Love's Bounty

by Rosanne Bittner

  Callie sniffed. “Not till you kiss me nice. I don’t want to remember that last kiss. It hurt.”

  He sighed, bending his head and resting his forehead against the top of her head. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Callie.”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose…her mouth…the most sweet, delicious kiss she’d ever known. It lingered, and Callie felt like she was melting into him. He enveloped her fully into his arms then, crushing her against his strong, broad chest. Here was where she felt safe. Here was where she felt loved. Here was something that made her feel whole.

  This time she didn’t want to pull away. It was Chris who pulled away, but one hand lingered near her breast, and he moved a thumb along its fleshy side. “Go on back,” he told her. “I swear I’ve never been so tested in my entire life.” He let go of her and stepped back.

  Callie touched her lips. “Thank you for the kiss. That’s one I don’t mind remembering.” The last thing she wanted to do was leave, but she knew he was right. She didn’t want it to be this way any more than he did. Chris Mercy had a lot of things to think about, a lot of bad memories to get over.

  She turned and ran out, hurrying back to the house, sneaking in the back door and up the stairs. Softly closing the bedroom door, she ran to the bed and fell facefirst onto it, breaking into tears that came from a mixture of terrible need and desire, as well as frustration at not knowing how to behave around a man as experienced as Christian Mercy.

  What if he decided he wasn’t right for her after all? He could ride right out of her life tomorrow, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. This new revelation of his feelings would only make things more strained between them now, until he made up his mind what to do about it. What made it worse was having to be around him every day, look at him every day, want him every day but not be able to act on her feelings until she knew he was ready to accept her love. She curled into the pillow, wishing it were Christian Mercy lying next to her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Callie washed and dressed, looking in the mirror to make sure her eyes weren’t baggy from not enough sleep and too much crying. They didn’t look nearly as bad as she felt, and now her stomach churned at the thought of facing Chris today, wondering how he would behave toward her.

  She left her hair brushed out long, pulling the sides back with combs. Chris seemed to really like her hair left loose. She wished she could wash off her freckles, but then, he seemed to like those too. It was just that her only real sign of maturity was her breasts. She crossed her arms over them, wondering if Chris would remember touching them last night…and if he would remember how hard she’d clobbered him.

  Maybe she should just have let him do what he wanted to do, but she’d be damned if any man would have her that way, even Christian Mercy. Besides, he knew damn well he’d done wrong, and she hoped he would be properly embarrassed this morning.

  Trouble was, she was the one who was embarrassed. Chris had been right when he’d called her stupid about men; but he’d also said she could attract a man without even trying. She studied herself in the mirror, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how that could be. He hadn’t even seen her in a dress except for that first day they met, and that was just a plain old calico day dress that hung too big on her.

  Of course…he had seen her naked. Lordy! The man sure had a way of leaving a woman in a bad position, embarrassed, in debt to him, dependent on him for her safety.

  She adjusted her riding skirt and made sure her shirt was clean, then pulled on her suede vest. She went downstairs to help Mrs. Bailey prepare breakfast, finding the woman busy taking warm biscuits out of the oven.

  “Oh, my, it’s getting warm already!” Mrs. Bailey told her after greeting her with a smile. She grabbed a towel to wipe perspiration from her forehead after she set down the biscuits.

  “Let me help you, ma’am,” Callie told her. “I’m a good cook, and you shouldn’t have to do extra just because of me and Chris.”

  “Oh, it’s a privilege. I truly enjoy the company. I’m not so sure, though, that Mr. Mercy will be down for breakfast.”

  “He’s upstairs?”

  “Yes, he finally came in last night. Three sheets to the wind, I might add. He won’t be feeling very good today, I can tell you that. I’ve seen it before. Mr. Bailey himself tips the bottle a little too much sometimes. It’s just the way men are.”

  “It is?”

  The woman chuckled as she set a fry pan on the stove, then grabbed some wood from a pile nearby. “You’re young,” she told Callie. “You’ll learn.” She lifted the skirt of her dress to use as a hot pad and lifted a burner plate by the handle, shoving in the extra wood to make it hotter. She replaced the plate and set the fry pan on it, then took a can from a shelf above the stove. “Honey, men are stubborn, stupid little boys sometimes. A woman can’t hardly live with them, can’t live without them neither, especially in places like this.” She nodded toward a cupboard. “Get some plates down and set the table if you want something to do. I’ll fry some pork. Just slaughtered a hog the other day, so I’ve got plenty.”

  Callie took down some plates. “I agree about the stubborn, stupid part,” she told the woman. “Mr. Mercy is stubborn as a mule and stupid as a stump about what really matters in life. I mean, he’s smart. Real, real smart. Graduated from college with honors. But he just wastes it now, wandering around killing men for money, afraid to let himself care about anybody.”

  Clara Bailey removed a towel that covered the open can and spooned a little grease out of it, dropping it into the fry pan. “I’ll make a few potatoes too,” she said. “They’re already peeled.”

  “You’re going to too much trouble.”

  “I don’t mind. I’d be doing it anyway for Mr. Bailey. He likes a big breakfast.” She hesitated, then turned. “Your Mr. Mercy must drink to forget.”

  Callie set out the plates and went back to get some coffee cups. “Is that why men drink? Mostly to forget?”

  Clara began slicing some potatoes into the fry pan. “Some. Not really to forget but more to dull the pain of it. Then again, a good share of them drink for the pure pleasure of getting drunk and acting like idiots. Don’t ask me why, considering how they feel the next morning.”

  Callie smiled at the woman’s humor, some of the weight lifting from her heart.

  Clara picked up another potato. “Was he pretty drunk already when you went to the barn last night?”

  Callie lowered the cups she’d taken from the cupboard, feeling her face turning red. “How did you know?”

  “Honey, there isn’t much I miss around here. In country like this, you learn to pay attention to every unusual sound, and there’s one floorboard at the bottom of the steps that creaks just a certain way when someone steps on it. You okay? I heard you crying when you came back. He didn’t offend you, did he?”

  Callie thought about Chris’s first forceful kiss, the way he’d fondled her breasts and threatened to do a lot more. But the kiss that followed, the admissions he’d made…“No,” she answered. “I didn’t go out there to…I mean, nothing bad or improper happened. I’m not that kind, and neither is Mr. Mercy. I was just worried about him being out there all alone with whiskey and bad memories. I think that hanging just kind of triggered something in him. He was more angry than anything else.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Drinking can make a man happy as a lark or mean as a skunk.”

  That’s sure, Callie thought. She walked to the table and set down the cups. “Can I ask you something personal, ma’am?”

  “Go right ahead,” the woman answered, still swiftly slicing the potatoes into the pan.

  “How do you know…when you’re in love?”

  Clara stopped her work, and the potatoes in the pan began to slowly sizzle. “Well, I guess it’s when you can hardly stand the thought of being away from him, and when you get all excited when he’s
around, and you have a great admiration for the way he looks and the way he carries himself.” She finished slicing the last potato as she spoke. “I have to say, any woman can appreciate Mr. Mercy’s looks.” She laughed lightly. “He is one fine specimen of man. You sweet on him?”

  Callie spotted some silverware in a basket on the cupboard. She walked over and picked out some knives and forks. “Yes, ma’am, I guess I am, but we have to travel together and we’re still not completely sure what we feel. He said some things last night that I’m afraid was just whiskey talk.”

  “Well, generally you can figure whiskey will force a man to tell the truth he’d never tell when he’s sober.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. They always deny it the next day, but the whiskey will trip them up every time.” She faced Callie again. “You sure he didn’t get out of line last night? He’s got a swell bruise on his left cheekbone.”

  “He does?” Callie put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness!” She reddened again. “Well, ma’am, I know him pretty good. I mean, he did try to get a little too romantic. I set him straight.”

  Clara laughed loudly. “I guess you did! Knowing that, and hearing what you said yesterday about what to do with that Jim Fallon, you are quite something, Miss Callie Hobbs.” She shook her head. “Quite something.”

  Callie giggled. “I take it that’s a compliment.”

  “It sure is! No man is going to get the best of you, is he?”

  “No, ma’am. Fact is, I told him when we started out on this trip that if he tried anything funny, I’d shoot him dead.”

  Clara laughed some more as she turned the potatoes and Callie set out the silverware. Clara sobered then when she turned around again. “You watch yourself, Callie. You might be able to handle a man physically, but a man can be a perfect gentleman and still break your heart. There’s no way to protect yourself from that.”

  Callie felt her chest tighten, thinking about how she’d ached last night for her pillow to be Chris Mercy. “Yes, ma’am, I’m learning that too.”

  Clara took the lid off a small pork barrel and used a fork to dig a slab of ham out of the lard. She set it on a cutting board on the cupboard and sliced it, laying it in a pan. “Would you go out to the henhouse and gather some eggs for me?” she asked Callie. “There’s a basket right there by the door. It will be just the four of us. The ranch hands do their own cooking in the bunkhouse, and our son stayed out at the line shack last night.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Callie picked up the basket and walked out. It was a pretty morning. When she glanced at the barn, she had to almost wonder if last night was just a dream. Had Chris really said all those things? Did he really love her?

  She sighed as she headed for the chicken coop. So what if he did? He was bound to fight it tooth and nail, might even be stupid enough to turn away from all of it and leave. She wouldn’t put it past him, but the thought of it made her stomach hurt so that she wondered how she was going to get any food down. It would be rude not to eat decent, with all the trouble Clara Bailey was going to.

  The chicken coop was some distance away. Callie figured that was so it wouldn’t smell bad by the house. Lord knew, chickens sure could stink sometimes. But fresh eggs made for a darn good breakfast. She walked out to the coop and went inside, shooing away some of the hens and then investigating their nests.

  “Well now, I expect Mr. Rooster has been right busy,” she commented, picking out several still-warm eggs. She grinned at the thought, but then sobered again, thinking how silly she was to think for the past year or so that she could go her whole life without a man. Even female animals needed a male to continue the circle of life. Growing up on a ranch, she’d seen plenty of animals mate. Still, the thought of doing the same thing, even with Chris Mercy, was pretty intimidating. That was pretty intimate stuff. And how in hell could it not hurt? Then again there were women like Lisa, who didn’t seem to mind it at all. And women had been having babies since the beginning of time. There sure as heck was only one way for that to happen, and deep down inside she did want to have babies someday. It would be especially nice to have Chris’s babies. It would be good for him to have more children, to ease the ache in his heart for his little Patty.

  She finished picking through the eggs, filling the basket with fourteen of them. Mr. Bailey looked like the kind of man who ate plenty big meals. She headed back out, and as she approached the front porch she saw a man standing there, leaning against a post and smoking.

  Lordy! It was Chris.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Callie hesitated. What the heck was she supposed to say this morning? One thing was sure. She had to be firm. She was not going to crumble and cry in front of him; nor would she gush over him. He’d told her to leave last night, said he had a lot of things to think about. Maybe he was even thinking about telling her everything he’d said last night was a lie.

  Fine. He could cover up all he wanted, but Christian Mercy loved her. The whiskey made him tell it straight, and she would hang on to that no matter what he did when he was sober. It would just be damn hard to pretend it didn’t matter if he tried to back down from the truth.

  He was watching her, and something about the way he looked at her made her feel stark naked. Lordy, this was going to be hard! She marched closer, secretly happy that he looked like he felt like hell. His hair stuck up every which way, and he needed a shave. His eyes were bloodshot, and he carried a towel, soap, and razor in his hand.

  “Morning,” she said to him, remaining unemotional.

  He nodded. “Morning.”

  His gaze moved over her in a way that made her want to hide her breasts.

  “You look real nice this morning.”

  Callie told herself not to let those blue eyes undo her. She moved past him up the steps, then turned. “And you look like something a pack of dogs dragged around all night. Maybe you should put a raw steak on that bruise on your cheek.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance, half grinning. “Maybe I will.” He walked off, and Callie watched him a moment. Lordy, they had so much to talk about. And she had no idea how to bring it all up, or if he even wanted it brought up.

  She walked inside, catching Mrs. Bailey walking from the direction of the doorway.

  “He’s going to wash up and shave at the bunkhouse,” Mrs. Bailey told her. “Did he have much to say?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t think he would. He’s got some thinking to do, so my advice is not to press him about anything.”

  Callie carried the basket of eggs over near the stove. “I thank you for all your advice, ma’am.”

  “Well, I saw something there between you two when you first arrived. Young love is always a joy for old people like us to watch.”

  “Hmmph!” Callie grumbled. “I’m not so sure you could call it love…yet. So far there hasn’t been anything much romantic about it.”

  Clara chuckled. “Honey, men have no idea what the word romance means. They have a whole different way of looking at such things than a woman.” She set out another fry pan. “Come on over here and cook some of those eggs. Ben likes his over real easy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Callie turned to helping finish breakfast. When all was ready, she went outside and clanged the dinner bell that hung at the corner of the porch. Moments later, Ben Bailey came walking from the barn, and Callie couldn’t help but be amused by the sight. He was bowlegged as a frog, probably from spending more time on the back of a horse than on his own two feet. She glanced toward the bunkhouse…no sign of Chris.

  She went back inside, and when Ben arrived, they all sat down to the homemade wooden table. Mrs. Bailey prayed. Callie thought what nice folks they were, putting them up this way, Mrs. Bailey being so easy to talk to. Ben’s men had even taken care of Jim Fallon, saving more danger to Chris. Still, they had a long way to go, and three more men to find.

  Clara passed the biscuits, and by the time Chris came back to the house, they
were all half done eating. He nodded to Clara.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Bailey, for being late.”

  “Never you mind. Many’s the time Mr. Bailey has had a little problem getting up on time due to too much spirits.”

  Ben guffawed as he stabbed at more ham, eating as though it were his last meal. Callie figured he probably always ate that way, which explained his big stomach.

  “Yes, sir, I don’t know of a man yet who didn’t relax with a bottle of whiskey once in a while,” he answered.

  Callie glanced at Chris as he sat down, and her appetite left her. Now that he was shaved and cleaned up, she was reminded of how handsome he was. He even smelled good. She felt kind of bad now about the bruise on his cheek, then chastised herself for caring. He deserved a fist in the face after the way he’d come after her like she was a dang whore. Trouble was, for the last couple of years, that was the kind of woman he was used to.

  She looked back down at her plate. Lordy, how could she compare to women like that? She forced herself to finish her food, just to be mannerly, while the men talked about ranching, and how Ben and Clara came to be here, having fled the South years earlier, when they saw trouble coming.

  Chris ate and visited as though Callie were not even there, and a vague premonition of impending heartache began to creep into her blood. Chris discussed buying one or two horses, and the two men discussed ranching, something Chris had never tried.

  “Well, for an educated easterner, you’ve adapted well out here,” Ben told Chris.

  Chris shrugged. “I like it out here. I like the climate, the mountains.” He poked at a piece of ham, sobering. “And the fact that a man can deal his own justice.”