Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (28 page)

The other woman remained silent, watching as Ginny and Pru assisted Temperance Hibbert from the wagon. The trip had been particularly strenuous on Mercy’s mother, her physical condition
having noticeably deteriorated.

Mercy bowed her head, painfully aware that she and her family were unexpected, uninvited guests. While Spencer might hold deed to the farm, it was clearly obvious th
at Lydia McCabe ran the roost.

“Is your mother invalided?” Lydia asked, not unkindly.

“Yes. I’m afraid that she is.”

Lydia turned to her brother-in-law, an indignant expression on her face. “I can’t believe that you dragged that poor, frail woman all the way across the state in such an uncomfortable contraption.” Excusing herself, Lydia hurriedly made her way to
the wagon.

“Let her go,” Spencer groused, grabbing hold of Mer
cy’s arm as she made to follow.

“But I should see to the introductions.”

“Don’t bother.” Watching his sister-in-law, Spencer wearily shook his head. “I’ll tell you outright . . . she’s a hard woman to live with.”

“Is that why you don’t live here anymore?”

“Nah, that’s not the reason.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong. I like Lydia just fine. In fact, she has many sterling qualities. It’s just that . . . well, a blue-blooded thoroughbred like her needs to be treated with kid gloves.”

“Does the same hold true for your sister Ginny?”

Spencer laughed, clearly amused. “My sister is a wild filly. And that’s the God honest truth.”

“Thoroughbreds. Fillies.” Mercy dejectedly plucked at her plain, homespun dress. “What does that make me, an old plow horse?”

Spencer’s arm stole around her waist. Then, leaning close to her, he whispered, “Only if I get to plow me a row, or two.”

“You are utterly shameless!”
Mercy exclaimed, batting him on the arm.

“I’m horny is what I am.”
Tightening his hold on her waist, Spencer gestured to the house. “Come on, honey. I want to show you to our room.”

“
Our
room?” Mercy balked, refusing to move. “If you think for one moment that I intend to share a bed with you while I am a guest in this household, you are greatly mistaken.”

Spencer cast a sidelong glance at his sister-in-law, wincing as he did so. “Yeah, I got a funny feeling that Lydia wouldn’t much abide by it either. Hell, that woman has been dressed in black so long, she’s forgotten how to lift up her skirts and have a little fun.”

“Speaking of which, when I earlier asked about Lydia’s husband—”

“Jim’s dead,” Spencer said abruptly, his arm slipping from her waist. “End of story, all right?”

Despite his terse addendum, Mercy was disinclined to let the matter drop. “Won’t you at least tell me how he died?”

Her q
uestion met with a stony silence.

“I’m warning you, Mercy.
Don’t do this to me,” Spencer said at last, his voice thick with emotion.

Conceding to his demand, Mercy
swallowed her rebuttal. Although hurt, she knew that needling Spencer would only make matters worse. Back at the bushwhacker camp, she’d betrayed his trust. Which undoubtedly explained his reluctance to confide in her. Desirous of regaining his trust, she held her tongue.

“Let’s go in
side the house, all right?”

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Mercy
gratefully took hold of Spencer’s crooked elbow, letting him usher her to the farmhouse.

“The way I hear it, Skeeter Orr can’t get his rhubarb up for naught. That’s why his new bride packed up and returned to Arkansas without so much as a by-your-leave.”

Flabbergasted, Mercy stifled a gasp. Indeed, this wasn’t the first unseemly utterance that Spencer’s sister Ginny had made at the supper table.

Lydia McCabe censured
the young woman with a stern expression. “Virginia Rose, must I remind you that a lady must never,
never
, use such vulgarisms in pubic.”

“How about in private?” Spencer
inquired, a look of angelic innocence on his face. Within seconds, he, too, was on the receiving end of his sister-in-law’s chastising glare.

“Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves,” Lydia admonished. “Lest you forget, we have guests at the table.”

“Heck, I was only repeating what Spencer said,” Ginny said sullenly, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out at her older brother.

Upon discovering the true culprit, Lydia wagged an accusing finger at her brother-in-law. “Spencer, how could you say such a thing to an impressionable young girl?”

“I didn’t,” Spencer said in his defense. Only to amend himself in the next instant. “Well, not exactly.”

“Oh, Spencer didn’t say it to me directly,” Ginny piped in. “Truth be told, I overheard him say it to Mister Gibbons, the blacksmith,”

“Your brother’s untoward remarks to the village smithy are hardly the fodder for polite conversation.” Lydia turned her head in Mercy’s direction. “Miss Hibbert, have you had a chance to stroll through our apple orchard? The blossoms are especially lovely this time of year.”

Before Mercy
had a chance to reply, Spencer said loudly, “You know, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times –” he paused, motioning for Ginny to chime along with him – “Jim sure married above himself when he snared Miss Lydia Anne Chadwick.”

“Thank you, Spencer. I do believe that makes it
one hundred and one times.” Lydia daintily dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin, a vision of ladylike composure.

While Spencer clearly relished being at home, Mercy could not help but notice that
there was a strained undercurrent in his and Lydia’s relationship. Although they spoke cordially enough to one another, she intuited that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.

“Hey, Spence
. How long do you think you’ll stay home this time?” Ginny inquired of her brother.

Mercy’s ears perked, as interested in the answer as Ginny.

Spencer pursed his lips, noncommittally shrugging his shoulders. “Hard to say.”

“You know, it’s not fair that you and Dewey get to have all the fun.”

“Who says we’re having any fun?”

“Well, what could be more fun than shooting Yankees?” Belatedly realizing what she
just said, Ginny stifled a red-faced giggle.

This time it was Spencer, not Lydia, who
shot Ginny an exasperated glance.

“Don’t mind her,” he said apologetica
lly to the assembled Hibberts. “She didn’t mean anything by it.
Did you
?”

“No. Of course not,” Ginny assured him. “
It’s just that . . . well, from here on out, I want to ride with you. You know, I’m still mad that you wouldn’t take me with you when you joined the cavalry.”

Spencer shook his head. “And how many times do I have to tell you that they don’t let women join the Confederate cavalry. Although given the way
that the Missouri army fell apart towards the end of ‘64, I suppose General Price would be right grateful for any volunteers that he could muster.”

The fact that Spencer
had served in the Confederate military came as something of a surprise to Mercy. She knew from newspaper accounts that General Sterling Price’s Confederate forces were spread to the four winds after their decimating defeat at Westport, Missouri.

“You never told me that you were in
the Confederate cavalry,” Mercy said in a hushed tone of voice, her remarks intended for Spencer’s ears only.

“What? And give you another nail to drive in my coffin?”

Although Mercy knew that he was teasing, the jest hurt more than she cared to admit. “Really, Spencer. You act as though I despise everything southern.”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “Well, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not! If you must know—” Mercy stopped abruptly, self-consciously aware that they had an avid audience. While the McCabe clan might be accustomed to hanging their dirty laundry in public, the Hibberts were not so free and easy with their suppertime banter.

Spencer grinned
broadly, seemingly unaware that anyone else was seated at the table. “I do believe this is one conversation that I’m going to enjoy finishing later tonight.”

Mercy felt the blood rush to her face
. Oblivious to her discomfiture, Spencer rubbed his knee against hers.

“Behave yourself,” she reprimanded under her breath, wishing he’d learn to be more discreet. Since no one
in the room knew the true nature of their relationship, it was boorish of him to so freely flaunt the rules of propriety.

“Hey, Spence
. How about—”

“Everybody be quiet!”
Spencer suddenly hissed as he lunged to his feet and unholstered a pistol. “There’s a rider coming up the lane.” Motioning for everyone to remain seated, he strode out of the dining room.

Terrified, Mercy
held her breath. On the other side of the wall, she could hear Spencer lift the wooden bar that secured the front door. A few seconds later, the hinges squeaked as he eased the door open.

The women at the table silently gazed at one another, each fearfully wondering
if it was friend of foe on the other side of the door.

“Where the hell have you been? Your supper is getting cold.”

At hearing her brother’s bellow, Ginny put down the dinner knife that she had clenched in her right hand. “Sounds like Dewey’s home.”

A moment later, Spencer re-entered the dining room, his arm casually slung over Dewey’s shoulders. “How about apologizing to the ladies for giving ‘em such a scare.”

“Speak for yourself!” Ginny loudly decried. “I’ve never known a scared moment in all my life.”

Spence turned to his sister, disheartened to think that
Ginny might very well be telling the truth. “Well, if you don’t get scared, how can your big brother protect you from the bogeyman?”

Ginny theatrically rolled her eyes. “You have been gone a while, haven’t you?”

Smiling, Spence reseated himself at the table. Ginny was right. It
had
been a long time since he’d last been home; and having Mercy seated at the table beside him made it all the more special. Even attired in one of Lydia’s black mourning gowns, she was a sight to behold, the soft candlelight turning her hair an angelic shade of blond. Taking her measure, his lips curved into a smile.

Yes, indeed
. Mercy Hibbert had to be the most finely shaped women I’ve ever set eyes upon.
No two ways about it

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

Spence mentally shook himself, realizing that Dewey had been speaking to him. “Come again, little brother?”

“I said that a gang of jayhawkers
has been sighted in the next county.”

Hearing that,
Spence straightened in his chair, the smile fading from his lips.

“What do you make of it?” Dewey asked, an anxious look on his face.

I think that I just hit pay dirt.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Spence
hedged.

“Well, you don’t look too surprised,” Dewey said, clearly puzzled by
the lukewarm response.

Disinclined to discuss the matter,
Spence shrugged. He’d intentionally kept his plans from Dewey, worried that his brother might inadvertently divulge something to Pru Hibbert who, in turn, would spill the beans to her older sister.

What Dewey didn’t know was that while
they were at Bloody Ned’s camp, he’d slipped Atticus Boone a twenty dollar gold piece to ride across the state line and post a notice at the Hibbert farmstead. Of course, Spence had no way of knowing whether Atticus was able to make it across in one piece, the border heavily patrolled by Yankee cavalry.

He also had no way of knowing whether Luther Maddox would take the bait
, tempting though it might be.