Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (20 page)

Although
night had fallen several hours ago, Spencer had refused to stop and make camp, doggedly insisting that they keep traveling. Mercifully, he’d taken over the wagon reins, relieving her of that physically demanding burden.

Not for the first time, Mercy pondered the events of the last five weeks. From her wanton interlude with Spencer right through to her tearful bout on the banks of the Little Osage, it had been five weeks of joy and sorrow and near unbearable pain.

Most surprising of all was how much trust she had invested in Spencer McCabe, having placed her future, and that of her family, into his hands. True, he was a renegade Southerner. Not to mention a silver-tongued rogue. Yet for some unknown reason, one that she could not fathom, she’d forged a bond with him; a bond that went beyond the mere physical.

Perhaps
it’s the bond of love
.

In all honesty, Mercy didn’t know if that
was true or not, never having experienced romantic love before. If love was the jittery, heated flush that Spencer’s presence incited, then she had an abundance of love for him.

Mystified at suddenly hearing
strains of raucous music, Mercy twisted in her seat. Even more confounding was the series of birdlike chirps and whistles that unexpectedly emanated from Spencer, the sounds answered in a like manner a few seconds later.

“Where are we?” she asked,
befuddled by the strangeness of the place.

Spencer tugged on the reins, bringing the wagon to a full stop.
“We’re at Ned Sykes’ camp,” he calmly informed her.

Without thinking, Mercy
reared back her arm, soundly slapping Spencer across the face.

“You lied to me!”
Enraged, Mercy raised her arm, fully intending to slap him yet again.

Spencer snatched her wrist
in mid-swing, easily foiling the attack. “You’d be well-advised not to do that,” he warned, a menacing pitch to his voice.

“You fiend! You were planning this all along, weren’t you?”

Spencer released her wrist. “Not exactly,” he mumbled, his reply sounding suspiciously evasive. Frowning, he lashed the reins around the brake handle.

“‘
Not exactly?’ What in heaven’s name does
that
mean?”

“It means
—” Spencer stopped in mid-stream, the reply left unspoken.

A taut silence ensued. In those still, angry moments, Mercy
intuited that whatever Spencer had been on the verge of confessing, he suddenly had a change of heart about doing so.

“
Actually, it’s none of your damned business what it means,” Spencer rasped, breaking the silence. “Besides, if I’d told where we were heading, you would have refused to accompany me.”

At hearing that, Mercy glared at him. “And that story about your family farm, that was pure fabrication, wasn’t it? Merely a ruse to
coerce me into traveling to Missouri with you.”

“It wasn’t a lie. I
do
have a farm.”

“Humph! So you say
. But given the fact that you have delivered me and my family unto the very gates of hell, your word carries little worth. If it was revenge you were after, why didn’t you simply kill me back in Kansas, and be done with it?”

“You know damn well that’s
—”

“Or were you intending to turn me over to Bloody Ned so that he may
strike the death blow?”

Cursing under his breath,
Spencer vaulted to the ground and stomped around to Mercy’s side of the wagon. Before she could even register what was happening, he unceremoniously yanked her off of the seat. Ignoring her heated protests, he then proceeded to drag her into the moonlit woods. When she stumbled over a fallen tree limb, he didn’t so much as spare her a glance as he jerked her upright. It wasn’t until they were out of earshot of the wagon that Spencer finally relinquished his hold on her.

“Now, you listen, and
you listen good. I had a reason for bringing us here.”

“As I well know,” she retorted,
outraged by his roughshod treatment of her.

“Yeah, Miss Mercy Hibbert, you know everything, don’t you?” Clearly annoyed, Spencer
pushed out a sharp breath before he continued and said, “There’s no way that we can take this wagon across Missouri without Ned finding out. So, I just figured that since we can’t outrun ‘em, we might as well join ‘em. At least for a little while. It’s gonna be hard enough to keep one step ahead of the Yankee patrols. We don’t need Ned and his boys dogging us, as well.”

Mercy pursed her lips
as she silently considered his explanation. While she loathed the notion of keeping company with thieves and murderers, Spencer’s argument had merit. In the last six weeks, she’d witnessed enough brutality to last her a lifetime. She did not wish to incur the violent wrath of Bloody Ned Sykes. And she did not wish to put her family in untoward danger.

Maybe,
just maybe
, Spencer was justified in bringing them here, rightly seeing this as the lesser of two evils.

“Do I have your
word that no harm will come to my family while we’re here?” she asked, needing his assurance before she would concede.

“I would never do anything to endanger you or your family. You ought to know that by now,” he added, his
irritated tone suggesting that he was offended by the question.

“What I know is that you are but one man
; and that Bloody Ned has a small army of hoodlums at his disposal.”

“And I’m telling you that as long as Ned thinks you’re my woman, you have nothing to fear.”

“Oh, yes. I seem to recall having heard
that
particular assertion once before.”

Spencer shrugged, one side of his mouth turned
down at the corner. “Why the peevish tone? You lived to tell the tale, didn’t you?”

Not the least bit amused,
Mercy censured him with a withering glance. To her dismay, it had no effect on him, whatsoever. Realizing that further argument would be futile, she decided not to belabor the point.

“May we
now return to the wagon? I would like to set up camp. Assuming, of course, that meets with your approval.”

Spencer shook his head, vetoing the
suggestion. “Dewey will take care of settling everyone in for the night. Besides, we need to let Ned know that we’re here.”

“At
this
late hour? Why, no one goes calling so late in the evening.”

“Don’t worry. Ned doesn’t pay much mind to such niceties.”

“But I can’t go dressed
like this.
” Mercy was horrified to think that anyone other than her family would see her attired in such an unseemly outfit.

Spencer’s
gaze swept up and down her person. “You look fine to me.”

“That is beside the point.”

“All right. Illuminate me, why don’t you?”

“In case you’ve forgotten,
I am garbed in men’s clothing.”

“Well, I can’t say that the shirt does much for you
. But those trousers . . .” Shaking his head, Spencer whistled softly. “Yes, ma’am, that is a different story altogether.”

“Yes, I know. They’re at least six inches too long,” Mercy huffed, bunching the woolen fabric in her hands to prove
the point.

“Not to mention that it’s downright sinful what they do to your hips.” Spencer
shot her a rogue’s grin. “Why, it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself.”

The blood
immediately rushed to Mercy’s face, humiliated to think that, unbeknownst to her, he’d been surreptitiously ogling her.

“Have you no shame
, sir?”

“Not much.” Th
en, in a more conciliatory tone, Spencer said, “Aw, come on, Mercy. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“‘Humor?’”
she parroted. “After all that’s happened today, you expect to me to be lighthearted and gay?”

Spencer lowered his chin a few notches, a baleful look on his face. “I’m sorry, honey. First thing in the morning, I’ll see about getting you a proper dress to wear.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. Now, come on
. It’s best that we not keep Ned waiting.”

Taking her by the arm, Spencer led her deeper into the
forest. With each step, the raucous sound of music and laughter became louder. Peering through the trees, Mercy could see that there was a clearing up ahead, the whole area lit by a large, crackling bonfire.

As they neared the clearing, she was taken aback to see that in addition to
a large gang of bushwhackers, there were a great many scantily clad females, one wearing nothing more than a frilly shift and a pair of striped stockings.

Dear God in heaven!
If Spencer McCabe thought that she’d willingly associate with these half-dressed Cyprians and inebriated hoodlums, he was vastly mistaken.

Outraged, Mercy
came to a complete halt.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Spencer turned to her, a puzzle
d look on his face.

Raising an accusing arm, she pointed to
wards the clearing. “Those women of easy virtue,
that’s
what’s wrong.”

“Who, them? Hell, that’s nothing for you to
—”

“Hey, Spence! Glad you could make it to the festivities.”
A lanky bushwhacker stepped out from behind a tree, a long-necked bottle dangling from his fingers. Given the way that he careened from side-to-side, Mercy deduced that the man was well into his cups.

“Here, help yourself.” He passed the bottle to Spencer, a drunken grin on his face. “We done commandeered us a big supply of Yankee whiskey. Not to mention, there’s plenty of horizontal refreshment available, if you’
re so inclined.”

Spencer gave the fireside revelry a cursory glance. “Yeah, so I see.” He took a swig from the bottle
before handing it back with a nod of thanks. “Much obliged, Atticus.”

The bushwhacker
took a step in Mercy’s direction. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Cocking his head to one side, his gaze narrowed. “You look a lot like that gal I done poked last month over in Starkville.”

“I can assure you
that we have never met,” Mercy said disdainfully, utterly appalled.

“Well now, blondie, how about we skip the formalities and git right to it
–” the bushwhacker gave her a sly wink – “if you know what I mean.”

Discomfited by the
man’s lewd insinuations, Mercy turned toward Spencer and silently beseeched him to come to her aid. Casting a pointed glance at his gun belt, she wordlessly conveyed that
now
would be a good time for him to unholster a loaded pistol.

To her vexation, Spencer seemed wholly i
ndifferent to her predicament as he crooked an elbow in her direction.

“Coming?” he inquired
politely.

Fuming, Mercy grabbed his extended arm. The man knew full well that given the choice between joining ‘the festivities’ or remaining behind with a drunken deviant
, she would choose the former.

A few moments later, a
s they entered the clearing, Mercy was aghast to see that most of the bushwhackers were in the throes of drunken revelry. Singing. Shouting. Whooping like wild Indians. Never in her life had she beheld such an ungodly spectacle. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that she’d been spirited away to ancient Sodom.

Catching sight of Bloody Ned Sykes, Mercy stepped behi
nd Spencer’s tall frame, wanting very much to keep herself hidden from the rebel chieftain.

“Goddammit, McCabe! Where the hell have you been?”

“Evening, Ned.” Spencer raised a hand, acknowledging Sykes’ boisterously profane greeting. “Dewey and I ran into a bit of trouble.”

“Jayhawkers or uniforms?”

“Both. I took a slug to my leg a few weeks back. So I thought it best to hole up with my woman for a while.”

Sykes eyed him suspiciously.
“And what woman might that be?”

Manacling a hand around her wrist,
Spencer forcibly yanked Mercy in front of him. “You remember Mercy Hibbert, don’t you?”

Bloody Ned stepped toward her, lewdly licking his lips. “I sure as hell do.
Just how did you get this here lil’ Yankee gal to up and leave Kansas?”

“Only way
that I know how,” Spencer boasted as he slung an overly familiar arm around Mercy’s shoulders. The remark met with a ribald round of laughter.

Humiliated, Mercy tried to free herself
. Spencer only tightened his hold on her, his fingers digging into her shoulders, silently warning her to keep quiet. It was then that she noticed something that had slipped her notice. Since entering the clearing, a change had come over Spencer. There was now a daring swagger to his step; and a menacing drawl in his voice. In the span of only a few minutes, he had become
one of them.
He had become a southern bushwhacker.

“I thought
that we’d camp with you boys for a few days before we head down to McDonald County,” Spencer said conversationally.

“You takin’ her to stay with your kinfolk?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

The bushwhacker chieftain raised a bottle to his lips, swilling several noisy gulps of ‘Yankee whiskey.’ Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he belched
. Clearly intoxicated, he staggered a few feet before seating himself next to one of his female guests. To Mercy’s escalating unease, he then patted the ground next to him, motioning for her to join him.

“How about plantin’ your lil’ trousered fanny over here and partake of some of this here fine whiskey?”

When she made no move respond, Spencer nudged her, wordlessly pressuring her into accepting the unwelcome offer.

With great reluctance,
Mercy seated herself beside Bloody Ned while Spencer sat down on the other side of her. When their ‘host’ passed her a long-necked bottle, Mercy stared at it, uncertain what exactly was expected of her.

“Well, go on, honey
. Drink up.” Spencer elbowed her in the ribs, nodding at the bottle.

Forced, yet again, into doing something against her will,
Mercy gingerly wiped the mouth of the bottle with her shirt before taking a small, ladylike sip. Almost immediately, she began to hack, the alcohol burning her throat. Bloody Ned good-naturedly slapped her on the back, which only caused her to cough even harder.