Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (3 page)

“Well, you don’t make it easy on a man, that’s for sure. And while we’re on the subject, you weren’t really going to take a whack at me with that ax, were you?”

“If need be. A woman can’t be too careful these days.”

There was a distinct crisp
ness to Mercy Hibbert’s voice. Yes siree, she was New England born and bred, no doubt about that. And the prettiest piece of New England granite that he’d ever laid eyes upon if the unruly lump in his trousers was any gauge.

“Now do I look like a dangerous man to you?”

The lady cast a disparaging glance in Spence’s direction. “Dangerous enough.”

“
Then I guess the next time I best shave and don a new suit of clothes before I put in an appearance,” he jested, rubbing a hand over his stubbled cheek.

“I don’t expect there to be a
‘next time.’”

Slapping the reins against the horse’s backside, Mercy turned away from him, directing her attention to the white-washed farmhouse up ahead. As they entered the farmyard, Spence took stock of the property. Sta
ble, barn, hog pen, chicken coop – it was the kind of well-tended farm that would make any man proud. Fully expecting an irate farmer to come charging through the front door, Spence palmed his Colt revolver.

“Where’s the man of the house?”

“My father is dead.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Spence sighted a lone grave on the hillside, a
wooden cross standing sentry.

“You and your brother can clean up behind the house. And make sure
that you’re not wearing that gun belt at the supper table,” Mercy chided before heading towards the barn.

Hitching his mount to a nearby fence post, Spence unbuckled his gun belt before removing a comb and some soap from his saddle bag. He then motioned for Dewey to
accompany him to the well. As they took turns at the water bucket, they ribbed each other over how long it’d been since they last had to wash up before sitting down to eat.

“Supper is ready!”

At the back door, Prudence Hibbert, pretty as a picture, having changed into a blue calico dress, summoned them to come inside.

Spence elbowed his brother. “Looks like the little lady got herself all spruced up for you.”

“Ah, quit it. You’re just riled because her older sister won’t give you the time of day.”

Dewey
was right. Stepping inside the house, Spence was disappointed to see that the elder Miss Hibbert hadn’t so much as smoothed a strand of wind-tousled hair. Unaccustomed to a woman playing hard to get, it made him wonder what exactly a Yankee gal expected from a man.

“Please take a seat, gentlemen.” Mercy motioned to a wooden table laden with steaming biscuits, fresh churned butter, and a pot of savory smelling beef stew. Pointedly, she glanced at the gun belt
Spencer had slung over his shoulder, her eyes glittering with anger. “Mister McCabe, I thought I made my wishes quite clear regarding that gun belt.”

“You told me not to
wear
it at the supper table,” Spence said, hanging the gun belt over the back of his chair. “And as you can plainly see, I’m not.”

Still glaring at him, t
he lovely Miss Hibbert pursed her lips. Just when he thought that she was going to toss him out on his head, she instead turned her back on him. “Where’s Mama?” she inquired of her sister.

“Gabriel went to get her.”

At hearing that, Spence instinctively reached for a pistol. “Just who in the blue blazes is Gabriel?”

“I’ll thank you, Mr. McCabe, to watch your tongue in this house.”

“I’m Gabriel!”

Turning in his chair, Spence spied a young black-haired boy about nine or ten years of age standing in the doorway. Behind him, an older woman slowly made her way to the table. Feeling like a horse’s rump, he
lunged to his feet. Approaching the gray-haired matron, Spence gently took hold of her elbow.

“
Here, ma’am, let me help you.”

Dewey
also rose from the table, pulling back a chair for the lady of the house.

When everyone was at last seated at the table, Mercy made the formal introductions. “Mama, this is Mr. Spencer McCabe and his brother Dewey. Gentlemen, my mother, Mrs. Temperance Hibbert.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” The words fell from both brothers’ mouths at the same time.

From the way Temperance Hibbert rigidly held her left arm, as well as the way she’d dragged her left leg when walking, Spence could see that Mercy’s mother had been laid low with some terrible affliction. With her good hand, Mrs. Hibbert gestured
in his direction, her lips awkwardly struggling to form words. Several garbled sounds came out that Mercy, seated next to him, interpreted.

“Mama would like you to say grace,”
Mercy informed him.

“Why, it’d be my pleasure, Mrs. Hibbert.”

As everyone at the table took hands, Spence quickly called to mind a prayer or two. Though it’d been eight years since he last thanked the Good Lord for anything, he was more than grateful for the opportunity to wrap his fingers around Mercy’s small, delicate hand. Having rightly surmised that he was taking advantage of the situation, she gave a small tug. That, in turn, caused Spence to lengthen the prayer considerably, thanking the Heavenly Father separately for each and every item on the supper table before he finally got around to the concluding ‘Amen.’

“Really, Mr. McCabe,” Mercy hissed under her breath as she pulle
d her hand free from his grasp.

On the other side of the table, Prudence and Dewey unsuccessfully tried to
bottle their laughter.

Although it wasn’t like the boisterous meals that
he recalled from his youth, sitting at the Hibbert supper table gave Spence cause for reflection, reminding him of family pleasures long since forgotten. For the last eight years he’d been tracking the jayhawkers who murdered half his family, the hunt having taken him from Kansas to Virginia, New York to California, and even into Canada. Of the twelve men who rode into the darkness that blood-stained night, only one still walked the earth – the one they called the Dark Angel. Purposely, he’d saved Luther Maddox for last, figuring he might be the only one of the bunch that he’d actually enjoy killing.

During his eight year sojourn, the only pleasure to come
Spence’s way had been the occasional night’s sleep in a two-bit hotel room. If the sheets were clean and vermin free, all the better. And if he had a woman in the bed with him, better yet.

Wonder what it would feel like to have a blond-haired Yankee gal wigglin’ beneath
—

“I advise you, Mister McCabe, not to tarry after supper. Leavenworth is some distance away and
you will want to cover as many miles as possible before nightfall.”

Spence turned
toward his Yankee-born hostess, his head speculatively cocked to one side. “Sounds like you’re in an awful big hurry to get rid of me.”

Mercy daintily dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Not in the least. It’s just that the northbound roads can be dangerous after dark.”

“And you’re concerned about my safety.” Spence shook his head, barely able to suppress a devilish grin. “Now, who would have guessed?”

The lady’s cheeks
quickly colored with ire. No doubt about it. There was a fire about Mercy Hibbert. He just wished that he had more time to fan the flame.

“Hey, mister
. Have you ever had to use one of those pistols to shoot at anybody?”

The
unexpected question met with more than one ladylike gasp, every eye at the table turned toward little Gabriel. With something akin to wonder in his eyes, the boy openly gawked at Spence’s gun belt.

“After supper, how about I take you o
ut for a little target practice?” Spence offered, having decided it best not answer the boy’s question.

The child’s eyes lit up, his head bobbing
enthusiastically.

Spence smiled, fondly recalling himself at that age. “Have you ever fired a pistol before?”

“No. But last year when the bad men came—”

“Gabriel, that’s enough!” Mercy interjected, a stricken look on her face. “
You’re much too young to be handling firearms.”

“But Mister McCabe said
—”

“Mister McCabe and his brother are leaving right after supper,” Mercy
said over top of the young boy.

Prudence nudged Dewey with her elbow. “Do you think you and your brother will have occ
asion to pass this way again?”

Dewey cleared his throat, an uneasy look in his eye
s. “I don’t know . . . that’s up to Spence.”

“
Whatever your plans are, the two of you will always be welcome in our home,” Prudence hastened to assure him. “Isn’t that right, Mercy?”

The question met with little more than a terse nod from the elder Miss Hibbert.

Inclined to making a bit of mischief, Spence tipped his head in Mercy’s direction. “Why, that’s mighty generous of you, Miss Mercy. My brother and I may just take you up on that kind offer.”

Mercy stared at Spencer McCabe, sorely tempted to wipe the insolent smirk off
of his face with a buttered biscuit. Knowing her ire would only further amuse him, she instead reached for his empty stew bowl, wordlessly signaling that the meal had concluded.

“Prudence, will you help me clear the dishes?”

At hearing that, Spencer rose from the table. “Come on, Dewey. Let’s give the womenfolk some breathing room.”

Excusing themselves from the table, the McCabe brothers made
their way to the front porch.

“I think Spencer McCabe likes you,” Prudence whispered once the men
had left the room.

“Mr. McCabe likes to annoy me. There’s a big difference.”

“Oh, you’re just angry with him because he’s a Southerner. In case you haven’t heard, not all men born south of the Mason-Dixon Line are bad men. You can’t hold all of them responsible for what happened to Papa.”

Before Mercy had a chance to reply, her sister spun on her heel, making a beeline for the porch.
Peering through the open front door, she was surprised to see not only Prudence, but Gabriel and her mother seated on the porch, as well.

As she went about the task of clearing the table, Mercy listened to the deep rumble of Spencer McCabe’s voice as he regaled her family with stories about his childhood in the wilds of Tennessee. The man was an enigma, to say the least. Predator.
Rogue. Southern snake charmer. It made her wonder just how many different hats he could wear.

Lost in her thoughts, Mercy was startled when, long minutes later, a shadow fell across her. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Spencer McCabe standing behind her, a grim expression on his face.

“Might I have a word with you, Mercy?”

“If you could wait a few minutes, I’ll
—”

“It can’t wait,” he interjected, handing her a framed picture. “Dewey
and I need to be heading out.”

Mercy stared at the daguerreotype he’d given her, the image all too familiar
– it was a photograph of her two older brothers, Benjamin and Ethan, taken before they left for the war. Resplendent in their blue dress uniforms, the two brothers gravely stared at her from behind the picture glass.

“Why did you remove this from the mantle?” she asked
, baffled.

“Because if the wrong eyes catch sight of that picture, it could get you and everyone else in your family killed. These days it’s best not to let anyone know where your sympathies lie.”

Ominous words, Mercy wondered at their meaning. “And where do your sympathies fall, Mr. McCabe? With the blue or the gray?”

“My fight lies elsewhere,” he answered
brusquely before turning to leave the room. A moment later, he swung back around. “Things being the way they are, it might be a good idea if you and your family left Marion County for a while.”

“Leave the county? But
why would we want to do that?”

“Because this farm
is situated ten miles from the Missouri state line where there are bushwhackers aplenty.” Warning issued, he turned and headed for the door.

Without thinking Mercy rushed
after Spencer McCabe. Placing a hand on his upper arm, she forestalled his exit. When he turned to look at her, for some strange, inexplicable reason, her stomach muscles tightened.

“I, um . . . I packed you a piece of chocolate cake,” she warbled.

Rushing over to the table, she picked up a cloth-covered basket. Somewhat timidly she handed it to him.

Spencer grinned broadly as he
held the basket aloft. “Feels like there’s more than just a piece of chocolate cake in here.”

“
I, um, thought that you might get hungry later on.”

“Sugar, it’d take more than a piece of cake to slake my hunger,” he replied, the devil’s own gleam in his amber-colored eyes.