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

by Jacquie Rogers

  Quill didn’t understand Jake at all—he’d never known her to take up for a greenhorn, with the exception of her husband, Ben Lawrence, and even that had been a bit rocky at first. “You know as well as I do that Mercy is cheerful and has good intentions, but she has no idea how to handle herself in camp. Life’s a lot harder out here than it is at the ranch house.”

  “Some people like to feel useful. I do believe she’s one of those.” Jake put on her hat and headed for the chuckwagon. “Come get your grub while it’s hot.”

  That, he couldn’t do yet, although he had no idea why. “Be over in a minute.”

  He tied up his bedroll, then made his rounds of camp to make sure all the men were up and ready. Only a few had to be kicked out of bed, one of those being his cousin, Harp.

  “Your future bride is cooking breakfast, so look sharp,” Quill said.

  “She won’t never be my bride. I told you I’m too young to get married—she’s all yours.”

  Quill had two problems with what Harp said. First, he couldn’t see himself married to Mercy either, and second, he was glad that Harp didn’t want to marry her because it would be hell to watch the two of them together. On the other hand, she could hardly marry Uncle Ike, but if she didn’t marry one of the Circle ID men, she’d have to go somewhere else—which he also didn’t want. What a cabbaged-up mess.

  When Quill got to his uncle’s campsite, Ike sat on his bedroll, his knees bent a little, and his shoulders hunched.

  “You all right, Uncle Ike?”

  “Hell, yeah. Just... takes me a little while to get up the nerve to stand up.”

  “How about I give you a hand?”

  “Fetch me a cup of coffee, then I might be in the notion.”

  “Deal.” Only thing was, Mercy stood right beside the coffee pot. Awkward, since he was sending her home. Clearly, she didn’t want to go, but her inexperience would get her hurt, and he couldn’t have that. Not on his watch.

  Uncle Ike pointed to the hill behind Mercy. “What’s Dog got?”

  Quill turned in the direction his uncle was looking. Dog carried a blanket-like thing in his teeth that flapped as he raced across the cow camp. “I don’t know but I best go rescue it.”

  He took off at a run after the mutt. When Dog saw Quill, he veered course and headed straight toward his master, and then Quill saw that the flapping blanket wasn’t a blanket, but leather. His chaps!

  Between Dog and Quill, Mercy smiled as she flipped flapjacks over the campfire griddle while the cat rubbed himself on her ankle. “Good morning, Quill. You must be really hungry.”

  Just then, Dog raced by and Quill’s favorite chaps hooked the trivet holding the coffee pot. The pot flew and the chaps scattered hot coals around Mercy’s feet, catching her shirt sleeves and britches afire. Cat hightailed it for the hills, knocking over a stack of plates as he sped by. She jumped back as the griddle collapsed, which fanned the flames lapping at the hem of her loose pant legs.

  Quill ran straight at Mercy, tackled her, and pulled her to the ground by her waist, rolling over and over until the flames died out. When he stopped, he crushed the edges of the smoldering material into the alkali dirt. She lay on her back, and Quill straddled her. His moment of fear for her safety vanished, replaced by the awareness that he quite enjoyed having her beneath him.

  He gazed into her wide blue eyes. She looked as surprised as he felt, and he wondered if she’d let him kiss her.

  Only then did he hear the other cowhands hooting and hollering. Dog raced around the camp, yipping with excitement, spreading fire with the burning chaps locked in his teeth. Jake and Harp chased him. Sully followed, batting out the flames lit in the sagebrush and dead wood. Uncle Ike had managed to get in front of the chuckwagon while Whip had the back, warding off the panicked mutt.

  “Someone grab those chaps,” Quill hollered, “before he sets the whole damned range on fire.”

  Several other cowhands managed to surround Dog, and Kenny Walker snatched the chaps while Harp dumped a bucket of water on what was left of them.

  After all the yipping, hollering, and neighing stopped, Whip leaned over and picked up the coffee pot. “Quill, you can get off Mercy now.”

  Ah, but he didn’t want to. He’d much rather kiss her sweet lips. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  “I’m perfectly fine, but I don’t think the flapjacks fared too well.”

  He hungered for a lot more than flapjacks, but he pushed himself off her anyway before the others saw that he was about to embarrass himself.

  “Let’s get the mess cleaned up,” he said, disgusted at the damn poor start of the first day in camp. “Sully, help Whip get the campfire and the griddle set back up.” He directed a few other men to pick up scattered pots and whatnot.

  Dog wagged his tail with enthusiasm as he trotted to Quill for a pat on the head. Mad as Quill was, he still gave the mutt a good petting just to calm him down. To calm them both down, actually. “Keep out of trouble, old boy, or I’ll send you home with Uncle Ike and Mercy.”

  “What can I do?” Homer asked.

  “Have you ate yet?”

  “You betcha. I was first in line.”

  “Then get the horses saddled.”

  “On my way.” Homer headed for the remuda.

  Luckily, the pot of flapjack batter fared well—still upright and only a few specks of dirt and ash in it.

  “I expect we’ll be frying flapjacks inside of fifteen minutes,” Whip said. “We still have embers so it won’t take long to get a good fire. Go find something to do and I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Uncle Ike limped up, carrying Quill’s bedraggled chaps along with the blue calico-wrapped package that Mercy had given Quill before he’d left the Circle ID. “Don’t look like you’ll be using these old ones.”

  “No worries,” Mercy said, taking the package and handing it to Quill. “He has a new pair.”

  Quill had forgotten about them. “I’d rather break new chaps in a little at a time, but so be it.”

  “Are you going to unwrap them?” Mercy gazed at him in a wide-eyed way and he knew she expected him to open the package right then. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but they had other work to do at the moment.

  Ah, dang, the real reason was he was afraid to look at her first attempt, especially with her watching him. It took years to learn how to make a proper pair of chaps and he didn’t want to have to fake an enthusiastic reaction.

  “If you won’t, I will,” Uncle Ike said. And before that had registered in Quill’s brain, his uncle grabbed the package and untied the red ribbon. Once the material fell away, he handed the chaps to Quill. “Take a gander at these, young feller. Damned fine, if you ask me.”

  And they were. Cleanly cut out, smooth finish, and tight stitches—perfectly even. Quill held them up to his hips. Looked to be a good fit, too. “These’ll work out right fine, Mercy.”

  “Nice-looking chaps,” Jake said as she walked up, holding little Scamp.

  They did look good, especially for a first try. “New ones are stiff.”

  “Ain’t that nice.” She pointed to the design on the bottom edge. “Hearts.”

  * * *

  Mercy blushed. She’d picked hearts for Quill’s chaps because they looked to be the most simple design, and with little time and no experience, she’d thought simple was best. And she wanted him to have something special.

  Quill held up the chaps and turned them so he could see the decoration. “Damn. Hearts. There’ll be no end to the joshing I’ll get.”

  Jake laughed. “For good reason, you knucklehead.”

  “Well,” Ike said, “strap ’em on. See how they fit.”

  Casting Jake a scowl, Quill said, “Don’t you folks have anything to do?” Then he glared at his uncle, who looked like he’d just captured his checkers partner’s king. “Best you get to packing. Noon’s coming fast.”

  Mercy wanted to get away—she’d so hoped he’d love his new ch
aps, but he didn’t seem to take to them, which sorely disappointed her. “I’ll fry you some flapjacks. I see Whip has the fire ready.” She started to leave, then paused and turned back to Quill. “See if your chaps fit properly. I can adjust them after breakfast if they don’t—I brought my leatherworking supplies.”

  Quill nodded, then hollered at the crew. “All you men who’ve eaten need to get your butts in the saddle. Those cows won’t trot in on their own.”

  But not a soul moved. With everyone standing around instead of working, he decided to put them all out of their misery and buckle on the chaps.

  “Fit right nice,” he said as he hitched them to the proper spot just below his waist. “A mite fancy for my taste, but they’ll do until I can get Ray to make me a regular pair. I’ll save these for parties and such.”

  “A regular pair?” She wanted him to like them and he didn’t. Just didn’t.

  Sully strode by carrying a load of firewood. “Wearing hearts now, eh, boss?”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Mercy thought she’d done a good job on the hearts, considering it was her first try.

  “Let’s see about frying those flapjacks.” Ike took her by the arm and gave her a little nudge. In a quieter voice, he said, “Not a bad thing—just girlie. No cow boss wants to look girlie. You should’ve asked about it before you done it.”

  “I expect I made a mess of it. Quite probably he won’t even speak to me now after me embarrassing him in front of the outfit.”

  “He already wasn’t speaking to you.”

  Oh, but he’d kissed her. She wished he’d kissed her more, not just a light, fleeting kiss. She wondered what it would be like if he kissed her with passion—she’d definitely kiss him back. Tingles shot through the length of her at the very thought.

  “Help me mix up another batch of batter,” Ike said as he headed to the campfire. “Whip’s about ready to set up for noon and we ain’t even got breakfast done yet.”

  “Thanks to Lobo.” The wolf-dog nuzzled her hand. Of course, without him, Quill never would’ve worn the chaps she’d made him. At least she knew what he thought of them now.

  Chapter 14

  Quill gobbled down a few flapjacks and chased them with some bacon, then nearly scalded his throat with hot coffee. But time was a-wasting and he had to get the rest of the men out scouring the surrounding hills for cattle.

  Jake had already taken the Bar EL outfit to the south, since that was a longer ride. Quill had planned to take his hands that direction, but with the late hour, he’d swapped and decided his men would head to the west.

  “Mount up!” He mounted one of his spares, a pinto, as Horse needed a day to rest. “Sunlight’s burning.” With a nudge of his heels, the pinto led the other riders out of camp, with Dog trotting alongside.

  Quill couldn’t help but look down at the hearts prominently displayed on his chaps. On the one hand those hearts sent a message straight to his own. On the other, they meant nothing but trouble—for women, most especially Miss Mercy Eaton, would draw a man in, then spit him out like a peach pit. He wouldn’t be spit out again.

  Nope, women didn’t stay, and once Mercy captured his heart, she’d leave, too. So he couldn’t let her get to him.

  Deep in thought, he rode for a few miles through brush and around rocks, scaling the hills to the west, before he heard the men murmuring behind him. When he looked back, he thought it rather odd that they rode abreast instead of spread out as usual, but he shrugged it off. It always took the crew a few days to get into the swing of things, and it was only the first day on the range. Dog was missing, too. Likely found a rabbit to chase.

  In his mind, Quill worked out a schedule for the next two days—who’d be the knife man and who’d run the iron, then those men would change places with the ropers. Jake’s crew would have that duty tomorrow, and the next day, his. All the crews alternated. The Rocking JW had camp duty on the third day.

  Sully broke ranks and rode up beside Quill. “It’s sure dry for this time of year. We need some more rain.”

  Quill had noticed the same thing around the Circle ID. The spring had been abnormally dry, and Owyhee County didn’t get much rain as it was. “We might have to drive the herd farther into the hills than we usually do—give them more range. That won’t make the fall roundup easy, but those cows have to eat something.”

  Sully nodded, then slowed his horse and joined the front rank, which puzzled Quill. As an experienced hand, Sully knew better. Which got Quill to thinking about the crew and their jobs again.

  The only man who didn’t change jobs was Whip. He worked hard all day, every day, cooking and doing all the chores that went with it. Quill wondered how long the old man would be able to keep up the pace, bein’s he was on the downhill side of fifty. The heavy lifting and long hours of a camp cook tried the best of men.

  Maybe having Mercy to help would ease the old man’s burden. He did seem to appreciate having her around. But Quill couldn’t risk that—either her safety—or his own. Then there was Uncle Ike. He’d never see seventy again, and that was too danged old to be sleeping on the ground. Yep, Quill had made the right decision to send him and Mercy back home.

  A few cows with calves grazed on the hillside to the north, and Quill twisted in his saddle to see his men. “Sully and Clay, head on up that draw and gather all the cattle on that hill. We’ll ride on west a ways and see what we find. Hold the cows on this trail until we get back, and we’ll drive the whole herd back at once.”

  As the two men rode off, two more filled in the ranks, so four men still rode close abreast, with a few more, including the new hands, eating dust behind. Why the men in front rode abreast, he couldn’t say, but they wouldn’t be doing that for long as they were entering rough country and would have to ride in pairs by the time they got to the next hill. After that, single file.

  With each draw, he sent men to collect cattle, until he only had two hands left. Except there were three—one riding behind the other two. He turned the pinto around to face them. “We’ll stay right here and herd the cows to camp once the men get them pushed down to the trail.”

  That was when he caught a good look at the third rider. Beautiful red hair and all. Damn! And Dog trotted along at her side. The traitor.

  “What are you doing here,” he barked, a little more disagreeable than he’d intended. An irresistible woman and a turncoat dog. It just wasn’t his day.

  “Rounding up cattle.” She beamed a grin at him that would’ve knocked him out of his saddle if he hadn’t seen her smile before.

  “You can’t be out with us.”

  “But I am. And as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. I fully intend to help—‘pull my weight,’ as Jake said.”

  “Jake? She put you up to this?”

  “No. I talked her into it.”

  That sounded a mite squirrelly, on account of no one talked Jake into anything she didn’t already want to do. He eyed her mount—Jake’s horse. “That’s a cutter.”

  “What’s a cutter?”

  “A cow pony. You’ll find out once we get a herd down here to drive. All’s I can tell you is to pull leather if you need to.”

  Quill sent the two remaining hands up the draw to the left to collect cows, while he stayed on the trail with Mercy. “I want you to be careful. It’s easy for a greenhorn rider to get hurt out here.”

  “I can stay on. Really. I just want to help.”

  A distraction, more like. Quill would make good and sure she and Ike were headed home the next day. He couldn’t send them home today because by the time they got back with the herd at midday, it would be too late to ride all the way home without camping out. What trouble she could find doing that, he could only imagine.

  “You can help most by staying out of the way.”

  Her sunshine smile wilted and he knew he’d hurt her feelings, but he had to keep her safe whether it insulted her or not. What he really wanted to do was take her to Jump Creek Canyon and kiss her all night
long... and all day long, too. So she had to go—she wasn’t any safer around him than she was around the rattlesnakes and coyotes.

  “Jake gave me a few pointers and I fully intend to make myself useful.” She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “I won’t get in your way—you can count on it.”

  Quill didn’t quite know what to do because he couldn’t take her back to camp. The two men left were green so he didn’t trust her with either of them—they’d have no idea what to do if a dangerous situation arose. He had to stay on the trail to direct the crew, although once they got the morning’s cattle collected, he could send her on ahead with Sully.

  No, that wouldn’t do at all, as he remembered Harper saying that Sully fawned all over her at the dance. Then again, Harper had said every single one of the men tripped over themselves to dance with her that night. Quill knew that the fight had started over two men who’d both wanted to dance with her. He didn’t blame them a bit, for he had a tough time keeping his hands to himself when she was around.

  Best he give her a few more pointers in case Jake forgot a few things. “If any bulls come around, stay away from them. They’ll take a horse. We have one old bull who’s meaner than badger snot—he’s a big red-speckled Durham with one horn that sticks up and the other points out. You’ll know him just by his nasty disposition.”

  “All right, I’ll stay away from bulls.” She bit her lower lip, then raised an eyebrow. “How do you tell the difference between a cow and a bull?”

  Blast and tarnation! Last thing he wanted to do—or maybe the first thing, which was an even bigger problem—was to give her an anatomy lesson. “You really don’t know?”

  “The first range cows I ever saw in real life were at your ranch. I grew up in Lawrence, Massachusetts—we don’t have cows there except for milking, and they’re kept in the barn so of course I didn’t ever see them. I’m a seamstress.”

  He cleared his throat and said, “Well, bulls are larger and huskier than cows. They have a hump on their shoulders, but the main difference is they have, um, man parts between their back legs. Cows have an udder and four, um, milk spigots. This time of year, cows generally have calves that don’t stray too far from their mamas. Bulls won’t have calves anywhere near them.”