Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (9 page)

“You want to
what
?”

“Don’t worry; I understand it wouldn’t be a
real
marriage. I wouldn’t put any demands on you, and I could help out with the boys and fix things around the house. There’s always one thing or another that needs fixin’, right?”

She blinked three times, but no other muscle as far as he could tell even flinched.

“So, what do you say? You want to get hitched?”

She scratched her temple and sat there, mouth slightly sagging, but as for answering, nothing came out.

“We could visit the preacher next weekend…unless that’s rushin’ you too much. But then, it’s Judge Corbett that’s rushin’ you, not me.”

She cocked her head and eyed him warily. “You’re serious? You want to marry me?”

He was beginning to think she might say yes. “Sure. What do you think?”

As if a fire had just lit beneath her, she stood to her pretty little feet in record speed, causing a bit of tea in her dainty cup to spill out onto the saucer. She set them both on a side table and faced him. “What I think is that you’ve fallen off your rocker, Mr. Connors, and it’s time you left.”

“We’d make a good team,” he hurried to say. “The boys already like me. Shoot, they think I’m an angel.”

“I don’t give a skunk’s ear what they think about you. I am not marrying you.” Her skirts billowed when she turned and crossed the room, as if a gust of wind had swept through and caught them up. She reached the door and threw it wide, shooting daggers from her brown eyes. “Good night and good-bye.”

“Wait a minute.” He stood and snatched up his hat but took his time walking toward the door. “Calm down. I didn’t say it right.”

“You said it fine, Mr. Connors. And don’t tell me to calm down.”

His chest constricted with the painful realization that he’d blown his chance. How to rectify it before she socked him on the nose? “You can call me Sam, you know.”

She gripped the open door so hard, her fingers turned white. “I think you’d better leave.”

“Just give me a minute to explain myself, and then I’ll go.” He kept his voice low, his demeanor collected.

She huffed a breath through her nostrils. “Talk fast.”

“You said you don’t care what those boys think about me. Actually, you said you didn’t give a skunk’s ear, but that’s beside the point. I know you do care. You want what’s best for them, don’t you?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the floor.

“I heard you planned to marry Harold Beauchamp. To be honest, I don’t think it’s a good match.”

A tiny muscle flinched along her jaw. “Who I choose to marry is none of your concern.” This time, her voice lacked conviction.

“Like I said the other day, it is my concern. I saved those boys from a deadly fire, and we’ve had a connection ever since. I think I should have some say about their future.”

Her shoulders dropped a smidgeon. “I couldn’t possibly marry you.”

“Because you’ve already promised your heart to Harold Beauchamp?”

“Not my heart, no, but we’ve made an arrangement to marry because he is my best option.”

“An old guy who knows nothin’ ’bout raisin’ kids is your best option?”

“Forty-one is not old.”

“Forty-one? He sure looks older than that. Acts older, too.”

“Mr. Beauchamp is also a faithful Christian, which is, of course, my first priority.”

She had him there. “I’m a Christian.”

“When was the last time you attended church?”

“Just because I haven’t made a habit of goin’ to church every Sunday doesn’t make me a heathen. I’ve been a believer since I was a boy. I’ll admit I’m not up to your standards, but I’m not hell bound.”

“You imbibe.”

“I—how would you know that?”

“I’ve seen you walk into Finnegan’s Tavern.”

“Ah, you’ve been keepin’ an eye on me, have you?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Certainly not!”

“I can change my habits, if that’s what you want. I’m not a drunkard, by any means. Shoot, I’d survive fine if I never took another swallow of brew. I mostly go to Finnegan’s just to jaw with the guys. And I don’t smoke, which should take me up a few rungs on your ladder of approval.”

She stood up straight and stared at him squarely. “You haven’t even made it to the first rung, sir.”

“Look, let’s be reasonable,” he pleaded. “I’m young and full of energy, I make a good livin’, and I’m already in good standin’ with the boys.”
Not to mention I need a roof over my head
.

“Be that as it may, the whole notion is preposterous. Sorry to be so blunt, but you’re the last man I want to marry.”

She sure had a splendid way of cutting him down to size. “I’m not exactly in love with you, either, madam, but those kids deserve better than Harold Beauchamp. He’s a fine man, I’ll give you that, but he doesn’t strike me as overly hearty—or handy, for that matter.”

She bit her lower lip. “The boys did wear him to a frazzle tonight.”

A pang of jealousy pinched his heart. “You’ve been courtin’, then?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he spent the evening with us, yes. The boys engaged him in play, and it plain exhausted him.”

“There, you see? They’re too much for him.”

“They are a handful, even for me, but I’m sure we’ll find a balance, and the boys will learn their boundaries.”

“It’ll take a lot to heal those boys’ hearts, you know. Right now they’re just pretendin’ to be holdin’ it together, just as you’re doin’; but one day—and it could be soon—everything’s gonna come tumblin’ down. How do you suppose Beauchamp’s gonna handle that? At least you and I know a thing or two about grief.”

She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut again. Her eyes shimmered with dampness, and he feared he may have pushed her to the limit. He felt a twinge of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir things up. I know that the Watsons meant a lot to you, and your havin’ to find a husband just so you can hang on to their boys must be takin’ quite a toll.”

She dabbed at a single tear, and he felt like a heel. Handling tearful women had never been his forte.

“They were my d-d-dearest friends,” she whimpered, “and I miss them terribly.”

“I know you do. And, like I said, I’m mighty sorry.” The glow of burning lamps had been all the invitation needed for a number of mosquitoes and a few moths to flutter through the open door. “You’re lettin’ in a whole slew of bitin’ insects, you know.”

She cleared her throat, tipped her chin upward, and pulled back her narrow shoulders, regaining her composure in fast order. “All the more reason you should leave—so I can shut the door.”

He knew he should respect her wishes, so he took one step forward before blurting out, “It’s that blamed family feud, isn’t it?”

***

Mercy’s nerves were stretched tauter than fiddle strings. How to get this man to leave her premises? What on earth was he thinking by suggesting the two of them hook up? She could no more marry him than she could marry the toothless Festus Morton! Not that Mr. Connors didn’t have the handsome looks she wished for in a man. Heavens, he went far and above the attraction factor. But she couldn’t marry a Connors, no matter that she didn’t share the rancor that sizzled between the two families. She loved her aunts and uncles, and she didn’t wish to fall out of favor with them—a prospect that obviously didn’t worry Mr. Connors.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He stepped forward and closed the door, preventing any more pesky bugs from entering. Then he turned, towering over her, his shoulders broad as a barn door. “You’re afraid takin’ my name will ruin your fine reputation.”

His size didn’t intimidate her, because, in spite of it, she had an innate sense he wouldn’t harm her. No, he struck her as different, perhaps even poles apart, from the rest of his family, but the fact remained he was a Connors—and, worse, his father had murdered her daddy. Marrying Sam Connors would not only shock her relatives; it would shame Oscar Evans’ memory.

She tilted her head back to meet the man’s summer-sky eyes beneath his sandy hair, pushing aside how attractive she found him. “I don’t harbor any of the ill-will that flows between our families, but I do cherish the love of my kin. And my uncle Albert, Pa’s oldest brother, would have a regular conniption if he heard I as much as talked to a Connors, let alone married one.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight: It wouldn’t bother your fine relatives if you married a man several decades your senior, but marryin’ someone with the wrong last name, regardless of the fact that he’s the one who saved the lives of the boys you’re marryin’
for
, would irk the shirts off o’ them.”

Mercy shrugged. “I must respect their wishes, and I would think you’d feel the same toward your own family. Why, I can just about hear your mother now. She detests the very ground beneath my feet. Imagine if you married me. It was enough that you spent all of a half hour in my house before she swept in with your cousins and rescued you from my clutches.”

“My mother is exceedin’ dramatic.”

She couldn’t help laughing out loud. “Is that what you call it? She wanted to shoot poison through my veins that night. I saw it in her eyes.”

He studied her, one corner of his lip twitching upward, whether to smile or smirk, she couldn’t say. “Do you even know what the feud is about?”

“Not entirely, but I know it was strong enough to cause a horrible clash between our fathers. Glory sakes, your father killed mine. That fact alone ought to make you think twice about coming near me.”

“You just said you don’t harbor any of the hatred.”

“I don’t. Can’t you see? It’s awkward, to say the least. I can’t—it wouldn’t be right. No, I won’t even think of it. Please leave, Mr. Connors.”

“I care for those boys, you know. Don’t know ’em well, but I can tell they’re good kids. That night, when I first saw flames shootin’ from the rooftop of the Watson house, I could hear their cries clear out in the street. Did I tell you that? If I’d been chained to a tree, I would’ve figured out a way to break free and get in there.”

She blinked back tears, but one leaked out. She used the heel of her palm to wipe it dry. “I’m grateful, but….”

“I know—it’s not enough. Tell you what. When you lay your head on your pillow tonight, you pray about it. Fine Christian woman that you are, I’m sure you’ve been askin’ the Lord for guidance.”

“Of course I have. And what about you? Fine Christian man that
you
are, did God instruct you to come knocking on my door and make this preposterous proposal? I think not.”

Rather than retort, he smiled down at her, and the sight of his blond lashes, surprisingly thick and long, caused a strange flutter in her stomach. The only sounds were the crickets’ song and the tree frogs’
vreep, vreep.

“I suppose God speaks to each of us in different ways,” he finally said. “That night when I went inside a burnin’ house and saved those boys—did God audibly tell me to do it? Nope. But did He figure into the plan? Yep.” With that, he pivoted, plunked that big Stetson on his head, turned the knob, and pulled the door open. He started forward, and then, with one foot on the porch, the other on the threshold, he turned to face her again. “I might be all wrong in askin’ you to consider my proposal. I know you’d be takin’ a big risk. Heck, I would be, too. But there’s those boys to consider. You’ve got to ask yourself what’s best for them.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The blasted man had rendered her speechless with his common-sense way of looking at things, and it plain vexed her.

8

T
he next day glistened with sunshine so searing, it fairly melted the tarred shingles right off the roof of the blacksmith shop. Still, Sam and his uncle tried not to let the temperature dictate the speed at which they worked. There were far too many orders on the docket to let a little heat slow their progress. But it wasn’t so much the heat wave that had Sam in a lather as it was the menacing memory of his flop of a meeting with Mercy Evans. Instead of convincing her to marry him, he’d convinced her he’d lost his mind. Hadn’t she said as much?

Across the room, Uncle Clarence whistled “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing”; meanwhile, in Sam’s head, “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” kept repeating itself.

As if reading his very thoughts, Uncle Clarence broke right into them. “You go out to see that Evans girl last night?”

Sam got all fumble-fingered and dropped his hammer with a loud clang. “What makes you ask that?”

“Well, you been awful quiet, and you did tell me yesterday you were thinkin’ on it. I s’pect you don’t have much time, seein’ as the postmaster’s already got dibs on her. I stopped in at Juanita’s for a cup of coffee before work and overheard all the talk.”

“I heard the same yesterday mornin’, but I guess I told you that.” Sam chortled. “You rascal. You rarely drink coffee. I’m guessin’ you went in there just to get the latest blather.”

“Ha! You know I’m not one to spread gossip.”

“You might not spread it, but you listen to it, like anybody else. What’d you hear, anyway?”

“Not a lot, ’cept that Beauchamp spent a few hours over at her place yesterday. Somebody caught sight of the four of ’em in her yard, lookin’ for all the world like a real family. You didn’t go bargin’ in on them, now, did you?”

“No, I got there around nine thirty. Beauchamp was gone by then.”

“Nine thirty’s pretty late for callin’ on a woman.”

“I know that, Uncle, but time’s wastin’. I figured if I was gonna make my move, it may as well be sooner than later.”

“You mean later than sooner.”

“Whatever.”

“Well? What did she have to say?”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing promisin’. Guess it was a long shot.”

Uncle Clarence gave a sympathetic smile. “She stickin’ with Beauchamp? I ’magine he’s already blown her over with sweet promises for the future. No doubt he’s put away a nice nest egg, too, seein’ as he’s been single all these years.”

“My nest egg isn’t exactly empty.”

Uncle Clarence lifted his gray eyebrows and cocked his bearded head to the side. “That so?”