by Sabine Starr
He dismounted on shaky legs and let Kirby drink. Mercy took a deep breath, drawing in air scented by the wilderness around him. He heard rustling in the underbrush and tree frogs singing up a storm. This would be a perfect place to woo a lady, but those days were sadly behind him.
When Kirby finished, Mercy led the bay over to the sycamore, then loosened the cinch. He lifted the saddle, staggered under its weight, and quickly set it down under the huge tree. He rested a moment and then led Kirby over to a grassy area, removed the bridle, and hobbled him.
He was glad Belle hadn’t been around to notice his weakness. Of all the times he’d like to impress a woman this was it. She had a riveting effect on him that had grown by the moment since he’d met her. He wanted her and needed her. Unfortunately, she’d made it abundantly clear that she couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
He groaned, making an unmanly sound that he immediately stifled. He hurt all over. But he couldn’t let pain stop him. He had a job to do and he was going to do it even if it killed him. And it well might.
For now he’d create a cozy camp for Belle. He picked up a fallen limb, dry and brittle, and gathered more firewood. When he had enough, he pulled matches from his saddlebag and started a small campfire. He held his hands over the cheery flames, hoping the light wouldn’t be noticeable at a distance.
As day turned to dusk, the world around him narrowed to a small, finite area. He welcomed it for the sake of security and simplicity. He positioned his saddle near the tree trunk to use as a pillow, then untied his blanket and rolled it out. He sat down. It wasn’t much comfort, but it was better than the back of a horse. He set aside his hat, untied his neckerchief, and wiped sweat from his brow. He leaned back, rested his head on the saddle, and closed his eyes. He sighed in pure pleasure at the relief.
If not for Diana, he’d be comfortable in his feather bed at the Lone Star Hotel or anesthetizing his body with whiskey at the Red River Saloon. He snapped open his eyes, feeling guilty. No telling what Diana was enduring at the hands of four ruthless men while he thought only about his own aches and pains. She deserved better.
“You look comfy.” Belle walked out of the darkness into the firelight, carrying her saddle and bridle. “Mind if I join you?”
He smiled at her. She was a welcome sight, even as he noticed that she looked a little worn around the edges. A smudge of dirt across her nose warred with her freckles. Several long pieces of grass stuck to her skirt. And her boots were caked with mud.
She plopped her saddle onto the blanket and sat down with a groan. “I don’t know about you, but does this feel like several days rolled into one?”
“It feels more like a week.” Mercy motioned toward the fire. “Is that a problem? I don’t want to give away our position.”
“No. I couldn’t see the light before I got right up on it. And it’s a cheerful sight on a cheerless day.”
“I thought so, too.”
She looked him over. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.”
She shook her head. “No offense, but you look half-dead.”
“No offense taken. I must look about like I feel.”
“Maybe you’ll feel stronger after you eat.”
“Hope so.”
“I’m starved, so let’s get out the vittles.” She unrolled her blanket, then untied Mama Lou’s sack of goodies.
He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out the packet of food from Ludmila’s store.
“This is going to taste so good.” Belle grinned and then got busy setting out food with red-and-white-checked napkins.
He watched her as flames crackled merrily. Firelight illuminated the strong planes of her face. A few strands of long hair dangled from her loose chignon to brush her shoulders. She worked with rapid, concise movements.
Alone like this, he could imagine them in their own home, be it country log cabin or stately town house. She’d be getting supper while he washed up from a hard day’s work. Maybe a baby would laugh from a cradle in the corner. Later they’d go to bed together and ease the day’s aches, pains, and frustrations with love.
He felt a sudden burning need to record this moment on canvas. He’d capture light from a campfire holding the darkness and danger of a wild country at bay, two tired, dusty faces anxiously awaiting a cold supper, and the closeness of a couple who depended on each other for survival.
When had he changed? He’d thought he’d known what he wanted to paint. Now he visualized paintings that would never have entered his mind before. Maybe he’d matured as an artist. Maybe he wanted to share his vision with others who would never experience this sense of freedom, community, and friendship that was built upon the bones of survival out West. Maybe he wanted to capture this world before it was gone, plowed under, fenced in, built over. On the other hand, perhaps Belle inspired him to be more than he’d ever thought he could be.
He chuckled, forcing his thoughts away. She was a bounty hunter. He was an artist. They were not destined for a blissful, domestic future.
“What’s so funny?”
“Us.”
“When did we become us?”
“About the time we crossed the Red River.”
Belle stopped and cocked her head as she looked at him. “You may be right. It’ll take the two of us to corner and capture four desperadoes.”
He grew serious. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
“I’ll do the same.” She motioned toward the jerky, cheese, and crackers, but she’d set the muffins and fritters near her rather than between them.
“What about Mama Lou’s goodies?”
She grinned impishly. “I’m not sure I’m going to share.”
He groaned. “Would you do that to a starving man who’s had your back all day?”
She rolled her eyes in consideration and then nodded.
He quickly leaned forward, grabbed a muffin and a fritter, and then leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face.
“And you didn’t even say please or thank you.”
“I’m more likely to call you greedy-gut.”
“You’re a coldhearted man.”
He took a big bite out of the fritter and made happy chewing sounds as he ate the delicious fried cornbread.
She did the same thing, watching him as she quickly polished off her fritter and reached for another.
He rolled up his napkin and tossed it at her. “Only one!”
She threw the napkin back at him. “You are such a brute.”
He laughed. “Maybe I’d do better if I was one.”
She turned serious. “No. Never think that.”
“I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant thoughts. You must have seen a lot of that behavior as a bounty hunter.”
“Man’s inhumanity to man never fails to astound me.”
“Even in the best of worlds with deep spiritual beliefs, I’ve learned that brutality exists. It’s no joking matter.”
She contemplated him for a moment, then nodded. “Mercy, sometimes you surprise me. Maybe someday you’ll share part of your past.”
“Maybe someday you’ll do the same.”
She picked up a piece of cheese. “Till then, let’s muddle through to Diana.”
“Lead on.” He saluted her with a jerky slice.
Chapter 14
After they’d eaten and let the fire burn low, Belle took the first watch. She doubted that she’d wake Mercy for his turn. He desperately needed sleep whereas she could get by on cat naps. As far as she could tell, they were safe here where they could catch their breath.
Mercy had rolled up in his blanket and almost instantly begun a light snore. That’d left Belle alone with her thoughts. She was glad for it. So much had happened so fast that she needed time to catch up with events.
Although she’d been upset at taking a tenderfoot with her, Mercy had grown on her. He didn’t complain although he had to be in pain and weak from fever. He revealed his inner strength without big wo
rds or bold actions. She wasn’t used to a subtle man. She’d even started to appreciate his gentleness, his humor, his view of the world. He balanced her in a way she’d never considered important before today.
Yet none of that explained Mercy’s effect on her. After Hackett, she’d never thought another man could arouse her passion. Maybe Mercy did because he was so different or because she’d been so long alone. She accepted that no one could ever meet Hackett’s standards, but now she realized that she could appreciate another type of man.
Not that she wanted any of these feelings resurrected, particularly before she’d obtained justice for Tex and Hackett. Still, she’d been thrust into a new battle, one with blurred lines and heightened emotions. Somehow she must keep her wits about her and resist her longing for Mercy, a feeling that had arisen most likely from loneliness more than reality.
An owl hooted overhead, reminding her that it was the harbinger of death, change, and knowledge. She felt a chill run up her spine. Too much about this journey brought magic and mayhem into her life. She didn’t want either, not anymore. She wanted justice first, then peace and quiet.
She sipped water from her canteen as she listened to night sounds, staying alert for human intrusion. If all around her became quiet, she’d know people were coming close. For now she heard the rustle of small critters in the grass, the swish of horse tails, and the plop of frogs leaping into the stream. A coyote howled in the distance and was answered by other coyotes. She shivered again as she listened to the eerie, haunting cries.
As the night grew deeper, she felt sleepier. She poked the embers of the campfire to keep it alive and glanced at Mercy in the glow. He moved restlessly, breath coming harder. She placed a hand on his shoulder and patted the strong muscle. He stilled, as if finding comfort in her touch.
She leaned back against the tree trunk to get more comfortable. She shut her eyes, drifting toward sleep, enjoying the peace. Suddenly, a harsh cry jerked her fully awake. All her senses went on alert. She put a hand over her pounding heart as she glanced around the area.
Mercy thrashed in his sleep as if he were fighting someone for his life. He groaned as he struggled in his twisted blanket.
She’d never seen anyone caught in such a bad nightmare. She reached over and shook his shoulder to awaken him. At first he didn’t respond, but then he growled and threw off his blanket. He grasped her hand and jerked her down beside him with surprising strength. Before she could do more than yelp, he rolled over on top of her and pinned her beneath his hard body. He pushed long fingers into her hair and held her head still for a searing kiss.
She was so shocked that she didn’t move for a moment, but then her body woke up and responded to his touch. She wanted his kiss to deepen. She wanted to feel his hard body move over her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and tug him closer. But she knew that was a risk better not taken.
As he pressed heated kisses to her lips, nibbling her soft flesh, she realized that he had to be asleep or in a fever-induced trance. She doubted if he knew where he was or whom he was with. He was simply consumed with passion. It was a situation fraught with all types of problems.
Yet she felt his heat penetrate her deeper and deeper until her own long buried desire caught fire. She pushed up against his hard shaft, and he ground down against her softness. If she’d been hot before, now she turned molten as her inner core grew damp with burning, pulsing need. She gasped for breath, as he tore away from her mouth to kiss and nibble his way down her throat.
Shocked at her own response and where he was taking them, she tried to pull away, but he growled deep in his throat and held her tight.
She had to stop their actions while she still had the will to do so. She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled his head back.
“Mercy, wake up!”
His eyes remained closed even as he pushed his cock, separated from her by nothing more than their clothes, harder against her sensitive nub.
“Mercy!” She fought his desire as she fought her own.
He breathed in short gasps, as if running a race, as he grasped her breasts and squeezed with both hands.
She slapped his face, putting enough force behind the act that a sharp crack ricocheted into the night. Everything around them went quiet.
Mercy slowly opened his eyes and blinked at her in confusion.
“It’s me, Belle. Please, wherever you are, come back. Mercy, be here now!”
He continued to stare at her, as if frozen in time.
She racked her mind for his real name. Maybe his new name meant nothing to him in this state. She couldn’t remember. It’d been something unwieldy. And then it came to her. “Theodore Lafayette Huntingdon, be here now. Be here!”
He blinked and rubbed his jaw. “Belle?”
“Get off me, you big oaf.”
He looked down at her, and a slow smile tweaked his lips. “Did I miss something important?”
“Where were you?”
He glanced away, frowned, and then smiled. “You have a powerful effect on me, even in my sleep.” He rolled to his side, clasped her hand, and pushed it against the bulge in his trousers.
She was shocked at his boldness and the tingling in her palm where she touched the long, hard length of him. She jerked her hand away, sat up, and put distance between them. “I doubt that has anything to do with me.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “You’re wrong. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’ve been unable to do that since . . . well, for a long time.”
“I find that difficult to believe. Are all those carvings, drawings, and paintings of naked ladies products of your imagination?”
“I never forget a face or figure. It’s my gift and my curse.”
“In that case, I guess you’ve known more than a few ladies. And your art admirers surely believe you’re the most virile man on Earth.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint them, now would I?” She rolled her eyes.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. I tried saying your name, but—”
“I heard you, but I couldn’t get back.”
“Where were you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I’ve seen more in life than you can imagine.”
“This is different.”
“How was Diana helping you?”
“She has ways of reaching into—”
“And confronting someone elsewhere?”
His eyes widened in astonishment.
“I may be able to help.” She pushed her hair back from her face where he’d pulled it from her chignon. She was beginning to understand his problem and why a regular doctor couldn’t help. Yet she didn’t want to get involved, particularly not with something as volatile as this appeared to be. She felt the tingling in the skin over her heart again, so she suspected that she had little choice. If you were called, you answered to the best of your ability.
“I doubt it. You’re a bounty hunter and good at it from what I hear. You can track. You can trail. You can find folks. But my problem is not one you can solve.”
She didn’t care for his dismissal of her talents. She was reluctant, but she most likely had the ability, even if rusty, to help him. “I fear you won’t reach Diana in time.”
“No choice.” He picked up his canteen and took a long drink of water. “Wish I had whiskey.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Diana?”
“No. The woman who won’t let you go.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He gave Belle a searching look and then furtively glanced away.
“Tell me.”
He screwed the lid back on his canteen and threw it hard against the ground. “You won’t believe a word I say. You’ll think I’ve lost my mind. Then you’ll leave me high and dry.”
“What’s her name?”
“Leave it be.”
“No. Tell me.”
He ran a hand through hi
s thick hair. “I guess we’ve come this far together, we might as well go on. You made a good guess. There’s a woman involved.”
“And?”
“Her name is Victoria.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes.”
“Sensuous?”
“Yes.”
“Vindictive?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s your problem with her?”
“She cursed me.”
Belle felt her world tilt and spin in a kaleidoscope of colors as a vision of Victoria came to her. Black hair. Pale skin. Russet eyes. Red lips. Those lips framed sharp, white teeth in a hungry mouth that opened and said, “Theo is mine! Leave him or I’ll curse you to the ends of eternity.”
Belle ripped open her blouse, grabbed Mercy’s left hand, and pressed it flat against the skin over her heart. “Victoria,” she hissed, “Mercy . . . Theo now resides in the heart of Spider Grandmother’s web. If you dare to enter, you will be devoured.”
And Victoria’s image disappeared in a flash.
“Belle?” Mercy stroked the upper slope of her breast. “Is there something you ought to tell me?”
Chapter 15
Mercy watched as Belle abruptly stood up and walked to the other side of the campfire. She stared at him, an unfathomable look in her eyes.
He stared back, feeling energy and strength and focus well up in him such as he hadn’t felt in over a year. He was no longer sick.
Smiling, he took a deep breath to steady the impulse to leap up and shout his happiness to the heavens. Most of all, he wanted to grab Belle and dance . . . waltz or hoedown, either would satisfy him. But the look in her eyes stopped him. She didn’t appear poised to share his happiness. Instead, she’d put the campfire between them as a defense. He felt his enthusiasm fade.
“I need to understand your situation,” Belle said. “Victoria cursed you?”
