Hunter Wilson hadn't seen many women in his life who could look him right in the eye without standing on tiptoe, and none that would actually get right in his face and dare him to contradict her. It didn't matter if Mercy Spenser wanted to sing hymns to him. Just to look at her beautiful face would even be worth singing them with her . . . in another place or time. But it was clear he wouldn't ever be invited to her choir practice, so why in the hell did he feel such a magnetic pull to her? It would probably be easier to try to talk the habit off a nun as to try to talk sense to the hellcat staring him right in the eye without blinking.
"Then go sing, sweetheart," Hunter said, sticky-sweetly. "And if I can hear the faintest peep through those walls," he nodded toward the left, "I'll turn the volume up so high you'll wonder if you've gone deaf."
"You, sir, are despicable," Mercy said, without stepping back an inch. "Have you no reverence for God?"
"Of course, I do." Hunter smiled, showing off perfect white teeth, except for an eyetooth which overlapped the one beside it just slightly. "I've got a deal with Him. I don't sell beer in His building and He don't expect me to sing "Amazing Grace" when I pour a shot of tequila in here."
"You . . . you . . ." She stomped her foot on the wood floor and bottles rattled behind the bar. She drew back her hand but before she could slap him he had it in a vise grip. The sensations from his strong clutch made her weak in the knees and angry at the same time.
"Sister Mercy, you must learn to control your temper," he said in mock seriousness. "I don't think they allow wrath up in heaven. Now, get on back to your mission of righteousness, and keep the noise down, darlin'." He released her arm and stepped back out of her reach.
"Go to hell!" Mercy sputtered.
"Not if you're going to be there," he threw back over his shoulder.
The men howled with laughter just as she reached the doors and Mercy blushed from the end of her toenails all the way up to the top of her head. She didn't see Hunter turn abruptly from the bar and put his hand up to quiet them, and she didn't hear him speak in Spanish telling them to keep the jukebox turned just high enough so they couldn't hear the music next door.
Hunter Wilson hadn't wanted to go to Mexico for two weeks. He didn't mind running the cantina for his friend, Mickey, but he would have preferred to go in the middle of the winter. However, Mickey's bride had her heart set on a full-fledged Mexican wedding right smack in the middle of the summer, followed by a honeymoon in Alaska! Since he couldn't talk Mickey into letting him be the third wheel on the honeymoon, here he was in the hottest, noisiest place on the whole earth pouring tequila and beer—while his best friend from college spent two weeks in Alaska.
It had all been rather routine until this minute. He was the bartender and short order cook from just after five o'clock until well past midnight. Then he slept until noon, read a good book through the hot afternoon, and opened the bar again. Hunter didn't know just what forces dropped that gorgeous blond Amazon on his front porch, but he would sure like to thank them. That was the most fun he'd had in years, and he'd remember to tell Mickey about if that wandering fellow ever came home. He wouldn't put it past his best friend to send him a telegram, telling him to shut down the cantina and fly to Alaska to help him build a twelve-room igloo.
He dried a dozen shot glasses, polishing them until they shined and wishing Sister Mercy would come busting back in for another round. His hands itched to turn the jukebox up as far as it would go again, but he'd probably teased the Almighty enough with his ribald remarks for one night. And he was just too damn big and slow to dodge lightning bolts at the ripe old age of thirty.
Hunter sighed deeply. It had been a long, long time since the feel of a woman's wrist had caused him to catch his breath.
Mercy hurried through two more hymns expecting to hear the blast of the jukebox any minute, then cut the singing short with a quick devotional before she dismissed the kids. Her hands shook with anger and something else she didn't even want to think about when she held the song book. That sorry rascal next door, making her swear when she was down here with a church group trying to do good for mankind. Forget about stars in her eternal crown! If she had to see that egotistical fool every day she was here, when she took her last breath on this earth all she'd have waiting would be a pasteboard crown covered with tinfoil.
"So did you get over your snit?" Jenny asked late that evening when she and Kyle came back from the seminar they were conducting. She unbuttoned her shirt and turned her back to Mercy as she slipped out of her bra and threw a cotton knit nightgown over her head.
"I guess so," Mercy said. "That fool next door at Sancho's Cantina turned up the jukebox and I had to go over there and fight with him. But I needed a good fight tonight, so I guess it was all right."
"You mean Mickey?" Jenny asked.
"Who?" Mercy looked at her quizzically.
"Mickey owns Sancho's. He usually keeps things pretty quiet until after church services. He's a little short fellow with a receding hair line. Built a lot like Kyle. Kinda overweight, but a real teddy bear." She smiled dreamily.
"That's not who I locked up horns with. This fellow looked like he belonged on a movie set. Lord, he was good-looking. . . ."
"Don't use the Savior's name in vain." Jenny wiggled her finger self-righteously under her nose. "Guess Mickey sold out. Now let's kneel beside the bed and say our prayers." Jenny dropped down on her knees and looked up, expecting to see her friend do the same.
"I'm about to fall asleep," Mercy yawned. "This heat fries a person. I'll pray double tomorrow night."
"Mercy!"
"Oh, all right," Mercy laughed. "I already said prayers while you were out. I was just kidding." She crossed her fingers behind her back and flopped down on the narrow cot. Just three more days and she could load her little suitcase on the bus and go home to Oklahoma. Three more nights of this unbearable heat and no water fit to drink . . . and suddenly she had an overwhelming craving for just one shot of the tequila that good-looking hunk of a man was pouring.
I'd better seriously think about dating old Brent when we get back, she thought. Kyle and Jenny's friend might not look like the fellow in the cantina, he might not make her blood boil in anger and desire, but she could be sure she wouldn't need a stiff drink after a rousting good fight with him, either.
CHAPTER TWO
Mercy slung the hangers forcefully from one end of the rod to the other in her closet. Of all the places she didn't want to be tonight, it was sitting across the table from Brent and watching his hungry eyes look her over as if she were a medium rare T-bone steak. She pulled out a sleeveless denim mini-dress and held it up to her . . . no, not in a million years. It showed at least half an inch of healthy cleavage.
"You're not wearing that!" Jenny opened the door without knocking and stopped in her tracks.
That sealed it! Mercy decided on the spot she would wear the dress and hoped it would cause Jenny to have a case of vapors. She took it off the hanger and slipped it up from the bottom, over her rounded hips.
When Jenny saw Mercy slip into the dress and fasten the top buttons, she pursed her lips in the way that let Mercy know there was a guilt trip on the way. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere with you again if you ever wore that. I can't believe you even bought it. It looks like something a woman would walk the streets in, not wear to dinner with a respectable man."
"Yep, I am wearing it." Mercy shook her thick blond hair out of the clip on top of her head and let the mane fall past her shoulders. "It's cool. I don't have to wear a slip," she explained as she put on more makeup than she usually wore, sucking her cheeks in deeply to see just where to apply the blush.
"Why do you want to look like a hussy?" Jenny said prissily.
"Do I?" Mercy looked in the mirror at her roommate, trying to decide if Jenny was truly her friend or her worst enemy.
"This is an important night," Jenny snapped. "Kyle and I have decided to get married. We were going to tell you and Brent
about it at the same time."
"And what's that got to do with me looking like a hussy?" Mercy asked.
"You just don't get it," Jenny told her bluntly. "Since we got back from Mexico, you've been edgy, hateful and mean."
Mercy should have felt like someone kicked her in the chest, but she felt a sense of relief instead. "Well, thanks so much," she said and stifled a grin.
"Well, you are," Jenny retorted. "You used to be a good girl and now you've turned rebellious. Kyle noticed it, too. He's not even sure he wants you and Brent to double date with us tonight. I stood up for you and said that Brent would be good for you."
"Hey, don't do me any favors. I don't want to go out with Kyle's creepy friend anyway." Mercy turned sharply to face Jenny.
"What happened to you?" Jenny looked up to her. "We've lived together ever since we graduated from college, and you've never acted like this."
"What happened to me? Guess I'm getting tired of being run like a little toy train," Mercy told her. "It's been easier to just go along with whatever you wanted. Church three times a week, devotionals every morning before we left for work—"
"You hypocrite," Jenny shouted. "You never have been a true Christian!"
"Oh, Jenny, let's stop this fighting," Mercy said. "I'm glad you and Kyle have decided to get married. When's the date? Let's talk about a wedding, rather than the fact that we've grown apart. We can still be friends even if we don't agree on everything."
"Everything! We haven't agreed on anything lately," her friend sniffed loudly. "Anyway, Kyle and I decided to get married in two weeks. Just a simple little ceremony in my folks' back yard. We think a big hoopla is against our principles as missionaries," Jenny explained, but her brown eyes were still snapping and her jaw set in determination. "So you better find another roommate or else you'll have to pay the rent yourself."
"Where are you two going to live?"
"Mexico," Jenny almost sneered. "Where else? That's where we feel we've been called to start, and there's an opening for us right where we were this summer."
"If that's what will make you happy, then I'm glad for you." Mercy smiled honestly.
"Being with Kyle and helping him fulfill his dreams will make me happy. That's what any wife should do," Jenny said shortly. "Now wipe off half that makeup and let's go meet the fellows at the steak house."
"Okay," Mercy said. "I'm ready. We can meet the guys, but I'm not wiping any of my makeup off and I'm not changing my clothes. Like I said, we'll have to be friends in spite of our differences."
"I shall pray desperately for you," Jenny said with a self-righteous air.
"Thank you," Mercy laughed. "I'm sure I can use all the help I can get."
Kyle and Brent were waiting at a table for four, and Mercy breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't have to sit snuggled up beside him in a booth. At least they'd each have their own chair and space. She noticed Kyle's eyebrows raise a half an inch and Jenny shake her head in disgust. Something in Brent's eyes told Mercy he'd gladly ignore his religious convictions if she'd be willing to aid and abet in his sinning. His insolent gaze started at the toes of her leather thong sandals, and traveled up her long legs to the hem of the mini-dress, stopped a moment longer than necessary on the cleavage and up to her face. Mercy could have sworn his squishy mouth dropped further open with every inch of space he covered. She shivered just thinking about actually letting him put his arm around her shoulders later in the evening. If Brent thought he was planting even a chaste goodnight kiss anywhere on her face, he'd better think again.
"We've got wonderful news for you." Kyle discreetly patted Jenny's hand on the table top. "We've decided to get married in two weeks, and we've moving to Mexico."
"How exciting." Brent clapped his pudgy hands together like a toddler.
"And," Kyle said, and waited until a pregnant silence surrounded the table, "I want you to be my best man, Brent. We aren't having a big wedding. Just a small affair with Jenny's folks over in Madill. So I'll have just one attendant and so will Jenny."
Mercy waited, knowing what was coming next, and dreading it. That would mean she and Brent would be thrown together at all kinds of pre-wedding events for the next two weeks.
"And," Jenny smiled at Kyle, "I've asked our preacher's wife to be my matron of honor. I was going to ask you, Mercy, but you're so tall, and we're all so short, you'd look out of place. I would like you to sit at the guest book. When you're sitting down, you don't look so much like a giant," she giggled.
For just a split second, Mercy fought down a fit of anger. Then she realized that she didn't have to give bridal showers; she didn't have to help dress the bride; she didn't even have to look at the abominable Brent for two weeks. "Thank you!" Mercy smiled at Jenny. "That's a perfect job for a giant. I'll be there an hour before the wedding and I'll even buy a new dress in the right color."
Mercy avoided even looking toward the table where they were sitting as she breezed past the cash register. She'd managed to leave before dessert, thank goodness. She pushed the door open out into the hot summer night and didn't even think bad words when the sweltering heat hit her in the face. Anything was better than spending the rest of the evening trying to keep Brent's damp hands off her body. There would be a sleet storm in August in the middle of downtown Marietta before she ever let herself be put in the position of sitting beside him again. She was delighted she wouldn't be required to be at his side at the wedding reception. Maybe she could manage to sneak away before the reception even began.
"Excuse me!" A brick wall grabbed her arm and exclaimed when she ran smack dab into it.
"I'm so sorry," she said, startled. "I wasn't watching where I was going." She mumbled her excuse, then looked up into the same green eyes that had mesmerized her in Mexico several weeks before.
"Well, Sister Mercy, so we meet again." Hunter Wilson grinned but didn't let go of his loose grip on her arm.
"I told you, I'm not a nun," she snorted.
"That's right, you did," he said. "So what are you doing in Ardmore?"
"Eating a steak," she answered, wondering how in the hell Brent's touch on her leg could turn her stomach and this man's touch on her arm could make her melt with pleasure.
"Live here?" he asked.
"Nope." She pulled her arm away, sure that when she looked at it later it would be burned bright red from his contact.
"Well, nice seeing you again, Mercy." He tipped his Western-style straw hat and stepped around her to go inside the restaurant.
Hunter waited until she pulled out of the parking lot and headed west to hurry back to his shiny, black pickup truck. He caught sight of her little blue car as it took the ramp to catch Interstate 35 south and then hung back far enough he could just keep her in his sights as he followed her.
While he was still in Mexico, he'd done his best to find out where she was from. He'd asked the men in the cantina, and finally one of the men asked a teenager, who passed on the information that the church was based in Oklahoma. It took him four more days to find out it was in Ardmore, and by then that church group had moved on and a new one arrived.
There were no Mercy Spensers in the Ardmore phone directory. No M. Spensers, either, so that meant she lived in one of the outlying towns and attended church in the larger town. He'd driven up from Denton two weekends in a row and walked through the mall, but that proved useless. There was no guarantee she even lived around here. He gave up, figuring he'd never see her again, other than haunting his dreams almost every night.
Then there she was all of a sudden, plowing clumsily into him and he wasn't going to let her out of his sight until he at least knew a little more about her. She turned off the interstate highway by a ramp sign that indicated the town of Marietta, a couple of miles to the east. Mercy drove down Main Street, then whipped a left into a residential section, and pulled into a driveway in front of a small white frame house with red roses twining up the porch posts. She slammed the car door without even looking back t
o see Hunter sitting across the street in his truck, flipped the porch light off when she opened the door and disappeared into the house.
He watched the light filter through the curtains and out on the porch, but he didn't do what he wanted to do—which was to walk right up to the front door and ask her to answer a few questions. Did she feel an electric reaction when he touched her skin? Could she be as drawn to his green eyes as he was to her beautiful blue ones? And could he take her to dinner tomorrow night?
Instead, he drove back down Main Street until he reached a self-service gas station. He filled up the tank and went inside to make some inquiries as well as pay for his fuel.
"That'll be twenty dollars," the young man behind the register said.
Hunter pulled out a bill and handed it to him. "Know a girl named Mercy Spenser?"
"Sure," the kid said. "Why, are you kin to her?"
"Nope, just met her down at the mission in Mexico when she went with her church," Hunter said casually.
"Oh," the young man said. "She's lived here all her life. Her folks moved somewhere down in Texas a few years ago to be closer to their other two daughters, but she stayed here. Already had her own house by then anyway. Got a roommate, named . . . oh, damn, I can't ever remember that name. Self-righteous as hell. Always invitin' me to come to church when she comes in for gas and she acts like she invented the pearly gates, that girl does. Oh, yeah, Jenny Mathison! Knew I'd think of it if I kept talking."
Hunter didn't know he was holding his breath until the kid said, "Jenny." Good grief, he'd never given a boyfriend or husband a second thought until that very moment.
"You sure you ain't kin to Mercy?" The kid eyed him curiously. "You could be, tall as you are. Mercy is sure a tall girl," he added. "Pretty as a picture, but most fellows ain't interested in someone that big."
"Big?" Hunter smiled.
"Well, tall, then," the man said. "Who are you to her?"
"Just an old friend," Hunter lied glibly. "Haven't seen her since we were in Mexico. Know how she might be listed in the phonebook?"
Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 31