Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43)

by Jacquie Rogers

  Quill scanned the camp until he found Mercy, who sat on a log with some of the others. He couldn't tell what she was doing but he sure wanted to hold her close. “That would depend on whether she wants to do the job.”

  “I’m guessing she will. Best you go ask her.”

  Whip groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “You could bring me some whiskey first. Lots of it.”

  “You go on, Quill. I’ll get the coffin varnish,” Ike said. “I’ll share it with Whip, too, on account of me and him bein’ such good friends and all.”

  “Good of you to be so neighborly.” Whip scowled at his old saddle partner.

  “I’ll let you two work that out.” Quill headed off to talk to Jake. Maybe she knew of another cook.

  Half an hour later, not one soul in camp knew of a cook other than Mercy, so he had no choice but to ask her.

  She stood and gazed straight into his soul. “Are you sure you want me?” Of course he wanted her, but what a man wanted and what he could have were two different things. She looked so sincere, he could’ve kicked himself for keeping her at arm’s length. But that was exactly where he had to keep her.

  “If you could help out for a few days, I’d sure appreciate it. Whip can’t do much but he can sit there and tell you how to do anything you don’t already know. I’m sure Uncle Ike would be right there giving you bad advice, too.”

  “I’m more than happy to help out, of course.” She pushed up her sleeves. “I’ll get to washing the dishes right now.”

  “Thanks.” He couldn’t help but brush a red lock from her cheek. Her hair was so inviting, he wanted to run his fingers through it, but stepped back and cleared his throat. “I’ll send Homer and Teddy to help you out with the heavy lifting. Maybe Henry, too, if I can find her.”

  “No doubt I’ll have something for them to do. If Whip’s feeling all right, maybe he could tell me what he planned for tomorrow and I can get a head start on it.”

  Plans. Quill had one—to stay away from fire. And Mercy was the hottest fire he’d ever seen.

  * * *

  They’d done it! Mercy hugged both Ike and Whip, but then she stepped back. “I didn’t hurt your arm, did I?”

  “Naw, there ain’t a thing wrong with it other than old age. We just made up that story.”

  “It wasn’t a stretch,” Ike said. “Whip’s dislocated his shoulder a few times and Quill knows it.”

  “And I did tip over the dishwater, so we didn’t lie.”

  She laughed. “I guess you’d better give me a sourdough lesson. We use regular yeast back home.”

  The weather straightened up and the roundup camp buzzed with activity for the next week. Mercy had never worked so hard in all her life, but she had fun. Lobo liked to play tug-of-war and often ran off with her dishtowels in hopes for a good game. Generally, one of the cowhands would retrieve it for her, usually after a merry chase.

  Each dawn brought the fresh smell of sagebrush and the promise of a wonderful day. She could hardly wait to get started with the morning meal, for she knew the cowhands appreciated her food and her smile, too.

  And she always tried to think of something different, such as one flapjack in the shape of a cat—whoever got it was awarded an extra dessert at supper—or other sorts of games. The men teased her about such silliness, but they were always disappointed if she didn’t do something special.

  She treasured all the compliments, and she made friends with several of the crew. Jake’s boys, Homer and Teddy, helped her a lot on the days they were in camp. The girl, Henry, stayed out on the range most of the time, taking after her adoptive mother.

  If only Quill would come around more often. She only saw him when he was standing in line, plate in hand, waiting for his turn to be served. More often than not, he served her back with a look that melted her right down to her toes, but she tried not to let anyone, especially him, see how he affected her.

  The day before they planned to pack up and go home, Sully stood in line just ahead of Quill. As she dished a good-size hunk of roast beef onto his plate, he said, “How long are you going to wait around for the boss, anyway? How about we get hitched when we get back to Henderson Flats?”

  Quill growled, but didn’t react other than that, which disheartened Mercy just a bit. “As long as it takes.” Then when he put his plate out, she gave him a double portion. “For good measure.” She smiled.

  Quill didn’t.

  Later, once the kettles were washed and she’d put everything away, Ike shuffled over, holding his back, which more than likely pained him. “Sully’s right. If my boneheaded nephews won’t see that you’re the best woman in the state, one of them other men will. You’re free to marry anyone you want—you know I’d never hold you to a contract.”

  “I signed it.”

  “So did I, but you didn’t get what you came for and I don’t have it to offer. So I’m offering you the choice of sticking around—you can stay in your rooms at the Circle ID as long as you want, for I like having you there—or I’ll give you the money for a train ticket to wherever you want to go. But I hope you stay.”

  “I love the Circle ID and especially the rooms you let me stay in. If it’s all right with you, I’d just as soon give this a little more time. Maybe I’ll set up a business in town, as Jake advised. If my sister has bad luck with her groom, that would be especially wise. And in that case, maybe she could stay with me until we’re able to make enough money to rent a room in Henderson.”

  “You’re welcome to use the sewing machine, and to take it with you if you go. We ain’t got no use for it and my Dora would’ve wanted you to have it.”

  “Oh, thanks!” She gave Ike a hug, and for once, she wasn’t the one who blushed.

  Whip joined them, and wiped a smudge of flour off her cheek. “I don’t s’pose you’re gonna give me one of those hugs.”

  “You bet I am!” One bear hug later, she said, “Thanks so much for fixing things so I could stay.”

  “Woman, if I get thanked for setting on my butt, that’s a good day. I’ll be sending my pay your way since you did all my work.”

  “You needn’t do that.”

  “Speaking of needin’, if that knucklehead doesn’t come around, you’re gonna need a few dollars, and you earned your keep. So I’m paying. Whether you use it or bury it in the backyard, ain’t none of my business.”

  “I’m not a quitter.”

  “You sure got that right. Ain’t a man here who don’t admire your grit.”

  Mercy was in a quandary. The very sight of Quill made her heart flutter, and she’d grown to love him. Not that she knew much about loving a man, but she did know that she ached to be near him.

  “He avoids me even when it involves going out of his way to do it. Does that mean he has feelings for me but won’t admit it?” She thought so.

  “Sure as shootin’,” Ike said.

  “No doubt about it,” Whip added.

  Then Jake joined the group. “Good havin’ you here, Mercy. You’re a piece of work.” She grinned, whacked Mercy on the arm, and headed for the remuda.

  “There you go,” Whip said. “Everyone thinks so—except Quill.”

  “Quill what?” Harper asked as he walked up.

  “We all think Quill’s got a soft place for Mercy,” Ike said.

  “That’s a fact.” Harper laughed and sneaked a peek across camp at his cousin. “She’s got that poor cuss in a terrible tangle.”

  “Thank you, everyone.” Considering the love she had for Quill, surely he returned at least a modicum of those feelings. “I’ll be finishing my packing now.”

  “That’s her secret code for ‘Get out of my way,’ so we better get to gettin’.” Ike chuckled as he hobbled away, hauling Whip along with him. Harper and Jake had already wandered off.

  If only Quill could figure out her secret code...

  Chapter 17

  Sully and Mercy chattered happily on the ride home, and Quill had to hold down his mad. For two cent
s, he’d knock that waddie off his horse. Quill’s irritation was just another indicator of his own weakness for Mercy, even though he knew no woman had ever stayed around. But maybe she would.

  Or maybe she’d wait until she had his heart lassoed—maybe even after a kid or two—and then she’d leave. That’d be a fine mess, raising two kids on his own, and the whole works. Uncle Ike had done it without complaint. He loved his Dora, and no other woman had ever turned his head.

  Quill had a gut feeling that the same could be said about himself. He hated that weakness, but hadn’t been able to shake it off. If anything, he’d come to love Mercy a little more each day. He wouldn’t admit it to a soul, though.

  Jake rode up beside him—didn’t say anything, just rode. That was fine, because he wasn’t in a talking mood.

  After a mile or two, he wanted her opinion but he didn’t have any idea how to go about getting it without letting on.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Mercy seems to have taken a liking to Sully.” Which stuck in his craw, but he didn’t mention that part.

  Jake shrugged. “That little gal seems to like everyone.” She pulled up. “Hang on. I gotta change Scamp’s drawers.”

  Instead of riding on, he stayed with Jake. “And everyone seems to like her.”

  “That’s right. Including you.”

  “I like her just fine.” More than fine. He wanted her in every way, and he wanted her something fierce.

  “Good,” Jake said, “on account of I can see a bunch of little redheads raisin’ hell around the Circle ID.”

  “No, you don’t. I ain’t marrying anyone. Not me.”

  “You’re a fool, then.”

  “Yep, a fool bachelor—till the day I die.”

  “Seems like a sorry thing, to be alone your whole danged life.” Jake buttoned up Scamp’s nightgown and wrapped him in his blanket. “I don’t envy you one bit.”

  “I’m not alone. There’s Uncle Ike—”

  “He’s getting on in years.”

  “And Harp—”

  “That boy’ll be married in no time, mark my words. Women draw him like a gnat to a fresh cowpie. Then he’ll have his own young ’uns to take care of and won’t pay you no two hoots nor a holler.”

  “And the hired hands—”

  “Until they ride on.” Jake puffed her cheeks and blew out. “Quill, ain’t nothing better than knowing you have someone special waiting for you after a hard day’s work. And women don’t come much more special than Mercy. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.” She rode off and joined the Bar EL outfit.

  Quill hadn’t been this balled up since his mother dumped him off at the Circle ID when he was eleven years old.

  * * *

  Mercy rode Jake’s bay gelding alongside the wagon. “Are we close to home?” she asked Ike, who sat on the wagon with Whip.

  “Yep, just a few more miles. Whip, gimme another snort of that rotgut,” Ike said. “My rheumatiz is paining me something awful.”

  “Might you oughtta stay home next roundup.” Whip handed the bottle to Ike, who took a good long pull.

  “Same with you, old man.”

  “Been thinking about that,” Whip said. “I expect Ray Fletcher would make a right good camp cook this fall.”

  “How about me?” Mercy asked. “I know how now.”

  “You done a good job, too,” Whip said. “Long as you got someone to fetch and carry for you, bein’s you’re such a little thing. The men sure liked your little treats.”

  “Think Quill would let me cook this fall?”

  “Ain’t Quill’s decision. He runs the spring roundup—Jake runs the fall roundup.”

  Mercy grinned, because she knew without a doubt that Jake would say yes. “I’ll ask her, then.”

  Less than an hour later, they rode into the barnyard. Mercy slid off her saddle, tired to the bone. She could’ve kissed the ground, she was so happy to be back. Her legs felt bowed and her back ached. She led her horse to the barn nearest the tack room and wrapped the reins around the hitching rail.

  “Go on in the house, Mercy,” Quill said. “I’ll take care of your horse for you.”

  She wasn’t about to argue. “Thank you!” She gave him a hug, then realized her error and sprang back. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  Chastising herself for her forwardness, she made for the house, embarrassed to even look back at him. With luck, Ray had the water on to heat, for she needed a bath in the worst way. A bath and a comfortable bed. But it was great to be back—she loved the Circle ID. And one particular man who lived there.

  Ray did have hot water—he carried two buckets and she carried one upstairs. The second he left, she peeled off her clothes, threw some rose petals in the tub, and stepped into the hot bath. After two weeks of spit baths, it was the most wonderful moment of her life. She scrubbed her hair twice, rinsed it, and conditioned with vinegar and egg white. Once that was rinsed, her water was cold and she got out.

  Refreshed, she resolved to do whatever it took to make Quill love her as much as she loved him. Starting with supper.

  She pulled her bangs back but let the rest of her hair fall loose, since she’d always received more compliments on her hair than anything else. Might as well use every weapon in her arsenal. With a few nips and tucks, she lowered the neckline of her green calico dress, thankful that she’d learned to sew fast and well.

  When nearly time for supper, she laced up her corset and gave it an extra tug. A thinner waist would emphasize her bosom and bustle. But it took her extra time and several hard tugs because she hadn’t worn a corset during the roundup, and she had a devil of a time getting it laced tightly enough. When she finally did, she couldn’t get a deep breath, but that would right itself soon.

  After subtly darkening her lashes just a bit, she headed for the kitchen with her best tablecloth and napkins onto which Patience had embroidered hearts. She’d help Ray set the table and such.

  By the time she got down the stairs, her air was gone and instead of prettying up the table, she had to sit a minute.

  “You look purty as a sunflower. What you got there?” Ray asked.

  “My best linens. I thought Quill might like a nice table setting after roughing it at the roundup the last few weeks.”

  Ray looked skeptical. “Suit yourself. I’ll leave the food on the stove until you’re ready.”

  “Do I have time to mix up a batch of cookies?” Her brothers loved cookies and men were just overgrown boys, so she reckoned they’d all enjoy a sweet treat. Quill wouldn’t forget this meal for a long, long time if she had anything to do with it.

  “Nope, but I have a pie in the oven, so your man won’t have to go without dessert. How about I take my meal to my room—say I’m ailing or some such—and you can serve up?”

  “Or better yet, I can invite Quill to the parlor and we can eat alone there.” Her face flushed hot. “He’s, um, not my man. Yet.”

  “He is—he just don’t know it. Yet.” Ray dried off his hands and tossed the towel onto his shoulder. “Dora bought a walnut table for the parlor—that’ll do for two. Take your linens in there and I’ll help you get it situated.”

  “Do you think Ike will mind? I don’t think the parlor’s been used for years.”

  “He won’t mind a bit. In fact, I think he’d like it. Now, let’s get busy.”

  * * *

  Quill gave his horse a thorough rub down, a job that didn’t occupy his mind enough to get thoughts of Mercy out. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Whether she left him or not, he had to take the risk. After supper, he’d get her alone and propose marriage.

  The thought made his palms sweat, but the vision of that red hair cascading over her naked body enticed him more—and her sunshine smile. He’d always remember her beautiful smile, so bright that it made everyone, including him, happy just being near her.

  Yep, he had to do it. Tonight.

  When the dinner bell rang, he tossed the brushes into the box and took off his sh
irt, then doused himself good in the horse trough, even though it was a mite cold. He took a relatively clean shirt out of his saddlebags and put it on. It wasn’t much better so he finger-combed his hair, and went in the house.

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” he told Ray. “Got some hot water?”

  Ray didn’t look up from frying the steaks, just pointed at the stove’s reservoir. “Get a bucket.”

  Ike and Harp sat at the table, but he didn’t see Mercy, which was just as well until he changed into some sweeter-smelling clothes. Upstairs in his room, he stripped bare and washed as well as he could, brushed his teeth, and shaved. He put on his town clothes, bein’s they were the only clean ones he had.

  His stomach rumbled by the time he got ready. Downstairs, Ray hadn’t put a plate at his spot on the table.

  “You’re eating in the parlor tonight,” Uncle Ike said. “With Mercy. And don’t you put up a fuss. She went to a lot of trouble.”

  Good, then maybe she wouldn’t say no to his proposal.

  “All right,” Quill said to his uncle, and headed straight to the room he hadn’t set foot in over a dozen times since he’d lived in the house. It felt strange going in, especially since he knew what they all wanted—what he wanted.

  “Hello, Quill.” Mercy wore the same pretty blue dress she’d worn at the party, her red hair loose, floating over her shoulders. So touchable, yet not, because she wasn’t his. But maybe she would be. “Have a seat at the table. Ray said he’d bring in our food, but I have coffee here for us.”

  “I have something to ask you first.”

  “All right.”

  “Um, maybe we better sit down. You can pour us some of that coffee.” As she poured, he said, “You sure look pretty tonight.”

  “Thanks. It’s the only nice dress I have, and after the roundup, I thought it would be nice to dress up.”

  That disappointed him, for he’d hoped she’d worn it just for him. “Same here.” Maybe he shouldn’t propose. “Now that you’ve seen the cattle operation, what do you think of it?”