Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (19 page)

At seeing
the stark terror in Mercy’s eyes, Spencer had a sudden, unnerving thought.

“Mercy, honey,
did your attacker. . . ?” He let the question dangle, unable to think of a delicate way to phrase his query.

To his heartfelt relief,
Mercy slowly shook her head.

“You arrived before he could . . . could do that to me.”

Spence gently cuffed a hand under Mercy’s chin, nudging her head up several inches. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. I saw that knife wound in his leg. I’m guessing that you put up one helluva fight.”

“But you don’t understand
, Spencer. It was so . . . so horrible . . . and ugly. It wasn’t anything like . . . like what happened between. . . .” Mercy’s voice trailed into silence.

Wishing
that he could do something to alleviate her turmoil, Spence slipped an arm around her shoulders. Although he had little experience with such sensitive matters, he figured that the sooner Mercy learned to accept his touch, the sooner she’d be able to put the brutal attack behind her.

“There’s no need for you to be afraid of me, Mercy. You know that I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.”

Somewhat timidly
, Mercy leaned her head against his chest. The fact that she did instantly aroused Spence’s protective instincts.

Several moments passed in companionable silence, each taking from the moment what they needed. A red-tailed hawk circled overhead, swooping and soaring with graceful precision. Staring at the muddy waters of the Little Osage, Spence wondered why
it was that such peaceful moments were the exception instead of the rule.

As though reading his thoughts, Mercy suddenly pulled away
from him.

F
ixing him with an accusing stare, she said, “You’ve certainly gone out of your way to help me. Why is that?”

Damn, but she sure knew how to turn the tables
.

His whole life,
Spence had always been good at reading women, knowing what they wanted and when they wanted it. Not so with Mercy Hibbert, the woman an out-and-out mystery to him, running hot when she should be running cold.

“Well, you did take that lead slug out of my leg.
So, I figured that I owed you one,” he answered with a noncommittal shrug. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was hauling the Hibbert family to his farmstead in the western Ozarks. Some things just happen, and this was one of them.

Mercy proudly thrust out her chin.
“You don’t owe me a thing.”

For some inexplicable reason,
Spence had the uneasy feeling that her response had little to do with the day’s events, and everything to do with what transpired between them five weeks ago in an empty horse stall. While the loving between them had been good – damn good, in fact – it had been followed by a heated exchange of hateful words. Having pondered the matter at some length, he was still at a loss to understand why Mercy came at him that day with a loaded pistol. Either the woman wanted him, or she didn’t. And damned if he could figure out which way the wind was blowing.

Always ready to give as good as he got, Spence returned
Mercy’s pointed stare. “All right, then. Since we’re tallying up old debts, I believe that you owe me an explanation.”

“An explanation for what, pray tell?”

“For why you flew off the handle that day we made love? In case you’ve forgotten, you sent me packing without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

While
Spence hoped the blunt query would take some of the starch out of her britches, he was unprepared for the pained look that suddenly crept into Mercy’s eyes as she mutely stared at him. In that instant, he had the distinct impression that she was sizing him up, trying to determine just how far she could trust him.

Several moments into the silence,
Mercy’s chest suddenly heaved. Then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she said, “My brother Ethan was killed in battle. We received word of his . . . his death while you were out hunting.”

It was the last thing
that Spence expected to hear.

Turning away from him
, Mercy stared dejectedly at the expanse of brown river water. Her volatile behavior, her family’s mournful silence, suddenly it all made sense to him. Having experienced that kind of loss firsthand, Spence understood Mercy’s grief. Losing a loved one was hard to bear. In his experience, you never got over the pain. You just learned to live with it.

When
Mercy’s shoulders began to visibly shake, Spence pulled her toward him.

With an audible moan, Mercy wrapped her arms around his waist, her small body
wracked with sobs. Instinctively, Spence tightened his hold on her.

Whether she knew it or not, the lady had left her mark on him that day in the barn. So much so
, he’d been unable to slake his lust on another female. There was only one woman that he hungered for. Although the last thing Mercy needed right now was him pawing at her.

“It’s all right, honey.”
Spence put a hand on the back of her head. “Go ahead and cry it all out.”

Deeply moved that she trusted him enough to
openly express her grief, Spence suspected that these were the first real tears Mercy had permitted herself to shed for her slain brother. Someone in the Hibbert family had to remain strong and Mercy, as usual, would have taken that responsibility upon herself. But such responsibility came with a price. As well he knew.

Long minutes passed before
Mercy’s weeping finally became little more than a mournful whimper. To Spence’s keen disappointment, she then loosened her hold on his waist and shoved herself away from him.

“
I apologize.” Mercy wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “I don’t usually carry on in such . . . such an undignified manner.”

“There’s nothing undignified about grieving a loved one.”

“I know. It’s just that. . . .” As she stared at his chest, Mercy’s cheeks flamed with color. “Oh, dear! I got your shirt all wet.”

Spence glanced at his dampened shirt front. “
Hey, it’s nothing to worry about. It’ll dry in no time.”

Mercy fretfully wrung her hands together. She was a strong woman, and Spence suspected that such powerful emotions were hard for her to
handle.

“Believe me when I say that all of this is . . . is
rather overwhelming to me.” A bewildered expression crept into Mercy’s eyes. “Ethan’s death . . . the house burning down . . . those horrible men wanting to take Gabriel with them.”

Spence’s head jerked,
Mercy’s last remark catching him by surprise. “What are you talking about?’

“That’s why the jayhawkers came
to the farmhouse, to get Gabriel.”

“What would a gang of jayhawkers want with your
little brother?”

“
Oh, but Gabriel isn’t my brother,” Mercy corrected. “Not that it matters. Over the years, I’ve certainly come to think of him as kith and kin. In fact, Gabriel was little more than an infant when Mister Maddox left him in our family’s care after his wife was killed by border ruffians.”

Mercy’s explanation
hit Spence like a double load of buckshot.

“
Who
did you say his daddy is?”

“His father’s name is Luther Maddox
. Quite tragically, Mr. Maddox died soon after entrusting Gabriel to our family.”

The hell he did!

As Spence knew full well, Luther Maddox was far from dead. Why, only last month, he’d laid eyes on Maddox during the raid on the Hibbert farm. Which begged the question: why after all these years did Maddox suddenly want the son that he had abandoned?

It c
ould be that he’d been waiting until Gabriel was able to fend for himself, until his wings were strong enough to leave the nest.

“
Nine years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Maddox traveled west with my family,” Mercy continued, unaware of the import of her innocent remarks. “Actually there were fifteen families who made the trip, all of us sponsored by the New England Aid Society.”

Well, isn’t that interesting?
Not only was Mercy familiar with Luther Maddox, she’d spent weeks traveling in his company during the overland journey from Massachusetts to Kansas.

Unlike Southerners who
’d migrated piecemeal, immigration out of the North had been highly organized, money being raised to send thousands of abolitionists westward to populate the new territory of Kansas, thus ensuring that it would enter the Union a free state.

Christ A
lmighty
. It should have occurred to him sooner that Mercy might be acquainted with Luther Maddox.

Maybe
he’d just been unwilling to entertain the notion that the woman he desired above all others had known, spoken to, and had even broken bread with the bastard who murdered his father and two elder brothers. But the cat was now out of the bag.

The
Dark Angel had a son
.

If
that didn’t prove that the Lord moved in mysterious ways, Spence didn’t know what did. Not only did he happen to have custody of Maddox’s son, but the bastard would have to cross over to his side of the border to retrieve him. And when that happened, Spence would be waiting with both pistols loaded.

“Come on.” He
jutted his chin at the low-riding sun. “We need to load up the wagon and get a move on.”

Rising to his feet, Spence glanced at the Hibberts’ buckboard wagon. If his mood had been
more convivial, he might have chortled with amusement. Concerned for Mercy’s mother, he’d pulled several wooden slats off the side of their barn, and had nailed them at a pitched angle over the wagon bed. Then, over top of that, he’d nailed the two woolen carpets that had survived the fire. While it wasn’t much to look at, it did keep the sun off Mrs. Hibbert. Not to mention that it would provide a covered shelter come nightfall.

“
Is there any chance that we can camp here for the night?” Mercy inquired with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

Spence brusquely shook his head.
“We need to put more distance between us and the Yankee patrols.”

“
Yes, of course.”

Given
Mercy’s despondent tone of voice, Spence surmised that she was having a difficult time adjusting to the fact that she was now on southern soil. Unwilling to discuss the matter further, he took her by the elbow and led her back to the wagon.

Wishing things could be different,
Spence watched as Mercy assisted Temperance Hibbert into the straw-covered wagon bed. Then, without uttering so much as a word of complaint, she climbed onto the jockey seat and unlashed the reins from the brake handle. Her sister Prudence scrambled beside her. Hardy New Englanders that they were, Spence knew they’d bear their misery in stoic silence.

Unhitching his horse, Spence swung himself into the saddle.
Anxious to get a move on, he led the way back to the dust-covered trail, riding point while Dewey took up the rear guard.

They’d gone no more than a mile when they came to a fork in the road
: the southern pike led to the McCabe farm in McDonald County; the other road headed due east. Straight into the heart of Missouri.

Spence stopped, contemplating his two options
. To lure the Dark Angel across the border, he would need help. No two ways about it.

Dewey
reined in beside him, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s the matter, Spence?”

“Nothing.”
His mind made up, Spence slapped the horse’s reins.

“But that’s not the way to
—”

“I know what I’m doing.” Turning in the saddle, Spence fixed his brother with a silencing stare.

Mercy’s eyes fluttered open as she roused herself from a deep sleep.

Slowly she raised her head from her warm pillow
. To her chagrin, she belatedly realized that her ‘pillow’ had been Spencer’s shoulder.