Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (30 page)

As much as he valued his freedom,
Spence couldn’t bring himself to abandon Mercy; and he wasn’t about to turn his back on their unborn child. All of which made him mad as hell. Those kind of tender feelings were a weakness; a weakness that might very well get him killed one of these days.

H
e particularly didn’t like the surge of pride that he felt at having fathered a child. No, siree! Nor did he like the longing that welled in his heart whenever he so much as glanced at Mercy. And he damn sure didn’t like the near debilitating pleasure that stole over him whenever he made love to her. He could do without every single one of those feelings.

Sooner or later, it was bound to come out
: the reason why Lydia was a widow; the reason why Ginny, Dewey, and little Dixie were fatherless; the reason why he’d been on an eight year manhunt. Once Mercy discovered the truth, he had every reason to believe that she’d do everything in her power to stop him from seeking the ultimate vengeance. Already she walked on thin ice, having betrayed him back at Bloody Ned’s camp.

Murmuring softly
, Mercy shifted positions, one slender arm gracefully sliding across his chest. Spence’s gaze roamed the length of her lush, naked body, wondering if he’d ever be able to get his fill of her. As she opened her eyes, she peered at him with a guilelessly happy expression.

“Why do you let me do this to you?” he asked
quietly.

Mercy raised her head off
of the pillow. “I’m not certain that I understand the question.”

He palmed one of her breasts, giving it a quick, hard squeeze. “
This
. Why do you let me to
this
to you?”

To his surprise, Mercy cove
red his hand with one of hers.

“Because I love you, Spence
r. That’s why.”

Spence stared
at Mercy, poleaxed by those three simple words:
‘I love you.’

Christ
Almighty! Could things get any worse?

A mite too roughly, he pushed
Mercy’s hand aside and vaulted off the bed. Glancing downward, he cursed liberally under his breath as he shoved his now fully erect pecker back into his trousers, his fingers fumbling with the buttons.

Having made himself decent,
he pointed an accusing finger at the mound of downy curls between Mercy’s pale legs. “What you feel
down there
, that’s not love. That’s lust, pure and simple. Take it from one who knows.”

Mercy’s eyes welled with tears. “
Why are you being so cruel to me?”

Because I’m one mean son of a bitch, that’s why.

Unable to face the unspoken accusations that glimmered in the watery pools of her eyes, Spence reached down and snatched Mercy’s robe off of the floor.

“Look, I’m only telling it like it is,” he muttered, tossing the garment in her direction. “Though if it’s any consolation, you’re probably the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

At hearing that, the blood drained from Mercy’s face.

Yep.
That outta douse any lingering notions she had about love.
Put those flames out, once and for all.

And wh
ile he was admittedly relieved that he had effectively put the matter to rest, Spence knew that he’d just dug his own grave in the process. Already he regretted the way that he’d hurt Mercy with his intentionally crude remarks. But because the cat was out of the bag and leaping around the room, it was too late to change course.

And that made his blood run
even hotter.

Goddamn the woman anyway
.

Awkwardly holding
the robe in front of her naked torso, Mercy maneuvered herself off the bed and hurriedly donned the hand-me-down garment.

Emotionally battered, she wrapped her arm
s around her waist. She wanted to hate Spencer McCabe. But she couldn’t. Her love for him was too far gone. Even in the face of his brutal rejection, she couldn’t stop loving him. And because of that, she knew that she had nothing to lose.

Buoyed by her convictions, Mercy looked Spencer straight in the eye
and said, “While you may be unwilling to openly acknowledge that you love me, I am convinced that given time you will become more comfortable with your feelings.”

Spencer’s jaw slackened, his
expression one of pure incredulity.

“
What!?
”

“I said
—”

“I know what you said,” he gruffly interrupted. “What I want to know is
why
the hell you said it?”

Mercy primly folded her hands in front of her,
refusing to be intimidated by his manly bluster. “While I profess to know little about the subject of love, I find it hard to believe that any man would be willing to sacrifice his own life merely because he lusted after a woman. Simply put, it was love that drove you to save me from the murderous clutches of Bloody Ned Sykes.”

“You
sure got this all figured out nice and neat, don’t you?”

“I dare you t
o claim otherwise,” Mercy challenged, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet.

At first, Spencer said nothing. Then,
his voice noticeably hoarse, he said, “I can’t love you. Not now. Not ever.”

“Why?
Because I’m a ‘damned Yankee?’”

“Sweet Jesus, don’t do this to me!”
Spencer abruptly began to pace the room, his shoulders angrily hunched. After several silent passes, he stopped and slowly turned to face her. “Do you want to know why I can’t love you? I can’t love you because everyone I love ends up dead.”

Although she was utterly bewildered by his explanation,
Mercy was nonetheless determined to keep chipping away at him. “If you don’t love me, why do you continually go out of your way to protect me? And why do you touch me and do all the other intimate things that you do, if not out of love?”

One side of Spencer’s mouth lifted in a rueful
half-smile. “Maybe I’m just looking for a little salvation and hoping to find it in your arms.”

His reply gave Mercy cause for renewed hope, the tenderness in his gaze causing her heart to skip a beat.

“I know that men are close-lipped about matters of the heart,” she said, hoping to strike a chord with him. “Even though my father deeply loved my mother, I can’t recall that he ever said the words aloud to her.”

“I don’t know
how to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t your daddy.”

“Make all the jokes
that you like. The love that I bear for you is—”

“Goddammit
, Mercy! Will you stop using that word!”

His furious retort
hit Mercy with the force of a runaway train. Quite unintentionally, she’d pushed Spencer over the edge.

A tense silence ensued. From across the room, they stared at one a
nother, neither giving an inch.

Surprisingly, it was Spence
r who capitulated first. After pushing out a deep, frustrated sigh, he said, “Look, I have every intention of doing right by you, all right? There’s no need for you to blubber on about being in love with me.”

Now it was
Mercy’s turn for incredulity.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

Spencer lowered his gaze to her midsection. “I’m talking about the babe that I put in your belly. And just so we’re clear on the matter, no child of mine is coming into this world a bastard. Lydia has arranged for the preacher to marry us tomorrow.”

“No!”
Mercy frantically clutched at her night robe, her hand splayed over her heart. “I mean, I don’t even know if I’m—” Shamefully, the word stuck in her throat.

Until now, she’d refused to even consider the possibility that she might be with child, quick to push the nagging thought to the back of her mind. For
the last six weeks, her life had been in a constant state of turmoil, the stress taking a toll on her body
. Surely, that’s all it was
.

“When was the last time
that you had your monthlies? Was it before we made love in the barn?”

Mortified, Mercy weakly nodded. “
But that doesn’t mean—”

“If Lydia says
that you’re pregnant, then believe you me, you’re pregnant. I’ve never known that woman to be wrong about anything. She says it’s the reason why you turned green around the gills and had to leave the supper table so sudden like. Of course, I didn’t believe it myself, at first. I told her that given all the weight that you’d lost in the last few weeks, I didn’t see how you could possibly be—” Spencer stopped suddenly, a befuddled look on his face. “What’s wrong, now?”

“How
could you have discussed so
personal a matter with your sister-in-law? Of all people!”

“Hey, Lydia’s family. There’s no reason for you to be ashamed.”

“Isn’t there?”

Spencer
folded his arms over his chest. “Are you telling me that you’re ashamed to have my baby?”

“No
. Never that.” At that moment, all of the heartache of the last few weeks came rushing to the fore, Mercy’s voice little more than a bereaved whisper as she said, “But I am deeply,
deeply
ashamed to be marrying a man who doesn’t love me.”

“Well, you best
get over it,” Spencer snarled. Stalking across the room, he reached for the door, swinging it wide open. Before taking his leave, he speared Mercy with a purposeful gaze. “The preacher will be here tomorrow at noon.”

With that said, he stormed out of the room.

She should never have told Spencer that she loved him. Mercy knew that now.

The damage, however, was done. Given that she and Spencer were to be wed two hours hence, Mercy could not amend what transpired the previous evening. That, undoubtedly, was the reason for the dull ache in her heart and the listlessness with which she’d greeted the day.

Her family, while surprised by the unexpected news,
had greeted the announcement happily. Although Mercy could not help but wonder if they would be so forthcoming in their good cheer if they knew the
real
reason for the sudden marriage ceremony. Quite honestly, she didn’t know if she had the inner fortitude to confide to her mother that Spencer was only marrying her so that their unborn child would not enter the world a fatherless bastard.

Oh, Spencer, why
can’t you love me just a little bit? Is that really so much to ask?

Heartsick, Mercy
aimlessly wandered into the parlor, having been shooed from the kitchen where Lydia was busy preparing for the wedding supper. With a sinking heart, she glanced at the fireplace mantle, gaily decked with a garland of April greenery. Earlier that morning, Pru, blushing with girlish excitement, had presented her with the lovingly made wedding garland, never guessing that there was little reason to celebrate the hastily arranged nuptials.

Spying a large, well-worn
Bible on a corner table, Mercy walked over to it, hoping to find a moment’s comfort in scripture. Somewhat forlornly, she traced the embossed leather cover with her fingertips, remembering the time that she’d overheard Spencer reading to her family from
their
well-worn Bible. Opening the front cover, she saw that someone had diligently recorded all of the important events that had occurred in the McCabe family over the course of the last forty years.

As her eyes scanned the page,
Mercy’s breath suddenly caught in her throat, stunned by three neatly printed entries toward the bottom of the page.

James Monroe McCabe ~ Died
the fifteenth day of April, 1857

James Alderson McCabe ~ Died the fifteenth day of
April, 1857

Franklin Prescott McCabe ~ Died the fifteenth day of
April, 1857

Horrified by the ramification of what she’d just read
, a tear drop fell onto the open page, Mercy unable to catch it in time.

A few seconds later, h
earing the unexpected rustle of fabric, she spun on her heel.

Lydia McCabe
, elegantly attired in black bombazine, stood in the parlor doorway. Her gaze unerringly went to Mercy’s hand which was still splayed over the open Bible.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Mercy whispered.

Several moments lapsed in silence. Then, her face calmly composed, Lydia said, “And what were we supposed to tell you? That Spencer’s father, not to mention my husband and brother-in-law, were murdered by abolitionists.”

Abolitionists like you
.

Although the accusation went unspoken, Mercy knew that’s what the other woman must be thinking. Discomposed by Lydia’s blunt candor, she morosely hung her head.

Dear God, please don’t let me say anything that I will later regret. These people have already suffered enough pain.

Mustering her courage, Mercy raised her
head. “I well understand your heartache . . . and your anger.”

“How could you possibly understand my
heartache? Or Spencer’s.”

“
I understand because my father was killed by a gang of southern bushwhackers,” Mercy said quietly, her voice devoid of all malice.

Lydia paled, her skin starkly white against her black mourning gown. “I am truly sorry . . . I
did not know,” she murmured, clearly taken aback. In the next instant, Lydia’s spine stiffened. “Please don’t tell me that Spencer—”

“No!
Spencer had nothing to do with my father’s death.” Mercy punctuated the avowal with a vehement shake of the head.

Lydia put a
hand to her heart. “Thank God.”

As Mercy peered at the woman standing across from her,
she saw the mirror reflection of her own grief. And that, in turn, compelled her to speak more freely than was her wont. “The bushwhackers attacked our farm last year during the fall harvest. There were so many of them that . . . that we could not defend ourselves.” Choking back a sob, Mercy raised a hand to her mouth, afraid that she might disgrace herself. “For-forgive me.”

Without a word, Lydia
stepped closer to her.

“There is nothing to forgive. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Without a trace of censure, Lydia reached into her dress sleeve and removed a handkerchief, solicitously handing it
to her.

With a murmured word of thanks, Mercy took the proffered handkerchief, Lydia’s regal poise h
aving a calming affect on her.

“After
all that Spencer has lived through, he is in need of a woman’s guiding hand.” As she spoke, Lydia closed the Bible, the leather-bound volume closing with a dull thud. “Although I must be honest with you, Miss Hibbert, neither Spencer nor I have truly reconciled ourselves to that tragic day.”

Because
her own father’s death still weighed heavy on her mind and heart, Mercy was not surprised by Lydia’s confession.

“The death of a loved one is always a bitter pill to swallow,”
she said quietly. Raising the handkerchief to her cheek, she dabbed at a stray tear.

“Yes, but I doubt that you hold yourself personally liable for your father’s death
.” When Mercy raised a questioning brow, Lydia then said, “Unfortunately, Spencer believes that I hold him responsible for my husband’s murder.”

Stunned by the quietly spoken addendum
, Mercy’s eyes opened wide. While she did not wish to pry, she also could not keep silent. “And do you blame him?”

For the first time since entering the room, Lydia’s composure
visibly faltered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No . . . not anymore. While you were perusing our family Bible, you may have noticed that my daughter was born on the same day that my husband James was killed.”

Mercy shook her head, too numb with shock to even speak.

“I’ve always thought there was a poignant irony to that.” Craning her neck slightly, Lydia fixed her gaze on the nearby window. “All of the McCabe men were gathered here at the house while they awaited the baby’s birth. Evidently, there was a disturbance of some sort and my husband volunteered to go outside and investigate. For whatever reason, Spencer insisted on going in James’ stead.”

As Lydia spoke, Mercy envisioned the scene in her mind’s eye,
staggered to think that an innocent twist of fate had changed the course of all their lives.

Having deduced what happened on that long ago night, Mercy said,
“Spencer was away from the house when the others were killed, wasn’t he?”

A bleak expression on her face,
Lydia nodded. “I know now that Spencer was not at fault. But at the time I was so stricken with grief that . . . .” Her voice trailed into silence.

“That you blame
d him for your husband’s death,” Mercy finished for her.

“Little did I know that he already blamed himself.”

‘I can’t love you because everyone I love ends up dead.’

Last night, Mercy had been unable to decipher Spencer’s cryptic remark. Suddenly, with piercing clarity, she understood his pain, his grief. She even understood the reason why he refused to love her. Emotionally
battered, Spencer wore his scars on the inside where no one could see them.

But Spencer wasn’t the only victim
in this tragedy. Lydia, too, suffered in silence. Widowed, she not only had raised her own child, she’d also raised Dewey and Ginny. Beneath Lydia McCabe’s ladylike poise, there was a deep devotion to a family that was not hers by blood. Mercy could not help but admire the other woman’s courage and strength.

Lydia motioned to the open door. “Come. We
shouldn’t speak of such melancholy things on your wedding day.”

Mercy flinched, shamefully aware that Lydia knew full well why Spencer was marrying her.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of the fact that you and Spencer love one another,” Lydia reassured her, having correctly surmised Mercy’s unspoken thoughts.

“But he doesn’t love
—” Mercy stopped in mid-sentence, unable to finish the humiliating confession.

“Oh, I think Spencer loves you more than he’s willing to admit.” A faint smile softened Lydia’s stern features. “The McCabe men are like that.
There’s no need for you to worry; he’ll come around. My James did.”

Seeing the soft smile that animated Lydia’s face when she spoke James’ name, i
t was clearly obvious that she still harbored a deep, abiding love for her slain husband. The realization made Mercy think, and not without a twinge of guilt, that she was lucky to have Spencer. Even if he didn’t love her.

“You should go upstairs and change for the ceremony. Reverend Witherspoon will be here within the hour,” Lydia
informed her as she pointedly glanced at the mantle clock.

Mercy
wordlessly nodded. As she left the parlor and made her way upstairs, she reflected on her and Spencer’s six week ‘courtship.’ There were so many times, too many to count, that she’d bemoaned his cockiness, choosing to ignore his sense of honor. And she’d often criticized his brashness, taking his courage and valor for granted. She’d even belittled his southern charm, turning a blind eye to his many kind deeds.

While
Mercy had never personally blamed Spencer for her father’s death, she’d certainly made no attempt to hide the fact that she held him and all renegade Southerners wholly responsible for the death and destruction that had befallen the good farmers of Kansas since the onset of the war. In stark contrast, Spencer had never once castigated her for being an abolitionist. Able to see beyond her accent, beyond her New England upbringing, he had never reviled her because she was northern born. In truth, Spencer McCabe had proven himself a far better person than she.

Halfway up the staircase, Mercy came to an abrupt halt
. It suddenly dawned on her that not only was Spencer McCabe a good man, but she was inordinately proud that he had fathered her unborn child.

That
unexpected realization made Mercy decide to stop hiding behind a lie of omission.

When she reached the upper landing, rather than turn in the direction of her own bedroom, Mercy
instead headed toward the room assigned to her mother. Seeing that the door was slightly ajar, she knocked before entering.

Temperance, seated in a rocker by the window, glanced up as
Mercy entered the room. Almost immediately, she attempted to move her withered lips into a semblance of a smile. Watching her mother’s valiant efforts nearly broke Mercy’s heart. In the last several weeks her mother’s condition had dramatically worsened, so much so that she could no longer speak even garbled words.

Kneeling beside the rocker, Mercy reached for her mother’s hand, her gaze momentarily struck by the play of light
that glimmered on Temperance’s silvery blond hair. More gray now than blond, her mother’s neatly combed tresses attested to a life that had witnessed many a sad tiding.

“Mama, I have something important to tell you.”

Although she could not speak, her mother gently squeezed Mercy’s hand. That small, loving gesture bolstered her courage.

“What I’m about to say will undoubtedly make you angry and . . . and will deeply disappoint you.” Mercy took a stabilizing breath, her eyes swimming with penitent tears.
“Be that as it may, I want you to know that I’m . . . I’m pregnant with Spencer’s baby.”

Mercy saw the shock that flashed in her mother’s faded blue eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me, Mama,” she beseeched, clutching at her mother’s hand. “I want this baby. I want this baby so much . . . please,
please
forgive me.”

Her mother tugged her hand free from
Mercy’s grip, her eyes gleaming with some indecipherable emotion. Leaning forward in her rocker, Temperance slowly, purposefully, placed her hand on Mercy’s abdomen. Her lips then pursed and pulled as she attempted to speak.

Spellbound, Mercy watched her mother’s determined struggle, the breath catching in her throat. Although she’d braced herself for this moment, she didn’t know if she could bear to hear her own mother’s condemnation.

“H-Hap-py,” her mother warbled at last, each syllable little more than a strained whisper.

Not quite believing what she’d just heard, Mercy clasped her mo
ther’s face between her hands.

“You’re happy?”

Her mother nodded, her face glowing with maternal love.

“Oh, Mama!
I’m happy, too.”