4

A loud pounding jarred Mercy from a deep slumber. She sat up and brushed the loose hair out of her face.

Was someone trying to break in?

Jared shot out of bed and threw on a shirt. He pulled a revolver from underneath the mattress. After cocking it, he stepped into the great room.

Mercy grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe and stepped into the doorway.

Jared leaned against the wall, holding the gun.

Mercy trembled, but she steadied herself. She learned long ago the importance of remaining calm. She looked around for a weapon.

Jared motioned for her to hide.

She froze as if her feet were nailed to the plank floor. She couldn’t let him get hurt. And what if he needed her for something?

“Montrose!” An angry, husky voice bellowed. Then another bang thundered against the front door.

“What do you want, Otis?” Jared hollered.

“I need to talk to you, you no-good, meddling scoundrel!”

“It’s early. Go back home, and we’ll talk later.” Slowly, Jared reached toward the door knob.

“Get out here. Now!” The angry man’s call became more enraged.

Mercy spotted a candlestick on one of the shelves along the back kitchen wall. She picked it up. Her fingers curled around the wide base, and she stepped forward, the weapon by her side.

Another heavy thud shook the door.

Jared pushed it open and pointed the revolver into the man’s reddened face. He grabbed the stranger by the collar and shoved him to the ground. He kneeled by the intruder, his left hand pressing the gun into his cheek. “What do you want?” Jared’s voice deepened, but his voice remained steady.

“I want you to leave my boys alone.”

“What’re you talking about, Otis?”

“They told me they was caught stealin’, and you let ’em go.”

“I did.”

“What’d you do that for?”

“What would you have me do? Take them into custody until you come after them? We all know you’d leave them there until you needed them for something.”

“I love my kids. But we got to fend for ourselves.” Otis Dugen coughed deeply.

Mercy stepped lightly. Her fingers tightened around the candlestick as she lifted it, ready to strike.

“Then you went and gave them money to bring home food,” Dugen continued ranting in between hoarse coughs. “I can’t have somebody else feeding my family. A man has his pride.”

“You have too much pride, Otis.” Jared released him.

The man rolled over on his side. His right cheek pressed into the dirt as the cough intensified. Otis hacked up a storm and spat out a thick mucus.

Mercy crept closer but stopped in the shadows of the doorway.

The cuffs of the man’s dirty, gray shirt hung in tatters, and the hem of his trousers were badly frayed. Gray, scruffy whiskers covered most of his sunken face. He looked thin and weak.

Mercy’s throat tightened. When did he have his last meal?

“I told Dr. Holt to stop by and see you within the next few days.”

Otis shook his head. “I don’t need no doctor. I can’t pay him, and I don’t got nothin’ to trade, so he might as well stay away.”

“You better take the doc’s help and be nice about it. I’ll be by to check on your boys and your daughter.” Jared knelt closer to Otis, putting one hand on his shoulder. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll stick this gun in your face again.”

“I don’t want no charity from you or nobody else, you hear? If I can’t give it to them, then they just won’t have it. That’s how I was raised.”

“Maybe you were raised wrong. Ever think of that?”

Otis attempted a reply but the attack took over his body. He rolled over, his forehead to the ground and his knees into his chest.

When his fit subsided, Jared helped the man to his feet, and steered him toward a pathway into the woods.

Otis stumbled along and clutched his side as he moved.

Jared turned to Mercy. “Did you not understand when I motioned for you to hide?’’

A lump formed in her throat, stifling her reply. Was he scolding her?

“Did you not?”

“Yes, but−I wanted...”

His gaze went to the object in her still upraised hand.

Mercy lowered the candlestick. “I thought he might try to hurt you.”

Jared blinked as if he didn’t understand. Then he pointed in the direction Otis exited. “That man doesn’t have enough sense to put his boots on straight. If he had enough money to buy a gun, he would’ve come up here with one. He might come back again; he’s that much of a fool.”

“I had to make sure you were all right.”

Jared shook his head as if her words didn’t make sense. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Not yours.”

Oh. The thought of depending on someone else gave her a sinking feeling. No one took care of her except her sisters.

“I’ll need some breakfast after I clean out the barn,” he said in an icy tone. He brushed past her without a backward glance.

Knife-like guilt stabbed her chest. She had already angered her new husband.

~*~

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh. Her face had turned ashy, and she’d clenched her jaw when he’d questioned her. But what was she planning to do with that candlestick? A heavy blow could hurt a man, but a woman would have to have a lot of gumption to attempt such a feat.

Laura would’ve never considered doing something that risky. She would’ve crouched under the bed until someone hollered everything was safe.

If this arrangement was to work out, Mercy would have to learn to listen to him, especially where a Dugen was concerned. Jared had locked up enough of Otis’s family members to know the ornery man could be peskier than a rash of poison oak. And with his property a stone’s throw away, they’d butt heads again before too long.

Otis Dugen sure looked pale, though, and his muscles had weakened considerably since the last time Jared had pinned him to the ground. Maybe Dr. Holt would be out soon to check on that cough.

Jared entered the sprawling barn and eyed the six stalls badly in need of fresh straw. Then he grabbed the pitchfork against the wall. The prongs dug into the fresh pile of hay as images of Mercy flashed through his mind. He’d been caught off guard last night, unable to move for a moment after he’d reentered the house. The glow from the lantern and the moonlight shining through the opened bedroom door had illuminated her milky skin. And her silky long hair flowed down to her waist in curls he longed to touch. A wisp of pleasure shot through him as he anticipated waking up every morning to those rosy cheeks and brown locks on his pillow.

But a tendril of uncertainty wound through his gut. He hadn’t touched her last night. Was that a mistake? He had known Laura for two years and courted her for most of it before they married. Though it’d been a struggle, he’d kept his vow to her, himself, both of their parents, and God. A hand never rested any place it shouldn’t until he’d slipped the ring on her finger. He’d married Mercy the same day he met her. Would she be offended if he expected marital relations already? Was she insulted now that he didn’t?

Why hadn’t she been snatched up by some Kansas man who would have truly loved her more than he ever could?

~*~

Mercy slammed the door shut. She dropped the heavy candlestick on the table and stomped into the bedroom. How dare he chide her! She was trying to help. What if that lunatic had a knife? Or what if he’d been drunk?

She brushed her hair with rapid, angry strokes. Then she twisted it into a knot and secured it. Peeking in the mirror, she wrinkled her nose. Mercy preferred to wear her hair down, but those days were over since she was now a married woman. A gentle, early morning breeze blew through the bedroom door, but she was too agitated to enjoy it.

She removed the cloak and nightgown, slipped into a petticoat, threw on one of her working dresses and tied a bib apron around her waist. She laced up leather boots and fitted a day cap on her head.

Her stomach tightened at the sight of all the dirty dishes in the sunlight. A striker from a tin box on the mantel served to start a fire in the hearth. She added a few more small logs from the wood box. which was fully stocked with dry branches.

Several iron kettles rested on the third shelf on the pantry wall. Thankfully, all of them were clean, but she could tell by the sheen that some of them weren’t seasoned correctly. The stubborn man in the barn may be handsome, but he sure didn’t know much about domestic matters. A lot of scrubbing would take place before she’d rest tonight.

She found the dry ingredients to make biscuits. After breakfast, she’d start on noodles for supper. Dried beans of several kinds, rice, chick peas, and lentils filled glass jars that lined the top shelf. Cooked slowly over a low flame, they would go well with peppered ham or beef if there was any. The second shelf contained several jars of vegetables but only one container of preserves. She’d see to it that the fruit would stretch for breakfast the next few days.

Her nerves calmed as she mixed flour, salt, and baking powder and took out her aggression on the dough. A round cutter shaped the flattened dough. She filled an iron pot with the biscuits and secured the lid. The hot coals from the fire scooped easily onto the brick hearth, and she placed the pot on them. More warm ashes layered the top.

While the biscuits cooked, she carried the dirty dishes outside and searched for the water pump. Her jaw twitched. She hated to admit she hoped to spot Jared somewhere. She pumped until water jutted from the spigot and set the dishes underneath the heavy stream. She’d heat a pot of water for them to soak in and then scrub each until they were all clean. Then she’d make sure that the grumpy man never lifted a hand with cooking again.

A gust of wind tousled the folds in Mercy’s skirt and created a pleasant chill on her legs. She turned her face in the direction of the wind and let the cool air tickle her sweat-beaded brow. With eyes closed, she cherished the small moment. When she opened her eyelids, the dog, Hunter, prance into the backyard. Behind him, among a wall of spindly trees, stood a child. A mop of ash brown hair with golden highlights danced on a child’s head.

Mercy shut off the pump.

The dog lifted his nose in response to her movement, but the young child froze.

Mercy searched her pockets for a piece of fruit or a bit of dried bread but found them empty.

The young girl, maybe five or six, was dressed in a faded brown dress that looked several sizes too big. Ratty, blonde strands hung down to her shoulders. The child stared at her. The dog whined and the young girl turned her head sharply to peer over her shoulder. She locked eyes with Mercy before she scampered off farther into the woods, her bare feet kicking up dirt.

Hunter gave a farewell bark before he scurried off down the same path.

To whom did that little girl belong? Was she the product of that Otis Dugen?

Mercy’s gut wretched at the thought of a child being taken care of as badly as that scrawny dog.

A foul odor permeated the air.

Mercy lifted her skirt, dashed toward the house, and rushed into the kitchen. Oh, no. She would earn Jared’s disapproval again. She’d burned the biscuits.

~*~

Jared tried his best to conceal a grin, but he failed miserably. He stood on the step outside the house and waved away the wisps of smoke that billowed through the opened door.

Mercy’s rosy cheeks had flushed to the brightest crimson. She straightened and greeted him with an exasperated scowl. “What do you find amusing?”

“I came to see if the house was burning down.”

Mercy stiffened and fixed him with a granite-like gleam. “The house is fine, but the biscuits are ruined. I got distracted and−”

“Oh, I bet they’ll be fine.” He peered over the iron kettle. “I’m so hungry it won’t matter.” A slight grin tugged at his lips, but he quickly suppressed it.

The brown, crusty bread looked only good enough to feed hogs.

“See, they’re ruined. I’ll start over and you’ll have−”

“I like my bread a little overcooked. And I’m starved.” Jared took off his straw hat and hung it on a nail on the wall. Then he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "So, here I am. Feed me."

“You can’t eat these.”

“Sure, I can. Just give me some honey or marmalade. And hurry, because I got more work to do.”

The fire in her brown eyes softened to warmth. She grabbed a jar of dark preserves and set it on the table. “This is all I found. I didn’t see any honey.”

“That’ll do. There’s more jars of both in the root cellar. We ran out of room last fall to keep it on the shelves.”

She scooped a mound of dried biscuits onto his plate as she stared at the narrow staircase. “I didn’t see the stairs when I came in last night. You keep a space above for storage, too?”

Jared opened the jar of plum preserves and ladled a large heap onto the bread. “Got a few things tucked away. But don’t walk up there while I’m down here eating. Dirt from the ceiling falls onto the table every time someone steps across the attic floor. There’s nothing there that you’d need, anyway.” Jared swallowed against a thick lump in his throat. “It’s best you don’t go up there.”

“That man who pounded on the door this morning, does he come around very often?” She scraped the pot.

“Every once in a while, he comes by, usually to complain about something. They live on the other side of the creek not too far from here. But he keeps to himself pretty much. The Dugens are that way. Don’t like outsiders too much.”

“Was that his dog we saw last night?

“Yep.”

“Does he have a little girl, blonde hair?”

“Yes. How would you know that?”

“I saw her with the dog on the other side of the creek. She stood there just for a minute and then she was gone.”

“That was probably her. He’s got two boys, too. They’re a little older.”

“I didn’t get a good look, but she didn’t seem in any better shape than that scrawny-looking dog.”

“Probably not, but it’s best that you leave that family alone, and let me handle them. Dugens are nothing but trouble.”

“What was he mad about?”

“I was generous to his boys and gave them a handout. Apparently, he didn’t like that too much. But he’s always ranting about something.”

She sat down across from him, the platter of the overcooked bread in front of her. “Do you have wild berry bushes growing around here?”

“Yes, about half way between here and the creek. There’s a patch of red raspberry and blackberry bushes. They’ll be ripe in mid-June if you can get to them before the birds do.”

“What about honey? Do you buy your supply from the mercantile in town?”

“No. Mr. Gentry lives about half a mile down the road. He has a swarm of honey bees on his land. I see him in town, or he brings me a jar every now and again.”

“I guess that’s one good thing about being a lawman. Townsfolk want to get on your good side.”

“Can I get some water?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t have a chance to fill a pitcher. I’ll get you some from the pump outside.”

Jared gathered the last bites left and tossed them outside the bedroom door. Three attempts landed outside on the grass. But the fourth hit the doorframe and bounced a few inches from the rocking chair. He rose but then heard her boots at the front door. He sat back down.

“Here you go.” Mercy set the glasses on the table and returned to her seat.

Jared gulped some water and then looked at the young lady he had promised himself to the day before. He liked how her nose crinkled up when she bit into the dry bread. And the way her long eyelashes fluttered when she was nervous.

She looked up and caught him staring. “What?” she asked as if he’d criticized.

“I guess I neglected to tell you the last time I wrote.”

“Neglected to tell me what?”

“When I posted the ad for a mail-order bride, I was a lawman. But since then I resigned from duty and now plan to harvest my land. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I received a few letters before yours came, but they didn’t seem very promising, so I never replied. By the time I got yours, I’d already decided that I’d relieve myself from being deputy. I resigned yesterday.”

“Oh.” Mercy took a bite of food and the color returned to her cheeks. “Think you can earn a decent living off your land?”

“The soil is rich and fertile. My father grew wheat. He had a rough spell the first few years, but after that, he did quite well. Left my mother and me this house. She died five years ago, not long after him.”

“I don’t know much about wheat. We grew potatoes in Kansas, or at least we tried.”

“I’m going to plant broomcorn. Since my father died, there’s been other farmers take over the wheat farming. He tried a section of broomcorn the year before he died. I remember him telling me hemp and broomcorn would be the leading crops in Texas during the next two decades. So I’m giving it a go.”

“Do you know enough about farming broomcorn?”

An ornery smile sneaked across his face, but this time he let it flow without worrying about offending her. “Yes, I know. The seeds need to get in the ground anywhere from early May to mid-June. I’ll start turning over the soil within the next few days.”

“Do you have a mule for that?”

“I have two. Old Betty and Dusty.”

"I don't know why you'd think I’d be concerned. Seems like farming is a better way to make a living than being a deputy."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, isn’t it dangerous, chasing criminals and arresting people?"

"It can be. But harvesting crops can be awfully laborious. Farmers are the hardest working people I know."

"Well, there’s nothing wrong with hard work. Gives a person character." Mercy took another bite and then pushed her plate forward. "I'd rather be married to a man who worked himself into the ground than a lazy, good-for-nothing, even if he lived to be as rich as a king."

Tiny shreds of amusement coiled through his gut. Her sincerity seemed so genuine he found her quite charming.

“I haven’t visited the smokehouse yet. What’ve you got in there?”

“An old hog I butchered early last winter. That'll feed us for some time. I'll get some down off the hook before sundown and we can have meat for dinner. And there’s a few crates of beef packed in salt. There’s a cellar to the east of it, just beyond the chicken coop.”

“Will you need any help this afternoon? I have to scrub those dishes sitting outside and start on supper, but I could give you a hand.”

When the light from the window hit her face just right, tiny flecks of copper and chestnut brown sparkled in her irises. How could her sepia-colored eyes not capture another man’s heart?

“Mr. Montrose?” Her sweet, low voice pulled him out of his trance.

“What?”

“Will you need anything from me this afternoon besides preparing dinner?”

Jared cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, I should be fine.” He pushed his chair away and stood.

“Then today I’ll work on getting the kitchen cleaned up, and tomorrow morning I can start hoeing the garden.”

Grabbing his hat from the hook on the wall, he turned to the dark-haired beauty. “Please call me Jared.”

She smiled softly for the first time that day, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. “I will.”

Something about the way the corners of her mouth turned up when she smiled made Jared want to stare at her all day. A strange rush of emotions tickled his insides. In the doorway, he placed a hat on his head. “But try not to burn dinner.” He winked. And then he headed to the barn. This gal was going to drive him crazy...and he might just like it.