“Will you be going to Henderson Flats before you leave?”
“Yep. Need a few more supplies that should’ve come in on yesterday’s freight wagon.” He didn’t dare send Harper on account of he’d end up partying half the night away, and Quill needed him to get his work done. Quill couldn’t send Ike because he’d end up playing checkers and wouldn’t get the supplies back until dark.
“Good, because I have a few items to pick up, too, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you.”
Quill couldn’t think of a single reason for her not to go that didn’t sound phony, which it would be, so he nodded.
She stood and took his new chaps out of the box. “Let’s try these on so I can make adjustments tonight.”
He stood, not anxious, yet too damned anxious, for her to fit his chaps to him. Mercy held out the chaps, so he put them on and tied the top leather lace.
“Do they hang right?”
Lord above, he sure didn’t want to talk about hanging. “Fine, Miss Mercy.”
“Please just call me Mercy. Ike and Ray do, and I do prefer it.”
He nodded. He’d likely be calling her missus something-or-other by the time he got back.
“The side lacing isn’t quite finished yet,” she said. “I merely need to know how tight you like them to fit, then I’ll get the holes punched and the lacing done this evening after supper. Let me pull the sides together and you tell me what feels good.”
When a beautiful woman with a sunny smile knelt in front of a man and put her hands all over his legs, it damned well felt good, but instead of saying anything, he took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “Go to it, then.” He just hoped his lower parts would behave, especially when she was eye level to a particular overenthusiastic part.
She pulled the leather between his legs and held it at his outer thigh. “Is that good?”
Good? Limber Lulu could take lessons. He stifled a groan, and said, “Yep.” Once he got his air back, he asked, “Will this take long?”
“Nope. All done.” She stood and beamed another of those sunny smiles at him. “I’ll have them ready for you to take with you.”
He unlaced the waist and shoved the chaps at her. “Got stuff to do.” And he took off for the safety of the barn. Except Harp was still grooming the horses and he had a big smirk on his face.
“How’d the fitting go?”
“Good.”
“Whew-wee! I bet it was good—I know where she put her hands. Makes me break into a sweat just thinking about it.”
Quill was sweating still. “You change your mind about marrying her, then?”
“Was that a joke? Quill Roderick told a joke? I gotta write this down in the almanac.”
* * *
Mercy had the chaps done by noon. What she hadn’t told him was that she planned to put at least a small decoration on each side—just enough so they wouldn’t be plain. They should do him justice. And heavens above, that man sure did look good in chaps.
Warmth flooded her all over when she thought of the fitting. Truth was, he didn’t need a fitting at all because she’d used his old chaps as a pattern—the fitting had been Jake’s idea. Mercy wouldn’t have thought of Jake as being the flirty type, but she had some good ideas. There’d be even more once she got to the roundup, of that, Mercy was positive.
Of course, she didn’t have to marry at all if she started her own business, which sounded like a good idea to her. After spending years in the factory working hard to make money for everyone else, she rather liked the notion of working for herself. She might even be able to help other women who ended up in her situation.
Yes, that did seem like a good path to pursue. Mercy decided she’d work all this out during the roundup, and when it was over, she’d take steps to rent a space in Henderson Flats and earn money—sewing by hand if she had to—and buy a sewing machine. In fact, if Patience was unhappy in Washington, she could come to Idaho and be her business partner.
A grand idea. She wrote a letter to Patience, revealing the true situation about Ike and his great-nephews and inviting her to come to Henderson Flats in three or four weeks. She also wrote to her parents, telling them that she was happy here. They didn’t need to know the details yet.
Another advantage of starting a business would be that Mercy wouldn’t have to struggle with her attraction to Quill every single day. Such as dinnertime, and when she checked her timepiece, she had no doubt the men were waiting for her. She hurried downstairs, knowing Quill would be there with Harper and Ike, ready for another hearty meal.
“There she is!” Ike said as she finally made it to the kitchen. “We’ve got some hungry boys here.”
“I’m sorry I’m late. Since we’re going to town tomorrow and I can mail letters, I decided to write to Patience and my parents.”
“Good idea.”
Harper seated her at the table and then the men quickly sat and dug into the heaps of food Ray had prepared—a huge pot of beef stew, two loaves of fresh bread, a bowl of butter, and some sort of egg salad. Mercy had never eaten anything like it before but it was tasty.
“We eat good before a roundup,” Harper explained, “because for two weeks or however long it takes, we’ll be eating beans.”
“It ain’t all that bad,” Ike said. “Whip is a right good cook and if he can shoot a pronghorn, they’ll have some tasty stew—without the vegetables, of course. He makes a mean biscuit for a busted-up old cowhand.”
“He’s younger than you,” Harper pointed out.
“Yeah, and I can’t make biscuits for spit.” He turned to Mercy and winked. “I saw Jake as she was headed home. Sounds like we better make some plans for when everyone leaves.”
Mercy smiled her sweetest. “I already am.”
“You sure you don’t want to go with us, Uncle Ike?” Quill asked as he sopped a slice of bread in his stew. “You ain’t never missed one in all these years.”
“Don’t you pay me no never-mind, son. Mercy and me’ll be just fine.”
* * *
Quill saw that the cowhands got the tables set up, the floor raked, and planks laid for dancing the next night. Both Dog and Cat were underfoot and he had to shoo them out several times—Dog refusing to leave until Cat led the way. Everything was ready for the tables to be loaded down with food, and folks to come with their dancing shoes. But he had no intention of sticking around for such nonsense.
The party would start around five o’clock and he’d get the hell out of there before it did. As pretty as Mercy was already, he didn’t even want to see her all gussied up for a dance. Just that much more temptation for something that was never to be. He’d learned a long time ago that women wouldn’t stay around long. Mercy would likely leave once she found something or someone better. He couldn’t bear to see it.
He hadn’t made his escape before Harp barged into the barn. “Seen my jinglebobs?”
Quill pointed to the tack room. “If you’d ever put the danged things up, you wouldn’t always be looking for them. Ever thought of that?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be so much fun to watch you get hot under the collar when I ask where they are.”
“I’m glad to be such good entertainment,” Quill mumbled as he checked his blue roan gelding’s hooves, which the beast had never much liked. “Hold still, Horse.”
“If you’d name him something besides ‘Horse,’ maybe he’d behave better.” Harp attached the jinglebobs to his spurs. “You best get ready for the party or Uncle Ike’ll have your hide.”
“Ain’t going.”
“What do you mean, you ain’t going? Of course you are. First of all, it’s the spring roundup party and everyone goes, even hermits like you. Second, we’re supposed to be introducing Miss Mercy around, remember?”
“I reckon you can do that better than me anyhow.” Quill finally finished picking Horse’s hooves, so he tightened the cinch and slipped on the hackamore, then whistled to his mutt. “C’mon, Dog. Let’s get out of her
e.”
“Dog could use a better name, too. So could Cat. You ain’t exactly imaginative with names.”
Quill mounted up. “They don’t seem to much mind.” He reined the horse around and left the barn. Left the ranchstead. Left Uncle Ike. Left Miss Mercy.
It was all for the better.
* * *
Friday, May 8, 1891
The past week had been rather odd. Quill and Harper both made themselves scarce, but she had made good friends with the dog, scary looking as he was, and the cat. She’d also named them—Lobo for the dog, and Inky, short for Inkblot, for the cat. Only Ray knew, and none of the rest seemed to care. Ike said they both belonged to Quill, and Lobo did stick with him whenever he was in the barnyard. The dog even went out on the range with Quill sometimes.
Both animals made nuisances of themselves, begging for pets, when she sat out on the front porch, as she was at the moment, in the morning sun. Inky jumped on her lap. When Lobo wanted a scratch behind the ears, Inky growled.
“You need to learn to share,” she told the cat. Inky flicked his tail, decidedly unrepentant, and shoved his nose between her arm and ribs.
Late afternoon, Mercy bathed and brushed her hair, preparing to dress for the party. She’d managed to get the last bit of lace sewed to her bodice the evening before, and all she had to do was look her best and smile.
The party daunted Mercy a smidgeon. She loved meeting new people, but preferred to meet them a few at a time, especially since she had a devil of a time remembering names.
Except she’d never forget Quill’s name. Was that a nickname or his Christian name? “Quill” meaning a writing pen or a porcupine? Short for another name? His name mystified her as much as he did himself.
When he came near her, she felt all excited inside and happy. The closer he was the warmer she got. But she didn’t seem to affect him in the same way at all, nor was he the slightest bit attentive—not like his cousin Harper, who’d been quite the charmer. He’d joked all the way to and from Henderson Flats and she found him delightful. As a friend, certainly not as a possible husband.
But Quill... Oh dear! He’d stolen her heart at first glance. He invaded her thoughts even at the most inopportune moments. Like right then, when she needed to be putting on her hostess face. Even if he did find every excuse to keep from driving her to town, she still wouldn’t mind sitting in silence beside him, if he only would take her. Just being near him warmed her all over.
Ike had told her that as the woman of the house, she’d be hosting the party with him, so her first job would be to meet and greet folks as they came in. That meant she’d better get her derrière out to the barn or she might miss the first arrivals.
The smell of fresh hay and the lingering scent of horses and cows hung in the large, silent barn. Ike assured her it would be full and loud before the night was over. The first to show up were the owners of the Rocking JW ranch, which Ike told her was six miles northwest of the Circle ID.
“That’s Jack Walker and his wife, Greta.” Jack helped his wife off the wagon and she waved. Ike waved back so Mercy did, too. An older man hopped off and followed them, and a younger fellow practically vaulted from the wagon and made a beeline for Quill’s crew.
When the Walkers came into the barn, Greta handed her a huge platter of cinnamon rolls that made Mercy’s mouth water, and said, “Pardon our son, Kenny. You know how fifteen-year-olds can be. He could hardly wait to visit with the Circle ID cowhands, even though he’ll be stuck with them for a couple weeks during roundup.” She laughed, and Mercy knew the petite raven-haired woman would be a great friend. She turned and took the older man’s arm. “This is my father-in-law, Neil Walker. He’ll be playing the fiddle tonight.”
The next to arrive were more musicians—guitarist Al Curtis and family, Arlene Nafsinger, who played the accordion, and her family, then later, Elmer Prow, who Ike introduced as the man who called the dances and generally kept things going, and his wife, Mary.
“Are the Paxtons coming?” Ike asked Al.
“Nope, you’re stuck with us.” Al pulled makings out of his pocket and commenced to roll a quirley. “Someone asked them to play at a fancy doin’s over in Boise City. Them boys are in such demand these days, they’ll have to hire someone to run their ranch.”
Only the musicians had arrived and Mercy’s head already spun with all the names. She’d never keep them straight—if she could write all their names on their foreheads, maybe she’d have a chance. And she desperately wanted to make a good impression. Forgetting their names wouldn’t be a good start.
Next, a bunch of riders came, one with a bundle, and that bundle started squalling the minute the rider reined the horse to a stop.
“There’s the Lawrences,” Ike said. “Have you met Jake yet?”
“Yes, she dropped by the other day.”
Jake threw her right leg over the pommel and jumped off her horse, then headed straight for the house. “Back in a while,” she hollered. “This little scamp thinks it’s suppertime.”
A tall man, three youngsters—one nearly a man, and B.J. on a pony, rode on to the barn leading Jake’s horse. They all dismounted, and started unsaddling the mounts. “Help B.J.,” the man said.
B.J. hopped off without assistance and ran to his father’s side.
“Good to see you, Ben,” Ike said. “This here’s Miss Mercy Eaton from Massachusetts.”
“How do you do, ma’am.” He turned from his chore and shook hands with Ike, then tipped his hat to Mercy. “I lived in Boston for several years.”
“Which is why she calls you ‘Boston’?”
“That’s right.” He grinned, and it was apparent that he loved his wife very much. “My wife told me about you.”
Mercy hoped Jake had said good things. She seemed like a nice lady. Woman, rather. Not much ladylike about Jake, but it didn’t seem to tarnish her femininity a bit.
One of the youngsters shouldered in front of him. “You must be that there mail-order bride. I always wanted to see one of them.” A girl, freckle-faced with dark brown hair, dressed in boy’s clothing—Mercy would have a lot to get used to in this country. “I’m Henry, short for Henrietta.” She pointed at the boys. “Them pathetic yay-hoos is my brothers, Homer and Teddy.”
“Ted, not Teddy. I’m eleven—practically a grown man.” The younger brother took a swipe at his sister’s shoulder but she ducked and clobbered him back. “Dammit all, I told you not to call me Teddy no more.” He grinned at Mercy. “You really gonna marry Uncle Ike?”
“No cussin’ till you’re twelve.” Henry frowned and crossed her scrawny arms in front of her chest. “Jake said.”
“You ain’t telling, are you?”
“Depends.”
Ben held up his forefinger at the two of them. “Finish taking care of the horses and then you can argue.” He chuckled and gave them a shove. “Do it right, or Jake’ll have your hide.”
Chapter 8
A whole caravan of neighbors piled in and Mercy lost track shortly after Jake’s family came. Several young men, Harper’s friends, strutted around with their jinglebobs, dancing with every available lady. That included her.
“The fellows are sure smitten with you, as well they should be,” Ike said when Mercy returned to his side, nearly breathless after a vigorous polka. “You are beautiful tonight. That blue dress becomes you.”
“Thank you.” But she noticed a dearth of single young ladies, so she didn’t take his compliment much to heart.
“It certainly does,” another lady, named Suzanne if Mercy remembered right, said. “Did you make that? Because I was admiring the same material at the store but I didn’t think my sewing skills could do it justice. I was right because you’re very talented.”
Mercy could feel warmth creeping up her cheeks—that blasted blush again. “You flatter me more than I deserve. I bought the material Monday morning because I didn’t have anything that would be nice to wear for the party.”
; Ike chuckled. “You could wear longjohns and be beautiful.”
She felt exhilarated with all the music, laughter, and dancing. It seemed as if the world partied with them that night. As the hours passed, more spirits were not so discreetly passed around. With the liquor came a good bit of rowdiness, and the barn warmed with the crowd. Mercy loved watching it all. She’d never seen an inebriated person other than the drunks on the street, so the whole affair fascinated her.
Harper’s friends, some of whom had striking good looks, whooped it up—laughing and dancing. Several of them grabbed her for a spin around the dance floor. She had to be careful to pick up her feet, since dancing on planks was a lot different than on a finished floor, not to mention the ever-present danger of getting her toes stomped. The two-step and the polka were popular. She could waltz better, but these fellows two-stepped to every song, including waltzes. Mercy found the whole thing amusing, especially when they had to hop around to get their feet back under them.
Two of Harper’s friends had a friendly spat over who got to dance with her next. She settled the feud by begging off. “Please, I need a refreshment.”
“I’ll bring you a drink,” a man offered.
Harper stepped to her side. “Back off, Sully.”
Mercy was glad to visit the refreshment table with Harper. She spied some pretty pink punch. “I’d like some of that.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
It looked so pretty, it had to be good. “Yes. I’m very thirsty.”
Harper ladled out a large glass and gave it to her. “Enjoy.” Then he steered her toward the benches where Ike sat. “I think you ought to be sitting when you drink it.”
The punch tasted a little strong but she was mighty thirsty. After she’d drunk half, she just couldn’t stop smiling. “Isn’t this the most wonderful party?” She gave Ike a sideways hug and he chuckled.
“Yep, especially with a little pick-me-up in the punch. Of course, it’s looking to me like we’ll be picking you up.”
Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) Page 5
