"She ain't. That holy roller roommate of hers is the name in the book. Jenny Mathison. She rules the roost everywhere she goes."
"Thanks," Hunter said.
"Sure, thanks for the business. Help you, ma'am?" The kid turned to the woman waiting in line behind Hunter.
The phone rang and Mercy jumped. Lord, she hoped Jenny hadn't changed her mind and decided to bring Brent and Kyle back to the house for coffee and a movie. That's all she needed to top off a horrid evening—Brent, on the couch with his arm around her trying to let his hand drop to brush her breast. She shivered with disgust. If she didn't answer, Jenny might think Mercy had gotten sick and wrecked the car. Then they'd all be back here for sure.
On the third ring she picked it up. "Hello." She tried to sound like she was green around the gills and just three breaths away from dropping dead on the spot.
"Mercy Spenser?" a husky, sexy, very male voice said. If telemarketers were starting to sound like this, she might say yes to credit cards, vinyl siding and all the light bulbs she could use for a lifetime.
"Yes," she said, and a question mark appeared in the top of her head. She'd heard that voice before . . . but where?
"This is Hunter Wilson," he said and paused.
How wonderful, she thought. Who in the hell was Hunter Wilson?
"I'm the fellow you tried to knock down in front of the steak house a while ago." The caller chuckled, and every hair on her head felt like she'd just poked her fingers into a two-twenty electrical outlet.
"How did you get my phone number?" she snapped.
"It's in the phonebook, sweetheart," he said.
"No, it's most certainly not," she argued.
"It is under Jenny Mathison," Hunter answered, wondering why in the hell he was standing at a pay phone in the hot night air calling a woman who did nothing but rile his temper.
"What do you want?" Mercy asked bluntly, then wanted to bite her tongue off.
"I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow night," he said. "We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot in Mexico, but when you bumped into me tonight . . . well, I thought it might be nice to see you."
She didn't answer for so long he wondered if she'd hung up on him.
"Mercy?" he finally asked.
"Tell you what, Mr. Hunter Wilson. There's a church social tomorrow night. A fund raiser for our missionaries. It's a box supper. Ever been to one?" she asked.
"Nope," he said. "But I know what they are. The men bid on the supper brought in by the women and the top bidder gets to eat with the woman who's fried the chicken he purchases. Right?"
"Right," she said. "The church is just off the interstate near the Twelfth Street exit. That's where I'll be. If you want to have supper with me, buy the wicker basket with a pink bow."
"I'll be there," he said. "Good night, Miss Mercy. Sweet dreams."
CHAPTER THREE
One of the elderly men of the church slipped a folded twenty-dollar bill into Kyle's hand when he shook with him before the bidding began on the box suppers. "I intend to give you a run for your money, son," the man said teasingly. "I'm going to run that bidding up so high, we'll just see who gets to eat supper with Miss Jenny." He winked.
"I brought along my piggy bank." Kyle grinned and winked back.
"Who you going to eat with?" the man asked Brent.
"Why, I'm bidding on Mercy Spenser's basket. Took her out to dinner last night and I think she just might be the woman for me," Brent said with a big grin.
"Good luck," the older man said. "You might be bitin' off a good deal more than you can chew up, boy. That's a lot of woman."
"Yep, it sure is," a tall stranger said right behind them.
"Haven't met you, yet. I'm Milton Smith." The elderly man stuck out a thin hand.
"My pleasure—I'm Hunter Wilson." Hunter was amazed at the strength in the frail man's handshake. "So are we the first ones here tonight?"
"Yes, we are." Brent bristled for some unknown reason.
"When does the bidding begin?" Hunter asked.
"In about half an hour. The womenfolks will come trailin' in here in a few minutes. Auctioneer is supposed to be here soon. Don't recollect having seen you at church before now." Milton eyed Hunter seriously.
"Haven't been here before," Hunter said.
"So you just come to bid on the supper and eat with a particular young woman, did you?" Milton's old blue eyes twinkled.
"That's right," Hunter nodded.
"Who you tryin' to sit next to?" Milton asked.
"Oh, no." Hunter grinned. "You probably got a bank roll big as a hay bale in your pocket and you'll bid against me if you know beforehand. I'll just play my cards close to the heart, and not be giving out secrets."
"Smart man. Right smart man." Milton nodded appreciatively.
Mercy didn't have any idea what kind of vehicle Hunter Wilson drove. It might be that old Cadillac sitting under the shade tree at the side of the church—the one with the rusted hole in the hood and big fins on the tail end. Or it might be the big black pickup truck parked right out in the middle of the parking lot all alone. Probably it was some kind of medium sized car and it was in his driveway wherever it was he lived and she'd never hear from him again. If it wasn't for that crazy feeling she got when he'd touched her wrist in the cantina and when she bumped into him last night, she probably wouldn't even look at the man twice. Oh, sure, her honest inner self said, you can think that but you don't really believe it. He's so handsome, it takes your breath away, and besides you've dreamed about him so often you can see the sparkle in his green eyes, and the slight cleft in that strong chin when you shut your eyes, even now.
"Well, that don't mean nothing," she said out loud to no one in particular. "I dreamed about Clark Gable once after I saw Gone With The Wind on television. That doesn't mean he'll be here tonight bidding on my supper."
She just hoped that Brent hadn't brought enough money to eat with her tonight. She'd rather suffer the embarrassment of having no one bid on her basket, than have to endure that dreary man for a whole evening. She picked up the wicker basket from the back seat—store-bought fried chicken, potato salad and dinner rolls. But she had made the brownies, so if someone bid for her basket, they'd at least have homemade dessert.
She checked her makeup in the mirror on the driver's side of her pale blue Camaro. Jenny would frown because she had too much mascara on, but that was just too bad. As of yesterday, Mercy Spenser was going to be herself . . . not a tall replica of Jenny Mathison. She smoothed the front of a long, light blue cotton knit dress the same color as her eyes, pasted on a smile, and crossed the parking lot to the fellowship hall.
"Miss Mercy," Milton called when she opened the door. "We've been waiting for you so we can start the auction off. Put that basket up there on the table and let's get the show on the road. Of course, everybody here knows you brought in the one with the pink bow so we'll auction it last." Milton teased and waved directions as he talked.
"Now, all you young fellers know the rules. Other than Miss Mercy's basket, everyone else has sent theirs in by a sneaky method so nobody really knows who they're eating with tonight. Highest bidder gets the basket and the girl for the evening. Auctioneer, let the bidding begin." Milton tapped the wood podium with the gavel and picked up the first basket to hold high so all the men could see it.
"Five dollars," one man said to start the bidding.
"Hello, Mercy." Hunter meandered over to her side. "Looks like a fair turnout, doesn't it?"
"Hello." She felt a pink blush climbing up her neck and to her cheeks. Just looking at him made her knees weak as well as her cheeks red. His light brown hair was feathered back in a perfect cut. Green eyes sparkled beneath heavy eyelashes which were thick and soft. His thin, masculine lips broke into a big grin when the first basket went for twenty dollars, and the buyer appeared to be shocked to find it belonged to his wife.
"I didn't think you'd show up," Mercy said honestly.
&nb
sp; "Oh?"
"Figured a wholesome event like this would scare off the proprietor of a dive like Sancho's Cantina," she said. His arms ached to draw her close to his side and let everyone in the hall know that he fully intended to buy her supper and company for the evening.
"For your information, my dear, I was only in Mexico for two weeks while the real proprietor of Sancho's Cantina took his beautiful new bride on a honeymoon to Alaska. I don't live there." He studied her for a moment, noting her porcelain complexion and those gorgeous blue eyes, which mesmerized him.
"Oh?" She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "So where do you live?"
"Texas. I've got a little spread down in Denton and an office in Grapevine," he said.
"Oh, Mercy, sweetheart." Brent butted into the conversation and took up a place at her elbow. "I'm bidding on that basket, so you just get ready to have supper with me." He smiled brightly and tried to slip his hand in hers but she folded her arms across her chest.
"Oh, really?" She tried to smile but Hunter didn't miss the look of pure disgust on her face.
"Got to run now. Ta-ta." Brent waved and was off to stand with a group of young men waiting to bid on a particular basket.
"Boyfriend?" Hunter nodded toward the other fellows.
"Hell, no!" she exclaimed, then put her hand over her mouth.
"Better watch that," he chuckled and glanced up at the ceiling, "unless you're damned good at dodging lightning bolts."
"Mercy?" Jenny crossed the room when she saw her roommate standing next to a complete stranger. Before long, Mercy was bound to sin somehow, no matter how Jenny tried to keep her roommate on the straight and narrow path.
It was probably for the best that she and Kyle were getting married quickly. Her own flawless reputation might be tainted if she lived with a girl with a wild streak.
"Hello, Jenny," Mercy said. "Got your wedding plans all done?"
"Most of them," Jenny said. "Who's your friend? Aren't you going to introduce me?"
"This is Hunter Wilson," Mercy said, "This is my roommate, Jenny Mathison, who is getting married in a couple of weeks."
"Congratulations," Hunter smiled brightly and Jenny's knees went weak. For just a second, she thought about what it would be like to hop into a king-sized bed with this tall, good-looking hunk. Then she realized that his ego was probably as big as his cowboy boots and his personality as tight as those jeans he filled out so well. She'd be better off with Kyle . . . and she knew it.
"Thank you," she sighed and Mercy almost giggled. "Are you a new member of the church?"
"No, ma'am," Hunter said. "I just came for the supper." He looked over Jenny's head and smiled at Mercy, who had to turn her head away to keep her roommate from seeing the sheepish look on her face.
"Now, we'll do Miss Mercy Spenser's basket," Milton laughed. "I was only teasing her when I said we'd wait until last. Do I hear ten dollars? Come on, fellers, ten dollars to have supper with Mercy . . ."
"Ten dollars," Brent said with a lecherous grin that turned Mercy's stomach.
"Fifteen," Milton shouted and Mercy could have kissed him. Even supper with Milton would be better than Brent.
"Twenty." Brent was still smiling, gazing right at Mercy.
Milton backed down, giving the option to the young man, enjoying the fact he had put a twenty dollar bill in his hand, just like he did Kyle's. Milton intended to spend his own fifty dollars on the widow Johnston's basket.
"I hear twenty . . . do I hear twenty-five," the auctioneer rattled.
"Fifty," Hunter yelled.
"Wow," the auctioneer said. "Fifty, I've got fifty, do I hear fifty-five . . . got a bidder?"
Silence reigned for a minute while everyone turned to look at the newcomer.
"Fifty-five," Milton said on impulse, seeing just how much this stranger was willing to bid. When he bought the basket he would hand it to Brent, and the tall feller could just climb back on his high horse and go on back to wherever he came from. This was Milton's church and he'd taught Kyle and Brent in his Sunday school classes. They were good boys and if Brent wanted to eat supper with Mercy, then he'd help him along as much as he could.
"One hundred dollars," Hunter said casually before the auctioneer even started his rapid monologue.
"One hundred ten dollars." Brent figured his checkbook balance in his head. With Milton's twenty dollars, he could do it. It would wipe him out until payday next week, but he'd show the stranger that he was serious about eating with Mercy. Kyle said she'd gotten pretty rebellious lately, and Brent was hoping she'd share some of that wildness with him when no one was looking.
"Looks like we got a hot item here." The auctioneer held up the basket with the pink bow. "Do I hear one hundred and twenty . . . is it going . . . going . . ."
"Five hundred dollars," Hunter said.
"Did I hear you right, son?" The auctioneer almost lost his dentures.
"Yes, sir, five hundred dollars for that basket," Hunter said.
"Cash?"
"Yes, sir." Hunter pulled his wallet out and walked to the podium.
"Sold!" the auctioneer said. "And we thank you for your generosity to our missionaries, son," he said, as he took five hundred-dollar bills from Hunter's hand.
"Who have you gotten mixed up with, Mercy?" Jenny hissed.
"I'm not sure. Maybe the Mafia," Mercy laughed.
"Now, can I claim the woman who belongs to this basket?" Hunter acted as if he didn't know which woman was named Mercy.
"Just look up, son," Milton said, reevaluating his stand. Any man willing to donate that much money to the missionary fund couldn't be all bad. He wondered briefly if they might entice him into moving his membership from wherever it was to their church. "She's the tallest woman in the place. Probably near as tall as you."
"Then that would be the beauty over there." Hunter acted surprised and everyone chuckled, except Brent.
"That was quite a show." Mercy spread a big quilt under a shade tree in the lot beside the church.
"Man has to pay for a good supper." Hunter plopped down with agility in spite of his skintight jeans. "I hope that's really fried chicken I smell. It's my favorite food. Got any potato salad?" He opened the basket and inhaled deeply, obviously enjoying the aroma of fresh fried chicken. Mercy felt a little guilty.
"Plates, napkins, spoons, two glasses for iced tea . . . sorry, no tequila at a church social." She pulled out the picnic supplies. "Potato salad, hot rolls and homemade brownies for dessert. Why did you pay that much money? Brent had probably gone as high as he could with that hundred and ten dollar bid."
"Just wanted that guy to know you weren't interested," Hunter said. "Can I have both legs, or is that the piece you like?"
"For five hundred dollars, Mr. Wilson, you can eat the whole chicken," she laughed. One minute her heart swelled with pride that her store-bought fried chicken basket had brought so much to the missionary fund; the next minute she chastised her inflated ego for thinking that Jenny would still be trying to cough her tongue up out of her throat.
"No, just the legs, and maybe a thigh." He loaded a plastic plate with potato salad and lounged back like a Southern gentleman in the days before the Civil War. "My, my, Miss Mercy, did you cook all day?" He put on his best Texas drawl as he scooped a spoonful of food into his mouth. "Why, I just bet all the men in these parts are waiting in line for you to break their hearts."
"As big as I am, I'd probably break their backs instead of their hearts," she said honestly.
"Big? Who said you were big?" Hunter's eyes flashed instant anger. The girl was tall, almost six feet, and irresistibly curvy.
"I've always been big. Biggest kid in kindergarten and there were only two boys taller than me in our graduating class," she said.
"Tallest, maybe, not the biggest. Betcha there was one chubby kid that weighed twice as much as you," he said.
"Well . . ." Mercy hesitated. "There was one girl who was pretty big, but she was short."
; "Don't let anyone ever put you down for being tall." Hunter pointed a chicken leg at her. "It's not immoral. It's not against the law. And it's damn sure not a sin."
"Yes, sir." She saluted him smartly.
Kyle carried Jenny's basket out the church door and she tried to smile at Mercy, but it came out more like a sneer. The money raised at the benefit today would go to the very mission where she and Kyle would live in Mexico, so she couldn't begrudge a dime of the money Hunter had bid. But the money seemed tainted somehow, and she wasn't so sure she and Kyle should touch it.
In a few minutes, Brent carried a basket and blanket out while Marsha Payton hung on his arm, looking up into his eyes like he had just hung the moon. He looked like a cornered rat, but he put on quite a show when he realized Mercy was watching them. "Well, may the best man win," Brent laughed with everything but his eyes, when he and Marsha passed by Hunter and Mercy's quilt.
"Thank you. You're a good sport." Hunter nodded.
"Let's go over there." Marsha pointed toward a secluded, shady corner. "It's nice and private. Did you know that I'm going back to Mexico for Christmas break, Brent? I was hoping you'd planned to go also. Oh, excuse us, Mercy," she sniffed as she tossed her curly red hair to one side.
"Sure. Good match," Mercy mumbled under her breath.
"Yep," Hunter said. "Looks like a match made in heaven. Maybe there will be a double wedding when your roommate gets married."
"Oh, hush," she snorted.
Jenny kissed Kyle goodbye at the door and promised she would be ready for early choir practice the next morning. She knew Mercy wasn't home yet and when her roommate did get home, she was going to find out just who Hunter Wilson was and how he'd managed to drop out of the clear blue sky into Mercy's life.
Hunter walked to the porch with Mercy and kissed her gently on the cheek. "It's been a wonderful evening," he whispered. "Did I pass the test? Can I take you out for a real dinner next weekend?"
"Almost," Mercy said mischievously. "Go to church with me tomorrow morning and sing in the choir and we'll see if you really pass the test."
Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 32