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

for a bit.”
    “I’m sorry about that.”  But she wasn’t a bit sorry that she’d gotten a kiss and a hug out of the deal, and she aimed to get another.
    *   *   *
    When they all rode into camp, Quill called to Whip, “We got her back.  Better get over here and make sure she doesn’t have any broken bones that I missed.”
    “And I’d love a bowl of stew, please.” 
    A tall, rangy old man dressed the same as the rest, only with an apron tied around his middle, saluted her with a plate.  “Coming right up.”
    Quill held her by the waist, which felt quite nice.  “You can wait to eat until he makes sure you’re all right.”
    “Oh, I’m fine.”  And she was starved.  Nothing like nearly getting your head smashed to work up a hearty appetite.  “We had breakfast hours and hours ago, and I couldn’t eat much on the trail for all the excitement, so I’m ready to make up for it now.”
    Jake winked at Mercy and took the reins from Quill’s hand.  “I’ll settle the horses while you two bicker about her biscuits.”
    Whip brought a plate of stew and two biscuits.  “Butter and jelly at the wagon, if you want me to fetch it.  There’s still coffee but it ain’t too hot.  I’m boiling another pot, though, so have at it.”
    “These look delicious enough without butter and jelly.”  Mercy took the plate and sat cross-legged on the ground, balancing the plate on her lap.  Her thighs screamed but she pretended they didn’t hurt at all.
    “We have logs to sit on,” Quill said.  “You don’t even know how to eat in camp.  We have to get you out of here before something else goes wrong.  You’re damned lucky that you made it this far, considering you’re an accident waiting to happen.” 
    He certainly had turned chatty all of a sudden.  And grumpy.
    “I’m tired and I’m hungry.”  She proved it by taking a man-size bite of stew, followed by another, and chasing it with a hunk of biscuit.  Both were delicious.  Since she couldn’t talk with a full mouth, she held up her plate to Whip and nodded.  He waved and picked up a tub to wash dishes.
    Ike hobbled up and sat on a log about ten feet from Mercy.  “Any more where that came from?”
    “Yep, and I’ll feed you,” Quill said, “just as soon as you tell me what gave you the fool notion to bring a greenhorn girl from Massachusetts on a roundup.  It’s damned dangerous out here and you know it.”
    Mercy pointed her fork toward the chuckwagon and said to Ike, “Looks like Whip’s fixing you a plate now.”
    Quill scowled at his uncle, then turned to her.  “Eat hearty, on account of I’m sending you home.”  To Ike, he said, “You’re taking her back first light.  I’ll see to it.”
    Ike had assured her that he’d talk Quill into letting her stay on, so she didn’t worry much, but Quill did look dreadfully perturbed.
    “Nope, we won’t.”  Ike stretched one leg and then the other.  “I’m tired and old.  The long ride was hard on these old bones and I need a good night’s sleep and time to loosen up in the morning.  We’ll leave when I’m damned good and ready.  You just get on with the roundup and don’t pay us no mind.”
    Quill’s expression softened, and Mercy could see that he truly did love his great-uncle.  “All right, but you better be gone by the time we get in at noon.”
    “We will be.”
    What?   Mercy nearly missed her mouth with her next bite of stew.  Ike had promised she’d be staying, and now he was telling Quill they’d leave by noon?  The old man smiled at her and she calmed herself.  Everything would be fine.  After all, if Quill didn't like her just a little bit, he wouldn't have been so gentle to her at the same time he was acting gruff.
    And she’d be staying.  Somehow.  She smiled back at Ike as Quill strode off, hollering at men to do this and that regarding bedding down.
    Ike chuckled.  “Every one of them men knows exactly what to do.  Just goes