Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) by Jacquie Rogers Page A
Authors: Jacquie Rogers
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Saga, Family Life, Western, Short-Story, Religious, Christian, Inspirational, Bachelor, Marriage of Convenience, Faith, rancher, Past Issues, Idaho, matchmaking, victorian era, Forever Love, Single Woman, Charade, groom, Fifty-Books, Forty-Five Authors, Newspaper Ad, American Mail-Order Bride, Factory Burned, Pioneer, distrust, Uncle, Forty-Third In Series, Owyhee County, Seventy-Years-Old, Fireball, Mistaken
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wouldn’t stay around long. Mercy would likely leave once she found something or someone better. He couldn’t bear to see it.
He hadn’t made his escape before Harp barged into the barn. “Seen my jinglebobs?”
Quill pointed to the tack room. “If you’d ever put the danged things up, you wouldn’t always be looking for them. Ever thought of that?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be so much fun to watch you get hot under the collar when I ask where they are.”
“I’m glad to be such good entertainment,” Quill mumbled as he checked his blue roan gelding’s hooves, which the beast had never much liked. “Hold still, Horse.”
“If you’d name him something besides ‘Horse,’ maybe he’d behave better.” Harp attached the jinglebobs to his spurs. “You best get ready for the party or Uncle Ike’ll have your hide.”
“Ain’t going.”
“What do you mean, you ain’t going? Of course you are. First of all, it’s the spring roundup party and everyone goes, even hermits like you. Second, we’re supposed to be introducing Miss Mercy around, remember?”
“I reckon you can do that better than me anyhow.” Quill finally finished picking Horse’s hooves, so he tightened the cinch and slipped on the hackamore, then whistled to his mutt. “C’mon, Dog. Let’s get out of here.”
“Dog could use a better name, too. So could Cat. You ain’t exactly imaginative with names.”
Quill mounted up. “They don’t seem to much mind.” He reined the horse around and left the barn. Left the ranchstead. Left Uncle Ike. Left Miss Mercy.
It was all for the better.
* * *
Friday, May 8, 1891
The past week had been rather odd. Quill and Harper both made themselves scarce, but she had made good friends with the dog, scary looking as he was, and the cat. She’d also named them—Lobo for the dog, and Inky, short for Inkblot, for the cat. Only Ray knew, and none of the rest seemed to care. Ike said they both belonged to Quill, and Lobo did stick with him whenever he was in the barnyard. The dog even went out on the range with Quill sometimes.
Both animals made nuisances of themselves, begging for pets, when she sat out on the front porch, as she was at the moment, in the morning sun. Inky jumped on her lap. When Lobo wanted a scratch behind the ears, Inky growled.
“You need to learn to share,” she told the cat. Inky flicked his tail, decidedly unrepentant, and shoved his nose between her arm and ribs.
Late afternoon, Mercy bathed and brushed her hair, preparing to dress for the party. She’d managed to get the last bit of lace sewed to her bodice the evening before, and all she had to do was look her best and smile.
The party daunted Mercy a smidgeon. She loved meeting new people, but preferred to meet them a few at a time, especially since she had a devil of a time remembering names.
Except she’d never forget Quill’s name. Was that a nickname or his Christian name? “Quill” meaning a writing pen or a porcupine? Short for another name? His name mystified her as much as he did himself.
When he came near her, she felt all excited inside and happy. The closer he was the warmer she got. But she didn’t seem to affect him in the same way at all, nor was he the slightest bit attentive—not like his cousin Harper, who’d been quite the charmer. He’d joked all the way to and from Henderson Flats and she found him delightful. As a friend, certainly not as a possible husband.
But Quill... Oh dear! He’d stolen her heart at first glance. He invaded her thoughts even at the most inopportune moments. Like right then, when she needed to be putting on her hostess face. Even if he did find every excuse to keep from driving her to town, she still wouldn’t mind sitting in silence beside him, if he only would take her. Just being near him warmed her all over.
Ike had told her that as the woman of
He hadn’t made his escape before Harp barged into the barn. “Seen my jinglebobs?”
Quill pointed to the tack room. “If you’d ever put the danged things up, you wouldn’t always be looking for them. Ever thought of that?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be so much fun to watch you get hot under the collar when I ask where they are.”
“I’m glad to be such good entertainment,” Quill mumbled as he checked his blue roan gelding’s hooves, which the beast had never much liked. “Hold still, Horse.”
“If you’d name him something besides ‘Horse,’ maybe he’d behave better.” Harp attached the jinglebobs to his spurs. “You best get ready for the party or Uncle Ike’ll have your hide.”
“Ain’t going.”
“What do you mean, you ain’t going? Of course you are. First of all, it’s the spring roundup party and everyone goes, even hermits like you. Second, we’re supposed to be introducing Miss Mercy around, remember?”
“I reckon you can do that better than me anyhow.” Quill finally finished picking Horse’s hooves, so he tightened the cinch and slipped on the hackamore, then whistled to his mutt. “C’mon, Dog. Let’s get out of here.”
“Dog could use a better name, too. So could Cat. You ain’t exactly imaginative with names.”
Quill mounted up. “They don’t seem to much mind.” He reined the horse around and left the barn. Left the ranchstead. Left Uncle Ike. Left Miss Mercy.
It was all for the better.
* * *
Friday, May 8, 1891
The past week had been rather odd. Quill and Harper both made themselves scarce, but she had made good friends with the dog, scary looking as he was, and the cat. She’d also named them—Lobo for the dog, and Inky, short for Inkblot, for the cat. Only Ray knew, and none of the rest seemed to care. Ike said they both belonged to Quill, and Lobo did stick with him whenever he was in the barnyard. The dog even went out on the range with Quill sometimes.
Both animals made nuisances of themselves, begging for pets, when she sat out on the front porch, as she was at the moment, in the morning sun. Inky jumped on her lap. When Lobo wanted a scratch behind the ears, Inky growled.
“You need to learn to share,” she told the cat. Inky flicked his tail, decidedly unrepentant, and shoved his nose between her arm and ribs.
Late afternoon, Mercy bathed and brushed her hair, preparing to dress for the party. She’d managed to get the last bit of lace sewed to her bodice the evening before, and all she had to do was look her best and smile.
The party daunted Mercy a smidgeon. She loved meeting new people, but preferred to meet them a few at a time, especially since she had a devil of a time remembering names.
Except she’d never forget Quill’s name. Was that a nickname or his Christian name? “Quill” meaning a writing pen or a porcupine? Short for another name? His name mystified her as much as he did himself.
When he came near her, she felt all excited inside and happy. The closer he was the warmer she got. But she didn’t seem to affect him in the same way at all, nor was he the slightest bit attentive—not like his cousin Harper, who’d been quite the charmer. He’d joked all the way to and from Henderson Flats and she found him delightful. As a friend, certainly not as a possible husband.
But Quill... Oh dear! He’d stolen her heart at first glance. He invaded her thoughts even at the most inopportune moments. Like right then, when she needed to be putting on her hostess face. Even if he did find every excuse to keep from driving her to town, she still wouldn’t mind sitting in silence beside him, if he only would take her. Just being near him warmed her all over.
Ike had told her that as the woman of
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