Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43)

by Jacquie Rogers

  “You don’t have to. In fact, it’d be good for you to see where everything’s packed. Besides, you need to fill the canteens—we’ll take two each with us, and have more canteens on the mule. Ray’s got them on the porch, ready for you.”

  “Why are we taking so much water?”

  “It’s desert. You don’t go nowhere without water. Ever. Remember that.”

  Half an hour later, Ike offered to help her onto the horse.

  “No, thank you. I’m a western woman now—and I haven’t ever seen you offer to help Jake up.”

  Ike grinned. “Mercy, you’ve got sand. Let’s ride.”

  Chapter 10

  Quill could’ve sworn Jake’s baby ate all the way to the roundup site. “How’re you gonna chase cows with a baby that nurses all day?”

  “Same way as I always do, only with more pee on me.”

  “Them oilcloth britches ought to help some.”

  “Hmph.” She gazed lovingly at her baby and kissed his forehead. “You ought to get yourself one of these little fellers. You’d be a good daddy, just like Boston.”

  After five years, Jake still called her husband “Boston” since he’d lived in that city for several years. When he first came back to Owyhee County, she called him that in derision, but these days, it was a pet name.

  “I don’t need no ankle-biters. Too damn much work.”

  “They are that. I’d have said the same thing before Boston knocked me up.”

  “But you had Homer, Teddy, and Henry.”

  “Didn’t collect them until they was older. I didn’t know the first thing about raising a baby.”

  “So how did you learn all that mothering stuff?”

  “Watched the cows. I reckoned if they could figure it out, I could.”

  They rode for another twenty minutes or so. Jake had held up her end of the stick when B.J. was a baby and Quill had no doubt she’d work just as hard as any man there while holding Scamp. Not many men could keep up with her. And no women, that he knew of.

  By the time they got to the roundup camp, Whip was already there—having driven the chuckwagon ahead the day before—and had a big supper nearly ready.

  “Thought you folks would never get here,” he growled.

  “I was beginning to wonder myself,” Quill said. “A couple of crews took their own sweet time getting to the Circle ID this morning.”

  “There’s coffee on the fire. By the time y’all get settled, the biscuits will be done, so don’t fart around too much.”

  Quill laughed at the tall, rangy old cowpoke-turned-cook, who was also Jake’s father-in-law. “My belly won’t let that happen, and I bet the other hands are plenty ready for a big bowl of your stew, too.”

  “We sure nuff are!” Sully called from across camp as he groomed his horse. “Been waiting all day for some of Whip’s biscuits.”

  “Hell, you just had some a couple days ago,” Jake said. She gave Whip a hug. He took the baby and made those ridiculous baby noises that made fools of grown men. Quill swore he’d never do such a thing.

  Which brought to mind Mercy. Dang that woman! No matter what he did, she always horned in on his thoughts. He grabbed a brush and started working over his horse.

  “You gonna leave some hair on that poor animal?” Jake asked.

  “Getting the burrs out,” Quill mumbled.

  “Don’t matter how hard you brush that horse—you ain’t gonna get out the burr that’s bothering you.”

  He handed her the brush and headed for the creek. Maybe a good dousing would set his mind straight.

  * * *

  Mercy’s first day in the saddle had been long and just about every part of her body hurt, especially her undercarriage, but she wasn’t about to say anything to Ike about it. He’d been happily chatting away about roundup and she’d tried to take in everything so she didn’t look too ignorant when she got there.

  “When you ride into camp,” Ike said, “always come in from the downwind side so you don’t kick up dirt that’ll settle into the soup pot. If you do, Whip will have your hide.”

  “Downwind?” Mercy asked.

  “You’re downwind when the wind is blowing in your face. If it’s blowing on your back, you’re upwind.”

  “I see.” She had no idea there would be so many rules in a cow camp.

  “For that matter, never ride your horse through camp. Always lead your horse around.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Once you get up to get yourself a cup of coffee, you’ve got to refill everyone else’s cups.”

  “That’s just like home.”

  “When you get done eating, clean your plate with dirt and put it in the wreck pan.”

  “How can you possibly clean your plate with dirt?”

  “The dirt rubs off all the food, and that makes it easier for Whip to wash.”

  “Interesting.” And beyond her comprehension. She could just imagine what her mother would do if someone had rubbed dirt on her plates. They wouldn’t have long to live. “Maybe I should ask Whip if he wants help washing the dishes.”

  “I expect he’d be happy to have the help, but you need to save your time for catching yourself a man. Me and Jake have plans, and we’re hoping Quill comes around.”

  “I thought you didn’t care if I married Quill or Harper.”

  “If you’ve taken a cotton to Harper and think you can bridle him, go to it, but you’ve caught Quill’s eye, and considering his opinion of women, I didn’t think that was possible.” Ike took a drink from his canteen. “Up ahead, we’ll stop and maybe have a bite to eat. We’re almost there.”

  They rode for another twenty minutes and Ike reined up in the midst of a stand of junipers not too far from a tall steep hill of granite boulders.

  “We’ll wait here.” Ike dismounted slowly, groaning, and once he was on the ground, he grasped his back. Mercy felt sorry that he was in such pain, and that he’d gone to such trouble for her. Then he pointed to the boulders. “The camp is over that next rise there. I’m gonna set a spell whilst you climb up there, sneaky like, and see what all’s going on.”

  “All right.” Mercy dismounted, hanging on to the pommel so she wouldn’t fall when she stood. She still felt lopsided from the heavy pistol on her right side, so that didn’t help, and the insides of her legs felt like chopped meat that had been stretched around a barber pole three times.

  But she wasn’t about to say a word. She did, however, curse the convention that demanded women sit with their knees together at all times, for that bit of propriety was the very reason why her legs wouldn’t cooperate after riding astride all day.

  She hoped she had what it took to be a western woman. Quill would settle for no less.

  Mercy was plenty ready to rest up. The hour or so she and Ike would have to wait while the roundup outfit set up the cow camp gave her time to walk around a bit and get the circulation back into her behind and thighs. Tomorrow would bring even more soreness, of that she was sure.

  Ike took a drink from his flask, then offered it to her. “Want some? It’ll cure what ails you.”

  She had barely recovered from her previous bout with drink, and even though her body would welcome the numbing effects of alcohol, she shook her head. “No thank you. I have a feeling I’ll need all my faculties to deal with Quill and maybe even Harper. I seriously doubt either one of them will welcome me into camp.”

  “Suit yourself.” He lowered himself onto a stump. “When the first man throws his plate into the wreck pan, we’ll saddle up the horses and ride in.”

  “I’d rather walk.” She could barely tolerate the thought of climbing on that horse again, if she could manage it at all.

  “No, you’d rather ride—that makes a better entrance. You don’t want Quill to think you led your horse all the way here.”

  “You’re right.” She picked up a canteen and looped the strap over her shoulder, then paused, wanting to make sure she understood his instructions. “What’s
a wreck pan?”

  “A tub for dirty dishes.” He wagged his forefinger at her. “Careful picking your way up through those rocks, now.”

  “I will be.” Of course, not halfway up the hill, she stumbled on a loose rock and came down hard on one knee, which really hurt, but no damage done either to her knee or her britches. She did, however, scuff the palms of her hands. She blew on them to stop the stinging, then started up again.

  She learned to pick her way carefully, and judge which rocks would be more stable to hold or step on. Even so, she nearly fell several times when a rock would slide right out from under her foot. She kept a sharp eye out for rattlesnakes, as Ike had instructed, but since she’d needed to use her hands to climb, she didn’t think she could get to her pistol if she actually saw one. The very thought gave her the shivers—so she just didn’t think about it.

  By the time Mercy had clambered to the top of the giant boulder pile, she could barely breathe or move her legs, for they’d worked harder this day than any day of her life. And it wasn’t over yet.

  A flat boulder provided a good place to sit and a scraggly juniper that grew out of the rocks provided a meager amount of shade, so she took full advantage. After a long drink from her canteen, she dampened her bandana and wiped her face. She’d worn a sunbonnet but redheads burn easily, and her skin already felt hot.

  The aroma of coffee intermingled with beef stew wafted up the hill and her stomach rumbled. Good thing no one was around to hear it. She would’ve blushed again. Someday she’d overcome that horrible giveaway of her feelings.

  She heard a rustle in the bushes, and then a panting, like a wild animal attacking. Oh, no! At first, she froze with fear, then had the presence of mind to draw her pistol and pull back the hammer like Ike had shown her, while she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. But her heart was pumping so loud she could hardly hear the snapping and cracking of the bush as the animal ran toward her. She’d never had to deal with anything like this before.

  The skin on her neck prickled. Mercy didn’t cotton to becoming some animal’s supper—even the danger of falling off the fifty feet of precariously balanced boulders didn’t sound as bad. She occasionally caught a glimpse of the animal’s brown back as it bounded over the sagebrush—maybe a wolf... or a bear!

  But she didn’t have a good shot and she didn’t want to miss and make it mad. No, she would wait until she could make her shot count. Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead and if she could’ve run, she would have. Instead, she decided to stand her ground and bury a bullet into the oncoming bear or wolf before it got its teeth and claws into her.

  She quivered with fear, but she would come out on top of this first test of her western woman fortitude. Just as she was about to squeeze the trigger at the brown animal leaping toward her, she realized it was Lobo! He jumped on her and licked her face, but as he did so she accidentally pulled the trigger and shot a branch off the gnarled old juniper. The branch fell on one of those precariously balanced boulders and it rolled sideways, scooting the rocks she was standing on right out from under her.

  Mercy fell backward into a draw, sagebrush scratching her face as she went down, the impact knocking the wind out of her and her bonnet off her head. The huge rock, at least two feet in diameter, tumbled and bounced toward her. It’d crash onto her and smash her into a ball of mush if she didn’t move, but she had no air.

  With every ounce of effort she could muster, she flung her arm to the right and rolled to the side just as the boulder came to a stop, settling an inch from her ear. She struggled for air, relieved that she hadn’t been crushed—but she couldn’t move.

  The huge rock rested on her long braid, and hard as she tried—one-handed, for a branch had pinned down her right arm—she couldn’t budge the thing. Her arm wasn’t squashed, just trapped. In fact, miracle of all miracles, she wasn’t seriously hurt at all. But she sure was stuck.

  The dog trotted to her, his tail wagging, and licked her face. She tried to push him away but he was persistent. “Lobo, go get Quill.”

  Or Ike. Or anyone. Preferably Quill—he’d know what to do.

  But Dog just wagged his tail and likely wondered why she didn’t get up.

  Chapter 11

  Quill stood in line to get his bowl of stew, wishing he’d be eating it with Mercy. Keeping his mind on his business had been a trial since the day he met her, and the night of the dance, he’d been so fogged that he almost kissed her.

  A shot rang out, bringing him back to good sense. He scanned the camp to see if anyone had gone hunting. “Did you send someone out for game?” he asked Jake.

  “Nope. And from the direction of that report, it ain’t where game is, anyway.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’m riding out.” He put his bowl on the chuckwagon worktable, which was generally against the rules, and headed for the remuda to saddle one of his rested horses. “We haven’t even started the roundup yet and we sure don’t need any trouble.”

  Jake walked beside him and clapped him on the back. “Best you go nip it in the bud. I’ll put the outfit on alert, if they ain’t already.”

  “Get some horses saddled and pack some whiskey and bandages just in case.” Quill threw the blanket on his bay gelding with his left hand and his saddle with his right, and while he cinched it, Jake bridled the horse. Within a few minutes Quill rode out of camp.

  He had a pistol and a rifle in case he ran into rustlers—rope, too, although he wasn’t too keen on wasting a good rope on criminals. Could’ve just been a hunter. That’s what he hoped, for the outfit had enough to do without losing a couple men to take rustlers to Silver City. Even so, he was ready for anything.

  Except Uncle Ike, who rode toward him—bareback. He hadn’t seen his uncle ride bareback in ten years. “Quill, up top!”

  “Rustlers?”

  “I don’t know. Mercy’s up there. I heard a shot and she didn’t come down.”

  “Damn!” Quill spurred the gelding to a gallop. He’d have to climb up the blasted hill and see what trouble she’d gotten herself into. A city girl had no business in this country—she should’ve stayed at the ranch, but he’d holler at his uncle later.

  “Don’t slow down for me,” his uncle yelled. The old man had more sand than any five of his cowhands. “Get your butt up there and fetch that little girl.”

  Quill planned to do just that, only she sure didn’t look like a little girl to him—not with her shape. He’d spent many a night losing sleep over that shape. Nope, Mercy Eaton was all woman.

  Temptation on the hoof.

  When he got to the juniper stand, he turned to his uncle. “Here?”

  The old man nodded and slid off his horse. “I sent her up top to spy on you. She’s still there. I hope. Elsewise, I don’t know where she is.”

  Quill didn’t say a thing, for nothing good would come out of his mouth. He dismounted and handed the reins to his uncle, then took the rifle out of the scabbard. “Seen anyone else around?”

  “Nope. Get your butt up there.”

  Quill took off as fast as he could, given he wore stiff riding boots and he had to run on loose rocks and through sagebrush. Then he started climbing. He didn’t want to make a big racket but hard soles and rocks weren’t a good combination. He slipped a few times but marshaled his strength and pulled himself up.

  That she even made it this far impressed him. Most city women would never attempt such a climb. The big boulder stack was over fifty feet high, and parts were straight up. He missed a toehold and sent rocks clattering down. If a rustler did have her, he couldn’t possibly not have heard the noise.

  “Ike, is that you?” Mercy called.

  “No, it’s Quill.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can’t get down.”

  “Anyone else up there?”

  “No, just Lobo. I don’t think Inky escaped the ranch house but he might’ve.”

>   “Lobo? You mean Dog? How’d he get up there?”

  “Just hurry, please.”

  The climb had winded Quill but he crawled up the boulders as fast as he could. Mercy sounded distressed, and he’d never known her to say one word in complaint. About that time he heard hoofbeats of several horses, but he didn’t slow down.

  Once he got to the top, he still couldn’t see her, but he found her bonnet, which worried him. “Where are you?”

  “Over here. Under the boulder. In a manner of speaking.”

  How could she be under a boulder and not be hurt? “Talk more and I’ll follow your voice.”

  “My hair is stuck under the rock and I can’t move. And Lobo keeps licking my face. It’s covered with dog slobbers.”

  He went to the other side of the lone juniper and saw Dog’s wagging tail. “I’m coming.”

  “There’s bugs. And stickers.”

  “I’ll get you out.”

  “I don’t think one man can. It’s a dreadfully large boulder.” Her voice sounded unsure, but not quivery as if she were in pain.

  When he saw her, he realized she was right about that. He might be able to pry it off with a large branch, but the only wood on this pile of rocks had one end stuck under the boulder and the other pinning her arm. The angle of the stick made him nervous, on account of if the big rock rolled over, it would smash her head.

  “You’re right, but help is right behind me. As soon as I holler, they’ll come up here. I’ll have them bring ropes and something we can use to block the rock so it doesn’t fall on you when we lift it up.”

  The whole situation made him nervous. She was on the down side, so if the boulder rolled, it might roll on top of her. Seeing her lying there, unable to move, wrenched his heart, and he’d have given anything to get her out of there—way out, to one of the line cabins. All alone.

  But he had plenty of time for those thoughts. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  He went to the edge looking down over the stand of junipers where Jake, Harper, Sully, and a few others milled around, fifty feet down and thirty yards away. Ike sat on a stump, directing them, by the looks of his hands waving around.