Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) (6 page)

Chapter 9

Sunday morning, Quill got up before first light.  The calmness of the cool spring morning belied the commotion that would take place just as soon as the other ranchers and their outfits arrived at the Circle ID.  Dog wagged his tail—he knew something was happening.  A man could fool another man, but he could never fool a dog.  Cat’s hair stood straight up and he eyed Quill suspiciously.

As expected, Jake and her bunch were the first to show up—Jake was never late.  B.J. rode a few paces behind her on his Shetland pony, between Homer and Teddy, who both rode full size mounts.  They’d been working cattle their whole lives and were as useful as grown men for anything that didn’t require a lot of heft.  A dozen hands followed, herding the Bar EL remuda.

It took an hour longer than Quill wanted, but all the ranchers finally showed up at the Circle ID, which made for more of a circus atmosphere than a working ranch’s, and the whole outfit was finally ready to ride.

“Everybody ready?” Quill shouted.  “Canteens full?”

Nearly all the men hooted and hollered, for it was fun to go on roundup even though it was danged hard work.  But the freedom of riding on the range had buried itself in every man’s heart.  Quill glanced at Jake and smiled.  He knew she felt the same way.

“Mount up, then.”  To Jake, he said, “There’s two times of the year—roundup, and the rest of the year.”

“That’s a fact.  I just hope this bunch of beef-headed rascals is up to the job.  We have quite a few new hands in the crew.”

“We’ll make do, we always have.” He waved to all the cowhands.  “Let’s ride!”  Quill nudged Horse to a walk and Dog moseyed along beside.  Then he ran back to Mercy, who held Cat, and nuzzled her hand, then jumped and barked as if he wanted her to come along.

“C’mon, Dog,” Quill yelled, and the brown mutt trotted back to Quill’s side, but looked back at Mercy a few times.

“Looks like Dog wants Mercy to come along,” Jake said.

“She’d be useless.”  His voice sounded a mite more gruff than he’d intended.

Until the crews all got the hang of where they were supposed to ride in relation to the rest of the roundup cowhands, Quill didn’t want to travel too fast, but in twenty minutes or so, he’d pick up the pace.

“Wait!” he heard Mercy call.  “You forgot your new chaps.”

She ran out, skirts flying, clutching a bundle to her bosom, and handed it to him.  The package was neatly wrapped in blue calico tied with a red ribbon.  “I didn’t have much choice for wrapping, but I finished with your chaps not long before the dance, and afterward I didn’t have time to find anything better.  I hope they serve you well.”

He took the package, a mite touched that she’d worked so hard on something for him.  “Much obliged.  See you in a few weeks.” 

She smiled that sweet smile at him, the one that went straight to his heart every time, then she picked up her skirts, ran back to the porch, and stood next to Uncle Ike.  The two of them waved until Quill couldn’t see them anymore.

Whether he was happier to finally be getting away from Mercy and all her temptations, or whether he was sorrowful to leave her, he couldn’t say.  She wouldn’t stay a single woman for long, though, that he knew for sure.  Not just because of her physical beauty, either.  She shined happiness from the inside out and every man who met her wanted to bask in her sunshine.

Except him.  He had no interest in risking his heart on any woman, especially her.

Jake’s baby started squalling.  She tucked him under her poncho and pretty soon Quill heard suckling noises.

“That baby sure does eat a lot,” he said.

“He’s a big boy and he’ll grow into a big man—gotta give him a good start.”

Quill wouldn’t mind a couple boys tagging along after him, and some girls, too.  Little girls with red hair and sunny dispositions—like Mercy.  He could do without the stubbornness, though.  But stubborn as she was, would she stay around to raise the kids?  Would she stay around long enough to have more than one?  Jake had stayed with Ben for five years.  He wondered how long she planned to stick around.

“You ever thought about leaving Ben?”

“Hell no.  That poor feller is stuck with me, and don’t you go trying to make time with me or I’ll punch you in the snoot.”

“Naw, I wasn’t meaning that.  It just seems like women don’t stick around very good, is all.”

“Just ‘cause your mama didn’t stick around don’t mean the rest of us is like that.”

“That don’t have nothing to do with nothing.”

“Quill, you ain’t making one bit of sense.”  But then she chuckled and he wondered what that was all about.

*   *   *

“I thought they’d never get out of here.”  Ike went into the house, his hand pressed against his back.  As Mercy followed him, she thought his limp was more pronounced than usual. 

When they got inside, he said, “I’ll fetch my war bag and get the horses and mule saddled.  You best get changed out of that dress and into your working duds.  Then let Ray know that we’re ready to pack our supplies on the mule.”

“I’ll bring down your war bag if you’re not of a mind to climb the stairs again—that is, if you don’t mind me going into your room to fetch it.”

“Naw, I don’t mind at all.  Much obliged.”

“Do you really want to go with me, Ike?  Because I know long hours in the saddle are hard on you these days.”

“I wouldn’t miss this show for the world.”   He flicked his hand as he walked out the door.  “Now get a move on.”

Mercy thought he had a little more spring in his step than normal, even if he was stiff with old age.  She certainly did!  This morning had been a trial, what with her acting as if she wouldn’t see anybody for a few weeks.  A few hours, more like it.

She dashed upstairs and yanked off her dress, petticoats, and corset, but left on her chemise and drawers.  It took some effort and experimentation, but she managed to bind her breasts in a criss-cross fashion—Jake had told her that the less flopping she did, the better off she’d be.  Then Mercy dressed in the shirt and britches she’d bought from Tresa.

Never before had she worn britches, and the sensation of cloth between her legs was rather strange.  After pacing back and forth across the room, she decided she liked the freedom of movement, and wondered why and how women came to wear such inconvenient clothing.  That thought never would’ve crossed her mind back in Massachusetts, but the West required different thinking about a lot of things.

Her saddlebags were already packed with her sewing kit, another shirt and pair of britches, and a few underclothes—everything except for her hairbrush and toiletries she’d needed for her morning ablutions.  She threw those items in, secured the buckle, then pulled on some heavy socks and the boots Jake had given her.  They were a little big but would be fine since she’d be riding most of the time, not walking.

Little prickles of excitement ran up her spine as she dashed down the stairs, carrying her saddlebags and Ike’s war bag, and she prayed Jake had made the right call.  Ike seemed to think she had.  Mercy hoped so with all her heart—because even though her feelings were unrequited, Quill had her heart and always would.  She just needed to get him used to the idea.

“Ready to pack the mule?” she said to Ray.  “Ike’s saddling him and the horses now.”

“Got it all toted out to the porch, along with a nice bag of food for you to eat along the way.  I expect you won’t want to catch up with them until they’ve pitched camp so I packed extra.”

She nodded.  “Ike said we wouldn’t make ourselves known until they’re all eating supper, so we have a long day.”

“You might get a mite saddle sore before the day is out.”

“Maybe, but a little discomfort won’t dissuade me.”

Ray took her saddlebags and patted her on the shoulder.  “Mercy, you’re doing the right thing.  Now get yourself out to the barn—Ike’s got something for you.” 

She gave him a little hug and took off at a dead run, for she was anxious to leave even though they had plenty of time, and in fact, would probably have to wait on the roundup crew to get settled.

Once she got to the barn, she said, “What do you have for me, Ike?  Ray sent me out here.”

He held up a gunbelt and pistol.  “This was my wife’s.  I want you to wear it, and if necessary, I want you to use it.  There’s a lot of varmints out there—man and beast.  You take care, especially when I or Quill ain’t around.”

“But... I don’t know how to shoot it.”

“Once we get away from the ranch a piece where it won’t bother the milk cows and chickens, I’ll let you plink a few rocks.  You won’t be any good, but at least you’ll get the feel of the weapon in your hands, and I’ll give you a few safety pointers—the first one being if you don’t intend to kill a man, don’t point it at him.”

“I could never do such a thing.”

“Even if they was gonna kill someone you love?  You’d be surprised at what you can do when your choices are dire.”  He handed it to her.  “Buckle it on.  Soon as me and Ray get the mule packed, we’ll be ready to ride, and I want you to be comfortable with the feel and weight of the six-shooter before we mount up.”

Mercy strapped it on, the pistol weighing heavy on her side.  How folks could walk around with deadly weapons that could kill with just a squeeze of the trigger was a mystery to her.  But in Owyhee County, everyone—including Quill—had either a sidearm or a rifle handy no matter where they went.  She reckoned the sooner she learned to use the pistol, the easier it would be to become as comfortable carrying it as all the others were.

Ike brought out the saddled horses and tied them to the hitching post in front of the barn.  “You’ll be riding the chestnut gelding.  Jake brought him by for you—said he’s solid as a rock.”

“Strong?”

“He is that, but what that means is he don’t shy easy.  Since you haven’t rode much, she reckoned you shouldn’t have a horse that’s skittery.”

“She thought right and I appreciate that.  I want to become more competent, but right now, I fully concede that I’m a novice, since I’ve only ever ridden sidesaddle on very gentle horses in the park.”

“This’ll be a mite different.”  He patted the chestnut on the hip.  “I’ll take the mule up to the house so Ray don’t have to carry everything out here.”

She’d learned early on that they kept the animals on the barn side of the ranchstead so they didn’t have to clean manure away from the front step of the house.  “I’ll stay with the horses.”

“You don’t have to.  In fact, it’d be good for you to see where everything’s packed.  Besides, you need to fill the canteens—we’ll take two each with us, and have more canteens on the mule.  Ray’s got them on the porch, ready for you.”

“Why are we taking so much water?”

“It’s desert.  You don’t go nowhere without water.  Ever.  Remember that.”

Half an hour later, Ike offered to help her onto the horse.

“No, thank you.  I’m a western woman now—and I haven’t ever seen you offer to help Jake up.”

Ike grinned.  “Mercy, you’ve got sand.  Let’s ride.”

Chapter 10

Quill could’ve sworn Jake’s baby ate all the way to the roundup site.  “How’re you gonna chase cows with a baby that nurses all day?”

“Same way as I always do, only with more pee on me.”

“Them oilcloth britches ought to help some.”

“Hmph.”  She gazed lovingly at her baby and kissed his forehead.  “You ought to get yourself one of these little fellers.  You’d be a good daddy, just like Boston.”

After five years, Jake still called her husband “Boston” since he’d lived in that city for several years.  When he first came back to Owyhee County, she called him that in derision, but these days, it was a pet name.

“I don’t need no ankle-biters.  Too damn much work.”

“They are that.  I’d have said the same thing before Boston knocked me up.”

“But you had Homer, Teddy, and Henry.”

“Didn’t collect them until they was older.  I didn’t know the first thing about raising a baby.”

“So how did you learn all that mothering stuff?”

“Watched the cows.  I reckoned if they could figure it out, I could.”

They rode for another twenty minutes or so.  Jake had held up her end of the stick when B.J. was a baby and Quill had no doubt she’d work just as hard as any man there while holding Scamp.  Not many men could keep up with her.  And no women, that he knew of.

By the time they got to the roundup camp, Whip was already there—having driven the chuckwagon ahead the day before—and had a big supper nearly ready.

“Thought you folks would never get here,” he growled.

“I was beginning to wonder myself,” Quill said.  “A couple of crews took their own sweet time getting to the Circle ID this morning.”

“There’s coffee on the fire.  By the time y’all get settled, the biscuits will be done, so don’t fart around too much.”

Quill laughed at the tall, rangy old cowpoke-turned-cook, who was also Jake’s father-in-law. “My belly won’t let that happen, and I bet the other hands are plenty ready for a big bowl of your stew, too.”

“We sure nuff are!” Sully called from across camp as he groomed his horse.  “Been waiting all day for some of Whip’s biscuits.”

“Hell, you just had some a couple days ago,” Jake said.  She gave Whip a hug.  He took the baby and made those ridiculous baby noises that made fools of grown men.  Quill swore he’d never do such a thing.

Which brought to mind Mercy.  Dang that woman!  No matter what he did, she always horned in on his thoughts.  He grabbed a brush and started working over his horse.

“You gonna leave some hair on that poor animal?” Jake asked.

“Getting the burrs out,” Quill mumbled.

“Don’t matter how hard you brush that horse—you ain’t gonna get out the burr that’s bothering you.”

He handed her the brush and headed for the creek.  Maybe a good dousing would set his mind straight.

*   *   *

Mercy’s first day in the saddle had been long and just about every part of her body hurt, especially her undercarriage, but she wasn’t about to say anything to Ike about it.  He’d been happily chatting away about roundup and she’d tried to take in everything so she didn’t look too ignorant when she got there.

“When you ride into camp,” Ike said, “always come in from the downwind side so you don’t kick up dirt that’ll settle into the soup pot.  If you do, Whip will have your hide.”

“Downwind?” Mercy asked.

“You’re downwind when the wind is blowing in your face.  If it’s blowing on your back, you’re upwind.”

“I see.”  She had no idea there would be so many rules in a cow camp.

“For that matter, never ride your horse through camp.  Always lead your horse around.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Once you get up to get yourself a cup of coffee, you’ve got to refill everyone else’s cups.”

“That’s just like home.”

“When you get done eating, clean your plate with dirt and put it in the wreck pan.”

“How can you possibly clean your plate with dirt?”

“The dirt rubs off all the food, and that makes it easier for Whip to wash.”

“Interesting.”  And beyond her comprehension.  She could just imagine what her mother would do if someone had rubbed dirt on her plates.  They wouldn’t have long to live.  “Maybe I should ask Whip if he wants help washing the dishes.”

“I expect he’d be happy to have the help, but you need to save your time for catching yourself a man.  Me and Jake have plans, and we’re hoping Quill comes around.”

“I thought you didn’t care if I married Quill or Harper.”

“If you’ve taken a cotton to Harper and think you can bridle him, go to it, but you’ve caught Quill’s eye, and considering his opinion of women, I didn’t think that was possible.” Ike took a drink from his canteen.  “Up ahead, we’ll stop and maybe have a bite to eat.  We’re almost there.”

They rode for another twenty minutes and Ike reined up in the midst of a stand of junipers not too far from a tall steep hill of granite boulders. 

“We’ll wait here.”  Ike dismounted slowly, groaning, and once he was on the ground, he grasped his back.  Mercy felt sorry that he was in such pain, and that he’d gone to such trouble for her.  Then he pointed to the boulders.  “The camp is over that next rise there.  I’m gonna set a spell whilst you climb up there, sneaky like, and see what all’s going on.”

“All right.”  Mercy dismounted, hanging on to the pommel so she wouldn’t fall when she stood.  She still felt lopsided from the heavy pistol on her right side, so that didn’t help, and the insides of her legs felt like chopped meat that had been stretched around a barber pole three times. 

But she wasn’t about to say a word.  She did, however, curse the convention that demanded women sit with their knees together at all times, for that bit of propriety was the very reason why her legs wouldn’t cooperate after riding astride all day. 

She hoped she had what it took to be a western woman.  Quill would settle for no less.

Mercy was plenty ready to rest up.  The hour or so she and Ike would have to wait while the roundup outfit set up the cow camp gave her time to walk around a bit and get the circulation back into her behind and thighs.  Tomorrow would bring even more soreness, of that she was sure.

Ike took a drink from his flask, then offered it to her.  “Want some?  It’ll cure what ails you.”

She had barely recovered from her previous bout with drink, and even though her body would welcome the numbing effects of alcohol, she shook her head.  “No thank you.  I have a feeling I’ll need all my faculties to deal with Quill and maybe even Harper.  I seriously doubt either one of them will welcome me into camp.”

“Suit yourself.” He lowered himself onto a stump.  “When the first man throws his plate into the wreck pan, we’ll saddle up the horses and ride in.”

“I’d rather walk.”  She could barely tolerate the thought of climbing on that horse again, if she could manage it at all.

“No, you’d rather ride—that makes a better entrance.  You don’t want Quill to think you led your horse all the way here.”

“You’re right.”  She picked up a canteen and looped the strap over her shoulder, then paused, wanting to make sure she understood his instructions.  “What’s a wreck pan?” 

“A tub for dirty dishes.”  He wagged his forefinger at her.  “Careful picking your way up through those rocks, now.”

“I will be.”  Of course, not halfway up the hill, she stumbled on a loose rock and came down hard on one knee, which really hurt, but no damage done either to her knee or her britches.  She did, however, scuff the palms of her hands.  She blew on them to stop the stinging, then started up again.

She learned to pick her way carefully, and judge which rocks would be more stable to hold or step on.  Even so, she nearly fell several times when a rock would slide right out from under her foot.  She kept a sharp eye out for rattlesnakes, as Ike had instructed, but since she’d needed to use her hands to climb, she didn’t think she could get to her pistol if she actually saw one.  The very thought gave her the shivers—so she just didn’t think about it.

By the time Mercy had clambered to the top of the giant boulder pile, she could barely breathe or move her legs, for they’d worked harder this day than any day of her life.  And it wasn’t over yet.

A flat boulder provided a good place to sit and a scraggly juniper that grew out of the rocks provided a meager amount of shade, so she took full advantage.  After a long drink from her canteen, she dampened her bandana and wiped her face.  She’d worn a sunbonnet but redheads burn easily, and her skin already felt hot.

The aroma of coffee intermingled with beef stew wafted up the hill and her stomach rumbled.  Good thing no one was around to hear it.  She would’ve blushed again.  Someday she’d overcome that horrible giveaway of her feelings.

She heard a rustle in the bushes, and then a panting, like a wild animal attacking.  Oh, no!  At first, she froze with fear, then had the presence of mind to draw her pistol and pull back the hammer like Ike had shown her, while she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.  But her heart was pumping so loud she could hardly hear the snapping and cracking of the bush as the animal ran toward her.  She’d never had to deal with anything like this before.

The skin on her neck prickled.  Mercy didn’t cotton to becoming some animal’s supper—even the danger of falling off the fifty feet of precariously balanced boulders didn’t sound as bad.  She occasionally caught a glimpse of the animal’s brown back as it bounded over the sagebrush—maybe a wolf... or a bear!

But she didn’t have a good shot and she didn’t want to miss and make it mad.  No, she would wait until she could make her shot count.  Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead and if she could’ve run, she would have.  Instead, she decided to stand her ground and bury a bullet into the oncoming bear or wolf before it got its teeth and claws into her.

She quivered with fear, but she would come out on top of this first test of her western woman fortitude.  Just as she was about to squeeze the trigger at the brown animal leaping toward her, she realized it was Lobo!  He jumped on her and licked her face, but as he did so she accidentally pulled the trigger and shot a branch off the gnarled old juniper.  The branch fell on one of those precariously balanced boulders and it rolled sideways, scooting the rocks she was standing on right out from under her.

Mercy fell backward into a draw, sagebrush scratching her face as she went down, the impact knocking the wind out of her and her bonnet off her head.  The huge rock, at least two feet in diameter, tumbled and bounced toward her.  It’d crash onto her and smash her into a ball of mush if she didn’t move, but she had no air. 

With every ounce of effort she could muster, she flung her arm to the right and rolled to the side just as the boulder came to a stop, settling an inch from her ear.  She struggled for air, relieved that she hadn’t been crushed—but she couldn’t move.

The huge rock rested on her long braid, and hard as she tried—one-handed, for a branch had pinned down her right arm—she couldn’t budge the thing.  Her arm wasn’t squashed, just trapped.  In fact, miracle of all miracles, she wasn’t seriously hurt at all.  But she sure was stuck.

The dog trotted to her, his tail wagging, and licked her face.  She tried to push him away but he was persistent.  “Lobo, go get Quill.”

Or Ike.  Or anyone.  Preferably Quill—he’d know what to do.

But Dog just wagged his tail and likely wondered why she didn’t get up.