Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean
Chapter Twelve
Mercy’s heart pounded so hard, her head swam. Gray had turned away for a second, and then Jason spun him around, and he saw her and…froze.
She did, too, waiting on him before she made another move. He seemed in shock. Terror, maybe? Horror? Maybe she didn’t look as he’d expected. She’d felt pretty enough a few moments before. But if he didn’t make some sort of movement in the next thirty seconds, she was running back the other direction.
His gaze took her in, from the top of her carefully curled hair crowned with a ring of daisies, down the tightly laced corset of the bustled, baby-blue silk gown Mrs. DuVere had pulled out of her own closet, to the soft leather boots with rows of pearl buttons. And back up again.
His eyes met hers, and she held her breath. A slow smile spread across his full lips and took her breath away completely.
She started walking toward him without even realizing she’d decided to move. He looked good. Really good. The suit he wore fit him like a glove, highlighting angles she hadn’t known he’d possessed. He ran a hand through his hair, which had previously brushed his shoulders in jagged, unkempt edges. Now it gleamed like polished mahogany and fell back in waves behind his ears. Which she could clearly see, because the hat that seemed at times permanently affixed to his head was now held tightly in his hands.
His face was the most transformed of all, though. Whatever they had done to him seemed to have washed several years from his countenance. For the first time, he seemed…alive. Vital. She was sure the change was temporary. Give the man a rocking chair and a quiet porch, and she had no doubt he’d be snoring in seconds. But for the moment, her handsome groom stood tall and straight, watching her come toward him with what she swore was pride in his eyes.
When she reached him, he passed his hat to Jason and held out a steady hand to her. She took it with one only slightly less steady.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice pitched low for her and her alone.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He ran a hand down the suit. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” He leaned in closer. “I might just keep it. Don’t tell Doc.”
She giggled—giggled! She had never made that sound in her life. And then they both turned to Reverend Donnelly.
The reverend thankfully didn’t drone on with any preliminaries but got right to the vows. They each repeated the words in surprisingly steady voices. When it came time to receive her wedding ring, Gray reached back for his hat and removed a small gold ring from the band, slipping it onto her finger. She made a mental note to ask him later where it’d come from.
Then, with a voice so warm and smooth, it washed over her like a fine whiskey, he repeated the preacher’s words. “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.”
His hand squeezed hers, and her heart jumped into her throat. Oh, heaven help her, they were really doing this.
The ceremony was a blur after that. She’d barely heard the words the reverend spoke as she instead focused on her hands in Gray’s, on his thumbs gently rubbing over her fingers. He held tight to her the whole time, whether as a comfort or to keep her from bolting, she wasn’t sure. But she was grateful for them all the same. Then it was over, and they turned again to face the reverend.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” he said with a relieved smile, then nodded at Gray. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Gray tugged gently on her hands, gazing down at her as he tugged her nearer, giving her time to back away if she wished.
She wasn’t sure what she wished. But she didn’t pull away.
He wasn’t soft or gentle. Like with most other things he tried to avoid, once committed to action, he dove in with everything he had. His lips molded to hers, one hand coming up to cup her face and bring her even closer as the other gripped the back of her dress in a fist. Her head swam and she wrapped her arms around his waist to anchor herself. The sensation of his full, warm mouth against hers was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And she had been kissed before. And kissed well. But no one had ever sent her spinning with just one touch of their lips. So warm and demanding she’d feel the heat of them long after he pulled away.
Only the cheers of their audience broke them apart. Mercy had forgotten anyone else was there. Her cheeks flashed hotly, but Gray didn’t seem at all embarrassed. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He curved an arm about her waist and kept her close to him as they walked back down the aisle.
They couldn’t leave yet. Not with the feast Martha and her grandparents had prepared. And that was probably a good thing. Part of Mercy—a very happy part of her—would love to hop in their wagon and head straight back to her homestead. But the rest of her needed a few minutes to try and calm the nervous energy that made her want to run in circles around the room the way her cat had when it had gotten in the catnip.
Plus, there was the matter over what to do with Jason. He couldn’t stay at her farm forever, though she enjoyed having him around. He offset Gray’s moodiness nicely and was always happy to help out with whatever needed doing. And he’d been handy when Josiah’s men had shown up—had it just been that morning? All the events of the day descended on her, and she was suddenly and overwhelmingly bone-tired.
Martha pushed Mercy and Gray into seats of honor at the table, and Mercy watched in a daze as food was passed up and down between the guests. By the time they were done, she had a plate loaded with food that she didn’t remember choosing, but an untimely growl from the direction of her stomach reminded her what she should be doing with it. And the food did go a long way to restoring her equilibrium.
She stole a glance at Gray as she nibbled on her second leg of chicken. He caught her gaze and winked, raising his glass of lemonade to her in a salute. Bemused, she shook her head, though she couldn’t help smiling.
Where had her slovenly, complaining ol’ retired gunslinger gone?
She had no doubt the moment the wedding finery came off and the guests had cleared, he’d return to his usual ways. He was who he was. And, as aggravating as he could be, Mercy didn’t think she’d mind it much. He certainly livened things up anyway. Well, livened was a strong word considering his propensity for falling asleep at the drop of a hat. Interesting, then. He made things interesting.
And then she remembered what else would be happening when the wedding finery came off and choked on her chicken.
Gray thumped her on the back. “You’re meant to chew that before swallowin’,” he pointed out.
Ah, there was the man she’d gotten to know. “Wiseacre.” She wiped her mouth and waved off another attempt to beat the chicken from her throat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she rasped out, downing half a glass of lemonade.
The setting sun glinted off her wedding ring and she held it out, admiring the gold band with its delicate engraved pattern of entwined daisies circling around it.
She caught him watching her and blushed. “It’s so lovely. Where did you get it on such short notice?”
He took a large gulp of lemonade before he answered her, though even then he didn’t meet her eyes. “It was my mother’s. I always carry it with me in my hat band. She gave it to me the night she died, said to give it to my wife when I married.” He shrugged. “I always figured it’d be buried with me and my hat.” He glanced at her with a half grin that did funny things to her belly. “I think she’d be happy to know you’ve got it.”
Mercy’s heart swelled until she could scarcely breathe. And when he looked up at her from beneath his lashes, as though he was unsure of her reaction, she just wanted to wrap her arms around him and protect him from whatever, or whoever, had put that look on his face.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat. “I’m honored to wear it. I’ll keep it safe, I promise.”
His small half smile tore at her heart. Then he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the finger that wore the ring, and her heart damn near exploded. “It suits you.”
She stared at him, trying to blink away the moisture in her eyes—really what was going on? Her emotions were all over the place.
The fiddler who had played their wedding march picked up his instrument again and began to play a jig.
“Bride and groom!” Martha shouted, waving them over to the makeshift dance floor.
Mercy glanced at Gray, who raised a brow and said, “I do not dance.”
Her response broke off in a peal of surprise when Martha grabbed her hands and pulled her out onto the patio. She tried to keep an eye on Gray as she was pulled and twirled. After a few moments, she was laughing and breathless.
And then a sudden spin brought her face-to-face with Gray, who stood staring down at her with a look that set fire to her body.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she managed to say.
His long, slow smile sent her knees quaking. “I don’t,” he said.
Then he scooped her up in his arms and marched out of the courtyard, accompanied by the whoops and applause of their guests, and a mess of butterflies set loose in her belly as she realized what would happen next.