by Linda Ford
“Please, Mercy,” they chorused.
He wondered if he should correct the way they addressed her but, instead, he waited for her to answer, finding himself as tense and eager as they seemed to be. Eager? No. Simply desperate.
Mercy looked at each of the children, then brought her gaze to him, regarding him steadily as if daring him to voice any objection to the way she had managed.
He couldn’t and returned her look for look, noting, for the first time, the deep brown of her eyes and how her mahogany hair framed a very pretty face.
“I enjoyed spending the day with the children,” she said, smiling at them. Her smile disappeared as she again looked at him. “I’d love to come as long as they need me.”
“Thank you.” It was only for the children, he silently repeated. She made it clear she felt the same way. Not that it mattered to him one little bit.
“I’ll return in the morning then.” She brushed her fingers across Allie’s cheek and then Ladd’s. “See you two tomorrow.” And she left without a word of farewell to him.
Not that he cared, he insisted. But the tiny cabin seemed empty…a feeling that intensified after the twins went to bed.
Determined to dismiss such irrational thoughts, he pulled the Bible off the shelf and read it. His parents had raised him to look for answers to life’s problem in the words of scripture and to obey unquestioningly the precepts set out there. Since the twins’ births he had found strength and guidance in the pages of the Bible, just as his parents had taught.
But tonight he found no solution for the restlessness that plagued him.
Finally he gave up and prepared for bed. Thankfully the cold air and hard work of the day enabled him to fall into a sound sleep.
The next morning, the children could barely be persuaded to stay in bed long enough for him to start the fire and take the chill off the room.
“When will Mercy be here?” Allie asked for the twentieth time.
“Let’s have breakfast first.” He tried to corral them both to sit at the table, but they kept bouncing up to throw open the door and see if Mercy approached.
After a few such interruptions, Abel grew annoyed. “Miss Mercy is only helping for a few days. You’re simply asking for trouble if you think it’s anything more.”
Wide-eyed and disbelieving, the twins stared at him.
“Didn’t she say she meant to join a Wild West show?” he added to press home his point.
Their gazes grew wary.
“That means she’ll be traveling all over the country, living with the others in the show.” It sounded like a restless sort of life he wouldn’t welcome. He’d tried it already and knew it offered adventure but gave only emptiness. But to each her own. “You won’t see her much after that.”
Allie brightened. “We could go with her.”
He blinked before the eagerness in his daughter’s expression. “You could not.” What a dreadful, sordid life for a child.
Ladd sighed long. “She’s not going for a while. She might change her mind after she gets to know us better.” His shoulders sagged. “But she’s very good. I guess she won’t change her mind.”
“There you go.” Abel should be relieved that they’d accepted the facts of Mercy’s friendship but, instead, he felt as if he had jerked a rug out from under their feet.
A noise against the side of the cabin snapped Abel’s head in that direction. Both children bolted to their feet. “Mercy,” they yelled.
He grabbed two arms and planted the pair firmly back in their chairs. “Mercy would not be rubbing against the house. Sit here and be quiet.” He grabbed his rifle from over the door. If that whiskered man from the woods thought to bother Abel and his children…
“Don’t shoot her,” Allie whispered.
“Sit and be still.” He tiptoed to the door, quietly opened it and inched out far enough to see the side of the cabin. A deer. They sure could use fresh meat, but he wouldn’t shoot an animal with his children watching. Besides, this was a doe. He’d find a buck out in the woods. He signaled to the children to come and held his finger to his lips so they’d know enough to be quiet.
They joined him.
“Awww,” Allie whispered, the faint noise startling the doe, who bounced into the trees and disappeared.
Allie stared after her. “What did she want?”
He shepherded them back inside though the wind was still and the air promised a warm day. “I don’t know. Maybe she is curious. Maybe she’s been here before when no one lived here.”
“Maybe she thinks this is her house.” Allie looked about ready to burst into tears.
“No, baby. I don’t think so. Deer like to be among the trees. They don’t live in buildings.”
Allie sniffled. “You’re sure?”
“Very.”
Ladd had remained at the door. “Here she comes.”
Abel didn’t have to look up to understand he meant Mercy. Allie raced to join her brother. Abel took his time going to their side, though truthfully he was as relieved as the twins to see her ride to the cabin. But only because he needed to take advantage of the autumn weather while it lasted.
She called, “Hello,” then led her horse to the corral.
Which gave him almost enough time to convince himself he only cared because he had work to do and her presence would enable him to get at it. Besides, he still wasn’t persuaded the twins were completely safe with her. What if she decided to shoot her guns off? Or race her horse around with the twins on its back?
He hurried inside to get his coat and hat and leave before she entered the tiny space. They met at the doorway.
She carried a bulging gunnysack.
Both curiosity and caution stopped him in his tracks. “What’s in there?” He couldn’t keep the ring of suspicion from his voice.
She chuckled. “You needn’t sound like you wonder if I’ve brought knives to let the children throw. Or guns to shoot.”
He worked to hide his discomfort; she’d correctly gauged his concern. “I am their only parent.”
“Yup. I figured that out. Relax. I merely brought some things to keep the children occupied. See for yourself.” She opened the sack and held it out for him to peer in.
Papers, books, cookies? His mouth watered. How long since he’d had cookies? He swallowed back the saliva and nodded. “Looks harmless enough.”
“I keep telling you I am not so foolish as to do something to hurt a child.”
He looked at her and saw the way she tried to hide her emotion. But she didn’t quite succeed. Her lips tightened slightly and her eyes were too wide.
With a stab in his gut, he realized he’d hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest you would.” Yet hadn’t he, despite how well she’d done yesterday? The children had told him about their day in great detail. How they’d shown her all the things he’d bought before their arrival—new clothes, food and winter supplies. They’d shown her their books and their few toys. Told him how they’d played a fun game of pretend family, then she’d let them help her prepare the meals.
His suspicion was unfounded. Yet his caution must remain. He had to keep the children safe. And somehow he knew Mercy was a risk to them. And to him, too, though he couldn’t say why he included himself. He had no intention of letting any woman upset the stability he’d worked so hard to establish for the children. Especially a woman whose stated goal was to join a Wild West show. He’d had enough of women who wanted only to run off for whatever reason.
His jaw creaked as he warned himself of all the dangers he invited into his life by asking Mercy to watch the children, but he didn’t see what else he could do at the moment.
It would only be for a day or two, he told himself, then he’d insist Mercy stay away from all of them.
*
Mercy watched Abel ride from the yard, then got the children to help her clean the little cabin. When they were done she lifted the gunnysack. “I brought something for you to do.
”
“What? What?” Ladd jumped up and down.
“Can we see?” Allie bounced on her feet, then sighed and stood still.
Mercy wished she could tell the child to enjoy herself, but Abel said her heart might be damaged. Must the poor little girl live like an invalid all her life? Mercy had planned things to amuse both children—quiet, imaginative play for Allie, more vigorous activity for Ladd.
She pulled pieces of paper from the sack. “It doesn’t look like much yet, but this is everything we need to take a long, adventuresome trip.”
Both children studied the paper as if expecting a covered wagon to emerge.
The sun had already driven away the cooler night air. “It’s going to be a lovely day. Let’s sit outside and enjoy it while we have our adventure.” She grabbed a quilt off the bed and spread it under a tree that allowed her a good view of the clearing. She hadn’t seen the whiskered man again, nor had she placed him in her memories, but she meant to be cautious until she was certain he was either gone or posed no threat to them.
The three of them sat on the quilt, the children’s expressions eager.
“Would you like to go on a ship?”
“Where to?” Allie asked, her eyes gleaming.
“Where would you like to go?”
They looked puzzled.
“I crossed the ocean from my home in England in order to get here.” She described the ship. “Do you want to come with me?”
They both nodded, Ladd curious, Allie excited. Her porcelain cheeks had a healthy rosy tint to them. Or did the color signal heart problems? She’d asked Sybil and Linette about the child and both had warned her to watch for breathlessness, fatigue, chest pain or nausea. Sybil said she once knew a boy who had heart problems and his lips would get blue. Mercy saw none of those signs, so unless she witnessed evidence to the contrary she’d take it for natural coloring.
“I’ll show you how to make boats.” As she talked, she folded the paper into a boat shape and then made sailor hats for them.
“Let’s get ready for an adventure.” She told them of the tall smokestacks on the ship, the storms that blew and the way the waves rose so high.
She guided their play, letting Ladd climb the tree beside them and be the lookout while Allie stood on the ground acting as the captain, giving orders to Ladd.
Mercy watched Allie closely for any sign of fatigue or blueness around her lips. But the children played for a couple of hours before she felt she should direct them to quieter play.
She pulled out an atlas she had borrowed from Linette and Eddie’s library. “Let’s see some of the places we could go.”
For the rest of the morning they pored over the book and she told them things she knew about each country they decided to visit. It was a good thing she had paid attention to her geography and history lessons.
“Now it’s time for the travelers to have something to eat.”
She made sandwiches and they ate outside. “I’ll make tea for us.” She left them on the quilt and made tea thinned with tinned milk and rejoined them on the quilt.
The thud of approaching horse hooves and rattle of a chain jerked her to her feet and instantly at attention, but it was only Abel dragging logs into the clearing to the spot where he meant to build a new cabin.
The children rose, too.
“Papa,” Allie called.
“Stay there until I finish.”
He unhooked the chains, then straightened and wiped his arm across his brow. All the while, he studied the children until Mercy fought an urge to jump up and down and say she hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
But she would not let his suspicious nature affect her.
His gaze settled on her. She met his look without flinching because—she told herself firmly—she had no reason to be nervous. Sunlight flashed in his eyes making them a warm blue. Their gazes held. The look went on and on until her lungs grew airless. She was overly aware of his study, of her own rapid heartbeat and of the shimmering air in the clearing.
He headed toward them and her ribs tightened so much her lungs could not work.
Ladd raced to him. “Papa, we have been having such fun.”
Abel shifted his attention to the boy, and Mercy gasped in an endless breath. What had happened? Why had she felt so strange, as if the air between them pulsed with something she couldn’t name?
Allie took two steps then waited for Abel to reach her and lift her to his arms. “We’ve traveled all over the world.”
Abel lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I sure am glad you got back before I did. I might have worried.”
The twins laughed. “Oh, Papa,” Allie scolded. “We were here all the time.” She squirmed from his arms and ran to Mercy’s side and smiled up at her. “Mercy took us on a pretend voyage. I was the captain.”
“And I got to climb high and be the watchman.”
“I am most glad to see you’ve all survived your adventure.” His gaze bored into Mercy. She tried to tell herself he was warning her that the children better remain unharmed. But it wasn’t suspicion she saw or felt. His look measured her, examined her and left her again struggling to fill her lungs.
“Of course everyone is safe,” she murmured, then jerked away, saw the tin of cookies on the quilt and grabbed it. “Abel, we were about to have tea. Would you care to join us?” Oh no. Had she just called him by his given name? Surely another evidence of her unacceptable behavior. But it had somehow slipped out of its own accord.
“Oh, please do, Papa,” Allie begged. “It’s such fun.”
“I think I shall.” He sat cross-legged on the corner of the quilt. The children sat beside him.
His ready acceptance surprised her, made it impossible for her to think clearly. Shouldn’t he be in a hurry to get his work done instead of lingering here? But for some crazy reason, she’d asked. And now she must do as she’d offered and she passed the cookies and poured milk tea from the jug she had prepared.
As he sipped from his cup, he continued to watch her.
What did he want? Why did he keep looking at her so intently? Did he like what he saw? She squirmed under his scrutiny, rearranged the five remaining cookies in the tin, set the tin on the quilt and adjusted it several times. Then, to see if he still stared at her, she lifted her gaze back to him. She blinked as her eyes collided with his blue ones.
Had he watched her all this time?
He jerked his gaze away and put his cup down. “I have to get back to work.” He gained his feet in a flash. “I can get more logs hauled in this afternoon.” He clamped his hat on his head and strode away.
“Bye, Papa,” the twins called, then turned their attention back to their cookies and tea.
Mercy saw Abel pause at the edge of the clearing to glance their way again. His look slid past her and then returned. He shook his head as he guided the horse out of sight.
Mercy tried to analyze what had just happened. Why had he stared so long? Why had she found it so difficult to breathe? It didn’t make sense. She had befriended all the cowboys at the ranch. She had been at ease with the sailors on the ship and with everyone—male or female—she met in between. But never had she felt such a strange tightness in her throat or a twitch behind her eyeballs.
Goodness. The man didn’t even approve of her. He only tolerated her presence because he had no other way of providing supervision for his children. Still, she couldn’t help admiring his devotion to the twins. Many children didn’t ever know such approval from either parent. As for her, he made his opinion crystal clear.
She shook her head, as Abel had done, and wondered if he was as confused as she was.
What was wrong with the pair of them?
They didn’t much care for each other and yet… She shook her head again.
It must be the autumn sunshine so warm and deceptive when everyone knew it could change overnight. The temporary delay had lulled them all into a make-believe state.
She turned her attention b
ack to the children. It was time to enjoy the present and forget the unexplainable.
Chapter Four
Abel shook his head several times as he returned to work. What had made him stop in the middle of a sunny afternoon to share tea and cookies with Mercy and the children? He couldn’t afford to waste daylight when winter was hard on his heels.
He’d observed Mercy and the children a few minutes without them seeing him. The three of them sharing a picnic. Such a domestic scene. Mercy bending her head toward Ladd and then Allie as they talked. Touching their heads and laughing. The twins drinking her in with their eyes.
His throat had tightened. This happy scene was all he’d dreamed of since the twins were born. Only he’d hoped Ruby would be the one sharing the moment with the children. And he would be right at her side.
Mercy did not fit into the picture he imagined. She wore loose trousers. All the easier to ride in. Mercy obviously did not care about following any rules in her life. Remember, he warned himself, this woman wants to join a Wild West show.
Yet as their gazes connected across the clearing, he seemed unable to remember his arguments. He tried to pull his thoughts into order as he unhooked the logs. This woman was different from Ruby only in her upbringing. Certainly not in what she wanted from life. He and the children didn’t count in her plans. He must bear that in mind.
Then her gaze had snagged his again like some kind of rope trick—demanding, probing, searching…for what he could not say, but he felt as if she reached into his chest and sought to squeeze truth from his heart. How silly. He’d been nothing but truthful with her.
He spent the rest of the afternoon working in the woods. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, his thoughts kept harking back to the cabin and the trio on the quilt enjoying the sunshine. He straightened at the truth he’d discovered—they enjoyed each other while he worked alone. He shook his head at how foolish his thoughts had grown. Of course he worked alone. And the children were safe at home. That’s what he wanted. Only he felt isolated.
He bent his back to the task and swung his ax with renewed vigor. He didn’t let up until the late afternoon shadows lengthened. He knew he must return if he hoped for Mercy to reach the ranch before dark.