Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella

by Brown, Carolyn

"You're a hard woman, Mercy Spenser." Hunter shook his head seriously. "I'll pick you up at ten."

  "Ten-thirty," she said. "Services start at eleven. We'll skip Sunday school and just go to morning worship."

  "Deal." He stuck his hand out. "Ten-thirty, then next week you're at my mercy." He laughed at the play on words, and the sound of his deep, husky voice sent a delicious shiver up her spine.

  "Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" Jenny demanded when Mercy stepped inside the house. It was as evident as the freckles scattered across her pug nose that she was itching for another fight, and Mercy wasn't in the mood to argue with anyone. She wanted to float to her room, flop down on her bed and stare at the ceiling in darkness as she relived every word, every nuance, even Hunter's gentle kiss on her cheek.

  "Nothing," she replied and opened the freezer door to the refrigerator, taking out a container of Rocky Road ice cream.

  "You don't need all those calories," Jenny reminded her.

  "Who cares?" Mercy said.

  "You ought to. If you ever get fat as well as tall, you'll really be a giant." Jenny shook her finger at her.

  "Jenny, who are you going to belittle when you get to the mission?" Mercy said, then wondered where the words came from. She hadn't intended to let Jenny goad her into an argument tonight when she felt so wonderful.

  "You are awful. I'm not belittling you. If I didn't care about you I wouldn't try to help you," Jenny said. "Who is that man that followed you home?"

  "His name is Hunter Wilson. I met him when we were in Mexico," Mercy said.

  "Oh, from one of the other churches? I don't remember him." Goodness knows Jenny would have remembered someone who looked like a Greek god in blue jeans.

  "I don't think you would. You never did meet him." Mercy dug into the ice cream. "Pretty good donation he gave to the fund, wasn't it?" She tried to change the subject.

  "Just exactly where did you meet him?" Jenny's eyes narrowed. She was well aware that Mercy was evading the issue.

  "At Sancho's Cantina." Mercy looked her right in the eye and dared her to say another word.

  Jenny sputtered and fumed for a full minute trying to collect her thoughts before she exploded. "You what?" she screamed. "We were down there on a mission, not a hussy holiday. You were supposed to be leading people to the Lord, not playing around in a beer joint!"

  "Oh, settle down," Mercy said calmly. "He was the man who had the jukebox turned up so loud. I had to go over there to argue with him, remember?"

  "You're dating a low-life like that when Brent would kiss your feet?"

  The idea of Brent kissing any part of her made Mercy feel faintly queasy. "Who I date is none of your business, Jenny. And Hunter is going to church with me tomorrow morning. I'm skipping Sunday school and just going to worship. I do plan on singing in the choir, though."

  "You're traveling down a dead-end road to heartbreak," Jenny pointed out, still seething.

  "But it's my dead-end road and it's my heart," Mercy said, and disappeared behind her bedroom door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mercy eased open the door to the choir room and chose the longest two robes for herself and Hunter. To her surprise he slipped it over his starched white shirt and navy blue tie as if he wore a choir robe every Sunday. Then he helped get the big white collar on her robe adjusted just right, all the while enjoying being close enough to inhale that delicious scent she wore.

  "Well, I don't care what Jenny says about that man," they both heard a whispered voice filter through the partition separating them from the practice room. "He contributed five hundred dollars for our missionaries, and she's going to be one of them before long. Seems to me like she's already biting the hand that feeds her."

  Mercy blushed. Hunter smiled.

  "Oh, Jenny's just jealous," a different woman hissed. "She probably looks at that good-looking hunk and gets the flutters, then feels guilty because Kyle can't make her heart pump that fast. Lord knows if there was a flutter left in my old bones, Mercy's man could make it work overtime. You girls see the way he filled out them jeans? Whew! If I was forty years younger, Mercy would have some competition."

  Mercy blushed deeper and Hunter smiled even bigger. He tiptoed over to the outside door, opened it and started talking before he slammed it shut with a noise loud enough to wake up the biggest snorer in the back pew of the church. "Well, Miss Mercy," he said in a loud voice. "I guess we're the last ones here. I hope they didn't take all the long robes. I might not be able to carry a tune, but I'd feel better if my robe at least covered my knees and I didn't look like a choirboy." He winked broadly at her and she could have kissed him on the spot.

  "Ain't that the truth," she said, just as loudly. "And just look here! Two nice long robes, and one with the collar already pinned in place. Maybe you could adjust it for me?"

  He was fixing the collar for the second time when four elderly ladies scrambled inside the room. "Hello," they chimed in unison. "We don't have a mirror back here since Hilda broke it last week, so we wondered if we could talk you into fixing our collars, too," the one with the whitest hair said, all the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she flirted.

  "I would be honored, ladies," Hunter said, with all sincerity.

  Mercy had trouble keeping her mind on the sermon. Hunter sat so close that she could smell his shaving lotion and practically feel the heat from his body as his shoulder touched hers. She felt exactly like she did the first time she fell in love. Only then she had been all of thirteen and the young man was fourteen. She'd sworn on her mother's Bible after Sunday school that she'd never love anyone else for the rest of her life—but then he'd kissed her. Remembering that awkward, flat, quick kiss still brought a smile to her face. She had been convinced that the experience had been grossly overrated because at that moment she didn't care if she never had some boy pressing his dry lips to hers again.

  "Listen!" Jenny, who sat on her left side, hissed as she poked her viciously in the ribs with her elbow.

  Mercy bristled, rather than listened. Evidently her roommate was so busy watching her that she wasn't listening either. For the first time, Mercy realized just how much control she'd let Jenny have over her life these past years and suddenly she didn't like it. It made no difference that they were sitting in the choir loft listening to a sermon on humility, she had trouble controlling her temper. What Mercy wanted to do at that moment was slap her hard enough to send her flying over the shiny, polished oak banister and right out in front of the preacher. Instead she seethed inside, remembering that Jenny would be gone in a couple of weeks.

  Somehow, in just four short years she had become the equivalent of Mercy's mother . . . only worse. Jenny felt entitled to make all the decisions, dictate what Mercy wore, how she had her hair cut, and more. But this past summer, when Mercy decided to think for herself, their friendship came tumbling down like a tarpaper shanty in the path of a tornado.

  Mercy stifled a yawn with the back of her throat and Jenny poked her again, giving her a nasty look. "Shut up," Mercy whispered behind the sleeve of her gown. "Evidently you aren't listening either."

  Jenny squinched up her face until her eyes disappeared. Mercy knew she was in for another lecture when she got home, but, hey, there would only be two more weeks of them and then Jenny could jump off the end of the world down in Mexico and lecture anybody, anyplace, anytime she wanted to do so. She could test the springs of the marital bed with Kyle at night and preach against the wiles of the devil all day. And then Mercy could fly on wings she didn't even realize had been cut—until Hunter stepped into her life and woke her from a long, long sleep.

  Hunter took her to a steak house for lunch, and to Lake Murray afterwards. They lazed back on a blanket at the edge of the water and watched the ducks paddle around the lake. One minute he was telling her about his friend Mickey's honeymoon in Alaska, and the next minute he was dozing. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her elbows around them. The fullness of her multi-color
ed broomstick skirt made a circle around her as she stared at him as long as she wanted without fear of him catching her. His angular face was already covered with an attractive five o'clock shadow by the middle of the afternoon, and she longed to touch its roughness. Suddenly she fought an impulse to bend down and kiss his mouth.

  Instead, Mercy looked away and thought about the weekend. Things could go too fast with this man. She was so physically attracted to Hunter that if he got her near a bed and gave her a little shove, she'd be on her back in two minutes with her arms outstretched to catch him when he fell on top of her. But was that what she really wanted? It had been a couple of years since she'd dated anyone. And her last semi-serious relationship had been back before Jenny moved into her college dorm room.

  Hunter murmured lightly and turned to face her, resting his cheek on both of his hands. Even in sleep he was the handsomest man she'd ever seen, but what did she really know about him? He'd said he had a spread in Denton and he had an office in Grapevine. A spread could be anything from an acre of sweet potatoes to half the state of Texas. And an office might be the corner of the back bedroom of some little apartment, or the entire top floor of one of those glass-covered buildings Texas oil barons occupied.

  But did it really matter what Hunter did? He made her laugh. He was courteous to the elderly people in her church. Most of all, he awoke a sensual responsiveness she'd sort of forgotten she possessed.

  Anyway, it wasn't like she planned on marrying the man. Even if he seemed to be just what she needed to get herself out of the rut she'd dug herself into these past years.

  "What are you thinking about?" Hunter opened one eye just a bit and admired the graceful way she sat beside him.

  "Lots of things." Mercy smiled.

  "Name one." He rolled over on his back and stared up at the blue summer sky which reminded him again of her eyes. "Your roommate looked ready to chew up two-by-fours and spit out toothpicks after church. You always let folks run your life for you?"

  "What are you talking about?" Mercy's voice, which had dripped with honey just moments before, held a sharp edge.

  "Jenny acts like your older sister or your mother. Betcha if I kiss you goodbye on the porch, she'll be out there in a flash, telling you to get inside and telling me to go to hell. Surprises me she's not one of those women who like other women, the way she likes to boss you around."

  "Are you saying . . . ?" Indignant, Mercy jerked her head around to look him in the eye.

  "Nope, I'm not." His green eyes twinkled. "That's not what I'm saying about you or her. But I just hope that fiancé of hers doesn't care who wears the pants, because he's damn sure not going to wear them in that family."

  Mercy had to laugh.

  "Ever hear the joke about the missionary who got married?" Hunter took advantage of the moment to change the subject. Evidently the way Jenny tried to run her life had become a sore spot with Mercy.

  "No." Mercy wiped away a tear from laughing so hard.

  "Well, this missionary got married and he naturally assumed his new bride was a sweet, innocent little thing. After all, she'd never let him touch her." He paused.

  Mercy knew she probably shouldn't encourage him, but she couldn't help it. "So what happened?"

  "On their wedding night, they both undressed and then he told her they must kneel down beside the bed. And his bride said, 'Oh, no! That way gives me hiccups every time.' "

  For a minute Mercy looked at him blankly, and Hunter began to wonder if she'd been offended by the ridiculous joke. He was relieved when she burst into a fresh fit of giggles.

  "Oh, no. I had a vision of Jenny kneeling beside a bed . . . oh, no," she said as she caught her breath. "Kyle would just die if Jenny said something like that. He thinks she's never even kissed another man. Say, I should buy her a sheer red nightgown with feathers and sequins for her wedding night. Think that might jumpstart them?"

  "Could." He grinned as he stood up and shook his jeans down over the tops of shiny black dress boots. "Well, I'll take you home. I promised my foreman I'd be back at the ranch before supper. Want to go with me?"

  "Better not." Mercy shook her head. "Thanks for the invitation, but I'd better get home and give Miss Jenny a chance to lecture me for a while. Just for old times' sake."

  Hunter walked her to the porch and took her in his arms, kissed her lightly, and enjoyed the shiver it caused down her entire body. He leaned back slightly and looked tenderly into her eyes—eyes that had mesmerized him in Mexico and caused him to go searching for the woman they belonged to. He kissed her again, this time deepening it into a sensual experience that would be well worth repeating.

  "Mmmm," she murmured, not wanting the kiss to end.

  "Door hasn't opened yet," he said. "Maybe Jenny's loading a shotgun."

  "Probably." Mercy thought if he'd just kiss her like that one more time she'd peel her clothes off right here and make wild, passionate love with him on the porch swing. Forget about Jenny Mathison. Forget about getting to know him . . . or what he did for a living or any other practical concern. For once, Mercy longed to do just what her body wanted and throw caution to the wind.

  "Did I pass the test?" he murmured into her silky blond hair.

  "I think so. Could you kiss me one more time? Then I'll be sure," she teased, but he took her seriously. He tilted her chin up just slightly until her mouth fit perfectly with his, and he tasted the sweet flavor of her. It had been years since a woman affected him this way. Not since Carla . . . not since the first time he realized he was desperately in love . . . and then it hadn't been anything like this. They had been two teenagers playing at love . . . but he had a feeling that Mercy wouldn't settle for anything less than a love to last a lifetime. He hoped she never found out about Carla . . . or Tammy.

  "I'll call you in the middle of the week." Hunter held her close for one more fleeting moment. "Dinner on Friday?"

  "Jenny's wedding shower is on Friday, I think," she said. "Maybe Saturday?"

  "I'll call." He hugged her tightly for another second. Mercy waved as he drove away, watching his truck until it turned onto Main Street and disappeared. She didn't care if jealous Jenny was planning a screaming cat fight—this day had been worth it.

  She fished around in her purse until she found her keys and opened the front door. Mercy gasped. The place had been turned upside down and someone had stolen half her furniture! Bewildered, she saw the note pinned to the back of the gliding rocker she had bought last Christmas with her grandparents' holiday check. She picked it off and sat down with a thud in the middle of the floor to read it.

  Dear Mercy,

  I'm leaving. Kyle and I plan to drive a moving van to Mexico with our things after the wedding.

  I can't stand sharing this house with you for one more second. You used to be a good girl with values but lately I don't know who you are. By the way, I've decided that Marsha Payton should sit at the guest book. Of course, you are still invited to the wedding. I shall be glad to see you there as a remembrance of all the good times we have shared these past four years.

  You are free to bring a guest if you like since Brent will be busy with Marsha and won't have time to keep you happy. You'll never know what a good man you threw away to chase that good-for-nothing bartender. When you are a lonely old woman, just look back and remember that you could have had an upstanding Christian husband who adored you. Marsha realizes his worth and maybe someday things will work out for them. I certainly hope so.

  I'm taking the sofa since I bought it the first year we rented the house, and also the microwave since Mother gave it to us when she got her new one. You'll be surprised to see how much I had invested in our friendship when you notice how many things are gone now. My bedroom is already cleaned out, so you can let whomsoever you please move in to help you pay the rent. If you choose not to come to the wedding, I shall send you a card from Mexico with our new address so you'll know where we live, in case you come to your senses by next summer when the c
hurch comes back to do mission work.

  Sincerely,

  Jenny

  Mercy looked around at the chaotic house, wandering into Jenny's bedroom. All that was left in the pristine pink and white bedroom was a hair barrette in the corner. Sunlight streamed through the spotlessly clean windows where white eyelet lace curtains used to hang. The closet doors were open and not even a fleck of dust remained on the floor.

  She went back to the living room and pulled her rocking chair over to where the sofa used to be. She sat down gracefully and began to glide back and forth. In addition to the rocker, the living room had a table, a lamp and the television set. One window had curtains, the other was bare.

  "That's right," she said aloud. "We shared the cost of those drapes."

  After a few minutes she checked out the kitchen. The small oak table was still there but the chairs were gone. Jenny had bought them at a church auction. Thank goodness she hadn't taken the stove and refrigerator, but the toaster and half the dishes were gone, along with the microwave. She meandered into the bathroom and found two towels left behind, but Jenny had taken the matching bath mat.

  "We shared the cost of that, too, but I thought I'd bought a few more towels in the past four years," she said to herself, and giggled as it became funnier and funnier. "Wonder if she took half the gallon of milk and pound of margarine we bought last week when we shared the bill for the groceries?"

  At least her own bedroom was still intact. The bed with its bright blue satin cover was right where it always was, as well as the blue and white striped scarves draped over the top of the mini-binds, and the triple oak dresser with matching chest of drawers.

  She picked up a notepad and wrote: Monday morning—1. Call telephone company first thing and put the phone in my name. 2. Go to grocery store for things I like (i.e., ice cream and honey roasted peanuts). 3. Buy a new dress so I can go to dinner with Hunter if he does call. 4. Never entertain notions of having another roommate. 5. Enjoy the wonderful feeling of being my own boss.