Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (26 page)

Although the danger had passed, Mercy began to tremble. Gazing
at the bloody tableau spread before her, the reality of what she’d done slowly began to sink in – she’d just murdered a man in cold blood.

“Here, give that to me.”

“What?” Uncomprehending, she stared at Spencer.

“Give me that pistol before
—”

“I kill someone else,” she finished for him, shameful guilt washing over her in waves.

“If I was you, I wouldn’t waste any time fretting over it.”

Taking the gun from her, Spencer shoved it into
his waistband. He then snatched his other revolver off the ground and holstered it. Casting Sykes a disinterested glance, he grabbed the water canteens still hanging from a tree limb and slung them over his shoulder.

“But I just killed Bloody Ned,”
Mercy blurted, baffled by his indifference.

“Yeah, and as far as I can tell that makes you a bonafide Yankee heroine.” Stepping toward her,
Spencer cuffed a hand around her upper arm. “Come on. We need to get the hell out of here. There’s nothing that says they won’t have a sudden change of heart.”

Mercy
gave no resistance as Spencer ushered her up the hill. When they arrived back at the wagon, she was unable to make eye contact with anyone in her family.

“
Are you gonna be all right?” Spencer asked as he helped her onto the wagon seat.

Inhaling a
shaky breath, Mercy nodded. Not wanting to give Spencer a reason to think otherwise, she reached for the wagon reins. That was when she noticed that her hands were stained with gun powder. Inundated with guilt, she shifted her gaze from the incriminating sight as she released the brake handle and slapped the reins across the horses’ backsides.

As she followed Spencer’s lead, steering the creaking wagon back onto the
trail, Mercy felt anything but heroic.

“All right. Where is she?”

At hearing Spence’s abrupt query, Prudence raised her head. “If you’re referring to Mercy, I believe that she went for a walk.”

“
A walk?
” Spence’s gaze darted across the river valley where they’d made camp, the peaceful terrain enlivened with the soft colors of twilight. The moon, rising above the tree line, was just starting to make its nightly trek. “What’s gotten into that fool woman? You’d think Mercy would know by now that in Missouri—”
There’s danger aplenty for a lone female.

Spence
let the thought go unspoken. There was no point in telling Prudence something that she’d been forced to witness firsthand.

“Mercy said something about . . . needing to wash up.”
Since the deadly showdown earlier in the day with Bloody Ned Sykes, the Hibbert family had given Mercy a wide berth. No doubt, they were struggling to reconcile themselves to the fact that one of their own had killed a man before their very eyes.

“But the two of you already
washed up for the night. Why would she need to wash again?”

The normally ebullient young girl simply shrugged.

Gabriel, sitting beside Pru at the campfire, raised a stick and pointed toward the river. “She’s over yonder,” he said. Bowing his head, he continued to dejectedly poke at the fire.

Spence grunted, finding it hard to
even look at the boy. Turning away from the campfire, he headed towards the river cove that was hidden on the other side of the tree-studded glen.

Since discovering several days ago that the child’s real name was Gabriel
Maddox
, not Gabriel Hibbert, his feelings for the youngster had altered to such an extent that he was now unable to look at Gabriel without conjuring in his mind’s eye the cold-blooded killer known as the Dark Angel.

Of course, back in
’57, Gabriel’s father had been known by the humdrum name of Luther Maddox. However, like many a man inflamed by his own notoriety, the elder Maddox had begun to answer to a far more chilling
nom de guerre
. Although Spence didn’t give a damn what name went on the bastard’s tombstone. All he cared was that he’d soon be able to put the Dark Angel six feet under. And young Gabriel was going to help him do it.

Arriving at
the small cove, Spence came to a halt, surprised to see Mercy kneeling beside the riverbank. Submerging her hands in what he knew to be ice-cold water, she frantically scrubbed at them. Overhead, the rising full moon cast enough light so that he could easily discern the grief-stricken expression on her face.

“What are you doing
, Mercy?”

H
er eyes glistening with unshed tears, Mercy peered up at him. In her hand-me-down homespun dress, her hair trailing down her back in a girlish braid, she cut a poignantly forlorn figure. “I can’t get my hands clean,” she whispered. “I keep trying to get the gun powder off of my hands, but . . . but I just can’t get them clean.” With renewed vigor, she continued with the scrubbing.

Spence took a deep breath, filling
his lungs with much needed air.

Damn it all to hell and back
. I should’ve seen this coming.

Since the
earlier shootout, Mercy had been unusually quiet. Because they hadn’t said a whole lot to each other over the last few days, he hadn’t given her reticence much mind. He just figured the she looked upon the earlier incident as another day in the life of a good Christian soldier. Evidently, he figured wrong.

Spence
put a hand on Mercy’s shoulder and pulled her away from the water’s edge. “Come on. Your hands are clean enough.”

“No, they’re not!” Lunging to her feet, Mercy scrambled several feet away from him, her dripping wet hands clutched to her bosom.

Admittedly taken aback, Spence forced himself not to be affected by her fearful reaction. And while he knew in his head that the earlier bloodshed would never have happened if she hadn’t betrayed his trust by freeing those German immigrants; in his heart Spence knew that Mercy would’ve betrayed her own deeply held convictions if she
hadn’t
set those men free. Hell, isn’t that what he most admired about her – her gutsy strength, her do-or-die courage? He’d known when he first set eyes upon her that Miss Mercy Hibbert was a force to be reckoned with.

Which is why
, despite his best efforts to remain detached, it pained him to see her like this. So scared and afraid. Like a small child left alone in the dark.

“I wish
that you’d never taken us to Bloody Ned’s camp,” Mercy whispered. “I wish we’d just gone straight to your farm.”

“What’s done is done,” he
said wearily, refusing to rehash the past. Although if he had a dollar for every time he’d regretted taking Mercy to Sykes’ camp, his pockets would be bulging.

The sole purpose of meeting up with Sykes’ gang
had been to enlist the guerrilla chieftain’s aid; to ask Ned and his boys to cover him when the time came to lure the Dark Angel across the border into Missouri. But because of Mercy’s meddling, that plan had literally been shot to hell.

“You’re right. ‘What’s done is done,’”
Mercy parroted. “And I must now pay for the grievous sin that I have committed.”

“
Just what in the blue blazes are you talking about?”

“‘Thou shall not kill
.’” As she spoke, Mercy clasped her wet hands together in a prayerful pose.

W
orried that she might be teetering on the edge of reason, Spence frowned. Over the years he’d shouldered his share of guilt, well aware that the Bible took a dim view on killing. The commandment just cited made no distinction between killing in self-defense and killing for the helluva it. He usually resolved the moral dilemma by reminding himself that he’d saved many an innocent life by pulling the trigger. While he didn’t know how well that excuse would wash come Judgment Day, it enabled Spence to look at himself in the shaving mirror.

Hoping
that he could get through to Mercy, he said, “You saved a lot of lives today.”

Her blue eyes widened
as Mercy vehemently shook her head. “But I lost my soul in the process.”

“The hell you did! Earlier today, you pulled
the trigger to protect your family. And if the Good Lord can’t understand that, then He’s not as good as you make Him out to be.”

Mercy’s lips began to quiver as she wordlessly stared at him
.

Getting nowhere fast
, Spence ran a hand over his jaw, frustrated as hell. He knew Mercy’s emotions were frayed, the woman having endured more tragedy these last few days than most folks suffer in a lifetime. And though he’d never painted himself as anyone’s savior, for some inexplicable reason he suddenly wanted to save her. He knew that if he couldn’t find a way to get through to her, the guilt would slowly, but surely, eat away at that big, courageous heart of hers.

At a loss to know what to say,
Spence stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around Mercy’s trembling body.

Whimpering softly,
Mercy cinched her slender arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. As she did, Spence took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with her womanly fragrance. All he wanted was to protect her. To give what solace he could in the hopes that it would ease her pain.

As Mercy nestled closer to him, Spence tried his damnedest to ignore the fact that her soft breasts were pillowed against his chest, her body perfectly aligned along the length of his.
Closing his eyes, he silently admonished himself not to do anything he’d later regret.

Like making love to a lil’ blue-eyed Yankee
gal.

“What you did today might not have been the Christian thing to do,”
Spence conceded. “But there’s no denying that it was the
right
thing to do.” Sliding a hand under Mercy’s chin, Spence urged her to look up at him. “After all the painful woe that Ned Sykes heaped upon your family, you’ve got no reason to feel guilty about putting a lead slug through his heart.”

Long moments passed as Mercy stared into Spencer’s beloved
amber-brown eyes.
How can I make him understand?
He clearly thought that she killed the notorious Bloody Ned Sykes out of revenge for what had been done to her family. When nothing could be further from the truth.

Mercy disengaged
herself from Spencer’s embrace. Taking a backward step, she said, “I didn’t kill Bloody Ned for the reason that you think. I killed him because—”

Because I love you.

Afraid to say those words aloud, Mercy’s chin dropped to her chest.

After so many days of
resentful silence, she found Spencer’s show of tenderness confusing. If anything, she’d expected him to rightly accuse her of being a hypocrite, a sinner who was quick to chastise others for their dereliction in Christian duty, yet had no qualms about killing a man in cold blood.

Emotionally overwhelmed
, Mercy hid her face in her hands.
How can I rid myself of this torment, this pain that has gripped my heart in a painful vise?

Like a
bright light in the dark of night, the answer suddenly came to her.

Pulling
her hands away from her face, Mercy realized that what she desperately needed was forgetfulness. Complete and utter forgetfulness. Like the dreamy forgetfulness that took hold whenever Spencer kissed her . . . or whenever he touched her bare breasts . . . or whenever he caressed that most private part of her body.

Or w
henever he made love to me.

Amidst the death and destruction that
darkly colored her world, maybe she needed to reaffirm that there was some small glimmer of light still to be had.

“
If it’s not too much to ask, I . . . I would like you to do something for me,” she said hesitantly, suddenly worried that her overture might be rejected.

Spencer put a brotherly hand on her shoulder.
“You know that I’ll do anything I can to help you, honey.”

Not exactly sure how to phrase her request, Mercy nervously stared at
Spencer’s faded blue cotton shirt. The sleeves were rolled several inches, exposing his muscular, well-tanned forearms. The sight of which caused an unexpected spasm between her legs.

Mercy
took a deep, fortifying breath. Then, taking the plunge, she said, “Will you please touch me?”

Spencer raised a quizzical brow.
“But I am touching you.” To prove the point, he slid his hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck.

“I mean
really
touch me,” she clarified. “Like you did that day in the barn.”

“I
would’ve thought that was the last thing you’d want me to do.”

Disheartened
by Spencer’s reply, Mercy fiddled with her skirt. “What you did to me that day in the barn, it was . . . it was truly wondrous.”

Spencer smiled
warmly. “No doubt about that.”

To
Mercy’s keen disappointment, no sooner had he agreed with her than the smile faded from his lips.

“Please, Spencer
. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’ve said a lot of hurtful things to each other these last few days. And making love
won’t make any of that go away. In fact, it might even make things worse.”

Refusing to back down,
Mercy said, “According to you, this trip would be more pleasant if we did less talking and more. . . .”

Fucking
.

The
ugly word hung between them, unspoken.

Spencer framed
Mercy’s face between his hands, forcing her to look him in the eye. “First of all, I’m sorry that I ever said that to you. I only did it to hurt you. And for that, I ought to be horsewhipped. Secondly, there’s a world of difference between fucking and making love. And if we lay together, I’m going to make to love to you. Meaning that I’m going to strip you naked and love up on every part of your body that I can grab hold of.”

Hearing that,
Mercy’s heart excitedly thumped against her chest.

“And
lastly, once I start, I’m not stopping. I don’t care who comes crashing through those woods. So, now that you know the score, do you still want me to make love to you?”

Breathlessly nodding, Mercy slid a hand
across Spencer’s chest. To her surprise, she could feel that his heart was beating as fast and furious as hers. She had only a scant moment to ponder the meaning of his rapid heartbeat before Spencer bent his head and kissed her.

A
s she lost herself in the warmth and passion of their kiss, Mercy had only one desire – to give herself to Spencer completely. So that, even though she couldn’t say the words aloud, he would be able to
feel
her love.