Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (7 page)

“Come, Gabriel. Our work awaits us.”

Quickly, the two of them made their way to the little stream that meandered across the back end of the farmyard. Set at the bottom of a small hill, it could not be seen from the house. Thus making it hidden from prying eyes. Setting her laundry basket on the ground, Mercy anxiously searched the area for Ned Sykes and his men. Not seeing anyone about, she placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“I need you to quickly gather an armful of fallen tree branches.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have time to explain.” Her stern expression conveyed to him th
at she would brook no argument.

Dutifully, Gabriel put down his fishing pole and went about his assigned task. Reaching into her apron pocket, Mercy removed the sheet of paper and pencil
that she’d taken from the cupboard, and hastily composed a note. She re-read the message before carefully folding the paper into a neat packet and slipping it into her pocket. No sooner had she finished than Gabriel deposited a pile of twigs and branches beside the laundry basket.

“Good. Now, I want you
to remove your hat and shirt.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “But, Mercy, I
—”

“No questions. Just do it.”

Obediently, he removed his hat before unbuttoning his shirt, clearly baffled by the strange request. When the shirt was removed, Mercy took it from him. Reaching into the laundry basket, she handed him a different shirt.

“Now, put this shirt on,” she instructed, furtively glancing over her shoulder to ensure they weren’t being watched. Not seeing anyone prowling about, she gathered the pile of twigs and carried them over to the stream bank along with Gabriel’s discarded shirt. Seating herself on the ground, she began to stuff the colorfully patterned garment with twigs and clumps of
grass.

“What are you doing?”

Mercy glanced up. Gabriel’s wide-eyed look of wonderment caused her to briefly smile. “I’m making a twig person.”

“Like the scarecrow we put in the garden to keep away the birds.”

“Precisely.” Only this time, Mercy hoped to keep the bushwhackers at bay.

Pulling several pieces of string from her pocket, she secured the dummy into a
seated position by tautly anchoring it to an exposed tree root. She then reached for Gabriel’s hat, placing it on top of the dummy’s ‘head.’ As a final touch, she positioned the fishing pole in the dummy’s ‘hands.’

Finished with her handiwork, Mercy offered up a quick prayer that it would fool anyone passing at a distance. Of course, should anyone wander too close, the ruse would be discovered, a calam
ity she did not wish to ponder.

Reaching into her pocket,
Mercy extracted the folded slip of paper. “It’s very important, Gabriel, that you take this message to the Guernsey farm. If you keep to the path that runs along the stream, you should be able to get there and back undetected.”

Gabriel took the note from her. Unfolding it, he read aloud: “Bloody Ned Sykes and bushwhackers at Hibbert farmhouse. Intend to raid Marion County. Send for Federal troops immediately.” Finished reading, he carefully refolded the sheet of paper, a surprisingly mature expression on his nine
-year-old face.

“You must hurry, Gabriel
; as it is nearly two miles in each direction.”

“What happens if Bloody Ned finds out
that you tricked him?”

“We mustn’t think about that. Now I’m counting on you to locate Farmer Guernsey and give him the message.” Mercy knelt in front of the boy, grasping him by the shoulders. “We’re
all
counting on you. Do you understand?”

He so
lemnly nodded.

Inundated with fearful apprehension
, Mercy watched as the boy quickly made his way down the well-worn path toward the Guernsey farmstead.

Standing ankle deep in cold water, Mercy slapped a shirt against a large rock, casting yet another nervous glance at the dirt path
that ran beside the stream. It had been more than an hour since Gabriel left, and she anxiously awaited his return. She knew full well the dire consequences that would befall the Hibbert family if her plan didn’t succeed. All because of one man – Spencer McCabe.

Since his arrival
at their farmstead, she’d been horrified by what they’d been reduced to – Pru sprouting lies like loaves and fishes; her mother bedridden with fright. And lest she forget, she’d had to endure being groped by the devil’s own.

Not to mention that their wheat field had been trampled by horses, the smokehouse had been emptied, and there wasn’t a chicken or hog in sight.
If that wasn’t dire enough, all of their valuables had been pilfered. Even the framed daguerreotypes of her father and two older brothers. She blamed all of this on Spencer McCabe, as well.

Assuming her
plan succeeded, he would pay dearly for his transgressions.

Lost in thought,
Mercy noticed that the hem of her calico dress was getting wet. Readjusting her clothing, she pulled the bottom of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into her waistband, fashioning a pair of makeshift bloomers. She then reached for another shirt, her body mechanically going through the motions of wetting and beating it against the rocks, her mind too fraught with worry to care whether or not she got it clean.

Oh, but I’d
give anything to be able to leave this dangerous and lawless land.

But where would
they go? The only other home she’d ever known was thousands of miles away in Massachusetts. And even if they had a safe haven to go to, there was no money with which to make the journey. The murderous thugs who raided their farm last year had seen to that. Arriving under cover of night, the bushwhackers had stolen all of their money before killing—

Angrily,
Mercy wrung the shirt between her hands, the memory of her father’s death still a gaping wound in her heart.

From somewhere behind her,
she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a horse’s neigh.

Spinning around, she gave a startled cry, her heart hammering against her chest as she caught sight of a horse and rider at the top of the hill. An instant later, the
wet shirt fell from her hands.

Dear God in heaven.
It was Spencer.

Uneasily
Mercy’s stomach churned as she glanced at the twig decoy, the scarecrow looking less like a real boy with each passing second. Wiping her clammy palms against her skirt, she rushed up the hillside, hoping to forestall Spencer before he got close enough to uncover the deception.

“I thought you did laundry yesterday,” Spencer remarked, reining his horse to a halt. Leaning toward her, he negligently hooke
d a leg around the saddle horn.

Mercy returned his stare, not wanting him to suspect that anything was amiss. “Your rebel friends have all decided that they’d like to wear clean shirts for a change.”

One corner of Spencer’s mouth quirked upwards, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Nah, they just wanted to catch sight of you with your skirt hiked between your legs while you wash their dirty laundry.”

Hearing that,
Mercy gasped with embarrassment, realizing, too late, that she’d forgotten to rearrange her clothing before starting up the hill. Quickly, she unfastened the skirt hem from her waistband.

“Now, why did you go and do that? I was enjoying the view.”

“Well, go and enjoy it elsewhere!” she snapped, self-consciously crossing her arms under her breasts. Then, hoping to change the subject, she said, “What are doing here, anyway?”

“Seeing as how I got me a hankering for some fresh fish, I thought I’d join Gabriel
and do a little angling.”

Her breath caught in her throat. If Spencer rode down to
the stream, all would be lost.

Without thinking,
Mercy stepped in front of his gray gelding, blocking his path. “I can assure you that Gabriel and I do not wish to spend time with the likes of you. Is it not enough that you’ve barged into our home, pilfered our valuables and—”

“I haven’t stolen a damn thing and you know it.” Vaulting off his horse, Spencer took several menacing steps in her direction.

“What difference does it make given that your
friends
have helped themselves to all of our belongings? They’ve taken everything, every cherished keepsake, even going so far as to –” Mercy’s voice broke, her hands clenched in fists of rage – “even going so far as to steal the photographs of my father and two brothers.” Swiping at an angry tear, Mercy defiantly stood her ground. While Spencer McCabe might be able to bend her, he would never break her.
Never
.

“Hey, Spence! You’re needed back at the house. Ned wants to s
ee those maps that you drew up.”

Both she and Spencer
peered at the top of the hill where Dewey stood, motioning for his brother to return to the house.

When Spencer made no move to remount,
Mercy pointedly nodded toward the hilltop. “Didn’t you hear your brother? Your duty awaits you.”

“
I’m choosing to ignore it.”

“And what would compel you to do that?”

“Maybe I’m worried that if I leave you down here all by your lonesome, some other man will come along and lay claim to you,” Spencer replied, not appearing the least bit inclined to depart.

“I seriously doubt that will happen,”
Mercy assured him. “You’ve made it quite clear to all of your cohorts that I am unavailable.”

“Yeah, but some men have a hard time taking ‘no’ for an answer.” Spencer brushed his fingers across her jawbone. “Particularly when the lady in question is standing ankle deep in a stream of water with her dr
ess rucked between her thighs.”

Too startled to voice a protest, Mercy stood rooted in place
. Spencer’s gentle caress caused several beads of perspiration to trickle between her breasts.

Why couldn’t he simply revert to being the cruel bandit of yesterday?
she wondered, the southern roué standing across from her proving far more difficult to contend with.

“If you will excuse me, I have work to do,” she
said bluntly, jerking her head away from his hand.

“What’s the matter, Mercy? Don’t you trust yourself with me?”

“Regardless of what you may think, I have no desire whatsoever to partake of your company,” she matter-of-factly informed Spencer, hoping that the unadorned truth would send him packing.

“Just wait until sundown. I bet you’ll be singing a different tune then.”

“Yes, and you might not like the song I’ll be singing!” she hissed, infuriated by his unwarranted presumption.

Snatching her skirt in her hand, Mercy tried to sidestep around
Spencer, stalemated when he deftly stepped in front of her. Not about to surrender, she tried, yet again, to maneuver past him. Again, he shadowed her movements, refusing to let her pass.

“You know, fresh fish isn’t the only thing
that I’ve been hankering after,” Spencer husked, snaking an arm around her waist as he pulled her toward him.

Caught off guard, Mercy shoved against his chest with
both hands, trying to push herself free. It was a futile effort, the man easily possessing the strength of Samson. To her discomfiture, his lips grazed against her temple.

In that instant
, all of Mercy’s thoughts jumbled together. Spencer held her so close that she could feel his body heat. So close, she could smell his scent, a musky mix of leather, horses, and sweet tobacco. Suddenly lightheaded, she clutched at his shirt to steady herself.

“Goddammit, McCabe! I’ve been lookin’ all over for you! What the hell
you doing down there, anyway?”

Spencer
instantly released his hold on Mercy, shooting an irritated glance to where Ned Sykes stood at the top of the hill.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered as he swung himself into the saddle.
Wearing a rogue’s smile, Spencer removed his hat, theatrically sweeping it in Mercy’s direction. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hibbert. Yours, too, if you play your cards right.”