Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (16 page)

“I’m sorry
. But I have to do this,” he whispered just before his hips slammed forward, enabling him to completely penetrate her body.

Mercy jerked upward, her scream muffled against
Spencer’s shoulder. Completely overwhelmed, she tried to draw breath into her lungs, emotionally and physically grappling with the fact that Spencer was deeply imbedded in her body, the two of them joined as one.

“Shh, honey. It’s gonna be all right,” Spencer crooned, tenderly kissing her
cheeks, her eyelids, her jaw.

Unbelievably, it was all right, the pain
eventually giving way to pleasure, her lower body soon seized with a tight, tingling sort of pressure. Slowly, Spencer rocked his hips against her, the slight movement causing her to gasp his name aloud, the sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. While there was still some residual soreness, there was also a pleasurable tension. As well as an exquisite, unbearable fullness.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Spencer
husked.

Mercy
willingly complied, entwining her legs around his buttocks and thighs, the heels of her feet burrowing into his flexed muscles. Lifting his hips, Spencer slowly drew himself out of her until only the hooded tip of his manhood corked her body’s small opening. Then, with a guttural moan, he plunged himself back into her.

Mercy’s head thrashed from side
-to-side, the pleasure almost excruciating.

Again,
Spencer pulled out of the tight sheath of her body, only to thrust himself back into her.
Over and over again
. Each time pushing a little harder, moving a little faster.

Caught in
a feverish tumult, Mercy shoved her hips upward, meeting him stroke for stroke. Like a gyre, the pressure between her legs steadily mounted, threatening to consume her at any moment. Every muscle in her body strained to find release from the sweet agony that Spencer inflicted upon her. Everywhere he touched her, she burned. And she especially burned between her legs.

Then, when she thought
that she could bear it no longer, the pressure finally tightened into a pinprick that suddenly, and without warning, exploded.

Shocked by the
waves of pleasure that repeatedly washed over her, Mercy clawed at Spencer’s back. Moaning like a wanton, she bucked against him as her inner muscles clenched around his manhood.

“Christ
Almighty,” he growled, clutching her by the buttocks. “I’m damned near ready to burst.”

A moment later,
Spencer arched his back, the muscles in his arms, chest, neck and jaw all visibly tightening. Closing his eyes, he shuddered forcefully.

Mercy watched, enthralled, curious to know if
Spencer had experienced the same burst of pleasure that she’d experienced. Although she didn’t fully understand the how or the why of it, in that brief convulsive span of time, something incredible and wholly unexpected had happened to her. Something so potently ephemeral, it was already slipping away from her, the spasms not nearly as intense now as they had been.

While the thought was decidedly blasphemous, Mercy could not help but wonder if, in that deeply compelling moment,
the two of them had not wrested away a bit of heaven for themselves.

God
Almighty. Mercy Hibbert is a golden-haired angel
.

Raising
up on his forearm, Spence stared at the naked woman cradled beside him. Late morning sunlight streamed between the wooden planks of the barn, the dust-laden light bathing Mercy with an ethereal glow. A gorgeous angel, she’d delivered him from the ravenous ache of unfulfilled, unrequited desire.

And damn,
but it’d been good
.

Playfully,
Spence waved a piece of straw across Mercy’s cheek. “Come on, angel face. Time to wake up.”

Mercy’s eyes fluttered open, a drowsy, satisfied
look on her face. Lucky for him, she was a provocatively wanton angel. Despite her lack of experience, Mercy Hibbert had to be the most naturally sensuous women he’d ever encountered.
Wonder what the congregation would say if they could see Miss Hibbert now?

Again,
Spence teased her with the length of straw. “What’s the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?”

“I would think that you’d want me to be quiet,”
Mercy retorted.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because we don’t talk; we argue.”

“Well, I don’t see any arguments looming in the foreseeable future, do you?”

“That all depends.” Mercy rubbed against him, her movements gracefully seductive.

“
Oh, yeah? On what?”

“On whether you answer a few questions.”

“Ask away.” Spence plucked at one of her nipples, the little nubbin of flesh hardening between his fingers. Since there were no longer any animals housed in the barn, he was unconcerned about anyone intruding on them.

Mercy’s hand hovered over his manly parts,
a sultry smile on her kiss-swollen lips. “First of all, I would like to know what you call this?”

“It’s got a slew of names. Not a one ‘em fitting for a lady to
utter aloud.” Lifting his hips off of the ground, Spence jutted himself against her palm. It felt so good that he groaned, the sound reverberating deep within his chest.

“I like it when you do that.” As she spoke, Mercy leaned over top of him, draping hi
s torso with her unbound hair.

Spence
again groaned as he cupped her bare breasts. “So you like it when I growl with manly pleasure, huh?”

“
Oh, yes
. It makes me all . . . all jittery inside.”

Giving her no warning
, Spence rolled on top of Mercy, his hands scooping the two rounded halves of her buttocks. “There’s only one thing to be done with a jittery lady.”

“
Do mean that you’re ready to do it
again
?”

“Honey, I never stopped being ready.”

Mercy’s eyes opened wide. “I had no idea that . . . that it was even possible to do it again. I thought that once was—”

“Never enough,”
Spence affirmed as he nudged his cock between her legs.

This time, he intended to take it slow and easy
. His lust had gotten the better of him the first time around. To be sure, it had been a tight fit. And though he hadn’t meant to, he’d hurt Mercy, her pained expression having torn at his heart, making him feel like an oversized rutting stallion. Well lubricated with her own womanly juices, as well as his seed, it should now be a lot easier on her.

Biting back a gutt
ural moan, Spence eased into her.

Mercy
lifted her hips as she writhed beneath him. “Oh, Spencer, it feels so—”

“Hey, Spence,
are you in there?”

Hearing that unexpected voice, Spence, his mouth poised above a distended nipple, immediately
froze. Beneath him, her legs indecently pried wide open, Mercy gasped aloud as she shoved her hands against his chest.

“I got the horses all saddled and ready to go,” the same voice called from
outside the barn door.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.”
Spence let out a stream of muttered curses, hurriedly reaching for their discarded clothing. “It’s Dewey. I told him that I’d take him hunting with me.”

T
he seductive spell shattered, the two of them hurriedly dressed themselves in awkward silence.

Not
bothering to don her undergarments, Mercy pulled her dress over her shoulders, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. Finished dressing, Spencer extended her a helping hand, assisting her to her feet.

Her cheeks, her neck, indeed, her entire body
were crimson with guilt. Unable to look Spencer in the eye, Mercy busied herself with brushing pieces of straw off of her clothing, mortified to discover that there were numerous pieces tangled in her hair.

What
was I thinking?
Or
not
thinking to be more precise?

How could she have willingly allowed
Spencer McCabe to remove
all
of her garments before granting him permission to suckle her breasts and to insert his—

Mercy
clenched her fists, inwardly berating herself for being so weak and craven.

S
uddenly grabbing hold of her by the shoulders, Spencer forced her to look at him. “Stop beating yourself up, Mercy. You didn’t do anything wrong.” To emphasize the point, he gave her shoulders a slight shake. “
We
didn’t do anything wrong. Do you understand?”

“But I . . . I was wicked and . . . and lustful.”

“Ah, honey, don’t say that.” Spencer pulled her into his arms, his lips nuzzling her flushed face. “I think you’re an angel. A sweet, heavenly angel.”

“How can you even say such a thing?” Wedging her hands between their two bodies, Mercy tried, unsuccessfully, to push him away
from her.

“Because it’s true, that’s why.” Spencer rubbed his chin across the top of her head, his hands soothingly moving across her back and shoulders. “Believe me
. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Like what?”
Mercy tipped her head back as she peered into his eyes.

“In a barn with nothing but a bed of straw beneath us. No wonder you’re all upset.” One side of
Spencer’s mouth curved upward, his eyes gleaming with hopeful promise. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to make amends. Only the next time we’ll do it proper in a big, soft bed. What do you say, pretty lady? Will you give me another chance?”

Mercy’s
aggrieved conscience screamed at her to refuse to have anything further to do with the man. Full of self-reproach, she started to shake her head. Only to find herself eagerly nodding in the next instant.

“Then you’ll leave your bedroom door unlocked tonight?”

Again, Mercy nodded her consent.

Putting a hand to her chin, Spencer gave her a quick, hard kiss befor
e joining his brother outside.

As she watched him leave, Mercy recalled
her wanton behavior. She’d asked,
no
, pleaded with him to take her virginity. And when he’d obliged the request, she’d moaned and clawed at him like a wild animal. And how could she forget the almost savage look on Spencer’s face when he pushed his organ into her woman’s place? Again and again, he’d thrust his manhood deep within her, the pleasure more intensely compelling than anything she’d ever experienced.

In a word,
it had been glorious.

Blushing at the memory, Mercy put a trembling hand to her cheek.

How could it have been both glorious and sinful, at the same time?

Confused,
Mercy bent to retrieve her undergarments. As she did so, she caught sight of several specks of blood on the hay-strewn floor. With a kick of the foot, she covered them over. She did not wish to dwell on the significance of those incriminating blood stains. Blood that was supposed to have stained her wedding sheets.

Reaching for her stockings, she rolled them onto her bare legs. Then, lifting her skirt, she stepped into her crumpled drawers and petticoat. Since she’d already donned her dress, she balled her chemise between her hands, sho
ving it into her skirt pocket.

As she made her way back to the house, she tried to effect
a nonchalant expression. Although, like the heroine in the famous Hawthorne story, she feared that her sin was emblazoned upon her person for all of the world to see.

“
Where in heaven’s name have you been?” Pru asked as Mercy stepped through the back door and entered the kitchen. “And how did all that straw get in your hair?”

Her sister’s innocent query caused the blood to rush to
her cheeks. Fearful that Prudence might somehow intuit what happened in the barn, Mercy studiously avoided her gaze.

“I was in the barn counting seed,” she replied
as she smoothed a wrinkled crease from her skirt.

“Did Spencer find you? He was looking for you.”

“Um, yes, he did find me,” she murmured, praying that her sister didn’t probe further.

Just then
, Prudence inclined her head toward the front hallway. “I do believe that someone’s riding up to the house.”

“I shall see who it is,” Mercy volunteered, grateful to have a valid reason to
exit the kitchen.

Hurriedly she made her way to the front door, curious as to who
was calling on them. Since word had gotten around about Bloody Ned Sykes, most folks in Marion County had been keeping close to their homesteads, worried that the infamous bushwhacker might return.

To her surprise, it was their nearest neighbor, Sam Guernsey.

“Good afternoon, Mister Guernsey. May I invite you inside for a cup of coffee?”

He shook his head. “Thanks all the same but the missus is expecting me back at the house. I rode into town this morning and, well, I just came by to give you this.” He reached into his vest pocket and
removed an envelope which he then handed to her. “With all of these rumors of prowling bushwhackers, the mail ain’t been delivered too regular.”

“Yes, I know,”
Mercy replied with a forced smile, guiltily aware that for the past week one of those ‘prowling bushwhackers’ had been a guest in her home.

Examining the envelope, Mercy was puzzled to note that it’d been sent by a Colonel Julius
Tattersall, a man whose acquaintance she could not recollect ever having made. Since letters were such a rare occurrence, receiving one from an unknown correspondent was curious, indeed.

Her interest piqued, Mercy ripped open the envelope and removed a single sheet of cream-colored paper embossed with the insignia of the 1st Massachusetts Infantry, the regiment that her two brothers, Ethan and Benjamin
, were currently serving in. As she read the salutation, her hand started to tremble. Suddenly filled with a dread fear, her eyes skipped to the body of the letter.

—
It is my sad and solemn duty to inform you of the death of Corporal Ethan Hibbert. Having engaged the enemy on the fifteenth day of January, 1865, near Petersburg, Virginia, Corporal Hibbert gave his life for his country with a gallantry that has seldom been surpassed—

Tears fell from M
ercy’s eyes, blotting the ink.

“
Is it bad news, Miss Hibbert?”

“
The letter says that . . . that—”

Dear God in heaven
! Their beloved, blue-eyed Ethan was dead!

Mercy
swayed unsteadily on her feet as the letter slipped through her fingers and gracefully fluttered to the porch floor.

In the next instant
, everything went black, Mercy falling into a dead faint at Sam Guernsey’s feet.

Heartsick, Mercy sat on the settee, her brothers’
daguerreotype tightly clasped in one hand, the letter from Ethan’s commanding officer in the other. Nearly two hours had passed since Sam Guernsey had delivered the sad tidings of Ethan’s death. Her sorrow was all the more keenly felt knowing that Ethan died more than a month ago, the letter having taken that long to reach them.