***
An hour later, Mercy knocked on the door. When Justin didn’t answer, she peeked in the window. He hadn’t been in the barn. His horse hadn’t been ridden, so that could only mean he was home, and after the night he’d had, she didn’t blame him. The lights were on inside, and being well versed in his habits, she knew he wasn’t sleeping. It was time to come clean. Her stomach twisted into knots thinking about it.
She’d intended to say something earlier, but he looked a little unsettled, and after what he’d gone through, she didn’t want to add to his stress by admitting she’d been hiding something from him. So she’d gone home and tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Last night had been ugly, and she really needed to talk to him about what happened, why that helicopter had come. She wanted him to hear it from her first, not find out when they came again—and they would. She’d told her former boss she’d found him. Even if she didn’t reveal his location, she was responsible. They’d ferreted him out.
If she wasn’t going to give them the story, they’d send someone else to get it. That’s why the news chopper had been here. Worse yet, the crew had recognized her. They didn’t say anything to Justin, but she’d seen it in their eyes. They’d wanted to.
She knocked again and tried the door. Unlocked. Mercy twisted the knob, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
“Get out,” a slurred voice said from the couch.
“Justin?”
“You’re not welcome.”
He knew. Her stomach churned. She had to explain. Apologize. God, this wasn’t happening. Mercy scooted around a side table and saw Justin sitting on the floor, propped against the couch, with a little more than three-quarters of the bottle of whiskey gone. An open magazine sat in his lap with her media picture, advertising the news for Cheyenne, staring up at him.
Shit, she’d forgotten about that. “I can explain.”
“This ought to be good.” He took another swig of the bottle. “Was this all I was to you? A fucking story? And to think I believed you didn’t rat me out. I actually didn’t even consider it.”
She shook her head. “No. You are more than a story to me.”
He took another draw from the bottle. “Right.”
“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“Yeah, easier if I didn’t know.”
“That’s not true. I was going to tell you.” The contents of her stomach rushed to the back of her throat, and Mercy fought the urge to vomit.
“Was that after you told everyone where I was?” He staggered to his feet, tipped his head back, lifting the whiskey to his lips. “Or when that news crew recognized you and you thought they’d out you?”
“You’re going to kill yourself.” She grabbed for the bottle and he ripped it away, flinging to into the fireplace, where it smashed to bits against the river rock in the back.
“Leave.” He turned and they were face to face, an inch between them. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and he stared her down with cold eyes. All the warmth she’d ever seen before had vanished.
Chapter Six
For this generation, ours, life is nuclear survival, liberty is human rights, the pursuit of happiness is a planet whose resources are devoted to the physical and spiritual nourishment of its inhabitants.
~Jimmy Carter.
“Please, just listen. I have something very important to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.” He stepped away from her and sank to the couch, burying his face in his hands. “How could you do this to me? I trusted you—cared about you.”
And she cared about him, more than she wanted to admit. Mercy bit her lip. It was probably better she go home and come back when he had a clear head, but something told her it wouldn’t matter. She’d screwed up royally this time, and there was no way to take it back or start over. If he would just give her a moment to explain. “I quit my job.”
He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “Good for you. Make sure you lock up behind you. Don’t need you people sneaking in while I sleep.” He got up, staggered into his bedroom, and slammed the door.
Mercy swallowed, fighting the tears. She opened her mouth, but he probably wouldn’t hear her anyway. She eyed his bedroom door, took a step toward it, and then stopped. No. Nothing she could say at this moment would change anything. The alcohol was talking. He’d be calm and open to discussion in the morning. Wouldn’t he?
Quietly, she let herself out.
***
For the next eight weeks, when Mercy wasn’t helping Gramps with the dogs or assisting the Cooperative, she’d sit in her room and work on her book. Justin had remained elusive since the night of the blowup, and she figured he needed some time to sort things out. He was either damn good at avoiding her, or doing his work at night when she slept. Every day that went by, her heart ached a bit more. When the eighth Sunday without him rolled around, she knew it couldn’t continue to go on. He’d had enough time. She made her excuses and skipped out of going to church.
Once Gramps left, she made her way to the barn. The sun was out, the day balmy. A ride would help her clear her head and give her time to find some courage. And then, she’d march up to the bunkhouse and stop his self-imposed exile.
Yeah, he’d made it clear he wanted nothing further to do with her, but like any other Evans woman that came before her, “no” wasn’t in her vocabulary. They had a lot to talk about. Yes, she’d made a mistake and should have been up front with him, but people made mistakes all the time and it wouldn’t be her first or last.
Sure, at first she wanted to do the story, but once she got to know him, she understood why he didn’t want the publicity and had respected it. She’d abandoned her plan and the only chance to save her career. All those decisions had been made before the helicopter crew crashed on the property. It should have counted for something. But it hadn’t. He continued to avoid her, and it had to stop.
She’d given him space but had become tired of waiting for him to regain his senses. Somebody had to take the proverbial bull by the horns, and so she would. Mercy led her mare from the barn and swung up in the saddle. If he said no, this would be the last time. She’d pack her bags and leave, go somewhere far away. Staying here would destroy the sanctuary he needed. She wouldn’t do that to him again, but neither could she remain here. She couldn’t turn off what she felt, that she was crazy in love with the man.
If he didn’t want her, fine. She’d walk away. But first, she’d fight. She’d fight harder, and dirtier, than she ever had, using every weapon in her arsenal. For once in her life she’d found love, and she wouldn’t walk away until all hope was gone.
Rain showers the night before had dampened the ground. The June sun heated the fields and the smell of clover and rain rose into the air—nature’s honey. A warm breeze brushed across her face like a whisper of romance. It would have been perfect with the exception of one thing. Justin wasn’t with her.
As she rode by a line of haystacks, she heard a soft snicker and glanced in the direction of the source. Beside her, on the other side of the stacks, almost riding parallel to her, was Justin. He stared ahead, as though deep in thought. From all appearances, he hadn’t noticed her yet. Mercy rode behind a stack and pulled up. Her heart pinged against her ribs, and her stomach twisted. Okay, sooner than later. Improvise. “You got this.” She nudged her mount forward and remerged into the open. What would she say?
His bay continued to plod along, now a few feet ahead of her and oblivious to the pursuit. She applied her heels to her mount and her paint picked up the pace. The sound of clopping hooves filled the air.
Justin twisted in the saddle and yanked back on the reins, coming to stop. His eyes widened before he narrowed them.
Mercy pulled up, stopping directly across from him, leaving only twenty feet between them. “We need to talk.”
“We’re done talking, Mercy.” He clucked his tongue and swatted his horse’s quarters with the r
eins. The gelding exploded forward, leaving clods of dirt behind it.
“Get back here!” So he wanted to run? Fine. Run. But this time she was the one who would skin the cat, and she wasn’t giving up until he heard what she had to say. Reporters were harder to shake than he presumed, and if he thought she was backing down from the best thing that ever happened to her, he had another thing coming. Meet the paparazzi, Sergeant Redway.
Mercy leaned forward, put her heels to her mare, and gave chase. One way or the other, the man was going to hear what she had to say.
She galloped alongside him, keeping pace with his quarter horse. He gave the bay his head and sank over its neck. Ahead, the fence drew closer. Neither slowed nor pulled back. All or nothing.
They charged at a barbed wire fence. He looked at her. She looked at him. Her horse’s front feet left the ground, then the rear, jumping in unison with Justin’s gelding, clearing the fence. “Stop!” They landed with oomph and continued to explode across the pasture.
“Get lost!”
Right. So they’d do this the hard way. Mercy tied her reins together and dropped them over the saddle horn. Next she pulled her left foot from the stirrup and slid her leg over the horn and withers until she sat sideways in the saddle. She maneuvered her mare closer.
He turned to look at her.
Mercy smiled and jumped, catching the skirt of Justin’s saddle, hanging off the side with all her strength.
“What the…?”
He yanked back on the reins. His horse’s haunches slid forward, kicking up debris. The gelding reared, dumping them both on the ground with a thud. When she looked up, all she could see was the south sides of their northbound mounts, headed back to the barn, through the open fence they hadn’t needed to jump. It would be a very long walk home. At least she wouldn’t have to do it alone. She giggled and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
“Have you lost your freaking mind, woman?” Justin jumped to his feet and used his hat to knock the dirt from his jeans.
“Only because you make me,” she yelled back, scrambling up, putting her hands on her hips. “Now you have no choice but to listen to me.” Five or six miles of no choice. Mercy eyed the tall rocks in the distance, a distinct feature of the north pasture. It was hard to believe they’d gone out as far as they had on their little chase. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d planned getting his attention, but at this point, she’d take it.
“Don’t bet on it.” He snorted, crammed his hat on his head, and walked away, following their horses’ route, his limp giving him a sexy swagger.
Chapter Seven
Let every nation know, whether it wishes well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and success of liberty.
~John F. Kennedy.
A common fixture on every Wyoming ranch was the windmill and horse tank. Granddad always filled his with goldfish to keep the mosquitoes and flies down. A thin coat of bright green moss floated on the surface of the mini ecosystem, as familiar a sight as its accessories.
Limp or not, the man could move. After a couple of miles of trying to keep up with Justin’s brisk pace, one step to her every two, Mercy needed a cool drink and break. He wasn’t going far, and if she had to run to catch up with him after she quenched her thirst, she would.
The water that poured out above the tank would taste clean and sweet, and her parched, overworked throat practically whimpered at the thought. She’d damn near talked herself silent and her dehydration wasn’t helping.
When she veered toward the tank, he followed. They still had a little over three miles to walk to get back. That was three miles of opportunity, and she wasn’t about to let them go to waste because her throat was too chafed to speak anymore. She’d talked his ear off for the last two miles, without so much as a grunt for a response. And it was about anything that came to mind, from the books he’d inspired her to write, to how the Wyoming foothills had two endangered species, wolves and grizzly bears that mostly stuck to the foothills and mountains, but had been seen recently around Evans Point because of the drought. Not that she wanted to see either without the rifle she’d had on her saddle for backup, but it was something interesting to talk about.
Nothing seemed to draw him into a conversation. She’d tried everything, including a detailed description of merchandise she’d received from her membership in lingerie-of-the-month club. When she’d mentioned the different styles of undergarments, he didn’t even look in her direction. She’d blurted out that she’d kissed a girl in college just to see what it was like, and then had done a news story for the college press, based on the art of kissing.
If she wasn’t mistaken, his shoulders had stiffened and he’d picked up the pace. She’d break him, but it was going to take some work, and it wasn’t going to happen without stopping and replenishing.
She reached the windmill first, and leaned down to drink out of the pipe like a person would drink from a garden hose. Cool. Heavenly. She splashed water on her face and took another sip of the icy water. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring at a coiled snake. As thick as her wrist, the bull snake looked intimidating, even if it wasn’t poisonous. Didn’t matter. She freaking hated snakes. Its tongue flicked in and out and it stared back with beady black eyes.
First, a full-body shiver as the creeps wiggled up her spine, and then she screamed, leaping for the only available safety net—Justin’s arms. Mercy wrapped all four limbs around him like a terrified cat. Her surprise launch took him off guard, and he stumbled back and caught the edge of the tank behind his knees. They both tumbled in. Water sloshed over the sides and she came back up, spitting and sputtering, with long strands of slimy tank moss clinging to her hair. Justin sat across from her, a hell of a lot less slimy.
And then he started chuckling.
“It’s not funny.” She swiped the green gunk off her head and flung it at him.
“No, it’s pretty funny.” He laughed harder and splashed her with water. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Only when I don’t have something to say.” She flung another strand of the nasty green scum at him, hitting him in the shoulder. “Bite me.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“No.”
Justin cocked a brow and reached into the water to retrieve his hat. Instead of his hat, he came up with a flapping fish and threw it at her, which would not have been a big deal if it hadn’t gone down the front of her blouse, which also wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t worn one of those special bras that pushed everything up and out.
She’d been in hunting mode when she’d put it on, undoing a few buttons on her top to show the exquisite lace that emphasized her curves, certainly not thinking the chase would end in a horse tank. The bra wasn’t made for these kinds of situations, and it created a convenient gap, wet shirt and all, to catch the nasty thing.
Panic. She rocketed to her feet, screeching and doing a full-body shake, while water poured from her body. She reached into the front of her button-up shirt and attempted to free the flailing fish from her designer bra. Every time she got hold of it, it slipped from her fingers. After several failed grasps, she finally extracted the slimy thing from her cleavage with a loud squeal, and dropped it into the water. Mercy locked gazes with the now-silent Justin. “And that, Mr. Redway, wasn’t funny, either.”
Justin burst into laughter, falling back into the water.
“Stop laughing, you big jerk!” Mercy waded over to him. “I’ve been trying to tell you I love you, and you’re ruining the moment.” She pushed on his chest and shoved him under.
His eyes widened as he sank. Mercy released him. Why had she blurted that out? He could probably care less. Her guts knotted again, and she swallowed as he sat up. He locked gazes with her, his face unreadable. Was he going to tell her to go to hell? Laugh in her face? What?
“Come here.” Justin grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to straddle hi
s lap.
“Are we done?” She turned her face away from his, unable to look him in the eyes as he broke her heart. She sucked in a staggered breath, doing her best not to start crying.
“No.” He tucked a wet strand of her hair behind her ear, hooked her jaw, and turned her back to face him. “You’re not scared to leap off a running horse, but you are terrified of a little bitty snake or goldfish? You talk about the most asinine things that no one could possibly tune out. Seriously, it’s like an oncoming train wreck. And just when I think I got you figured out, you go and blurt out something like that. Is it true?” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Do you love me?”
“I tried not to, but things didn’t exactly work out the way I planned. I’ve fallen in love with you, and I’m not ready to walk away. I need you to forgive me, Justin.”
“You love me.”
“Yes.”
His smile reached his eyes, warming her to her toes. He leaned in until their lips were an inch apart. “I’ve been a miserable bastard without you. I’ve missed you. I’ve avoided you, because yes, I was angry, but I also said some things when I drank that piss that I should have never said. I didn’t know if you’d let it go and I was scared to find out. I’m not a perfect man, Mercy. Far from it.”
“I don’t want a perfect man. I want you. Can we start over?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“My name is Mercy Evans.”
“And you have a collection from the panty of the month club, and you’ve kissed a girl.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Which by the way, I’m open to hearing more about. You’re pretty, tell wonderful stories, drive me crazy, have great legs, and I’ve fallen ass over heels in love with you—please don’t run.” He tightened his grip as though he was afraid she’d bolt. “I want to more than date you. I want you to move in with me, stay at the bunkhouse, be my girl.”
Finding Mercy Page 8