Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Six

Gray hopped into the wagon and glared at the horse’s rump. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mercy followed him, plopping down so close to him she was almost in his lap. Not that it was by choice. Small bench. Still, she turned to him with a mischievous grin he was hard-pressed not to return. She was sorely testing his resolve to die a surly ol’ bastard.

“Ready to set some tongues wagging?” she asked.

He shook his head. The woman was relentless.

The trip to town was much quicker than Gray hoped. Mercy pulled the small wagon to a stop near the front of the general store, and Gray took a moment to glance around the town. Despite having been there for three days it was the first glimpse he was getting of the town proper. The closer view didn’t make much improvement on what he’d seen from afar. Still, he had definitely seen worse.

The town sported the usual businesses one might expect. A barbershop stood on one side of the general store and across the street stood the sheriff’s office and, presumably, a jail cell or two. Though it was noticeably silent and empty-looking. Interesting. A small building next to the sheriff’s seemed to be the local doctor’s office, and a short way farther down stood a blacksmith’s shop.

A tavern sat beside the barbershop, a surprisingly grand establishment for such a small town. If he wasn’t mistaken, the local parlor house most likely took up the second floor of the tavern. At least judging by the several pairs of eyes that peeped at him from behind the lace curtains adorning the windows.

Gray tipped his hat to his invisible watchers. The madams were often the real power in the towns he frequented, so he always made it a point to stay on their good side. Never knew when he’d need to negotiate for some private lodgings or a temporary hideout. For the right amount of coin, he could usually talk himself into a quiet room where he’d be left alone. Options and backup plans were always good. Not that he had much coin, but if—or when, more like—Mercy kicked his sorry backside out her door, he didn’t want to burn any bridges he might need.

He jumped down from the carriage and stood on the clapboard sidewalk, looking back over his shoulder at Mercy, who still sat in the wagon, watching him as though she were waiting for something.

“You comin’?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh and gathered her skirts in her hand, preparing to get down.

“Mercy!” someone called.

Gray and Mercy both turned toward the newcomer, though her smile was decidedly more welcoming than Gray’s frown.

A clean-shaven, tidy man with nary a wrinkle or gray hair came toward them, a grin stretching from ear to ear as he headed right for Mercy.

“Jamison,” she said, giving him a little wave.

He reached up for her, and she braced herself on his shoulders as he lowered her down, rather more slowly than was necessary. Gray scowled, his eyes narrowing when Mercy held onto the man’s arms for a moment. Gray rubbed his chest, his frown deepening at the sudden tightness there. Her cheeks blushed in that pretty way they were prone to do, and his stomach clenched as though he’d been hit.

He blew a breath out through his nose. Mercy was supposedly in danger. That was the whole reason for their situation, was it not? It didn’t seem prudent for her to go about giggling in random men’s arms. Not that he gave three figs on whom she bestowed those smiles. Wasn’t none of his business. Though it wouldn’t kill her to throw a few more in his direction.

To be fair, he didn’t exactly go around trying to coax a smile to her lips very often, either. Still, she was supposed to be his fiancée, and if this were a true pairing, he certainly wouldn’t stand by while another man held his fiancée in his arms.

So, he probably ought to do somethin’ about that. For appearance’s sake.

He sauntered up to them, standing much closer to Mercy than was socially polite, and waited silently for them to acknowledge his presence. It took longer than he liked.

The other man finally glanced up at him in surprise, and Mercy’s flushed cheeks deepened into a darker shade of red.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” she said, more flustered than he had ever seen her. “Gray, this is Jamison Fairbanks. He’s the best physician in fifty miles.”

Jamison laughed and held out his hand. “I’m the only physician in fifty miles, but that’s kind of you to say, Miss Mercy. Most people around these parts just call me Doc,” he said to Gray.

Gray shook his hand with a grunt while he looked the man up and down, not seeing the appeal. Sure, some might find him attractive. He had that square jawline and broad shoulders that women seemed so fond of. And he dressed in a neat suit that screamed of East Coast money and education. What the man was doing this far west, Gray couldn’t fathom.

Mercy watched Gray with the air of someone who expected a snake to jump out of a bush, on edge and confused. But then, most people looked at him that way.

“Jamison, this is Mr. Gray—”

“Her fiancé,” Gray interjected, his own surprise at what he’d just said mirroring the others’. He didn’t know why he’d wanted to make sure the other man knew his relationship to Mercy. Especially since they didn’t truly have a relationship. And he had no desire to puzzle it out, either. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened, though.

He cleared his throat, trying to cover the awkward moment. “Gray Woodson.”

Gray saw the exact moment his name registered in the other man’s mind, but he had to give him credit. Though he paused with a smile that was perhaps more strained than it had been, his demeanor didn’t waver.

“Welcome to town, Mr. Woodson.”

That was probably the first time anyone had ever said those words to him. And the doc even sounded like he meant it.

Gray swallowed past the lump in his throat. Damn dust. It was always choking him. Then he scowled when he caught the surprised raised eyebrows coming from Mercy’s direction.

“I can be polite,” he muttered to her, his voice much more gruff than usual.

“Well,” Doc said, “it seems congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” Mercy said, even more flustered than she’d been a moment before, if that were possible. “I haven’t had a chance to tell many people yet.”

“Of course. Well, I’m glad to be one of the first to hear your happy news,” he said, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting a patient soon.” He tipped his hat to them, his gaze lingering on Mercy. “Good day.”

“Jamison, wait,” Mercy said, stepping forward to stop him. “Have you seen the sheriff around?” She nodded toward the seemingly deserted sheriff’s office.

“No, in fact I was thinking…” He stopped and grinned, nodding in the direction of the store. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll deprive Martha of the juiciest bit of gossip this town has seen in twenty years. Aside from your own,” he said with a wink. “Go on inside. She’s probably busting a gut waiting to talk to you.”

Mercy’s brow furrowed a bit, but she smiled. “All right, thank you.”

She watched the doc walk away before glancing back at Gray. “I wonder what all that means?”

Gray shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

…

“Are you coming?” Mercy said, pushing the door of the store open.

“Naw.” Gray leaned against the post, his gaze focused on the street in front of him. “I’ll just wait out here.”

Mercy opened her mouth to argue but shut it again with a small shake of her head. She didn’t really need him inside. His presence in her company would be enough to get the gossips going, especially with Martha nearly lying on the counter, trying to get a good peek through the window.

When Mercy stepped inside, Martha stood back up and began wiping the candy jars as if she hadn’t just been spying on them.

“Good morning, Mercy,” Martha said. “What brings you in today?” Her voice was even, if a bit high-pitched, but she was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

“Oh, I just need a few supplies,” Mercy said, pulling out a list and purposely taking her time about it. “Five pounds of flour, a sack of sugar, a new needle, a spool of thread—white, please—”

Martha hastily gathered supplies as Mercy listed them off, her long black braid swinging back and forth as she moved, but as soon as Mercy got to the end of her list, Martha leaned over the counter with a conspiratorial air.

“Did you notice the sheriff’s office looking a bit empty?” she asked.

“Come to think of it, I did. Has he gone somewhere?”

“No one knows. If he did, he didn’t tell anyone, and that seems rather odd, doesn’t it? Considering he’s the sheriff and all.”

“Odd indeed,” said Mercy, glancing out the door at Gray.

“Well, there was a great to-do the other night, I can tell you,” Martha said, her eyes shining. A good gossip session was what Martha lived and died for, and really nothing much went on in Desolation, so even the smallest change in routine was cause for excitement.

“The other day,” she continued, “the day of your father’s funeral… Oh!” She leaned forward to pat Mercy’s arm. “I am so very sorry for your loss. I have a little something I fresh-baked yesterday that I’ve been meaning to bring over to your place but haven’t had two spare seconds. So, it’s good fortune that brings you in today! I’ll be sure to fetch it before you leave.”

“Thank you,” Mercy said. “That’s very kind of you.”

“My pleasure,” Martha said, beaming. Then she leaned over the counter again, getting back into her tale. “Anyway, that day the sheriff rode out somewhere with that Josiah Banff and some of his men. I thought to myself they were definitely up to no good. And I must’ve been right, because less than an hour later they came riding back into town, the sheriff white as a sheet and more spooked than I’ve ever seen him.

“He and Josiah went into his office and must’ve been arguing fierce, because we could hear their raised voices from here clear down to Madam DuVere’s. Though none of us really got a good handle on what exactly they were saying. It sounded as though Josiah was nervous of somebody new coming to town and the sheriff didn’t want no part of it anymore.

“I don’t know what they were referring to,” Martha continued, casting a surreptitious glance out the window at Gray. “Josiah did not take kindly to the sheriff backing out of town, I can tell you that. But you know Josiah when he gets really angry—he doesn’t go around shouting. He gets that low voice that’s even more scary, so I couldn’t rightly hear what he was saying to the sheriff. But the sheriff wasn’t having none of it. Kept saying he was done, he was out.”

Mercy frowned. “I wonder what they were talking about?” she murmured, though she had a fairly good idea.

Martha’s eyes darted back to Gray, but she plowed on. “Then Josiah and his men rode off and I thought that was that, but later—must’ve been around midnight, I guess—I heard some horses kicking up a fuss and then the sheriff cursing fit to make the preacher’s hair stand on end, and I peeked out of my window, which, as you know, overlooks the sheriff’s station…”

Mercy nodded acknowledgment but kept her mouth shut, lest she interrupt the flow of information coming from Martha.

“So I peeked out my window, and the sheriff was strapping all kinds of boxes and bundles on that old mule that Mr. Calvert at the smithy keeps. Looked to be everything he owned, excepting furniture and the like.”

Mercy’s eyes widened. “Perhaps he’s just going on a trip?”

Martha shook her head again. “If he is, it’s a very long trip. Plus”—Martha leaned over even more and glanced around to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard—“this morning, before most folks are about, I snuck over and peeked through the windows and as far as I can tell the sheriff plum cleaned out. Just up and left without a word to anyone.”

“Really?”

Martha nodded slowly. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Well now, that is interesting.”

Mercy glanced out the door to where Gray still leaned against the post. Martha’s gaze followed hers.

“Now I know it’s none of my business,” she said, and Mercy bit her lip to keep from smiling. Martha had never met any business that she didn’t feel the need to make hers. “But it does seem to be a big coincidence that the sheriff gets spooked by a newcomer right about the same time that your gentleman friend there shows up.” She nodded in Gray’s direction.

“Hmm, that is a coincidence,” Mercy said, and Martha playfully swatted at Mercy’s arm.

“Well, who is he?” Martha asked.

“The gentleman is, in fact, my fiancé,” Mercy said.

Martha shot straight up, and her hands clutched her bosom as she squealed excitedly. “Oh, Mercy, that is just wonderful news! Who is he? Where’s he from? What’s his name? How did you meet? He’s certainly not from around here.” She looked him over again, a slight furrow appearing in her brow. “He’s not really who I’d ever imagined you with,” she said, contemplating him. Then her frown cleared, and she was all smiles again. “But he does have an exciting sort of look about him, if you get my meaning.”

Mercy laughed, though a twinge of guilt wormed its way through her at the deception she needed to maintain. “We haven’t known each other long, but the situation suits us. His name is Gray Woodson.”

Martha stopped mid-squeal, her eyes round as oranges. “Gray Woodson? As in…‘Quick Shot’ Woodson?”

Mercy nodded slowly, and Martha let out a long breath. “Well, I suppose we know why the sheriff disappeared. That does add a little flavor to it, doesn’t it? Are you…is he… I mean, well, I think…” Martha stammered, and Mercy smiled.

“He’s retired, looking to settle down in a nice place. But I expect there will be those who might not take kindly to his presence in town. I do hope you’ll help me persuade everyone that he will be a welcome addition to our community. He’s…”

She stopped and frowned, trying to think of how to phrase what she wanted to say. How in the world could she describe someone who completely flummoxed her at every turn?

“He’s not what I expected, either,” she finally said.

She didn’t know what sort of expression was on her face, but Martha gave her a long, hard look and then a slow smile stretched across her face.

“Well, whatever it is between you, it seems to suit you. I’ve never seen you look more…alive.”

Mercy blinked, surprised. “Thank you,” she said.

“So, when is the wedding? Soon, I assume.”

Mercy opened her mouth to answer and then realized she had no idea how to respond to that particular query.

“I’m not sure. Not too soon. There’s no rush, after all.”

Martha’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Well. I just thought… Well, never mind. As long as he’s not playing the scoundrel and trying to take any liberties,” she said with a wink.

Mercy’s cheeks flushed, the sudden image of Gray wearing nothing but a thin linen cloth about his hips assailing her.

Just the memory of him standing there, beads of water rolling down his chest, set her heart racing. Heaven help her, but a few more moments like that and she wouldn’t be averse to him trying to take a few liberties. If he didn’t aggravate her into an early grave first.

“Well, are you going to bring him in to say hello?” Martha said.

Mercy almost laughed. “He’s not the most sociable creature, I’m afraid. But I think we will get him warmed up to everyone soon enough.”

Martha nodded, helping Mercy pack the rest of her purchases into a basket. “You can count on me. I’ll make sure everyone knows they’re to give him a chance before drawing any conclusions.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

“Oh, your pie! I’ll go fetch it while you load up your wagon,” she said and hurried off.

Mercy took a deep breath to regain her composure and then went to deposit her purchases in the wagon.

Gray watched as she put everything in the back, though he made no move to help her. Not surprising. Who would hold up the post if he moved?

She finished stowing everything and came to stand close to him. He glanced up, obviously surprised that she was voluntarily standing within touching distance.

“Martha is coming out,” she said to him, low enough only he could hear. They were alone, but she was conscious of more than one pair of eyes on them. “Be nice. She’s my friend.”

Gray frowned. “Contrary to your obvious belief, I don’t go about tryin’ to insult innocent women.”

Mercy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you mean to, but…” She waved a hand from his boots to his hat. “This tends to rub people the wrong way, shall we say.”

Gray patted his belly absently. “You know, some women find me quite charmin’.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to take your word on that.”

He chuckled, a gravelly sound that caused her breath to catch in her throat, and she got an inkling why others might find him charming. Not that she wanted to admit it to him. Still, she didn’t look away as the seconds stretched, and her cheeks started to warm.

“You know, you could take more than my word for it,” he murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“What are you doing?” She planted her hands on his chest, finding it suddenly difficult to draw in a full breath.

“People are watchin’. I’m bein’ a fiancé.”

“Gray…”

“Yes?” He bent his head just close enough to brush the tip of his nose along her jawline.

“I…” She swallowed hard and tried to remember all the reasons she wanted this man out of her life as fast as possible.

She glanced up and caught a glimpse of Martha hurrying toward the door, her face alight with excitement.

Mercy pushed away from Gray and tried her damnedest to regain some composure. “Martha’s coming.”

He blew out an exasperated sigh and released her. “Quit devilin’ me, woman. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Martha came bustling out a moment later, her hands full of a delicious-looking pie. Gray’s eyes widened with interest, and Mercy looked to the heavens. That man and food.

“Welcome to Desolation,” Martha said, thrusting the pie into his hands.

Mercy had to keep her lips pinched together to keep from laughing at the expression on his face. That insatiable stomach of his was obviously pleased with the pie, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with Martha’s exuberant welcome.

“Thanks,” he grunted. “Much obliged.”

“Martha, this looks wonderful,” Mercy said, gesturing to the pie. “Thank you so much. Apple?”

Gray gave a quiet groan that made Mercy want to kick him in the shins.

Martha shook her head. “Cherry.”

“Cherry?” Gray said, perking up.

He held the pie to his nose for a good sniff. The low moan of pleasure that escaped his throat had Mercy and Martha both staring at him with open mouths. How could such an alluring sound come out of a man who was so…not?

Even worse, with every moan, half grin, and invasion of her personal space that he committed, she saw less and less of the more unappealing aspects of her counterfeit fiancé—and there were a great many of those, to be sure—and she began to see the man beneath it all. The man he must have been before his hard-living life beat him down. The man he might still be for all she knew, if she could get to know the real him.

That man…well, he was one who tempted her. Who put dangerous thoughts in her head and had her body tingling from one end to the other as he admired a pie.

And that just wouldn’t do.

Mercy took the dessert from him before he could moan again. Or start eating it with his bare hands. Nothing would surprise her at this point. She placed it on the seat of the wagon and turned to make introductions.

“Gray, this is my good friend, Martha Clifford. Martha, Gray Woodson.”

“I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Martha said.

Gray grunted something unintelligible at her, but it was enough for Martha to beam.

“I’m just so thrilled for you and Mercy. She’s just the best girl out there. You couldn’t find yourself a better wife if you tried a hundred years.”

“Perish the thought,” Gray said, in what Mercy was fairly sure was a truly horrified tone of voice.

“We should be going,” Mercy said. Gray, true to his word, had been on his best behavior. But she didn’t want to push it too far. Besides, he was eyeing the pie in a way that left no doubt he was thinking of nothing but devouring it then and there.

“Oh,” Martha said, her disappointment apparent. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again very soon. If you need any help with the wedding, you must let me know!”

“The wedding. Yes…” She glanced at Gray, who had turned his attention back to the sheriff’s office and seemed to be ignoring them completely. Before she could say anything else, Gray pushed away from the wagon and started across the street.

“Was it something I said?” Martha asked.

Mercy shook her head. “No, of course not. He’s just…well, I don’t know what he’s doing.”

But she was going to find out.