Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) by Jacquie Rogers

plain.  They should do him justice.  And heavens above, that man sure did look good in chaps.
    Warmth flooded her all over when she thought of the fitting.  Truth was, he didn’t need a fitting at all because she’d used his old chaps as a pattern—the fitting had been Jake’s idea.  Mercy wouldn’t have thought of Jake as being the flirty type, but she had some good ideas.  There’d be even more once she got to the roundup, of that, Mercy was positive.
    Of course, she didn’t have to marry at all if she started her own business, which sounded like a good idea to her.  After spending years in the factory working hard to make money for everyone else, she rather liked the notion of working for herself.  She might even be able to help other women who ended up in her situation.
    Yes, that did seem like a good path to pursue.  Mercy decided she’d work all this out during the roundup, and when it was over, she’d take steps to rent a space in Henderson Flats and earn money—sewing by hand if she had to—and buy a sewing machine.  In fact, if Patience was unhappy in Washington, she could come to Idaho and be her business partner.
    A grand idea.  She wrote a letter to Patience, revealing the true situation about Ike and his great-nephews and inviting her to come to Henderson Flats in three or four weeks.  She also wrote to her parents, telling them that she was happy here.  They didn’t need to know the details yet.
    Another advantage of starting a business would be that Mercy wouldn’t have to struggle with her attraction to Quill every single day.  Such as dinnertime, and when she checked her timepiece, she had no doubt the men were waiting for her.  She hurried downstairs, knowing Quill would be there with Harper and Ike, ready for another hearty meal.
    “There she is!” Ike said as she finally made it to the kitchen.  “We’ve got some hungry boys here.”
    “I’m sorry I’m late.  Since we’re going to town tomorrow and I can mail letters, I decided to write to Patience and my parents.”
    “Good idea.”
    Harper seated her at the table and then the men quickly sat and dug into the heaps of food Ray had prepared—a huge pot of beef stew, two loaves of fresh bread, a bowl of butter, and some sort of egg salad.  Mercy had never eaten anything like it before but it was tasty.
    “We eat good before a roundup,” Harper explained, “because for two weeks or however long it takes, we’ll be eating beans.”
    “It ain’t all that bad,” Ike said.  “Whip is a right good cook and if he can shoot a pronghorn, they’ll have some tasty stew—without the vegetables, of course.  He makes a mean biscuit for a busted-up old cowhand.”
    “He’s younger than you,” Harper pointed out.
    “Yeah, and I can’t make biscuits for spit.”  He turned to Mercy and winked.  “I saw Jake as she was headed home.  Sounds like we better make some plans for when everyone leaves.”
    Mercy smiled her sweetest.  “I already am.”
    “You sure you don’t want to go with us, Uncle Ike?” Quill asked as he sopped a slice of bread in his stew.  “You ain’t never missed one in all these years.”
    “Don’t you pay me no never-mind, son.  Mercy and me’ll be just fine.”
    *   *   *
    Quill saw that the cowhands got the tables set up, the floor raked, and planks laid for dancing the next night.  Both Dog and Cat were underfoot and he had to shoo them out several times—Dog refusing to leave until Cat led the way.  Everything was ready for the tables to be loaded down with food, and folks to come with their dancing shoes. But he had no intention of sticking around for such nonsense.
    The party would start around five o’clock and he’d get the hell out of there before it did.  As pretty as Mercy was already, he didn’t even want to see her all gussied up for a dance.  Just that much more temptation for something that was never to be.  He’d learned a long time ago that women