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

the house, she’d be hosting the party with him, so her first job would be to meet and greet folks as they came in.  That meant she’d better get her derrière out to the barn or she might miss the first arrivals.
    The smell of fresh hay and the lingering scent of horses and cows hung in the large, silent barn.  Ike assured her it would be full and loud before the night was over.  The first to show up were the owners of the Rocking JW ranch, which Ike told her was six miles northwest of the Circle ID. 
    “That’s Jack Walker and his wife, Greta.”  Jack helped his wife off the wagon and she waved.  Ike waved back so Mercy did, too.  An older man hopped off and followed them, and a younger fellow practically vaulted from the wagon and made a beeline for Quill’s crew.
    When the Walkers came into the barn, Greta handed her a huge platter of cinnamon rolls that made Mercy’s mouth water, and said, “Pardon our son, Kenny.  You know how fifteen-year-olds can be.  He could hardly wait to visit with the Circle ID cowhands, even though he’ll be stuck with them for a couple weeks during roundup.”  She laughed, and Mercy knew the petite raven-haired woman would be a great friend.  She turned and took the older man’s arm.  “This is my father-in-law, Neil Walker.  He’ll be playing the fiddle tonight.”
    The next to arrive were more musicians—guitarist Al Curtis and family, Arlene Nafsinger, who played the accordion, and her family, then later, Elmer Prow, who Ike introduced as the man who called the dances and generally kept things going, and his wife, Mary. 
    “Are the Paxtons coming?” Ike asked Al. 
    “Nope, you’re stuck with us.”  Al pulled makings out of his pocket and commenced to roll a quirley.  “Someone asked them to play at a fancy doin’s over in Boise City.  Them boys are in such demand these days, they’ll have to hire someone to run their ranch.”
    Only the musicians had arrived and Mercy’s head already spun with all the names.  She’d never keep them straight—if she could write all their names on their foreheads, maybe she’d have a chance.  And she desperately wanted to make a good impression.  Forgetting their names wouldn’t be a good start.
    Next, a bunch of riders came, one with a bundle, and that bundle started squalling the minute the rider reined the horse to a stop.
    “There’s the Lawrences,” Ike said.  “Have you met Jake yet?”
    “Yes, she dropped by the other day.”
    Jake threw her right leg over the pommel and jumped off her horse, then headed straight for the house.  “Back in a while,” she hollered.  “This little scamp thinks it’s suppertime.”
    A tall man, three youngsters—one nearly a man, and B.J. on a pony, rode on to the barn leading Jake’s horse.  They all dismounted, and started unsaddling the mounts.  “Help B.J.,” the man said.
    B.J. hopped off without assistance and ran to his father’s side.
    “Good to see you, Ben,” Ike said.  “This here’s Miss Mercy Eaton from Massachusetts.”
    “How do you do, ma’am.”  He turned from his chore and shook hands with Ike, then tipped his hat to Mercy.  “I lived in Boston for several years.”
    “Which is why she calls you ‘Boston’?”
    “That’s right.”  He grinned, and it was apparent that he loved his wife very much.  “My wife told me about you.” 
    Mercy hoped Jake had said good things.  She seemed like a nice lady.  Woman, rather.  Not much ladylike about Jake, but it didn’t seem to tarnish her femininity a bit.
    One of the youngsters shouldered in front of him.  “You must be that there mail-order bride.  I always wanted to see one of them.”  A girl, freckle-faced with dark brown hair, dressed in boy’s clothing—Mercy would have a lot to get used to in this country.  “I’m Henry, short for Henrietta.”  She pointed at the boys.  “Them pathetic yay-hoos is my brothers, Homer and Teddy.”
    “Ted, not Teddy.  I’m