Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) (4 page)

Chapter 6

The next day went by in a flurry of preparations for the roundup and the party.  Mercy felt at sea, and in the way, mostly.  She far preferred to be useful—but then, she had no idea what to do.  Ray took care of all the cooking but he did let her help him on occasion.  Ike spent the day in Henderson Flats playing checkers.

That left Mercy to her own devices.  So she started sewing curtains with fabric she’d found in Dora’s hope chest.  The project didn’t occupy her for very long because with the sewing machine, she quickly made new curtains for her bedroom and sitting room, as well as draperies for the parlor and valances for the kitchen.  When she went to put up the valances, Ray was also sewing, only he was sewing by hand—and he was working with leather.

“What are you making?” she asked.

“Saddlebags.  The hands need ’em when they’re out poppin’ bush for cattle.”

It didn’t look all that hard and stitching the bags would be something that she could do that was actually helpful to the Circle ID.  “I think I’d like to learn how to work with leather.”

“Don’t see why you couldn’t do it, bein’s you’re so good with the needle.”  He shoved a couple pieces toward her.  “Sew those two pieces together with a whipstitch.  The extra needles are in that bag on the counter and you’ll find some thin leather straps in there, too.  Use that for the laces.”

She rather enjoyed handwork and she loved learning new things, so she set to her task with relish.  After she got Ray’s approval, she asked, “What more can I do?”

“Quill needs a new set of chaps.  Got an old pair here—you can use them for the pattern.  Think you can do that?”

“I’d love to!”  Since he’d brought her to the Circle ID, Quill had been avoiding her.  She admitted to being very attracted to him and was sad that he did not feel the same for her.  Maybe if she made him some of the best chaps he ever owned, it would help endear her to him.  “Just show me how to get started, and also I’ve noticed you decorate some of your leatherwork, so I’d love to learn how to do that, too.”

“You get ’em made, and then we’ll worry about decorating.”  He pointed to a box full of leather.  “Choose some good-size hunks of thin leather.  Chaps have to be flexible.  Leave the thicker pieces for saddlebags and such.”

The giant kitchen table turned out to be perfect for a cutting area, and she made quick work of cutting out all of the pieces, including the straps, before she had to put everything away for the evening meal.  As she put the last bit in the new bag that Ray had given her for leatherwork, she asked, “How long does it usually take you to sew up a pair of chaps?”

“Three or four days.  Another two days to decorate them.”

When Mercy contemplated that, she reckoned she’d need more time for the decorating than for the sewing.  “Could I have some extra lamp oil for tonight?”

“Got some reading to do?”

As a matter of fact, she did—
The Adventures of Honey Beaulieu
—but this night would be taken up with leatherwork.  Quill was going to love his new chaps if she had anything to do with it.

*   *   *

The ride back to the ranch made Quill’s ears tired on account of Harper had talked the whole damned way. 

“I reckon me’n the fellers are going to town,” Harp said.  “You going with us?”

“Might.”  Maybe a visit to Limber Lulu at the Silver Sage would take his mind off a certain other female.

Quill had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.  Even so, he’d worked himself to a frazzle in order to avoid going into the house where there’d be no way to avoid Miss Mercy.  The woman had beguiled him, sure enough. 

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding her during the two weeks of roundup, and by the time it was over, some man will have taken her, more than likely.  A woman like her was too alluring to stay single for very long in this country, and Uncle Ike wouldn’t let her go to seed.

“What we gonna do with Miss Mercy?” Harp asked, as if he were reading Quill’s mind.

“Not a damned thing.  That woman ain’t nothing but trouble—the marrying kind.”

“What’s so bad about marriage?  Hell, I ain’t old enough to get leg-shackled even if Uncle Ike thinks I am, but you are.”

“Not a thing’s wrong with being married, if the wife sticks around.”

“Miss Mercy would stick around.”

How did Harp know that?  Quill’s mother sure hadn’t but he didn’t speak of her.  “Aunt Dora didn’t.”

“Aunt Dora died.  I doubt it was her first choice.”

“Mercy won’t last long,” Quill said.  “A pretty woman like her will draw men like buzzards to dead pronghorn.  We’ll likely spend more time settling fights than ranching with her around.” 

“Then again, it don’t take much for a bunch of cowhands to start a fight.” 

“True.”  Quill had done his share of brawling right along with them a time or two.  There was nothing like a good fight to clear the cobwebs out of a man’s mind—unless he lost.  Then he ended up with a few more to deal with, which was why Quill made sure he didn’t lose.

The spring sun also cleared a man’s mind of cobwebs, but even that put him in a bad mood because the sun reminded him of Miss Mercy.  He’d never known a woman to be so bright and cheery.  He loved her smile, and the way she pitched in and helped, even if she had no idea what the hell she was doing.

“Seems to me that it would take a strong woman to travel nearly three thousand miles to marry a man she don’t even know,” Harp added.

Would he ever let it drop?  Quill wanted to stuff his bandana in Harp’s mouth.  But his younger cousin rattled on.  “Sure, she’s a city gal, but I bet she could learn how to be a ranch wife.”

Quill reckoned more people in this world should have her courage.  And her enthusiasm for life, too.  “You gonna marry her, then?”

“Hell, no.  She’s all yours.”

Quill shook his head.  “Uncle Ike’s gonna have to find her another husband.  Married life ain’t for me.”

But it galled him something fierce to think of another man touching her.

*   *   *

Mercy had worked through the night until she could barely stay awake, then slept briefly, and at the first glimmer of dawn, had returned to her leatherwork.  By midweek, her fingers were sore to the point of bleeding, but she’d managed to get the chaps sewn. 

When she took them downstairs for Ray’s inspection, a woman dressed like a man was there with a baby in her arms and a boy barely out of toddler stage at her knee.

“This here’s Jake O’Keefe Lawrence,” Ray said.  “Owns the Circle J.  Best foreman in Idaho.”  He cleared his throat.  “Other than Quill, of course.”

The woman laughed.  “Quill’s dang good.  Ain’t gonna find a better roper—I do believe he might outdo me on that score.”

Mercy couldn’t get over the tall, beautiful redhead who wore britches.  “Jake?”

“Stands for J.K.,” she explained, “which is short for Janelle Kathryn, but I don’t remember a soul ever callin’ me that.”  She patted the little boy’s head.  “And this here’s B.J., short for Ben Junior.”

“Nice to meet you, Jake.”  Mercy smiled at the boy.  “Hello, B.J.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth and hugged his mama’s leg.  “And your baby?”

“We call him Scamp.  Name’s Jacob O’Keefe Lawrence.”  He was a cute little tyke, maybe six months old. 

Mercy had come down so Ray could inspect her work, and she didn’t want to show him the chaps with an audience, especially Jake, who was so well-respected.  But there was no help for it now—Mercy had walked into the lion’s den and bluster appeared to be her only way out.  She had confidence in her efforts, though—the chaps looked good to her.

Ray had the egg basket hooked on his arm.  “I have to go gather the eggs.  You two have a nice visit and I’ll check your work when I get back.”

After he left, Jake asked, “What’s he checking?”

“I’m learning how to work with leather.  I made a pair of saddlebags and a pair of chaps.”

“Chaps?”  Jake raised her eyebrow.  “Them’s a mite complicated for a beginner.”

“I’ve been sewing for years, and worked in a factory for the last four years—the first two as a seamstress—so I already know the stitches.  It’s just a matter of learning to work with different material.  Leather seems to have a mind of its own.”

Jake hoisted the baby into the crook of her other arm.  “Let me see what you done there.”

Mercy felt the heat in her cheeks.  She knew her face flushed red and that embarrassed her even more.  In spite of her misgivings, she held up the chaps—plain, with no decoration.  She’d much rather have shown them after Ray had checked them, but there was no backing out now.  Not that she’d ever been good at backing out of anything.

“Dang, those look nice!  Who’s the lucky man to get ’em?”

“Quill.  He doesn’t know I’m making them, though.  He asked Ray to do it—said his are worn and he wanted to take an extra pair on roundup.”

“I’d say Quill’s a lucky man.  You gonna marry him?”

“I don’t think a pair of chaps will convince him to marry anyone.  He doesn’t seem the marrying type.”

“Let me tell you about this marrying business.”  Scamp pawed at Jake’s shirt and she let him nurse.  “It can be damned good.  Me and Ben—I call him ‘Boston’ just to tweak him some, but his name’s Benjamin—get along just fine, long as he don’t try to tell me what to do.”

Mercy couldn’t imagine anyone getting very far in that regard.  She’d always been accused of being stubborn, although she certainly didn’t see it, but she had an inkling Jake could put her to shame in a stubborn contest.  “Ike sent for me.  I’m a mail-order bride.  My father made the arrangements and I thought I was marrying Isaac Fairchild.  Turns out that he used his name and position to get the approval but he intended me for one of his nephews.”

“Ike’s too old.  Harp’s too young and too damned full of vinegar.  So you marrying Quill?”

“He’s not interested.”

“You want him to be?”

“I don’t know.  He avoids me.”

Jake chuckled.  “Is that a fact.  I saw him makin’ eyes at you.” 

“Oh, that’s not what you think.  He doesn’t believe a city girl can adapt.”

B.J. tugged on Jake’s sleeve.  “I want a cookie.”

“When we get home.  Whip’s got some in the cookie jar, I bet.”  To Mercy, she said, “Best you make him interested then, else you need to piece out how you’ll support yourself.  You could start a business, maybe a clothing shop.  Then again, you’d make more money in leather, if that suits you.  But just what do you think of Quill?”

“Oh my, he’s handsome.  Every time I look at him I feel all quivery inside.  Only thing is, he doesn’t return the sentiment, so maybe I should see about setting up my business.  I like your ideas.”

“If you ask me, you ought to have your own income anyway.  I don’t cotton to relying on a man—no one—to support you.  What if you get a passel of young ’uns and your man gets himself killed or hurt?”

“I never thought of it that way.  But you’re right.”

“I know.  And I know one other thing—Quill’s skeert of you on account of you make him feel all quivery just like he makes you feel.  And I’m here to tell you, once that quivering starts, it don’t stop.”

“What would you do?”

“Go on the roundup and make yourself useful.”

“I’m not supposed to go.  Ike and Quill both said it was too dangerous.”

“Can you ride?”

“After a fashion.  I’ve never had a horse of my own, so don’t have much experience.”

“Well, I’m bringing extra horses for you.  I have a couple that’s right gentle and they’d do you just fine.  If you wanna go, that is.”

“I do!  Not only do I want to be with Quill, but I want to learn what all goes on so I can at least carry on an intelligent conversation at the supper table.  I really, really want to go!”

“You can’t work in them duds.  Get yourself a pair of britches, a warm shirt, and some good boots.  Might have some boots that you can use.  Homer, my oldest, just grew out of them and I was saving them for Ted.  Fast as his feet are growing, he’ll likely fit into them by next year.”

“Wonderful!”

“Get some muslin and bind your bosom good or you’ll be sorry.  You’ll need a bedroll, too.  And a piece of canvas—I can bring one.  But you got to promise you won’t do anything stupid and you’ll mind what I say.”

“I’ll follow orders, don’t worry.  You just made me a happy woman.”

“You ain’t happy yet, but I’ll do my damnedest to make sure you end up that way.”

Chapter 7

Quill and Harper rode up to the ranch house at eleven that morning after chasing mavericks for five hours.  Miss Mercy stood on the porch, waving at the departing Jake, who mounted her bay gelding with a baby in one arm, then reached down, grabbed B.J., and tossed him behind her. 

Dog had stayed by Quill’s side all morning, but yipped and broke into a dead run straight for Jake—no, past Jake to Miss Mercy.  He bounded onto the porch and stuck his nose into her palm.  She knelt and gave his ears a good scratching.  Dog’s tail wagged as if she just thrown him a T-bone steak.

Harper chuckled.  “Looks like your mutt has taken a shine to your woman.”

Quill kept his silence but he felt like growling.  Dog had always stuck by his side but now he seemed to have transferred his loyalty.  Then again, Quill wouldn’t mind if Mercy scratched his ears, either.  His tail would probably be wagging, too.  He dismounted in front of the barn.

“Your lady has your chaps ready to try on,” Jake hollered.  “Best you get your butt in the house.  Harp can take care of your horse.”

“Be happy to,” Harp said, as he took Horse’s reins and led both geldings into the barn.

Quill could either stand there like an idiot or go into the house, since Jake hadn’t left him any leeway in the decision.  He’d look like a heel if he ignored Mercy, and he’d feel like a heel if he didn’t.  So he took the long walk to the house—to his doom.

“Ray’s making my chaps.  He always does.”

Jake reined her horse around.  “Not this time.”  She nudged her big bay to a trot and rode past Quill.  “See you at the party!”

Miss Mercy stepped off the porch, Dog sticking close to her side, still nuzzling her hand.  “Ray had a lot of work to do and I’m a fair hand with a needle, so I offered to help out.”  The sunlight on her hair made the red even more vivid—a halo around her beaming smile.

It was contagious.  He smiled back before he could get a grip on himself.  “Guess we better get this over with, then.”

“They’re on the kitchen table.”  She turned and stepped onto the porch.  He followed, with a good view of the sway of her sweet derriere.  When she opened the door, Dog tried to sneak into the house but Miss Mercy would have none of it.  “This isn’t your house,” she chastised, and the whining mutt crouched on his belly beside the door.  The cat scampered in, though.

Quill sympathized with Dog, only the other way around.  Since she’d arrived, Quill had left his room, which was one door down from hers, before she got up, and hadn’t come back until he saw the light in her room go out.  The last few days, he’d slept in the barn because her light had been on late into the night.  Now he knew what she’d been doing.

“Ray made a pound cake.  You can have some before we get started with the fitting, if you want.”

He didn’t, but then he wasn’t too fond of the idea of her fitting chaps to him, either.  That spelled nothing but trouble.  Maybe if he delayed long enough, Ray would be back.  “Sounds good.  Got any coffee?”

“Yes.  Sit down and I’ll fetch it for you.”  She went to the cabinet and reached for a plate and a mug.  “You can take a look at the chaps and let me know if you want something changed.”

It seemed kind of late to make any changes before roundup.  He’d have to take what he could get and just hope his old pair lasted the next few weeks.  He eyeballed the neatly folded leather in the box.

“Go ahead and take them out,” she said as she sliced the cake.  “I have all the needles put away so nothing will poke you.”

“Want I should take these off first?” he asked, pointing to the chaps he wore.  Quill wondered just how close she’d get.  He’d been riding all morning and smelled a lot more like a horse than a man.

“Yes, please.”  She set the cake and coffee in his usual spot at the table, and just coffee where she normally sat.  “We’ll eat first so your cake doesn’t dry out.  The fitting shouldn’t take long.”

He waited until she headed for her chair, then seated her before he took his place.  Coffee did sound good, and of course the cake would hold him until Ray got dinner on the table at noon, and then he had to meet with Harp and a cattle broker at two.  Dog whined at the door.  “Go chase some rabbits,” Quill told him, but the wolf-dog stayed right where he was.

“Are you all set to go on roundup?” Miss Mercy asked.

“Mostly.”  He didn’t want to be rude, but then there wasn’t much point in talking about sorting and branding cattle when she had no idea how complicated it was to make several ranch crews work together smoothly.  “Always a few last-minute things to do.”  He polished off the slice of pound cake and washed it down with a hefty slurp of coffee.

“Will you be going to Henderson Flats before you leave?”

“Yep.  Need a few more supplies that should’ve come in on yesterday’s freight wagon.”  He didn’t dare send Harper on account of he’d end up partying half the night away, and Quill needed him to get his work done.  Quill couldn’t send Ike because he’d end up playing checkers and wouldn’t get the supplies back until dark.

“Good, because I have a few items to pick up, too, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you.”

Quill couldn’t think of a single reason for her not to go that didn’t sound phony, which it would be, so he nodded.

She stood and took his new chaps out of the box.  “Let’s try these on so I can make adjustments tonight.”

He stood, not anxious, yet too damned anxious, for her to fit his chaps to him.  Mercy held out the chaps, so he put them on and tied the top leather lace. 

“Do they hang right?”

Lord above, he sure didn’t want to talk about hanging.  “Fine, Miss Mercy.”

“Please just call me Mercy.  Ike and Ray do, and I do prefer it.”

He nodded.  He’d likely be calling her missus something-or-other by the time he got back.

“The side lacing isn’t quite finished yet,” she said.  “I merely need to know how tight you like them to fit, then I’ll get the holes punched and the lacing done this evening after supper.  Let me pull the sides together and you tell me what feels good.”

When a beautiful woman with a sunny smile knelt in front of a man and put her hands all over his legs, it damned well felt good, but instead of saying anything, he took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.  “Go to it, then.”  He just hoped his lower parts would behave, especially when she was eye level to a particular overenthusiastic part.

She pulled the leather between his legs and held it at his outer thigh.  “Is that good?”

Good?  Limber Lulu could take lessons.  He stifled a groan, and said, “Yep.”  Once he got his air back, he asked, “Will this take long?”

“Nope.  All done.”  She stood and beamed another of those sunny smiles at him.  “I’ll have them ready for you to take with you.”

He unlaced the waist and shoved the chaps at her.  “Got stuff to do.”  And he took off for the safety of the barn.  Except Harp was still grooming the horses and he had a big smirk on his face. 

“How’d the fitting go?”

“Good.”

“Whew-wee!  I bet it was good—I know where she put her hands.  Makes me break into a sweat just thinking about it.” 

Quill was sweating still.  “You change your mind about marrying her, then?”

“Was that a joke?  Quill Roderick told a joke?  I gotta write this down in the almanac.”

*   *   *

Mercy had the chaps done by noon.  What she hadn’t told him was that she planned to put at least a small decoration on each side—just enough so they wouldn’t be plain.  They should do him justice.  And heavens above, that man sure did look good in chaps.

Warmth flooded her all over when she thought of the fitting.  Truth was, he didn’t need a fitting at all because she’d used his old chaps as a pattern—the fitting had been Jake’s idea.  Mercy wouldn’t have thought of Jake as being the flirty type, but she had some good ideas.  There’d be even more once she got to the roundup, of that, Mercy was positive.

Of course, she didn’t have to marry at all if she started her own business, which sounded like a good idea to her.  After spending years in the factory working hard to make money for everyone else, she rather liked the notion of working for herself.  She might even be able to help other women who ended up in her situation.

Yes, that did seem like a good path to pursue.  Mercy decided she’d work all this out during the roundup, and when it was over, she’d take steps to rent a space in Henderson Flats and earn money—sewing by hand if she had to—and buy a sewing machine.  In fact, if Patience was unhappy in Washington, she could come to Idaho and be her business partner.

A grand idea.  She wrote a letter to Patience, revealing the true situation about Ike and his great-nephews and inviting her to come to Henderson Flats in three or four weeks.  She also wrote to her parents, telling them that she was happy here.  They didn’t need to know the details yet.

Another advantage of starting a business would be that Mercy wouldn’t have to struggle with her attraction to Quill every single day.  Such as dinnertime, and when she checked her timepiece, she had no doubt the men were waiting for her.  She hurried downstairs, knowing Quill would be there with Harper and Ike, ready for another hearty meal.

“There she is!” Ike said as she finally made it to the kitchen.  “We’ve got some hungry boys here.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.  Since we’re going to town tomorrow and I can mail letters, I decided to write to Patience and my parents.”

“Good idea.”

Harper seated her at the table and then the men quickly sat and dug into the heaps of food Ray had prepared—a huge pot of beef stew, two loaves of fresh bread, a bowl of butter, and some sort of egg salad.  Mercy had never eaten anything like it before but it was tasty.

“We eat good before a roundup,” Harper explained, “because for two weeks or however long it takes, we’ll be eating beans.”

“It ain’t all that bad,” Ike said.  “Whip is a right good cook and if he can shoot a pronghorn, they’ll have some tasty stew—without the vegetables, of course.  He makes a mean biscuit for a busted-up old cowhand.”

“He’s younger than you,” Harper pointed out.

“Yeah, and I can’t make biscuits for spit.”  He turned to Mercy and winked.  “I saw Jake as she was headed home.  Sounds like we better make some plans for when everyone leaves.”

Mercy smiled her sweetest.  “I already am.”

“You sure you don’t want to go with us, Uncle Ike?” Quill asked as he sopped a slice of bread in his stew.  “You ain’t never missed one in all these years.”

“Don’t you pay me no never-mind, son.  Mercy and me’ll be just fine.”

*   *   *

Quill saw that the cowhands got the tables set up, the floor raked, and planks laid for dancing the next night.  Both Dog and Cat were underfoot and he had to shoo them out several times—Dog refusing to leave until Cat led the way.  Everything was ready for the tables to be loaded down with food, and folks to come with their dancing shoes. But he had no intention of sticking around for such nonsense.

The party would start around five o’clock and he’d get the hell out of there before it did.  As pretty as Mercy was already, he didn’t even want to see her all gussied up for a dance.  Just that much more temptation for something that was never to be.  He’d learned a long time ago that women wouldn’t stay around long.  Mercy would likely leave once she found something or someone better.  He couldn’t bear to see it.

He hadn’t made his escape before Harp barged into the barn.  “Seen my jinglebobs?”

Quill pointed to the tack room.  “If you’d ever put the danged things up, you wouldn’t always be looking for them.  Ever thought of that?”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be so much fun to watch you get hot under the collar when I ask where they are.”

“I’m glad to be such good entertainment,” Quill mumbled as he checked his blue roan gelding’s hooves, which the beast had never much liked.  “Hold still, Horse.”

“If you’d name him something besides ‘Horse,’ maybe he’d behave better.”  Harp attached the jinglebobs to his spurs.  “You best get ready for the party or Uncle Ike’ll have your hide.”

“Ain’t going.”

“What do you mean, you ain’t going?  Of course you are.  First of all, it’s the spring roundup party and everyone goes, even hermits like you.  Second, we’re supposed to be introducing Miss Mercy around, remember?”

“I reckon you can do that better than me anyhow.”  Quill finally finished picking Horse’s hooves, so he tightened the cinch and slipped on the hackamore, then whistled to his mutt.  “C’mon, Dog.  Let’s get out of here.” 

“Dog could use a better name, too.  So could Cat.  You ain’t exactly imaginative with names.”

Quill mounted up.  “They don’t seem to much mind.”  He reined the horse around and left the barn.  Left the ranchstead.  Left Uncle Ike.  Left Miss Mercy. 

It was all for the better.

*   *   *

Friday, May 8, 1891

The past week had been rather odd.  Quill and Harper both made themselves scarce, but she had made good friends with the dog, scary looking as he was, and the cat.  She’d also named them—Lobo for the dog, and Inky, short for Inkblot, for the cat.  Only Ray knew, and none of the rest seemed to care.  Ike said they both belonged to Quill, and Lobo did stick with him whenever he was in the barnyard.  The dog even went out on the range with Quill sometimes.