Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) (5 page)

Both animals made nuisances of themselves, begging for pets, when she sat out on the front porch, as she was at the moment, in the morning sun.  Inky jumped on her lap.  When Lobo wanted a scratch behind the ears, Inky growled.

“You need to learn to share,” she told the cat.  Inky flicked his tail, decidedly unrepentant, and shoved his nose between her arm and ribs.

Late afternoon, Mercy bathed and brushed her hair, preparing to dress for the party.  She’d managed to get the last bit of lace sewed to her bodice the evening before, and all she had to do was look her best and smile. 

The party daunted Mercy a smidgeon.  She loved meeting new people, but preferred to meet them a few at a time, especially since she had a devil of a time remembering names. 

Except she’d never forget Quill’s name.  Was that a nickname or his Christian name?  “Quill” meaning a writing pen or a porcupine?  Short for another name?  His name mystified her as much as he did himself. 

When he came near her, she felt all excited inside and happy.  The closer he was the warmer she got.  But she didn’t seem to affect him in the same way at all, nor was he the slightest bit attentive—not like his cousin Harper, who’d been quite the charmer.  He’d joked all the way to and from Henderson Flats and she found him delightful.  As a friend, certainly not as a possible husband.

But Quill... Oh dear!  He’d stolen her heart at first glance.  He invaded her thoughts even at the most inopportune moments.  Like right then, when she needed to be putting on her hostess face.  Even if he did find every excuse to keep from driving her to town, she still wouldn’t mind sitting in silence beside him, if he only would take her.  Just being near him warmed her all over.

Ike had told her that as the woman of the house, she’d be hosting the party with him, so her first job would be to meet and greet folks as they came in.  That meant she’d better get her derrière out to the barn or she might miss the first arrivals.

The smell of fresh hay and the lingering scent of horses and cows hung in the large, silent barn.  Ike assured her it would be full and loud before the night was over.  The first to show up were the owners of the Rocking JW ranch, which Ike told her was six miles northwest of the Circle ID. 

“That’s Jack Walker and his wife, Greta.”  Jack helped his wife off the wagon and she waved.  Ike waved back so Mercy did, too.  An older man hopped off and followed them, and a younger fellow practically vaulted from the wagon and made a beeline for Quill’s crew.

When the Walkers came into the barn, Greta handed her a huge platter of cinnamon rolls that made Mercy’s mouth water, and said, “Pardon our son, Kenny.  You know how fifteen-year-olds can be.  He could hardly wait to visit with the Circle ID cowhands, even though he’ll be stuck with them for a couple weeks during roundup.”  She laughed, and Mercy knew the petite raven-haired woman would be a great friend.  She turned and took the older man’s arm.  “This is my father-in-law, Neil Walker.  He’ll be playing the fiddle tonight.”

The next to arrive were more musicians—guitarist Al Curtis and family, Arlene Nafsinger, who played the accordion, and her family, then later, Elmer Prow, who Ike introduced as the man who called the dances and generally kept things going, and his wife, Mary. 

“Are the Paxtons coming?” Ike asked Al. 

“Nope, you’re stuck with us.”  Al pulled makings out of his pocket and commenced to roll a quirley.  “Someone asked them to play at a fancy doin’s over in Boise City.  Them boys are in such demand these days, they’ll have to hire someone to run their ranch.”

Only the musicians had arrived and Mercy’s head already spun with all the names.  She’d never keep them straight—if she could write all their names on their foreheads, maybe she’d have a chance.  And she desperately wanted to make a good impression.  Forgetting their names wouldn’t be a good start.

Next, a bunch of riders came, one with a bundle, and that bundle started squalling the minute the rider reined the horse to a stop.

“There’s the Lawrences,” Ike said.  “Have you met Jake yet?”

“Yes, she dropped by the other day.”

Jake threw her right leg over the pommel and jumped off her horse, then headed straight for the house.  “Back in a while,” she hollered.  “This little scamp thinks it’s suppertime.”

A tall man, three youngsters—one nearly a man, and B.J. on a pony, rode on to the barn leading Jake’s horse.  They all dismounted, and started unsaddling the mounts.  “Help B.J.,” the man said.

B.J. hopped off without assistance and ran to his father’s side.

“Good to see you, Ben,” Ike said.  “This here’s Miss Mercy Eaton from Massachusetts.”

“How do you do, ma’am.”  He turned from his chore and shook hands with Ike, then tipped his hat to Mercy.  “I lived in Boston for several years.”

“Which is why she calls you ‘Boston’?”

“That’s right.”  He grinned, and it was apparent that he loved his wife very much.  “My wife told me about you.” 

Mercy hoped Jake had said good things.  She seemed like a nice lady.  Woman, rather.  Not much ladylike about Jake, but it didn’t seem to tarnish her femininity a bit.

One of the youngsters shouldered in front of him.  “You must be that there mail-order bride.  I always wanted to see one of them.”  A girl, freckle-faced with dark brown hair, dressed in boy’s clothing—Mercy would have a lot to get used to in this country.  “I’m Henry, short for Henrietta.”  She pointed at the boys.  “Them pathetic yay-hoos is my brothers, Homer and Teddy.”

“Ted, not Teddy.  I’m eleven—practically a grown man.”  The younger brother took a swipe at his sister’s shoulder but she ducked and clobbered him back.  “Dammit all, I told you not to call me Teddy no more.”  He grinned at Mercy.  “You really gonna marry Uncle Ike?”

“No cussin’ till you’re twelve.”  Henry frowned and crossed her scrawny arms in front of her chest.  “Jake said.”

“You ain’t telling, are you?”

“Depends.”

Ben held up his forefinger at the two of them.  “Finish taking care of the horses and then you can argue.”  He chuckled and gave them a shove.  “Do it right, or Jake’ll have your hide.”

Chapter 8

A whole caravan of neighbors piled in and Mercy lost track shortly after Jake’s family came.  Several young men, Harper’s friends, strutted around with their jinglebobs, dancing with every available lady.  That included her.

“The fellows are sure smitten with you, as well they should be,” Ike said when Mercy returned to his side, nearly breathless after a vigorous polka.  “You are beautiful tonight.  That blue dress becomes you.”

“Thank you.”  But she noticed a dearth of single young ladies, so she didn’t take his compliment much to heart.

“It certainly does,” another lady, named Suzanne if Mercy remembered right, said.  “Did you make that?  Because I was admiring the same material at the store but I didn’t think my sewing skills could do it justice.  I was right because you’re very talented.”

Mercy could feel warmth creeping up her cheeks—that blasted blush again.  “You flatter me more than I deserve.  I bought the material Monday morning because I didn’t have anything that would be nice to wear for the party.”

Ike chuckled.  “You could wear longjohns and be beautiful.”

She felt exhilarated with all the music, laughter, and dancing.  It seemed as if the world partied with them that night.  As the hours passed, more spirits were not so discreetly passed around.  With the liquor came a good bit of rowdiness, and the barn warmed with the crowd.  Mercy loved watching it all.  She’d never seen an inebriated person other than the drunks on the street, so the whole affair fascinated her.

Harper’s friends, some of whom had striking good looks, whooped it up—laughing and dancing.  Several of them grabbed her for a spin around the dance floor.  She had to be careful to pick up her feet, since dancing on planks was a lot different than on a finished floor, not to mention the ever-present danger of getting her toes stomped.  The two-step and the polka were popular.  She could waltz better, but these fellows two-stepped to every song, including waltzes.  Mercy found the whole thing amusing, especially when they had to hop around to get their feet back under them.

Two of Harper’s friends had a friendly spat over who got to dance with her next.  She settled the feud by begging off.  “Please, I need a refreshment.”

“I’ll bring you a drink,” a man offered.

Harper stepped to her side.  “Back off, Sully.”

Mercy was glad to visit the refreshment table with Harper.  She spied some pretty pink punch.  “I’d like some of that.”

He raised one eyebrow.  “Are you sure?”

It looked so pretty, it had to be good.  “Yes.  I’m very thirsty.”

Harper ladled out a large glass and gave it to her.  “Enjoy.”  Then he steered her toward the benches where Ike sat.  “I think you ought to be sitting when you drink it.”

The punch tasted a little strong but she was mighty thirsty.  After she’d drunk half, she just couldn’t stop smiling.  “Isn’t this the most wonderful party?”  She gave Ike a sideways hug and he chuckled.

“Yep, especially with a little pick-me-up in the punch.  Of course, it’s looking to me like we’ll be picking you up.”

She giggled.  “What a strange remark!  But I find everyone here so friendly.  I was a wee bit afraid that people wouldn’t like me, and that’s not a problem at all, it seems.”  She wondered why she’d confessed that, but oh well, she’d already said it. 

The words hung in the air but she couldn’t take them back, so she took another sip.  “I wonder if whoever made this will give me the recipe.”  She handed Ike her glass.  “I’d like some more, but I’m too tired to get it.”

Ike went to fetch her drink, but before he returned, another fellow, Sully again, asked her to dance, to which she happily agreed.  After the song ended, she collapsed beside Ike.  “Isn’t it hot in here?”

“Nope, the first of May in the desert—nice and cool.  Not hot.  I’d say you are, though.”

By midnight, all the families with children, except the Lawrences, had left.  Jake had made beds in the hay for the baby and B.J.  Other than them, only Harper’s friends and a few older gents remained.  Mercy’s feet ached, but it was a good ache, for she’d never been the belle of the ball in her entire life.

She was afraid to utter a word because all that came out were giggles.  Instead of conversing, she watched everyone have a good time, as she was herself, and danced a few more times.  Inky tried to make himself at home on her lap and seemed insulted every time she accepted an invitation to dance, but he’d just have to pout. 

Sully kept asking but she only danced with him once more.  When he brought her back to Ike, she was so thirsty that she drank another half a glass of punch.  After a few minutes, she felt rested enough for another spin around the dance floor, which also seemed to spin.

The night was heady.  No matter who she danced with, it felt as if she were gliding across the planks, but she knew that couldn’t be possible.  Still, she leaned into her dance partner for support.  She wasn’t even sure which man she danced with at the moment.

The next thing she knew, two of the men started arguing over who danced with her next.  “I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said, another giggle erupting, as she backed away.  She stood in the middle of the dance floor, a bit confused as to where to go.

One man threw a punch and then the other fellow hit back.  The fight was on. 

Mercy stood, dazed and amazed at all the commotion, for in an instant, hats and hay flew as men pummeled one another with their fists. 

Jake hollered, “Boston, get Henry and Teddy out of here.”

Mercy saw Jake get elbowed in the back.  Jake spun around and punched the fellow in the jaw.  Mercy had never seen a woman fight like that.

“My baby’s squalling,” Jake growled.  “I don’t have time to mess around with you.” The man took another swing.  She punched his gut with her left and his jaw with her right.  When he dropped to the floor, she stepped over him and headed to Mercy who’d had the presence of mind to grab the baby. 

“Ain’t nothing like a good fight to get your blood pumping.” She took her baby and cuddled him.  “Hang on, Scamp.  You’ll get your food just as soon as I can fetch B.J. and get us out of here in one piece.”

Mercy knew she should get out of there, too, but Jake disappeared so she couldn’t follow, and the only way out was clogged with fighting men.  Someone had just dumped over the refreshment table with all that lovely pink punch.

So this was what the Wild West was all about!  She could hardly wait to write to Patience and her folks back in Massachusetts.

*   *   *

Quill knew the party would still be on but at midnight, he reckoned Miss Mercy would have gone to bed, so he rode back home.  Lanterns lit the barn bright enough that he could see the light half a mile away.  He was in no hurry, but a few hundred yards from the barn he heard the unmistakable sound of a drunken brawl.  The hairs on the back of his head prickled and he spurred Horse into a gallop.

He had no qualms about the cowhands having a little fun, but he couldn’t afford for any of his hands to get hurt just before roundup.  Every man needed to be in one piece and ready to ride day after tomorrow.  So he galloped his horse to the barn door, where one man flew out right before Horse’s nose and scared him.  He reared and Quill reined him to the left so the horse’s hooves wouldn’t stomp the man who lay in the dirt.

Quill jumped off and flipped the reins over the hitching post, then dashed into the fracas.  Jake was holding her own with a couple men, even with a baby in the crook of her left arm.  Ben had her back, taking on a few himself.  Not bad for a Boston lawyer.  Uncle Ike had climbed the harness wall and walloped anyone who came near with a riding quirt. 

In case the old man had more fire than good sense, Quill made his way to his uncle to get him out of there before he got clouted upside the head with a plate.

When Ike saw him, he grinned.  “Helluva fight!”

“You all right?”

“Yep, but you better get Mercy the hell out of there before someone tramples her.  She took a likin’ to that pretty pink punch.”

Shit on a shingle!  She’d been drinking Uncle Ike’s lemonade brandy.  “Where is she?”

“Last I saw, right square in the middle.  You’re gonna have to fight your way in to fetch her, and likely fight your way out.”

“Be back in a minute.”

Uncle Ike hooted.  “Best damned fight I’ve seen in ten years!”  He snapped the quirt at a brawler who came too close.  “It’s all in the wrist.”

Quill saw Harp in the back of the barn, giving a little better than he was getting, so Quill didn’t worry about him.  For now, he had to get Miss Mercy out of this mess before she got hurt.  He’d seen her right off—vivid blue dress and radiant red hair—not exactly easy to miss. 

She stood wide-eyed with her mouth agape and her hands clasped over her lovely breasts.  Cat yowled and took a vicious swipe at a man who came too near her.  Dog barked his fool head off and hopped around, having a good old time.  Quill took a hit in the ribs, so he turned to one side and decked the unfortunate soul, then plowed into the ruckus, knocking fighters this way and that, until he got to Miss Mercy. 

Without a word, he snagged her by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder.  He held the back of her thighs with his left arm and fought with his right.  Since the rear of the barn was closer, he headed that direction.  Uncle Ike could hold his own—he seemed to be having as good a time as Cat was.

Someone’s fist landed on his ribs.  Same damned place.  But then Miss Mercy bashed the cowhand over the head with her punch glass.  The Circle ID cowhand rubbed his head and when he caught Quill’s glare, said, “Sorry, boss.”

Quill saw an opening and charged through it, then ducked into a small room where they kept feed for the milk cows. 

Miss Mercy giggled as he laid her on the pile of hay, but she didn’t let go of his neck and pulled him on top of her.  “Oh, my!  Is this what they call a roll in the hay?”  She giggled again.  “And with the charming prince, too—tall, dark, and handsome.”

She got the dark part right since there was little light, but he saw the gleam in her eyes and all he could picture in his mind was her full lips ripe for kissing, and her delectable cleavage that made a man itch to cup her bosom.  His lower parts ached with need and he groaned.

But she was drunk.  And not for him.  Especially not now.  He pulled her arms from his neck and held them to her sides.  He bet she had no idea how much of a temptation she was.

“You stay here, sugar.”  He pushed himself up.  “I’ll be back in ten minutes to take you in the house.”

“Where are you going?”

“This prince is about to rescue his crazy uncle.”

But mostly, Quill needed to rescue himself.