Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean
Chapter Fourteen
Mercy watched Gray sleeping, still unable to believe that the man lying next to her was her husband.
Sleep smoothed out the lines in his face, the crinkles around his eyes, the constantly furrowed brow. And with the cleanup job he’d done the day before, he looked several years younger than she had originally thought. Even more so than yesterday. At their wedding.
She still couldn’t believe that had happened. She frowned.
“What’s that for?” Gray said, startling her. He smiled at her reaction and then smoothed a finger over the crease in her brow. “Last night wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “No, last night wasn’t bad at all.”
“Well, that’s a rousing commendation, thank you,” he said with a chuckle.
She grinned. “That’s not what I meant. Last night was wonderful. Unexpected, but wonderful.”
“Agreed.” He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “So why do I wake this morning to find you frowning down at me?”
“It just occurred to me that we don’t really know much about each other.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That just occurred to you?”
She laughed. “I know that we haven’t known each other long, but…I don’t know. We don’t even know general things.”
“Such as?”
She shrugged. “I don’t even know how old you are.”
“Does it matter?”
“No. But I am curious.”
“Fair enough. I’m forty-one. I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s not somethin’ I generally keep track of and anyone who cared enough about me to keep track for me died off a long time ago. But I’m pretty sure.”
The ache in her heart at the thought that he had no one who cared to celebrate his birth grew even worse at the offhand way he said it. Like it was a throwaway detail that meant nothing. She bit her lip, though. He wouldn’t appreciate her pity.
“And you?”
She hated to admit her age and hated that she hated it. She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, though her age certainly put her in the “old maid” category. Even that bothered her less than the fact that everyone else seemed so bothered by it. As if not accomplishing the apparently one thing a woman should do by the time she was twenty was a horrible tragedy. She’d married Gray to keep Josiah at bay. But she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was thrilled it would end all the pitying looks and muttered reassurances from every other woman in town. Except Mrs. DuVere, of course. She could always be counted on to congratulate Mercy on escaping matrimony for so long.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Gray said, and she realized she’d been quiet for far too long.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said with a quick smile. “I just turned thirty last month.”
He nodded, his brow creased a little, and her heart skipped a beat or two. “Does that disappoint you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been a bad thing had you been a little older.”
Her eyes widened. “Most men seem to prefer a younger woman.”
Gray snorted. “Age doesn’t generally bother me one way or the other. You could be fifty years old and act like a child or be a child and act more mature than most adults. But if we were closer in age, maybe I wouldn’t seem so ancient to you. I just don’t want you to ever feel like you’re married to an old man.”
Her stomach did another flip. His concern about what she felt about his age was something that surprised her. Well, surprised her that he’d admit it, at least.
“As you said, age is just a number. If I was going to guess your age based on the way you’ve acted, for instance, I would’ve had to guess, oh…maybe eighty, eighty-five.”
He laughed. A full-bellied, open-throated laugh that had her staring at him in shock. She liked the sound. A lot. It had just never occurred to her he was capable of that kind of mirth.
He laid back, his head cradled on a bent arm. “I suppose I do like my naps.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.”
He chuckled again. “If there’s anything else you’d like to know about me, you can ask,” he said. “Although I think you know pretty much everything.”
“Do I?”
He shrugged. “The important stuff, anyway. You know who I am, you know my background—”
“Not really.”
Gray cocked an eyebrow. “No?”
She shook her head, and he told her what was probably the bare bones version of how he’d gotten into his first gunfight because of a hand of cards.
She sat up and looked down at him. “Wait. So, you basically became a notorious gunfighter by accident?”
He considered that for a second and then nodded with a wry grin. “I guess so.”
She shook her head. “Only you could start out playing poker and end up on a wanted poster.”
“Not true. Happens much more often than you’d think.”
She laughed and laid back down. The morning sun glinted off her ring, and she frowned a little. “How did your parents die?”
“Scarlet fever.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight? Maybe nine.”
His voice didn’t change, but the sudden tenseness of his body next to her spoke louder than anything else could have. She reached over and took his hand in hers. For a few moments, they laid there in silence, just being together.
“I don’t know much about you, either,” he said. “Less even, than you knew about me going into all this, since you’d at least heard of me.”
She let go of his hand, retreating to her safe space. The questions had been anticipated. After all, she’d just interrogated him about his life. But somehow knowing the questions were coming and actually hearing them, knowing answers were expected—and owed—was entirely different.
Gray turned on his side and looked down at her. “You told me before that everyone in Desolation has their secrets.”
She blew out a long breath, knowing where this was going and wishing she hadn’t started it. “Yes.”
“You know my secrets,” Gray said. “And if I’m to protect you, it might help to know yours.”
She didn’t react for a second. He had a point. A good one. But she’d gone too many years avoiding talking about anything that had brought her to Desolation until opening up now wasn’t easy.
“You can ask me what you’d like,” she said. “I will try to answer.”
Gray nodded, regarding her for a moment. “Who is buried in the orchard?”
Mercy froze. She didn’t think he would start with that question. In fact, it hadn’t occurred to her he would even wonder.
“My father. He was a good man but—the last few years, he often gambled to excess. Left me to take care of most things.” She tried to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. He deserved to be told the truth. “Everyone in town knew he was gambling away the money I’d earned working the farm—and I was ashamed. Ashamed of my own father.” Her voice broke, yet she held his gaze. “But I loved him, Gray. Faults and all, I loved him.”
He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “How did he die?”
The rage that flashed through her veins made her hands shake, and Gray threaded his fingers through hers, giving them a squeeze.
She took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “I found him facedown in the creek, his head bleeding. The sheriff said he must have fallen and cracked his skull, knocked himself too senseless to pull his face out of the water. But I know it was Josiah. Dad had crossed that creek a thousand times. He grew up here with a cousin of his, the one who left him the property. He knew every rock in that creek bed. And the timing was far too convenient. There’s no way his death was an accident.”
Gray brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “He won’t get away with it,” he promised.
Her eyes searched his and, after a moment, she nodded, apparently seeing what she needed to see. He only hoped he could follow through for her.
“So that’s why you’re in Desolation?” he asked. “Inherited a homestead?”
She looked at him and shrugged. “To begin with. But Desolation kind of grows on you,” she said with a soft smile. “I liked the people. For the first time in a long time, I had a family again. And I had this place and my orchard. There’s even a full river flowing through the property, so plenty of water for the trees. Everything seemed to be going well, but then Dad died and…you know the rest.”
Gray’s brow furrowed. “Everything except why Josiah wants this place so badly.”
“That, I truly don’t know.” Mercy sighed. “Then again, he’s probably just a greedy landowner who wants to increase his property. It’s good land, fertile, full-grown orchard on it that brings in a tidy income. And he does own most of the surrounding property. People have killed for less.”
“That’s true enough.” He gave her hand a little tug, bringing it to his lips so he could press a heated kiss to it. “Thank you for telling me.”
Mercy gave him a faint smile, still a bit embarrassed that she had told him so much. She reached out and brushed his hair from his face. “You know, you might like it here if you give it half a chance.”
He gave her a slow grin that sent heat pouring through her veins. “There are some parts of it I like immensely.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Whatever else she was going to say evaporated from her mind the moment his lips touched hers. She’d remember later.
…
Gray woke a few hours later and reached out for his wife, only to find her empty pillow. He sat up, frowning, and rubbed his face, trying to wake up. A bit of a commotion seemed to be going on outside, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Mercy’s voice was in the thick of it. What had that woman gotten herself into now?
He yanked his pants and shirt on and pulled up his suspenders, shoving his feet into his boots as he headed for the front door. Which stood open. He hurried out and then stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Lucille the goat ran by, a bright blue ribbon around her neck, while Martha and Mercy chased after her.
“Don’t let her get near the pen!” Mercy called out. “We’ll have to bathe her all over again.”
“I’ve got her!” Martha said, diving for the animal. She missed. Valiant effort, though.
They weren’t the only ones in the courtyard. Mrs. DuVere and Preacher stood beside a wagon full of empty baskets and several more were trundling up in the distance.
“Mercy,” he said, grabbing her arm when she ran past him again.
“Oh! Good mor…ning,” she said, faltering at the sight of him standing with his open shirt flapping in the wind.
He started buttoning it, though he couldn’t help the prideful smile that touched his lips at the sight of his wife staring at his bare chest. In fact, that look in her eyes made him want to take her hand and haul her back into the house only…
He looked around the courtyard again. “What is going on?”
“Apple picking day,” she said with a wide grin.
“Apple picking day? What is that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, when the apples are ripe enough to be harvested, we have to go and—”
He raised a hand, closing his eyes briefly against her smirk. “I know what it is. But why is it happening here, with…” He waved his hand at the growing crowd. “Half the town.”
“Ah. Well, the townsfolk who wish to purchase apples come over and pick them themselves. They pay me by the basketful, or trade for them. It saves me from having to harvest them all myself, though I do deliver for some of the older folk who can’t come out. And I also sell some of the fare from my garden, the soaps and lotions I make, goat cheese. And occasionally a few livestock, if I need to.”
“Lucille?” he asked hopefully.
Mercy glared at him, though she seemed more amused than annoyed. “Lucille is not for sale. But she does like to look pretty for apple picking day.”
Gray opened his mouth to respond to that and then decided he didn’t have the energy.
“What about breakfast?”
She laughed. “Do you ever think about anything other than your stomach?”
He let his gaze rove over her, giving her a slow, heated smile when her cheeks flushed. “Actually, food was the last thing on my mind when I woke this morning. Except my wife was nowhere to be found.”
“Sorry about that,” she murmured. “We’ve had this day set for weeks. Couldn’t change it, even though it’s…”
“The day after our wedding,” he said, capturing her hand.
She blushed again, and he went to pull her closer but caught a glimpse of several of the townspeople watching them and grinning. He dropped her hand, unwilling to put on a show for everyone.
She cleared her throat and brushed a curl out of her face. “Are you going to help?” she asked, gesturing to Preacher’s wagon full of baskets.
Gray frowned. “So…what about breakfast?”
Mercy laughed. “Chores first. Food later.”
“What?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Work before food? I need to keep my strength up.”
“I think you’ll be fine. And it’ll be worth the wait, I promise. Martha has brought all sorts of goodies. Perhaps you could help her while I get everyone organized.”
“Help her?”
“Yes. It looks like Lucille has gotten into the mud again. I’m sure she’d appreciate the help.”
“You want me to wash a goat?” His raised brow should be a sufficient answer to that request, he hoped.
Mercy planted her hands on her hips. “Well, what other skills do you have that might be of use?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve got one skill, and unless you want me to shoot the goat, I don’t think that skill is going to help much.”
Mercy pinned him with her harshest glare. “You will not shoot my goat.”
His lips twitched. “Then feed me, woman. I get cranky when I’m hungry.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Then you must be damn near starving most of your life.”
He barked out a laugh that made most of the people in the yard turn to stare at him. Mercy just shook her head and pushed him toward the table where Martha had started setting up goodies. “Go see Martha. She’ll feed you.”
He caught her around the waist before she could escape. “And where are you going?”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to go rescue Mr. Sunshine before Lucille eats his jacket.”
Gray glanced over to where Jason was engaged in a wicked episode of tug-of-war with the goat and his suit jacket and chuckled. Then he sighed. “All right. I’ll…help,” he said, forcing the word from his mouth. He’d had grand plans of lazing about in bed all day with his new wife, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe if he helped, they could get this whole event over with quicker and he could shoo everyone away all the faster.
“Thank you,” Mercy said, rising on her toes to kiss him.
Hmm. Perhaps there was an upside to this whole helping thing.
He kissed her again. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
“Maybe…keep an eye out for Josiah or his men.”
The mention of Josiah killed the good mood that had been brewing. “Does he usually attend this…apple picking day?”
Mercy shook her head. “He never has before. Occasionally some of the women from his property will come. For the most part, though, he stays away. But…”
He nodded. “But he’s not acting as he usually does.”
“Exactly.”
Gray took a deep breath. “You go do what you need to do. I’ll watch for Josiah.”
Her whole body relaxed, like he’d taken a literal weight off her shoulders. “Thank you, Gray.” This time she quickly kissed his cheek and spun away before he could draw her back in. She gave him a cheeky smile and wave as she hurried off.
For probably the millionth time, he wondered how he’d gotten into this mess. Well, no help for it now. He was neck deep. So, he’d better do what he’d been brought here for and watch for Josiah.
After he got some food first. He hated killin’ on an empty stomach.