Mercy pulled off her boots and threw her shirt on the bed as she shimmied out of the tight jeans. Then she pulled the envelope from her purse and padded barefoot to the bathroom where she ran a tub of hot water. She'd read his note while she soaked her tired muscles—if she didn't fall asleep before she opened it. It was the most wonderful night she'd ever spent. She smiled when she thought about the way he danced with her all evening and introduced her so proudly to his friends.
She eased her body into the water, enjoying the tingly sensation when the warm water splashed over her skin. She pulled her long blond hair up and let it dangle over the back of the claw-footed tub as she leaned against the tub's sloping back. Then she reached for the white envelope and really looked at it. It was preprinted and the return address was a motel. Why would Hunter choose something like that to write her a note?
There wasn't a name on the outside, and the flap wasn't sealed but folded down inside the letter. She pulled out a single sheet of paper sporting the same cheap chain motel logo as on the envelope, and read.
Mercy,
You ought to know that Hunter has been married twice already. He killed his first wife, Carla, and beat his second one, Tammy. So do you want to be number three? If you don't believe me ask his best friend, Jeremy. He and Gloria know the whole story. But if you've got a lick of sense, you'll get out while the getting is good.
Kim's friend, Marta
She read the lines again. Surely this was some kind of sick joke. In fact, it sounded like a soap opera those two women might watch. Well, it wouldn't take long to put this trashy story in the garbage bin where it belonged. She threw the paper in the floor and grabbed the super-size towel on the vanity. She was still dripping wet when she dialed the operator to ask for Jeremy Jackson's phone number.
In minutes she heard a sleepy hello on the other end of the line and knew she had awakened Gloria. "This is Mercy," she said bluntly. "Evidently Marta left me a letter in my purse and I just found it. It says that Hunter has been married twice. Is that true?"
"Wait a minute, Mercy." Gloria's voice didn't sound so sleepy all of a sudden.
"Just answer me," Mercy said, a cold dread filling her heart. What she wanted to hear was a flat denial and an offer to shoot those hateful women for upsetting her.
"Yes, Hunter has been married before," Gloria said honestly. "But—"
"No buts, Gloria." Mercy began to rock back and forth slightly as tears filled her eyes.
"But you've got to talk to him, Mercy. Don't let those two crazy girls cause a problem. Call Hunter. Meet him somewhere today and talk." Gloria talked too fast.
"Where's his first wife?" Mercy asked. Somewhere deep down inside she prayed for a remnant of hope to hang onto.
"Carla's been dead for six years," Gloria said slowly.
"And Tammy?" Mercy didn't want to know yet couldn't keep from asking.
"Tammy's been out of the picture for three years. Mercy, please talk to Hunter, and let him give you his side of the story," Gloria whispered and Mercy knew she was having trouble keeping her composure also.
"I don't think so." Mercy brushed away the tears but kept her voice from cracking. "I don't think I want to be wife or girlfriend number three no matter what story he tells me. Give him a message for me. Just tell him I said not to write. Not to come. Not to call. I mean it, Gloria. I don't want to see him again."
"Oh, Mercy, we haven't seen him this happy since—"
"Since when? When was he this happy?" Mercy almost screamed into the phone.
"Since the day he and Carla married," Gloria said slowly. "Let him tell you . . ."
"No, thank you," Mercy said and hung up the phone. She threw herself across the bed and cried until her soul was empty and her heart lay in a heap of broken pieces. And finally the hollow shell of Mercy Spenser fell into that blessed oblivion of sleep.
"Mercy, open this damned door!"
She awoke to the constant pounding and Hunter's voice.
"Open it or I'll tear it off the hinges," he shouted. She jerked on a pair of bikini panties and a robe and glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was ten o'clock. Her body was so tired, she felt like she hadn't even been asleep, and her spirit was so drained she felt numb from her head to her toes.
She slung the door open just as he raised his hand to pound on the frame again. Without a word, she stood back and let him into the kitchen.
"Now, what in the hell did that crazy Marta and Kim write in that letter?" Hunter raked his fingers through his hair, his tired eyes demanding an answer.
"Tell me about how you killed your first wife, Carla, and how you beat your second one, Tammy," she said bluntly. "Tell me about it, Hunter."
"You believe that?" he said defensively. "After being out with me and getting to know me, you'd trust what they said before you even gave me a chance to explain? I can't believe you'd be so gullible."
"Why didn't you explain before they left me a note, Hunter? Why didn't you tell me right away that you had an ex-wife or two? Were you going to explain after we finally fell into bed together? Or is that—"
"I don't need this," he butted in before she could finish the sentence, "Believe whatever the hell you want. Evidently you aren't the woman I thought you were."
"Evidently you aren't the man I thought you were," Mercy yelled at him as he stormed out of the house.
The weekend lasted a year, and the next week dragged by like it had nowhere to go and eons to get there. Mercy couldn't eat or sleep and by Friday, even Dr. Nelson, the elderly dentist she worked for, asked if she was ill. She assured him she wasn't, just under a lot of stress, but that with a little time she'd iron out all the wrinkles in her life.
On Saturday night she dressed carefully and drove to Madill to Jenny's wedding. She had no intentions of telling her anything about Hunter. Lord, all she needed in her topsy-turvy world was an "I-told-you-so" lecture from her former roommate. Besides, this was Jenny's special day. Even though Mercy was upset and just a tiny bit jealous, she still wouldn't ruin it for the bride.
Mercy signed her name and got a sickening little smirk from Marsha Payton in a fluffy pink dress, sitting behind the guest book. Brent had to be courting her now but Marsha was welcome to him. If Mercy went to her grave never having known what it was like to snuggle up next to a man in her bed, then so be it. At least she wouldn't be settling for second best, like Brent. After all, any man wasn't always better than no man. And if she couldn't have someone who'd make her blood race like Hunter Wilson did, then she'd do without.
She chose a seat among the folding chairs lined up perfectly in rows under the shade trees in the back yard. The end chairs were decorated with pink illusion bows with silk roses in the center, and the aisle between them led to an archway intertwined with more pink illusion and lots of green ivy. Mercy sighed deeply, wishing she had awoken with a real headache so she would've had a reason not to go to this affair.
"Well, good day." Brent slid into the chair next to her. "I thought maybe you wouldn't even show up. I'm glad you did though." He let his gaze drop down to the low neck of her navy blue georgette dress with a ruffled poet's collar.
"Get lost?" Mercy said sweetly, wishing she had the power to turn Brent into a frog with a snap of her fingers.
"I'll talk to you later." He gave her a bright smile bordering on a sneer, and quickly found another seat.
Recorded music produced the traditional "Here Comes the Bride" as Jenny made her way down the grassy aisle on her father's arm. She wore a simple white cotton tea length dress and a short veil caught up at the top of her French twist with a few real roses attached to an antique comb. Mercy admired the simplicity and was glad her old friend had found happiness.
She didn't listen to the preacher or the vows. Instead she sent up a wistful prayer for happiness of her own.
And someday soon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The trees looked as if a magic fairy had waved her color wand over them, creating a specta
cular free show of lemon yellow, burnt orange and deep burgundy for everyone who took the time to stop and pay attention. Hunter didn't notice them or the dark storm clouds banking up in the southwest. All he saw was the ribbon of highway in front of his truck and all he felt was a hollowness in his chest.
Mercy'd had weeks now to call him or to return one of the three calls he left on her answering machine. It was evident she meant what she'd said to Gloria: she didn't intend to be number three in his life. And at first he hadn't given a rat's rump. Then those damned dreams had started. Every night he could see those beautiful blue eyes filling with tears and begging him for explanations, or else sparkling with anger, demanding answers. And he'd awake in a sweat, reaching for her and touching nothing but an empty pillow. Hunter thought about finding another woman to put in bed next to him in hopes of erasing the hurt, but that wouldn't be fair—not even to someone like Kim, who'd let him know that she would be more than willing to take his mind off the toy he broke.
Yesterday morning he awoke and realized that until they had a discussion—whether it started another world war or caused them both to realize they truly didn't have anything in common—he wasn't getting any rest for his body or peace for his soul. He tried once more to call but this time he got a recording saying the number had been disconnected. So he dressed for church and went to the very place he knew she'd be on Sunday morning. It might not be the right place to have an argument as big as he figured this one would be, but the fight had to be where she was . . . and this was it.
He parked his truck in the lot in the front of the church, remembering the day when he bought her basket and they lounged on a blanket under that tree over there. He should have told her about Carla and Tammy even then, but he hadn't wanted to spoil a wonderful afternoon by going over ancient history.
Hunter shook the legs of his jeans down over perfectly polished boot tops and laid his dress hat on the leather seat. He adjusted his bolo tie and checked his hair in the mirror on the side of the truck. Then he went into the church through the back door and into the choir room where he and Mercy had laughed together that morning a hundred years before. If he ran into her now, she'd probably try to stab him with a coat hanger, but even that would be wonderful compared to the loneliness that he felt without her.
"Ohhhh." One of the older ladies put her hand over her mouth. "Look." She pointed to him and the others turned to see what caused such high color in her cheeks. "Hello, Mercy's fellow," she said with a big smile. "Did you come to fix our collars? We don't have a mirror yet, as you can see."
"Oh, shush, Gladys." One of the others wiggled her finger at the woman. "He's not here to fix our collars. He's come to find Miss Mercy."
They all gathered around him like a bunch of hens. "Ain't that right, son?" she asked benevolently.
"Yes, ma'am. Is she singing in the choir this morning? Did she already take a seat? She's liable to toss me right out of the front doors on my face, but I'm talking to her today, no matter what," he said.
"Mercy's not here," the woman said sadly. "About three weeks ago, Dr. Nelson—that's the dentist she works for—decided he would retire, and he gave her two weeks' notice. So she was without a job. And then her mother came up from Texas and told her that she knew of a business opportunity of some kind down there. She came to church with her just last Sunday, and Miss Mercy told all of us goodbye. She said she was moving and that she'd found a job working in a bank. Her folks came to church here occasionally when Mercy was growing up. We was sorry to see them move, but you know we never did ask where it was they moved. Just somewhere in Texas."
"But where?" All the air went out of his lungs.
"Never did say, did she, girls?"
They all shook their heads.
"But . . ." he started.
"You two must've had a hell of a fight," one whispered. "We were making bets about when you might actually be walking down the aisle with her and we were all even thinkin' about whether we could line up to kiss the groom, when suddenly it was all over. And Mercy wandered around here for a few weeks looking all down in the mouth and sad. You're a week late, son."
"Anybody know where she went? Did she leave an address to move her membership to another church?" He knew he was grasping at straws.
"Nope. I heard her tell the preacher she'd let him know later." One of the church ladies shook her head until her blue-gray curls bounced around on her head.
"How about the dentist she worked for?" he asked. "Think he might know?"
"Probably." The three ladies nodded conspiratorially. "But he and his wife left for a month to tour France and England. They'll be back here in about three weeks. We could ask them and call you if you'd give us your phone number."
"I think I can find out before that, but," he pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her, "please call me if you find out anything."
"Okay, you've been at work three days. You've got your own room, and family around you," Mercy's mother, Angie, said that Sunday morning. "And you still have dark circles under your eyes and I heard you crying in your sleep last night. What's his name?"
Mercy tried to look shocked.
"Don't give me that innocent look, child. Remember, I'm your mother. I've known you longer than you've known yourself. You can't tell me you're missing your ex-best friend, because you told me after the trip to Mexico that Jenny was driving you out of your mind. And we both know if you could have found a job using your education, you wouldn't have gone to work as a dental assistant in the first place. It was just because the dentist went to our church that you even considered working for him. The only thing that makes a woman act like you're acting is a broken heart, so tell me all about it."
"There's nothing to tell." Mercy turned her back so her mother couldn't see her face anymore. She busied herself straightening an already perfectly organized closet.
Angie took Mercy gently by the shoulders and turned her around to face her. "I'm your mother," she said. "Look me in the eye and tell me your heart isn't aching," she said as she forced her daughter to look at her.
"My heart is broken into little bitty pieces and it'll never be put back again," Mercy said honestly. "But I'll get over it. And I don't want to talk about it, Mother," she said as her eyes filled with hot tears.
"Well, we're going to talk," Angie said. "Sit down here beside me. You don't have to tell me everything but you're going to tell me enough so that I can help you through this crisis. That's what mothers are for, in case you haven't figured it out."
Mercy plopped down on the bed and sat for several minutes, shoulder to shoulder with her mother. Angie was as tall as Mercy, but her hair, once black as a moonless midnight, had wide swaths of white these days. She had the wisdom of sages and suddenly Mercy realized that she'd had no one to talk to from the time she fell for Hunter until right now.
"His name was Hunter Wilson," Mercy said hoarsely.
"Was? Is he dead?" A cold chill shot up Angie's backbone.
"No, but he might as well be." Mercy shook her head. "I met him in Mexico and ran into him in Oklahoma by accident later. He went to church with me a couple of times and I drove down to his ranch in Texas for a barn dance. I guess it was a pretty strong physical attraction for both of us. But he kind of forgot to tell me he'd already been married two times."
"Good grief, how old is he? He must be at least forty to already have had two wives," Angie said.
"Thirty," Mercy said. "But what bothers me is that he didn't tell me something that important. He just let me fall for him and then someone else told me about it.
"Did you talk with him about it? Did you hear his side?" Angie asked.
"Nope. He came busting in my house and was as mad as I was, but after a few words he stormed out and I told him not to come, call, or anything else. So now I'll have to just get over him. Only trouble is, I keep measuring every other man by Hunter. The way he walked, the way he smiled . . ."
"Fell pretty hard, didn't you?" Her
mother patted her hand. "I think you were wrong in not letting him explain, Mercy. Who told you about his two marriages, anyway?"
"Couple of hard cases that were at the barn dance. One of them had a crush on him, it was pretty evident." Mercy remembered the way Kim had looked at him—and at her.
"And you listened to them without letting him have a turn?" Angie's still dark eyebrows raised and her mouth set in that way Mercy knew from her teenage days.
"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side," Mercy snapped crossly.
"Nope, when I gave birth to you, I didn't sign any papers saying that I had to agree with you even when you are stubborn as hell and wrong as sin. I'm not so sure I would want you to be number three in any man's life, but you weren't in the right, either, child. So if you want to leave things as they are and wonder forever what his story is, then that's your business. But if you want to make a phone call and say, 'I'm wrong. Let's talk,' then that's your decision, too. But, either way you better do something, because it's about to ruin the rest of your life. Now get dressed. Your father will be ready for church in ten minutes and complaining about us women taking so long."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finding Mercy was well worth the money Hunter spent for the private detective. He called the agency on Monday. On Wednesday he had an address and phone number. Friday morning he packed a bag for the weekend and headed south down 1-35 toward Austin. If Mercy had gone back to her parents she was just south of San Antonio in a small town called Floresville. And if she hadn't, he'd plead his case to her parents and ask them where he might find the blond goddess who still invaded his dreams every night.
At five o'clock he found the white frame house on the edge of town, with a perfectly groomed front yard. Red roses climbed up the porch posts and an empty porch swing moved gently in the fall breeze. He parked across the street, trying to get up courage to open the door and head up the flower-edged walkway and knock on the door. She'd probably give him another one of those go-to-hell looks and slam the door in his face.
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