by Linda Ford
The sighs of enjoyment verified her claim that the cinnamon rolls shouldn’t be missed.
Linette wiped her mouth. “It’s also a tradition that we all go to the big house for dinner. I hope you’ll consent to join us.”
Mercy had been fighting awareness of every move Abel made—lifting a coffee cup to his lips, taking bites from the cinnamon roll. Each movement caused his arm to rub along hers, sending tingles skittering up her nerves. Why was she so conscious of the man? It wasn’t as if she even liked him. And certainly he didn’t like her. Yet—
She closed her eyes and clamped her teeth together.
But the thought persisted. Yes, she admired certain things about him. The way he showed love for his children. How concerned he was about their welfare. It kind of reminded her of what Bertie had said about God. Abel knew his children and cared about them. Of course, Bertie had meant it about God, but she found it easier to believe about Abel because she saw the evidence.
“I don’t know what to say to your kindness,” Abel said.
Mercy heard the pending refusal in his voice. “I’m sure the twins would enjoy visiting with the other children,” she murmured.
“Please, Papa,” Allie whispered.
He shifted. She assumed he looked at Allie and turned to watch, but her gaze collided with his. She was struck by its dark blue intensity. His look went deep and long. What did he seek? Certainly nothing from her. She swallowed hard as he continued to study her. Did he want to know her opinion of him staying? The thought flared through her head. Why would it matter?
“I’m sure you’d all enjoy it,” she managed with a tongue as thick as an ax handle.
A smile flickered across his face. He turned back to Linette. “Thank you for the invitation and we accept.”
Ladd leaned forward to look past Mercy and grin at his father.
At that moment, little two-year-old Pansy climbed to the bench across from Abel and stared at him. “You see my papa?”
Abel shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t.”
Pansy’s bottom lip trembled. “I miss my papa.”
Allie sat forward on the edge of the bench. “You can share my papa if you like.”
Pansy turned to study Abel with wide blue eyes.
Mercy held her breath as she waited to see how the toddler would respond. She felt Abel’s arm tense, as well.
After a moment Pansy smiled. “Okay.” She climbed down, trotted around the table to Abel and held out her arms. “Up.”
Abel picked her up and she perched on his knee, as content as imaginable.
He smiled at Mercy and she grinned back, struck to the core by his gentle, easy way with the child. The man certainly knew how to charm little girls. She averted her eyes. Big girls weren’t so easily charmed. Especially when big girls knew he didn’t approve of them and their activities.
Linette rose. “Shall we go up the hill then? I need to check on the roast.”
Abel and the children fell in at her side. Cassie and her children followed. Mercy joined arms with Sybil and Jayne and brought up the rear.
Jayne leaned over to whisper, “What a charming man. You didn’t tell us.”
Mercy shrugged. “He isn’t like that with me.”
“Oh, do tell.” Sybil shook Mercy’s arm. “How is he with you?”
Mercy wished she needn’t respond but knew her friends would persist until they had an answer. She shrugged to indicate it didn’t matter. “He doesn’t approve of me.”
They both jerked to a halt and turned to her. Sybil looked concerned. Jayne grinned.
“Why would that be, I wonder?” she asked. “Let me guess. You go out of your way to be wild and unconventional and then wonder why he is disapproving.”
“I do no such thing. I am just me.”
“That’s what I mean.” Jayne shook her head. “Always challenging life and conventional behavior.” She looked at Sybil. “Why do you think she’s like that?”
Sybil shrugged. “We’ve discussed this before and I still hold that she’s trying to get her parents’ attention.”
Mercy let out a noisy gust of a sigh. “I am not.”
“Face it, Mercy. They only notice you when you do something so outrageous they can’t ignore it. So you do it again. And again.”
Mercy recalled Ambrose had said much the same before he informed her he didn’t care for her behavior. “You are so wrong. I simply like adventure. I’m not interested in the ordinary and expected.”
Sybil grabbed her arm and clung to her side. “I might believe that if I didn’t see the hunger in your eyes as you watch Abel and his children. What he has is what you want even if you won’t admit it to yourself.”
She ground to a halt. “And what is that, may I ask?”
“A family and a heart of love.”
Mercy stared straight ahead. She hadn’t expected Sybil to have an answer. Especially not an answer that cut a wide swath through her heart, leaving a trail of…fear. She swallowed hard. Fear? What utter nonsense. “I want a life of adventure. In fact, I am going to practice extra hard so I can join a Wild West show real soon.”
She plowed ahead, not giving the others a chance to reply.
Inside the house, she went directly to the kitchen to help Linette. Normally, the men would visit in the front room, but Abel was the only man present so he followed the women into the kitchen.
Mercy tried to ignore his presence but every time she turned around, there he was, big and bright, watching her every move. She bit her tongue to stop from telling him she found him annoying.
“It’s ready,” Linette announced an hour later, catching Mercy staring into space as she plotted a way to prove she had no interest in Abel apart from his children.
Thinking of the twins brought a smile to her mouth and she allowed herself to be shepherded to the table. Only after she took her place did she realize she sat directly across from Abel. So what? He was just another cowboy and not one had ever intimidated her.
Vowing to act normally, she passed the food and ate and joined in the table conversation. Only when Abel mentioned how much he enjoyed the meal did her thoughts stutter.
“I’d forgotten what good food well served tastes like.”
“But, Papa,” Ladd said. “Mercy cooked us a nice meal.”
Her gaze collided with Abel’s. A regretful smile curved his lips. “So she did and I truly appreciated it.”
Mercy made a small, disbelieving noise. “I barely know how to cook.”
Linette chuckled. “When I arrived here I didn’t know how to cook a thing. I learned in a hurry though I made a few mistakes.” She regaled them with stories of hard beans and failed bread. “Cookie kept saying baking bread was as easy as falling off a log. I thought I’d never learn.”
Neil edged forward. “Can we go play?”
“Of course,” Cassie said.
“Can Ladd come?”
Abel studied his son. “Would you like to?”
Ladd nodded, his expression eager.
“Very well.”
The boys clattered from the room and their calls could be heard as they ran down the hill.
“Papa?” Allie whispered.
“I’m sorry. You can’t join them. You must take it easy.”
“She can play with Grady’s things,” Linette said. “Come along, I’ll show you.”
Abel pushed to his feet. “I don’t know…”
“It’s only some carved animals. She can play quietly.”
Abel reluctantly agreed. He sank back to the bench as the ladies rose to clear the table and do the dishes.
When Pansy grew fussy, her older sister, Daisy, rose to take her home and put her to bed.
Sitting there alone, Abel rubbed his legs, scratched at the table and looked about restlessly.
“Why don’t you show Abel around the place,” Linette whispered as she leaned close to Mercy. “Take pity on the poor man. He’s uncomfortable surrounded by women.”
Mercy sighed deeply. The last thing she wanted was to spend the afternoon entertaining the man, but she could hardly refuse Linette’s suggestion. “Shall we?” She waved toward the door.
How could she possibly keep her errant thoughts in line while trailing about the place? She pushed her shoulders back. She could do it. She only had to remember how much he disapproved of her. Called her foolish. Accused her of being careless with his children.
A little wayward voice broke into her arguments. He praised her cooking. Hugged her, his arms warm and protective around her.
She shook her head nearly hard enough to loosen the pins in her hair.
She, Mercy Newell, cared not what Abel Borgard, or any man for that matter, thought of her.
Chapter Six
Abel let Mercy lead him from the house. Grateful as he was to escape the kitchen full of women, he glanced back, reluctant to leave. He’d seen Allie playing quietly in the corner of the living room, but would she stay there? Would the women realize she must not exert herself? Did they know of her fragile condition? Still, Linette had promised to keep her quiet. He had to trust her. He could see Ladd playing tag with the boys. His son deserved a chance for such play.
“What would you like to see?” Mercy asked.
He pulled his thoughts to the promise of the afternoon. How long had it been since he’d been able to enjoy himself without worrying about the children?
“The barn.” It seemed a good enough place to start.
They traipsed down the hill and entered it. The interior was dusky and empty.
“Almost all the horses are gone with the men,” she said.
“Of course.” He nevertheless toured the place. “I’d like to have such a big barn someday and a nice herd of cows. Right now though, I’d be happy to have enough room for my horse and a milk cow. And a decent-sized cabin.” He knew he rambled but he couldn’t help it. His little rental cabin and meager supply shed seemed laughable in contrast to this ranch.
“Where’s your horse?” he asked to turn his mind from such thoughts.
“He’s out in the pen behind the barn along with the half-dozen horses Eddie left behind in case we need them.”
She led him out the door and around to the back and whistled. Her horse trotted up to her and whinnied. She patted his neck. “He’s a real good horse. So easy to train.”
He scrubbed at his neck. “Why do you want to join a Wild West show?”
She laughed a little and kept her attention on her horse. “Why not?”
“What would your family say?”
She shrugged. “I doubt they’d care.”
Her words stunned him. “Of course they care.”
Her gaze bored into him. “I’m sorry but you simply can’t say that. You don’t know.” She headed past the pen.
He followed on her heels. “What makes you think they don’t?”
She spun about to face him. “What makes you think they do?”
“I— Well, it just figures. Family cares about family.”
“Really?” She moved onward. “What happened to your wife?”
He ground to a halt at her unexpected question. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
She faced him, a look of victory on her face. “Seems she’s family.”
“She was. A reluctant part, I confess. She’d dead. She drowned.”
Shock filled her face. “That’s awful. I guessed she was gone but I thought—” She lifted one shoulder. “The children said something about her that made me think she’d been ill.”
“What did they say?”
She considered his question. “Something about her not looking after them. I took it to mean she wasn’t able because of poor health.”
He snorted. “Not because of poor health but because of disinterest. She never wanted children. Didn’t want to settle down.” They fell in side by side and walked along the trail, crossing a wooden bridge over the river and climbing a slight hill as they talked. “When I wanted to settle down and become a family, she accused me of trying to end her fun.”
Mercy brushed her palm against his arm. “That must have been difficult.”
“Yes, it was. Though I had no one to blame but myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”
They reached the top of the hill and stopped walking. “I’m afraid it is. You see, when I was sixteen, I rebelled against my parents’ rules. Against God’s, too. I thought the rules ruined my fun. By the time I realized they protected me and those I loved, I was married to Ruby and had twin babies.”
She stood so close to him that he felt her stiffen.
“I’m guessing you don’t agree. Maybe you think more like Ruby.”
“I’m not saying rules ruin my fun, but I guess I don’t think they protect me either. That makes it sound like God sees and cares what we do. That He rewards obedience and punishes disobedience.”
“I’d say that was true.”
“It’s what you believe. Seems Bertie does, too. But I’m not convinced it matters that much to God what we do. Oh, I don’t think we should hurt others or disobey the ten commandments, but beyond that, do you really think He cares?”
Her voice had grown deep with emotion.
He wondered what triggered such a response. “What happened to make you believe this?”
“Nothing.” But she answered too quickly. She looked at the hills beyond them and sighed. “I never stopped to consider why I believe that way. I suppose…” She paused. “I used to have a brother.”
“Used to?”
“He died when I was six. He was eight. And the light of my parents’ life. When he died, it seems they did, too. Oh, they kept breathing, kept doing their work, but they were never the same.”
He felt her pain though he guessed she would deny it. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “I’m sorry. Sorry you lost your brother and, in a way, your parents.”
Denial flared in her eyes and died before she could voice it. “Sometimes I felt they didn’t see me.” She walked onward at a pace that forced him to lengthen his strides to keep up.
“I guess that explains the Wild West thing.”
She ground to a halt and flung around to confront him. “What do you mean?”
“Performing in such a show would make certain you weren’t invisible.”
She harrumphed. “I’m never invisible.”
He chuckled. “You make sure of that.”
She turned on her heel and steamed onward.
He kept pace. “But God is not your parents.”
She stopped again. “What are you talking about?”
“You aren’t ever invisible to Him. That passage Bertie spoke about this morning says, ‘Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.’”
She rolled her head back and forth. “You simply hope that by keeping rules of your own making you can ensure God will take care of you and your family. Like you can buy His protection. I just can’t believe God can be controlled by our behavior.”
“That’s not why I obey rules. Rules give us safe passage.”
“So why are you raising the twins alone?”
He ground to a halt and couldn’t go on. Did she have any idea how her words hurt? How they stung at his beliefs? How many times had he asked the same question? Yet, what choice did he have except to continue to do what was best and trust God for the rest?
She realized he had fallen behind and turned to study him. A flicker of compassion crossed her face, then disappeared. “If God honors those who honor Him, then why are my brother and your wife dead?” Her words ended in a whisper so filled with pain he reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“I can’t explain pain except to say it should serve to push us toward God, not drive us away from Him.”
She shook his hand off. “If you need rules to make you feel safe, that’s fine for you. It doesn’t work for me.” She faced him, her eyes wide with determination.
> He longed to pull her close and pat her back, assure her that rules did keep a person safe, but he knew she would not accept either his physical comfort or his words. “Mercy, I hope and pray that someday you will find out you don’t need to get anyone’s attention, including God’s or maybe especially God’s.”
“I suppose I will then become ordinary and dull.”
He leaned back on his heels and laughed. “I don’t think you could ever be either of those.”
The fight left her eyes, replaced by uncertainty as she studied him.
He sobered and met her look for look, unblinking before her intensity. His heart hammered and he tried in vain to tell himself he didn’t care what she thought, but for some unfathomable reason, he did. Only, he reasoned, because he knew the folly of living a life of flaunting rules. He wouldn’t wish that for anyone.
“What have rules ever done for me?” She flung about and headed for the ranch.
He trotted after her, trying to shepherd an argument that would convince her. He sighed heavily and his steps slowed. He’d never been able to make Ruby see the truth. Why should he think he would have any more success with Mercy? She would go her own way regardless of who got hurt in the process.
One thing he’d be certain of. Neither he nor his children would be victims of her wild ways.
They crossed the bridge. The happy screams of children at play filled the air. Thor, the tame fawn, bounced across the yard chasing a crooked-tailed dog. A little girl in a blue dress ran by giggling.
“Allie.”
She kidded to a halt. “Hi, Papa.”
He glowered at his daughter and then looked around the yard. “Who is supervising you children?”
The happy noise stopped. Half a dozen children stared at him. He felt their fearful waiting. It wasn’t their fault. “Where’s Linette?”
“She fell asleep,” Allie whispered.
He turned on Ladd. “You know your sister isn’t supposed to be running.”
Ladd hung his head. “I didn’t notice her.”
Abel glowered at Mercy. “Why is it every time I’m with you my children end up in danger? Children, come here.” They hurried to his side, both looking fearful. “We’re going home.” He turned to Mercy. “Be sure and thank Linette for her hospitality.”