Such as Quill.
His broad shoulders and sincere eyes made her mouth go dry. Only thing was, he didn’t seem interested in her at all. And Harper didn’t make her heart sing like Quill did. Still, Ike’s pronouncement made her quite happy. “Will you marry again?”
“I loved my Dora—still do. She’s the only woman for me. I’ve been without her for sixteen years now, and I’ll be meeting her in heaven soon. But before I go, I want to see a family and young ’uns on the Circle ID.”
But could she attract Quill? He hadn’t shown much promise in that regard, and she wasn’t exactly the belle of the ball. “What if neither of your nephews want me?”
Ike chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that.” He patted her arm. “You better skedaddle upstairs and get to working on that dress.”
Chapter 6
The next day went by in a flurry of preparations for the roundup and the party. Mercy felt at sea, and in the way, mostly. She far preferred to be useful—but then, she had no idea what to do. Ray took care of all the cooking but he did let her help him on occasion. Ike spent the day in Henderson Flats playing checkers.
That left Mercy to her own devices. So she started sewing curtains with fabric she’d found in Dora’s hope chest. The project didn’t occupy her for very long because with the sewing machine, she quickly made new curtains for her bedroom and sitting room, as well as draperies for the parlor and valances for the kitchen. When she went to put up the valances, Ray was also sewing, only he was sewing by hand—and he was working with leather.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Saddlebags. The hands need ’em when they’re out poppin’ bush for cattle.”
It didn’t look all that hard and stitching the bags would be something that she could do that was actually helpful to the Circle ID. “I think I’d like to learn how to work with leather.”
“Don’t see why you couldn’t do it, bein’s you’re so good with the needle.” He shoved a couple pieces toward her. “Sew those two pieces together with a whipstitch. The extra needles are in that bag on the counter and you’ll find some thin leather straps in there, too. Use that for the laces.”
She rather enjoyed handwork and she loved learning new things, so she set to her task with relish. After she got Ray’s approval, she asked, “What more can I do?”
“Quill needs a new set of chaps. Got an old pair here—you can use them for the pattern. Think you can do that?”
“I’d love to!” Since he’d brought her to the Circle ID, Quill had been avoiding her. She admitted to being very attracted to him and was sad that he did not feel the same for her. Maybe if she made him some of the best chaps he ever owned, it would help endear her to him. “Just show me how to get started, and also I’ve noticed you decorate some of your leatherwork, so I’d love to learn how to do that, too.”
“You get ’em made, and then we’ll worry about decorating.” He pointed to a box full of leather. “Choose some good-size hunks of thin leather. Chaps have to be flexible. Leave the thicker pieces for saddlebags and such.”
The giant kitchen table turned out to be perfect for a cutting area, and she made quick work of cutting out all of the pieces, including the straps, before she had to put everything away for the evening meal. As she put the last bit in the new bag that Ray had given her for leatherwork, she asked, “How long does it usually take you to sew up a pair of chaps?”
“Three or four days. Another two days to decorate them.”
When Mercy contemplated that, she reckoned she’d need more time for the decorating than for the sewing. “Could I have some extra lamp oil for tonight?”
“Got some reading to do?”
As a matter of fact, she did—The Adventures of Honey Beaulieu—but this night would be taken up with leatherwork. Quill was going to love his new chaps if she had anything to do with it.
* * *
The ride back to the ranch made Quill’s ears tired on account of Harper had talked the whole damned way.
“I reckon me’n the fellers are going to town,” Harp said. “You going with us?”
“Might.” Maybe a visit to Limber Lulu at the Silver Sage would take his mind off a certain other female.
Quill had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. Even so, he’d worked himself to a frazzle in order to avoid going into the house where there’d be no way to avoid Miss Mercy. The woman had beguiled him, sure enough.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding her during the two weeks of roundup, and by the time it was over, some man will have taken her, more than likely. A woman like her was too alluring to stay single for very long in this country, and Uncle Ike wouldn’t let her go to seed.
“What we gonna do with Miss Mercy?” Harp asked, as if he were reading Quill’s mind.
“Not a damned thing. That woman ain’t nothing but trouble—the marrying kind.”
“What’s so bad about marriage? Hell, I ain’t old enough to get leg-shackled even if Uncle Ike thinks I am, but you are.”
“Not a thing’s wrong with being married, if the wife sticks around.”
“Miss Mercy would stick around.”
How did Harp know that? Quill’s mother sure hadn’t but he didn’t speak of her. “Aunt Dora didn’t.”
“Aunt Dora died. I doubt it was her first choice.”
“Mercy won’t last long,” Quill said. “A pretty woman like her will draw men like buzzards to dead pronghorn. We’ll likely spend more time settling fights than ranching with her around.”
“Then again, it don’t take much for a bunch of cowhands to start a fight.”
“True.” Quill had done his share of brawling right along with them a time or two. There was nothing like a good fight to clear the cobwebs out of a man’s mind—unless he lost. Then he ended up with a few more to deal with, which was why Quill made sure he didn’t lose.
The spring sun also cleared a man’s mind of cobwebs, but even that put him in a bad mood because the sun reminded him of Miss Mercy. He’d never known a woman to be so bright and cheery. He loved her smile, and the way she pitched in and helped, even if she had no idea what the hell she was doing.
“Seems to me that it would take a strong woman to travel nearly three thousand miles to marry a man she don’t even know,” Harp added.
Would he ever let it drop? Quill wanted to stuff his bandana in Harp’s mouth. But his younger cousin rattled on. “Sure, she’s a city gal, but I bet she could learn how to be a ranch wife.”
Quill reckoned more people in this world should have her courage. And her enthusiasm for life, too. “You gonna marry her, then?”
“Hell, no. She’s all yours.”
Quill shook his head. “Uncle Ike’s gonna have to find her another husband. Married life ain’t for me.”
But it galled him something fierce to think of another man touching her.
* * *
Mercy had worked through the night until she could barely stay awake, then slept briefly, and at the first glimmer of dawn, had returned to her leatherwork. By midweek, her fingers were sore to the point of bleeding, but she’d managed to get the chaps sewn.
When she took them downstairs for Ray’s inspection, a woman dressed like a man was there with a baby in her arms and a boy barely out of toddler stage at her knee.
“This here’s Jake O’Keefe Lawrence,” Ray said. “Owns the Circle J. Best foreman in Idaho.” He cleared his throat. “Other than Quill, of course.”
The woman laughed. “Quill’s dang good. Ain’t gonna find a better roper—I do believe he might outdo me on that score.”
Mercy couldn’t get over the tall, beautiful redhead who wore britches. “Jake?”
“Stands for J.K.,” she explained, “which is short for Janelle Kathryn, but I don’t remember a soul ever callin’ me that.” She patted the little boy’s head. “And this here’s B.J., short for Ben Junior.”
“Nice to meet you, Jake.” Me
rcy smiled at the boy. “Hello, B.J.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth and hugged his mama’s leg. “And your baby?”
“We call him Scamp. Name’s Jacob O’Keefe Lawrence.” He was a cute little tyke, maybe six months old.
Mercy had come down so Ray could inspect her work, and she didn’t want to show him the chaps with an audience, especially Jake, who was so well-respected. But there was no help for it now—Mercy had walked into the lion’s den and bluster appeared to be her only way out. She had confidence in her efforts, though—the chaps looked good to her.
Ray had the egg basket hooked on his arm. “I have to go gather the eggs. You two have a nice visit and I’ll check your work when I get back.”
After he left, Jake asked, “What’s he checking?”
“I’m learning how to work with leather. I made a pair of saddlebags and a pair of chaps.”
“Chaps?” Jake raised her eyebrow. “Them’s a mite complicated for a beginner.”
“I’ve been sewing for years, and worked in a factory for the last four years—the first two as a seamstress—so I already know the stitches. It’s just a matter of learning to work with different material. Leather seems to have a mind of its own.”
Jake hoisted the baby into the crook of her other arm. “Let me see what you done there.”
Mercy felt the heat in her cheeks. She knew her face flushed red and that embarrassed her even more. In spite of her misgivings, she held up the chaps—plain, with no decoration. She’d much rather have shown them after Ray had checked them, but there was no backing out now. Not that she’d ever been good at backing out of anything.
“Dang, those look nice! Who’s the lucky man to get ’em?”
“Quill. He doesn’t know I’m making them, though. He asked Ray to do it—said his are worn and he wanted to take an extra pair on roundup.”
“I’d say Quill’s a lucky man. You gonna marry him?”
“I don’t think a pair of chaps will convince him to marry anyone. He doesn’t seem the marrying type.”
“Let me tell you about this marrying business.” Scamp pawed at Jake’s shirt and she let him nurse. “It can be damned good. Me and Ben—I call him ‘Boston’ just to tweak him some, but his name’s Benjamin—get along just fine, long as he don’t try to tell me what to do.”
Mercy couldn’t imagine anyone getting very far in that regard. She’d always been accused of being stubborn, although she certainly didn’t see it, but she had an inkling Jake could put her to shame in a stubborn contest. “Ike sent for me. I’m a mail-order bride. My father made the arrangements and I thought I was marrying Isaac Fairchild. Turns out that he used his name and position to get the approval but he intended me for one of his nephews.”
“Ike’s too old. Harp’s too young and too damned full of vinegar. So you marrying Quill?”
“He’s not interested.”
“You want him to be?”
“I don’t know. He avoids me.”
Jake chuckled. “Is that a fact. I saw him makin’ eyes at you.”
“Oh, that’s not what you think. He doesn’t believe a city girl can adapt.”
B.J. tugged on Jake’s sleeve. “I want a cookie.”
“When we get home. Whip’s got some in the cookie jar, I bet.” To Mercy, she said, “Best you make him interested then, else you need to piece out how you’ll support yourself. You could start a business, maybe a clothing shop. Then again, you’d make more money in leather, if that suits you. But just what do you think of Quill?”
“Oh my, he’s handsome. Every time I look at him I feel all quivery inside. Only thing is, he doesn’t return the sentiment, so maybe I should see about setting up my business. I like your ideas.”
“If you ask me, you ought to have your own income anyway. I don’t cotton to relying on a man—no one—to support you. What if you get a passel of young ’uns and your man gets himself killed or hurt?”
“I never thought of it that way. But you’re right.”
“I know. And I know one other thing—Quill’s skeert of you on account of you make him feel all quivery just like he makes you feel. And I’m here to tell you, once that quivering starts, it don’t stop.”
“What would you do?”
“Go on the roundup and make yourself useful.”
“I’m not supposed to go. Ike and Quill both said it was too dangerous.”
“Can you ride?”
“After a fashion. I’ve never had a horse of my own, so don’t have much experience.”
“Well, I’m bringing extra horses for you. I have a couple that’s right gentle and they’d do you just fine. If you wanna go, that is.”
“I do! Not only do I want to be with Quill, but I want to learn what all goes on so I can at least carry on an intelligent conversation at the supper table. I really, really want to go!”
“You can’t work in them duds. Get yourself a pair of britches, a warm shirt, and some good boots. Might have some boots that you can use. Homer, my oldest, just grew out of them and I was saving them for Ted. Fast as his feet are growing, he’ll likely fit into them by next year.”
“Wonderful!”
“Get some muslin and bind your bosom good or you’ll be sorry. You’ll need a bedroll, too. And a piece of canvas—I can bring one. But you got to promise you won’t do anything stupid and you’ll mind what I say.”
“I’ll follow orders, don’t worry. You just made me a happy woman.”
“You ain’t happy yet, but I’ll do my damnedest to make sure you end up that way.”
Chapter 7
Quill and Harper rode up to the ranch house at eleven that morning after chasing mavericks for five hours. Miss Mercy stood on the porch, waving at the departing Jake, who mounted her bay gelding with a baby in one arm, then reached down, grabbed B.J., and tossed him behind her.
Dog had stayed by Quill’s side all morning, but yipped and broke into a dead run straight for Jake—no, past Jake to Miss Mercy. He bounded onto the porch and stuck his nose into her palm. She knelt and gave his ears a good scratching. Dog’s tail wagged as if she just thrown him a T-bone steak.
Harper chuckled. “Looks like your mutt has taken a shine to your woman.”
Quill kept his silence but he felt like growling. Dog had always stuck by his side but now he seemed to have transferred his loyalty. Then again, Quill wouldn’t mind if Mercy scratched his ears, either. His tail would probably be wagging, too. He dismounted in front of the barn.
“Your lady has your chaps ready to try on,” Jake hollered. “Best you get your butt in the house. Harp can take care of your horse.”
“Be happy to,” Harp said, as he took Horse’s reins and led both geldings into the barn.
Quill could either stand there like an idiot or go into the house, since Jake hadn’t left him any leeway in the decision. He’d look like a heel if he ignored Mercy, and he’d feel like a heel if he didn’t. So he took the long walk to the house—to his doom.
“Ray’s making my chaps. He always does.”
Jake reined her horse around. “Not this time.” She nudged her big bay to a trot and rode past Quill. “See you at the party!”
Miss Mercy stepped off the porch, Dog sticking close to her side, still nuzzling her hand. “Ray had a lot of work to do and I’m a fair hand with a needle, so I offered to help out.” The sunlight on her hair made the red even more vivid—a halo around her beaming smile.
It was contagious. He smiled back before he could get a grip on himself. “Guess we better get this over with, then.”
“They’re on the kitchen table.” She turned and stepped onto the porch. He followed, with a good view of the sway of her sweet derriere. When she opened the door, Dog tried to sneak into the house but Miss Mercy would have none of it. “This isn’t your house,” she chastised, and the whining mutt crouched on his belly beside the door. The cat scampered in, though.
Quill sympathized with Dog, only the other way around. Since she’d arrived, Quil
l had left his room, which was one door down from hers, before she got up, and hadn’t come back until he saw the light in her room go out. The last few days, he’d slept in the barn because her light had been on late into the night. Now he knew what she’d been doing.
“Ray made a pound cake. You can have some before we get started with the fitting, if you want.”
He didn’t, but then he wasn’t too fond of the idea of her fitting chaps to him, either. That spelled nothing but trouble. Maybe if he delayed long enough, Ray would be back. “Sounds good. Got any coffee?”
“Yes. Sit down and I’ll fetch it for you.” She went to the cabinet and reached for a plate and a mug. “You can take a look at the chaps and let me know if you want something changed.”
It seemed kind of late to make any changes before roundup. He’d have to take what he could get and just hope his old pair lasted the next few weeks. He eyeballed the neatly folded leather in the box.
“Go ahead and take them out,” she said as she sliced the cake. “I have all the needles put away so nothing will poke you.”
“Want I should take these off first?” he asked, pointing to the chaps he wore. Quill wondered just how close she’d get. He’d been riding all morning and smelled a lot more like a horse than a man.
“Yes, please.” She set the cake and coffee in his usual spot at the table, and just coffee where she normally sat. “We’ll eat first so your cake doesn’t dry out. The fitting shouldn’t take long.”
He waited until she headed for her chair, then seated her before he took his place. Coffee did sound good, and of course the cake would hold him until Ray got dinner on the table at noon, and then he had to meet with Harp and a cattle broker at two. Dog whined at the door. “Go chase some rabbits,” Quill told him, but the wolf-dog stayed right where he was.
“Are you all set to go on roundup?” Miss Mercy asked.
“Mostly.” He didn’t want to be rude, but then there wasn’t much point in talking about sorting and branding cattle when she had no idea how complicated it was to make several ranch crews work together smoothly. “Always a few last-minute things to do.” He polished off the slice of pound cake and washed it down with a hefty slurp of coffee.
Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) Page 4
