by Linda Ford
With a muffled groan he pulled her into his arms and pressed her face to his shoulder. His heart thumped against his ribs. “Don’t cry, Mercy. Please don’t cry.”
She grabbed his coat front and squeezed the fabric in her fists.
How did he stop her pain? Make it go away? He tipped her head back and kissed each cheek, capturing the still silent tears.
Her eyes grew wide and…dare he think she invited more? Before he could reason a response, he captured her lips, feeling the dampness of tears, feeling her uncertainty. He had started to draw back when her arms came around his neck and she sighed. He captured the sigh and deepened the kiss.
It began as a means of comfort but grew into something more. In the back of his mind he understood he would have to explain this to himself. But he’d do it later. For now, he gave comfort and he also received it.
The kiss ended. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?”
“Cried.” Relief surged through his heart. He was afraid she might have meant the kiss.
“I’m sorry if what I said was responsible.”
She smiled a glorious, glowing smile. “Don’t be sorry. I’m grateful for remembering my brother that way. It seems—” She shook her head. “It seems all I could remember was the deathly quiet after he was gone.”
“We’re more alike than one would think.”
“How’s that?”
“Seems fun left your life when your brother died. Mine ended when I had to grow up. Unfortunately, it led me to make some dreadful mistakes.” He wanted to warn her against making similar mistakes but she bounded to her feet.
“I hear the warning in your voice—don’t say it. Don’t ruin the moment.” She reached down and held her hands out to him.
He let her pull him to his feet and retained her hands, edging her close so he looked down into her dark eyes.
They were so different—she craved adventure; he lived carefully.
But they’d found a special closeness between them today. Though he knew it could only be temporary, he didn’t want to spoil it.
Chapter Nine
Mercy’s throat clogged with tears. Butler had become a happy memory. She remembered laughing and playing with him. Abel would never understand the beautiful gift he’d given her in causing her to remember Butler this way. Not even his disapproval could mar the joy.
He touched his forehead to hers. “I wouldn’t think of spoiling the moment.” His voice had grown husky.
She rested against him, so filled with quivering softness she knew she would sob if she tried to talk. The wind tugged at her shawl and he drew it more closely around her shoulders.
“I must take the children home before it gets any colder.” But he did not move for two more heartbeats. Then he pulled her to his side…to protect her from the wind, she assured herself.
They went down the hill and got Sam.
She had to say something. Let him know how much she appreciated all he’d done. “Thank you for the nice day.” Such inadequate words.
“I made you cry.”
“They were good tears.”
He touched her cheeks with his cool fingertip. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She squeezed his hand and pressed it to her cheek, wanting to plant a kiss in his palm but afraid of her trembling emotions. She had no desire to start crying in earnest.
He pulled her to his side again as they led the horse up the hill. They paused outside the door and as he looked down at her, his gaze drifted across her face, lingered on her lips, then came to her eyes. His smile seemed full of regret.
“I have to go.”
She nodded and stepped to the door.
He followed and called the children. “See you tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He and the twins were soon on Sam’s back. He wrapped a blanket about the pair and tucked them close to him.
She smiled. One thing about Abel—he would always take care of those he loved. Her eyes stung as she watched them leave. She had not known such loving care from her parents but thanks to Abel, she remembered when life had been kinder.
Cassie shepherded her children out the door. “My goodness, that wind has a nasty bite.”
Linette stood at the window, holding Grady’s hand. Mercy knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she saw Eddie and hugged him.
Mercy slipped past and went to the kitchen, where Jayne and Sybil visited.
Sybil studied her hard. “You have the look of a woman who’s been kissed. Well kissed.”
Heat flamed Mercy’s cheeks. She would not confess she and Abel had kissed. How would her friends interpret it? She didn’t even know what to think. “Abel told me how he and his brother played tag and chased each other. It made me recall Butler playing with me.” She sucked in air. “I’d forgotten everything but the tiptoeing quiet of his illness and the deathly stillness that followed.” She shuddered a sob. “I miss my brother.”
Both Jayne and Sybil rushed to her side and wrapped arms about her. They patted her back and made soothing noises as Mercy struggled to contain her emotions. After a few minutes she was able to breathe normally and she gave a tight chuckle. “I’m fine.”
The girls pulled chairs close and sat holding her hands.
Jayne spoke. “It’s like Bertie said, God brings people into our lives at just the right time. He’s sent Abel into yours to help you remember good times.”
Sybil chuckled. “I think God might have brought him into Mercy’s life for more reason than that.”
Mercy made a protesting noise. “He doesn’t approve of me.”
Jayne drew back, her mouth open in mock surprise. “You don’t say!”
Sybil patted Mercy’s hands. “There’s a difference between not approving of some of your activities and not approving of you.” She nodded as if her sage advice should make all the difference in the world when it made little sense to Mercy.
Determined not to rob herself of the comfort Abel had provided as she cried, she refused to analyze why it had felt so good to be in his arms and why she had accepted his kiss.
And even more. Why had she offered a kiss in return?
The questions remained unanswered the next morning as she watched Linette return again and again to look out the window.
*
The cold wind continued, giving Linette cause to worry about the men.
“Do you want me to stay?” Mercy asked.
“No, no. I’m fine.” Linette sighed. “Or at least I will be as soon as I can see and hold Eddie again. I miss that man so much I feel ill.”
Mercy wrapped an arm about Linette’s waist. “You should rest.”
“I know. I’ll be okay. Truly.” As if to prove it to them both, she sat in her green wingback chair and pulled out a little garment she’d been stitching.
But Mercy knew she could see the trail coming in from the west as clearly from her chair as she could standing at the window.
“You go look after those children. And don’t worry about me. There’s only one thing that will make me feel better and that’s Eddie striding through the door.” Linette’s voice caught and she ducked her head to concentrate on her sewing.
Mercy guessed she wanted to hide her trembling lips and teary eyes. Staying here would do nothing to ease Linette’s lonesomeness. Only Eddie could do that, so Mercy donned a heavy winter coat and headed for the door. “I’ll be back before dark. Perhaps the men will return before I do.”
Linette nodded. “Be careful.”
“I always am.”
Sybil and Jayne both stood at the window of their cabins as Mercy rode by. She waved, knowing they didn’t watch for her. All the women were so tense. It made her glad she didn’t have to worry about a man returning.
Alert to any danger as she rode through the woods, she nevertheless smiled just recalling the previous day. Abel had been so solicitous. Her smile faded and she narrowed her eyes. Did he see her as a
responsibility? Like one of his children? She snorted. If so, he would soon enough learn she didn’t need looking after, though she acknowledged a tiny argument to the contrary. It had felt good to be sheltered in his arms.
She reached the cabin. Abel must have been watching for her for he strode from the cabin as she swung from Nugget’s back. “You came.”
“Any reason I wouldn’t?” After all, she’d said she would.
“I guess not.”
“There you go again. Always so suspicious.” Her words were sharp but she didn’t care. Must they always circle his lack of trust in her? “You’re always certain I’m going to fail or disappoint.”
“I am not. It’s just that it’s cold. I thought you might think you…we…should stay in where it’s warm.”
She gave him a hard look, not believing his excuse. “What I thought is that I said I would come, so I did. What I thought was you need to get things done while you can, so here I am.”
He couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
She grabbed his elbow and shook him. “Admit it. You don’t trust easily.”
He brought his gaze to hers. Dark blue misery. “Mercy,” he growled. “I don’t trust myself.”
“What?”
“I’ve made such foolish mistakes. I live with the consequences but so do my children.” His voice deepened. “So did Ruby.” He shook his head. “I can’t let my emotions guide my decisions. That’s how I get led astray.”
She dropped his arm. “Are you saying if you like something it’s automatically wrong?”
“Of course not.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Sounds to me like you think having fun is wrong.”
He shuffled his feet. “Maybe not wrong, but risky.”
“Guess that includes me.” She flung Nugget’s saddle over a sawhorse and stomped past him toward the cabin.
He raced after her. “I have to live by rules if I want the twins to be safe.”
She paused to give him another hard look. “Safe or overprotected?”
He drew back.
But she wasn’t done. “Be careful you don’t make them afraid to face life.”
His look could have burned a hole in wood. “You forget I have a daughter who must be taught to be very careful or the consequences could be fatal.”
“I know that. Though—” She’d wondered a time or two and now that he’d brought it up, she might as well say it. “Could the doctor have been mistaken?”
He jabbed his finger at her. “You will not take it upon yourself to presume to know more than the doctor.”
“I could promise I would never put her at risk, but seeing as you don’t trust my promises there isn’t much point. However, maybe you should get another opinion. Take her to another doctor. Or are you afraid?”
He snorted and ground about to head back to the corral. Before she closed the door behind her, he thundered from the yard.
She sighed. How had she gone from anticipation at seeing him and being reminded of the closeness she thought they’d enjoyed yesterday and her even being thankful to him, to this churning resentment?
She pushed away her mental turmoil and turned her attention to the eager children.
He didn’t return until late afternoon, when it was time for her to leave. She told herself she didn’t care. Tried to convince herself she wasn’t getting as bad as Linette, glancing out the window every few minutes to see if he rode into the yard.
She slipped on her coat and headed for the corral before he unloaded his logs.
When he saw her intention of leaving before he got to the cabin, he jogged over.
The time had come. She closed her eyes. All day she’d wondered if she’d pushed too far, feared he would ask her to stay away from him and the twins.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “You’re right. I’m far too suspicious. But it’s only because I don’t trust my own judgment.” He smiled a little. “I can’t afford to repeat my mistakes.”
She had expected a scolding. Not an apology. Especially when she’d told herself all day she deserved one. “It’s my fault. I need to learn to mind my own business.”
If she thought her apology would relieve him, his stubborn expression convinced her otherwise. “I know you care about the children and they care about you, so I can’t ask you not to voice your opinion about them.”
She blinked. “You’re saying you don’t mind?” She shook her head. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, a little sheepish. “I’m not saying I won’t continue to be—”
“Suspicious?” she supplied.
“It’s not a nice word but, to my embarrassment, I have to admit it’s accurate. I’ll try to do better. Can you be patient with me?”
What had happened to this man? Had he spent time out in the woods thinking about her accusations? While she indulged in misery in the cabin thinking she had overstepped the boundaries and he would never forgive her?
He touched her cheek. “Friends?”
“Of course.” She nodded, too confused to do otherwise.
He lowered his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
A warm smile curved his lips. His eyes darkened. He leaned toward her to plant a quick kiss on her mouth, then pulled back before she could react. “Now be on your way before it gets dark.”
She didn’t move, too stunned by this sudden change in him and by the way relief surged through her veins.
He turned her toward Nugget. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
She swung into the saddle and looked down at him. “I’ll be back.” A little bubble of laughter left her lungs, riding the wind as she headed toward the woods.
*
Abel could not explain his actions. She wasn’t right for him. She represented all he’d once been and had vowed never to be gain—wild, undisciplined. And yes, he found himself reluctantly attracted to her. But never again would he go down that path and therefore he did his best to drive her away. Except every time he tried to do so, he hated himself for hurting her and missed her before she’d even left.
God, help me. Give me strength to do the right thing.
Not that he could even say what the right thing was anymore.
He made his way to the cabin. The kids played contentedly on the bed with little animals created from folded paper.
Savory hash was ready for his supper.
This side of Mercy he enjoyed and appreciated.
They ate and cleaned up, then he read to them. Allie insisted on taking the fringed gloves to bed with her.
If only Mercy would abandon her plans to join the Western show. Maybe then he could begin to trust his feelings for her. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to quell his eagerness for her to return the next morning. He forced himself to sit at the table and wait for her even after he heard her ride into the yard.
Allie and Ladd raced for the door.
“Wait here. It’s cold out there.”
“But we want to see Mercy,” his daughter said. “She said she’d bring us a game.”
“Wait.” He’d allowed not only himself but the twins to grow too fond of her, too anxious for her return each morning.
Her boots sounded on the wooden step outside. The twins hovered at the door. It took all his rigid self-control to remain at the table.
She flung the door open, her face wreathed in happy greeting. “Good morning.” She hugged the twins before turning her face toward Abel.
“The men returned last night just before dark. You have never seen so much hugging and kissing and crying.” She laughed. “What a commotion. The men were as bad as the women.”
“They cried?” Ladd sounded incredulous.
Mercy chuckled. “No, but they sure did laugh.”
“There were glad to see each other.” Allie sighed with the joy of the idea. “I’d be like that, too.” She turned to Abel. “Were you and Mama like that?”
Abel’s mouth fell open. He’d been
thinking of how glad he was to see Mercy come each morning. Ruby had not even entered his thoughts. “I was always glad to get home and see you two.” He felt the twins studying him.
Ladd sighed. “Mama and Papa weren’t like that.”
“Mama never hugged us either. How come?” Allie looked about ready to cry.
“You’ve just forgotten,” Abel said, but the stubborn look on both little faces said otherwise.
Mercy hung her coat and turned back to the room. “Linette says we’ll have a great big party on Friday. Everyone is invited. She wants us all to celebrate.”
He could have hugged her for diverting the children from regrets about their mother. “We’ll certainly be there, won’t we?”
The twins nodded.
“Have we ever been to a party?” Ladd asked.
Abel scrubbed at his hair. “Why, I don’t know. Didn’t Mama take you to any?”
Their two heads shook a negative response.
“Mama went to her parties by herself,” Ladd said.
This conversation threatened to take him down paths in his memory he didn’t care to travel. His parties had been wild, wicked events. He’d never gone to one after the twins were born, while Ruby had never quit. “I need to get to work.” He shrugged into his heavy woolen coat. “Will you be okay?” He looked at Mercy, wondering if she would be able to handle the questions the children would likely voice about their mother.
She grinned at him. “You can trust me. Remember?”
Her teasing reminder lifted his concerns and he grinned back. “I do. Remember?” He scuffed his fist across her chin and walked out the door, singing one of the hymns from the Sunday service as he left.
Mercy’s laughter rang out, following him from the yard. It continued in his heart as he worked.
Realizing he had gone from resolving to guard his heart to smiling at a shared few minutes, he bent his back to the work of the day. He must get a cabin built and firewood stacked.
Several hours later, he straightened to wipe his brow and stretch his aching back. He downed half the water in his canteen. As he recapped the container, a crackling noise drew his attention to the right. Was that strange man watching him again?
