Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (9 page)

“Of course, I’m apologizing. A woman’s first kiss, hell, anyone’s first kiss, ought to be something special.” Spencer took a slow, cautious step in
Mercy’s direction, coming to a halt when he saw her readying to launch another attack. “As God is my witness, the only reason that I kissed you in front of those men was so that none of them would try to forni—” He let out a frustrated grunt, kicking at the ground with his boot tip. “Hell, as pretty as you are, it just didn’t occur to me that you’d never been kissed before.”

“Yes, you say that now,” Mercy sn
apped, not about to let the silver-tongued devil weaken her resolve with empty compliments.

“No, right now, I’m saying that I’d like to make amends for last night.”
Spencer stepped toward her, his unblinking gaze never leaving her face.

“That’s . .
. that’s entirely unnecessary.”

“I beg to differ with you.”

“D-don’t c-c-come any closer,” Mercy sputtered, unnerved by his overture. There was something entirely too predatory, too masculine, in the way that he stared at her. Still holding the pitchfork, its tines aimed at Spencer’s heart, she took a backward step.

A few seconds later, she groaned
aloud when her backside bumped against the side of the barn. Trapped between it and Spencer, she nervously licked her lips.

Deducing
that escape was out of the question, her chest began to heave, her breath coming in short, choppy pants.

With one purposeful step, Spencer closed the distance between them
. His movements calm and purposeful, he took the pitchfork from her and tossed it to the ground.

“It’ll be different this time,” he whispered
as he gently bracketed her face between his hands. “I promise.”

With that soft-spoken avowal, Spencer kissed her, his lips firm and surprisingly warm to the touch.

Awkwardly, Mercy clutched at his shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut. Not certain what to do, or how to do it, she simply mimicked Spencer’s every move. When he twisted his head, she did the same. When his lips moved – gently, tenderly – she shyly followed suit.

Unable to stop herself
, Mercy whimpered, the sound muffled between their lips. With each passing second, a strange liquid heat, one that was both pleasurable and intoxicating, pulsed in the female place between her legs.

Which is why she was admittedly disappointed when Spencer put a halt to the proceedings, straightening his shoulde
rs as he stepped away from her.

“There. How was that for a first kiss?” he asked, his lips curved in what, if she hadn’t know him better, she might
deem a loving smile. “Did it make up for last night?”

Mercy nodded
. “So much so that . . . that I think I might like another one,” she blurted impetuously.

Her r
equest met with a shaky laugh.

“Maybe we ought to quit while we’re ahead.” Spencer rubbed a callused thumb across her lower lip. “I don’t know if I’ve got any more gentlemanly kisses left in me. A man o
nly has so much self-control.”

Timidly, Mercy returned the gesture, her fingers lightly grazing
across the curve of his lips. When she felt his sudden intake of breath against her fingertips, a womanly flush came over her. Awed by what they’d done, by what they were
doing
, Mercy voiced the unthinkable. “Women, too, have only so much self-con—”

She never had a chance to finish
the sentence, Spencer lashing an arm around her waist. Pulling her against him, his mouth captured hers in a kiss that bore little resemblance to their ‘first’ kiss.

Hungrily, Spencer’s lips smashed against hers, insistent, demanding. Where before there had been a tender poignancy, a different emotion raged between them, something far mor
e earthy. Far more aggressive.

Mercy grabbed hold of his vest lapels, her lips parting ever so slightly. In the next instant, Spencer’s tongue slipped inside her mouth, caressing her in an intimately shocking fashion. No more the gentleman, he used his lips and tongue with wanton expertise. Untutored in the ways of love, Mercy demurely caressed him in like manner, thrilled when Spencer groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his throat.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, lifting his mouth a notch away from hers.

Incapable of speech, Mercy shook her head, a shocked gasp escaping from her when he pulled her even closer to him
. So close that she could feel the hard buttons on his vest pressing into her breasts. With a slight tug, Spencer pulled her upward, aligning her against his tall, muscular body.

“You best be certain. ‘Cause I’m not gonna ask again.”

“Please . . . don’t stop,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around Spencer’s neck, her fingers curling in the thick, wavy hair that hung on the back of his neck.

Mercy had but scant warning
before Spencer took hungry repossession of her mouth. This time, he forced her lips apart, brazenly suckling her tongue. His boldness was almost more than she could handle, almost more than she could even comprehend. Never would she have thought that a kiss could be so ardent. So sinfully seductive.

And so excruciatingly profound.

With each passing second, the tension between Mercy’s legs fast became unbearable. Unthinkingly, she tightened her hold on Spencer’s neck, wanting,
needing
, more. Although, truth be told, she wasn’t entirely certain what ‘more’ entailed.

As if he’d read her mind, Spencer backed her against the side of the barn, ardently shoving his hips against hers as his lips trailed down her neck. While Mercy knew it was shameful to allow such liberties, she was helpless to stop him. In fact, she could do little more than
whimper incoherently.

So
, this is animal lust
. This uncontrollable yearning, this unfettered desire.

Never in her wildest imaginings did
Mercy ever think that she’d succumb so easily to it. But succumb she did, now fervently wishing that Spencer McCabe would put an end to her feverish torment.

“I want you,” Spencer groaned against her neck. “I want you so bad that
—” Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he pulled away from her, a fierce scowl on his face. “Damn it all to hell!”

“Wh-what is it?” Mercy gasped
.

“Riders.
” In the same breath that it’d taken to utter that one word, he’d already unholstered a Colt revolver. “They’re heading from the north, hard and fast.”

Mercy blinked several times, the lustful fog
rapidly clearing.

T
he soldiers have arrived!

Frantically, she grabbed Spencer by the arm. “Quick! You have to get away before they get here,” she told him, making no attempt to hide the panic in her voice.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, his mouth a grim, taut slash.

“Before
who
gets here?”

There was no time for coyness. Within minutes the soldiers would arrive
. If Spencer didn’t soon escape, he’d surely be captured. While thoughts of his likely incarceration had been the impetus for her earlier plan, Mercy was now of a different mind. And a different heart.

“Before the soldiers get here,” she croaked, grabbing the front of his vest with both hands. “The soldiers
that I sent for.”

Quick as a flash, Spencer cuffed his free hand around
Mercy’s neck, shoving her against the side of the barn. “Damn you to hell, Miss Mercy Hibbert,” he snarled, his warm breath hitting her full in the face.

“Spencer, you
must
leave. Now!”

Releasing his hold on her, Spencer cursed aloud as a volley of gunfire disch
arged somewhere near the house.

Within moments, orange-red flashes spewed from blazing pistols as bushwhackers ran pell-mell across the farmyard, desperate to get to where the horses were corralled
. The night air was split asunder with the din of shrill yells and bloodcurdling shrieks. And though Mercy couldn’t see any soldiers, she could certainly hear them as they charged across the field toward the house.

“Why aren’t you escaping?” she wailed, cowering as a bullet ricocheted off the barn, pelting her with wood shards.

Spence instinctively covered Mercy with his body as another bullet hit the barn. “Because I have a brother holed up somewhere inside your house.”

Realizing that he’d just foolishly
shielded the lying, two-timing Miss Hibbert, Spence pulled away from her, repressing a strong urge to give the woman the thrashing that she deserved.

Why the hell couldn’t she have just left well enough alone?
Now, because of her double dealing, they’ll probably all end up six feet deep. Just how the hell did she manage to send for the Yankee soldiers, anyway?

Squinting in the darkness, Spence tried to determine the best way to get back to the house and not get his head blown off. Recalling that there was a narrow gully
that ran along one side of the farmyard, he figured that was his best bet.

“Stay here,” he ordered Mercy before taking off in the direction of the gully, his body crouched low to the ground. In the near distance he saw a trio of Ned’s boys sprint toward the corral, their revolvers spewing a hail of lead. Only two of them made it, the third one hitting the
ground with an agonized groan.

Reaching the gully, he took off at a full run, a pistol in each hand. He was
determined to get to the damned farmhouse, and he didn’t care how many Yankees he had to kill to do it. He’d already lost two brothers. There was no way in hell that he was going to lose a third.

Hearing the pound of hooves, Spence
glanced up in time to see a horseman charge down the middle of the gully, coming right at him.

In one smooth motion, he dove toward the grassy bank, rolled, and came up firing, blasting the rider out of the saddle. Before the rider even hit the ground, Spence realized
that the man wasn’t wearing a uniform. Cursing aloud, he suddenly knew that it wasn’t soldiers attacking the farmhouse. Which could only mean one thing – these were Kansas jayhawkers gunning them down.

Damn Mercy Hibbert
! Damn her to hell and back.
They were in for a fight to the death, sure enough.

Like bushwhackers, jayhawkers seldom took prisoners, and they never surrendered. The only way to make it out alive
would be to shoot his way out. And he had Mercy Hibbert to thank for that. Sweet lil’ blond-headed Mercy with her pouting lips and lying eyes.

Small wonder she’d been so willing in his arms tonight. She’d been planning this all along, probably hoping
that he’d get caught unawares with his trousers and his gun belt around his ankles.
Christ Almighty
. He’d actually bought that story about her having never been kissed before. Yeah, she played him for a fool, all right, moaning and whimpering like a bitch in—

Spence dodged several bullets, the lead slugs whistling past his head, hitting the soft dirt behind him. Seeing the house up ahead, he willed his legs to move faster. Since most of the fighting had shifted in and around the corral,
the house was relatively quiet.

Moving toward the back door,
Spence kept low to the ground, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. As he neared the open back door, he let out a series of low-pitched whistles that he knew Dewey would recognize. When there was no reply, he cursed under his breath. Hearing a horse charge across the yard, he darted behind the well, waiting to see if the rider was friend or foe.

“Damn it, I thought I told that woman to stay put,”
Spence muttered, catching sight of Mercy slung over the front of a jayhawker’s saddle, her legs tangling in her long skirts as she frantically tried to break free.

Angling his arms in front of his chest, Spence steadied his right wrist on top of his left forearm, put the jayhawker in his gunsights, and pulled the trigger. The man instantly released his hold on Mercy, unsteadily swaying in the saddle before tumbling to the ground, one foot still caught in the stirrups. Panicked, his horse took off at a gallop, dragging the
wounded rider alongside of him.

Spence quickly holstered his pistols as he ran to where Mercy lay sprawled on the ground. Roughly grabbing her by the back of her neck, h
e hauled her upright.

“Let go of me! I have to get to my family
!” she shrieked, clawing at him like a wildcat, her long flaxen hair whipping about her face and shoulders.

“You’re gonna get us both killed if you don’t pipe down.” Pinning
Mercy’s arms to her back, Spence dragged her behind a large bramble bush. “In case you haven’t noticed, your jayhawking friends aren’t too particular as to who they take aim at.”

“They aren’t my
—”

“Shh. Someone’s coming,” he warned
, crouching beside Mercy as he unholstered a revolver.

Moments later, a dozen riders stormed out of the darkness, their arrival announced by a stentorian shout fo
llowed by a crackle of gunfire.