sat at the table and took her first sip of her coffee.
Her terribly sexy fake fiancé sat next to her, his hair in perfect waves and sporting a smug grin on his shaved face.
He probably smelled of cool, minty mouthwash, whereas, prior to brushing her teeth, hers reeked of moldy dog hair that had somehow made it into her mouth last night.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his lip upturned to one side, bringing the coffee c
up to his mouth.
Effing cup.
“Never better. Let’s go spar in the backyard.”
“I’d rather talk about what happened last night.”
“What do you mean. I went to Lucky’s and was over-served. End of story.”
“I’m not sure Gus would agree.” Trevor said sitting back in his chair wearing a white T-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. “But I was talking about what happened before you hightailed it to Lucky’s.”
“Again, not a big deal. You wanted to have sex and I turned you down. End of story.”
“Okay. That’s another interesting take on what happened last night. Because what I remember is trying to find out what you liked in the bedroom, you overreacting and leaving.”
“Yeah. I can totally see how those two perceptions contradict.” She reached for the piece of toast that suddenly seemed more palatable than the discussion they were having.
“You know what I think?” he asked, taking another drink of his coffee.
“What?” she replied, trying not to watch his lips.
“I think we need to have an honest discussion about who we are to one another.”
Her neck began to heat and then rose to her cheeks. “We’re two people pretending to be engaged. And when you receive the signed documents awarding you fostership-guardianship, whatever you call it, of Nate and Marleigh, we’ll stage a breakup.”
“What if I’m not interested in “staging a breakup?”
“Trust me, you’ll be ready. It’s inevitable. I’ll lose patience and then lose my charm and you’ll lose interest.”
“I don’t see myself losing interest any time soon.”
“Just give it time.”
She set her cup down sensing she needed to reassert her position.
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings Trevor, but I have a list of must-haves for the future Mr. Mercy Ingalls. And I’m afraid you’re just not it.”
Holding his cup in his lap, he gave her a half grin. “Ah yes, the list. Okay, what’s number one on this elusive list of yours?”
She hedged, “I’m not sure you want to hear . . .”
“Oh, but I do. What’s number one on your list, Mercy?”
She rolled her eyes, “He has to have a boring job.”
“Owning a hardware store sound titillating to you?”
“But you used to work for a super-secret-spy organization. Don’t act like that career hasn’t helped form your character.”
“That was my past life. No longer applies. Number two.”
“He has to come home every night.” She held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say. Again, you traveled extensively in your so-called past life. Who’s to say you won’t get bored with running a hardware store in a sleepy prairie town and wish you could go back to spy stuff?”
“Isn’t the same true of you?”
“What do you mean? You think I want to go back to the exciting world of being controlled and coerced by a mad scientist?”
“You traveled the world. Experienced places and cultures people would only dream of seeing. Maybe you’ll become bored with a man with a boring job coming home to his three kids every night.”
“I never want to go back to that life. There’s something to be said for slow and boring.”
“I agree,” he said with a smug nod.
“Okay, I see what you did there,” she said. “But what about all those women you’ve been with. One day, you’ll miss dating tall, cultured women with straight blond hair and no tits—excuse me—breasts, or hips.”
“You mean, a model?”
“Model, gastronomically impaired waif. Call it whatever you want.”
“What about you? What about the man in south India who wanted you for his bride after seeing you do backflips over goats?”
She grimaced. “I told you about that?”
“You did.”
She rubbed her forehead. You’re jealous of a Mongolian hunter wearing a flannel dress and beads, asking me if I wanted to check out his yurt? Seriously?”
“Are you really jealous of a gastronomically impaired waif?”
“Quit using my words against me,” she huffed. “Why can’t you accept that I’m just not that into you?” She blinked. “There. I said it.” She plopped her empty cup on the table to add emphasis to her lie.
He held up both hands as if in mock surrender. “That’s truly how you feel?”
“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ as she raised one eyebrow.
He stood, smoldering down at her, her face inches from the waistband of his pajama pants. He stretched, on effing purpose, his shirt trailing up to reveal a flat stomach and those two denty things on each side. Those indentations promising a ridiculously fit body and pointing toward first prize.
As if she needed directions.
She swallowed, holding back the urge to hook her fingers into the flannel and unveiling what had to be, an impressive package.
She bit her lip to hold back a whimper.
Her eyes moved upward, and caught his knowing glower as he tipped her chin with his fingers. “Fair enough. Eat your toast and I’ll take you home.”
The new kitchen was a dream.
Like one you’d see on Pinterest.
“You got sparkly countertops!” she said with her hands at her mouth.
Levi responded on behalf of a modest Madame. “They’re quartz. And the rest is new as well, new cabinets, appliances and tile flooring.”
That’s when she noticed the window. It was gone. Moved to the other side of the kitchen.
Instead of overlooking the miles of grassy marshes, it was now on the wall next to the door. Providing a view of the trellis and newly planted cherry blossom trees.
She would never have to look out the window while doing dishes and be reminded of the marshes in the distance. The tall, calmly wavering grasses that hid the sniper who had waited patiently to kill Vlad.
Instead, where the window used to be, there were more cabinets with glass fronts and all new plates and bowls and drinking glasses. Fancy ones that would break if you dropped them.
Mercy ran into Madame’s arms, speechless at the care and compassion she used as she redesigned a kitchen that before, held only bad memories.
Cara and Ally dragged into the kitchen and fell into one of the new rattan-wrapped chairs. “All the luggage is inside.”
Trevor trailed from behind the two girls. “Don’t let them fool you. I brought the luggage in while they sat on the front steps and watched the kids play in the front yard.”
“We were babysitting,” Cara quipped.
And then chaos.
Nate ran into the kitchen as Haley and Marleigh chased after him. He laughed holding one of the chairs in front of him, and then, seeing Cara, grew serious and stood straight as stick. “Okay, okay. That’s enough. You don’t want to break anything in Mercy and Cara’s new kitchen now do you?”
Mercy watched with amusement as Nate’s eyes darted toward Cara to determine if she were impressed with his mature scoldings.
Cara gave him a quick disinterested glance and he took the opportunity to say, “Kids. Amiright?”
“Yeah,” she said with what looked to be dismissive confusion. She turned to her sister with a smile and contagious enthusiasm. “Mercy, isn’t the kitchen awesome? Won’t Loren love it?”
“Sure she will,” Mercy replied, she turned to Madame. “When is she coming home anyway. It can’t be much longer.”
But Madame seemed distracted by her shoes while Levi stared out the window. “Madame?” She pushed, dread pinging her in the back of the neck. “What’s going on with Loren? Is she okay?” She lowered her shoulders in disappointment. “Are they making her stay longer? How many effing statements, does she have to give before she can come home?”
Madame, looked up and pasted a smile on her face. This couldn’t be good. Fake-smile Madame Garmond was not good at all. “Loren has made other living arrangements.”
&n
bsp; Mercy grabbed the back of the chair in front of her as Levi began to scuttle the children out the kitchen door.
She was speechless.
Cara helped her out by asking, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Madame said with an inclination of her coiffed head, “She’s decided to live outside of Wilder.”
Mercy’s head jerked back. “No,” she said, “That can’t be true. Loren would never do that.”
Madame did the old head-tilt-pity-thing and Mercy’s heart sank. “Where, where is she going to live?”
“She found a place in Newberry.” Madame said.
“Newberry? That’s like thirty minutes away and the people who live there are all perverts and degenerates. Just ask Becky Waterman.”
Mercy glanced at Trevor, who seemed somehow guilty and not all surprised.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Did you know?” she asked, her voice rising.
He cleared his throat and crossed his arms with a nod.
“You knew?” She said with a quivering voice. “For how long?”
He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “A week and a half?”
Cara’s hands went to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t she want to live with us anymore?”
Madame took a breath. “Her decision had nothing to do with you or your sister. She felt like she needed a change. She promised to visit every Sunday and holidays.”
Mercy eyes narrowed. “Madame, how long have you known?”
Madame shook her head, “She told me last night.”
“When does she move to . . . Newberry?”
Trevor answered, “She’s there.”
“And no one thought to tell me?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Trevor and Madame looked at one another as if afraid to respond.
Mercy pursed her lips as Cara sat back in her chair as if dazed. Mercy turned toward Trevor.
“And you said nothing,” she said with a tight chuckle. “You led me to believe she was coming home . . . for what reason? So, I’d be sure to help you with the social worker? Didn’t want to take a chance of your pretend fiancée falling apart and not showing up for the big house tour?” She lashed out. “Didn’t take you long to go back to your old habits, did it? Your past life. A life of keeping secrets and telling lies to reach your end goal.”