Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 by Fire on the Prairie Read Free Book Online

Mercy muttered as she attempted to sidestep around him. When the young bushwhacker grabbed her by the upper arm, forcing her to a halt, she furtively searched the yard.
    “If you’re lookin’ for Spence, he ain’t around.” The youth stepped closer. “Besides, I can give you a whole lot better lovin’ than he can.”
    Given his age, Kid Mooney’s boastful claim came as something of a surprise. Dressed entirely in black, his baggy trousers were stuffed into knee-high boots. On top of his head he sported a felt hat with a squirrel tail tacked to the brim with a silver star. Except for the pair of Colt revolvers holstered around his thin waist, young Mooney gave every appearance of being a boy playing at being a man.
    With a forceful yank, Mercy managed to pull her arm free of his grasp. “I have to take down the laundry while there’s still a bit of daylight left.”
    “You think jes because I ain’t sixt een, I ain’t man enough for you, huh?” Again, Kid Mooney stepped in front of Mercy, blocking her path. “Hell, I’ve killed me a heap more men than Spence McCabe. Done shot me two Yankee farmers today already.”
    Bold words meant to impress her, they instead sent a cold chill down Mercy’s spine. Given the heinous nature of his crimes, she knew that the bragging, smiling boy was a soulless murderer. Cut from the same cloth as the men who last year killed her father.
    If not Kid Mooney, then someone just like him put a gun to my beloved father’s head before gleefully pulling the trigger.
    As that image heartbreakingly congealed in her mind’s eye, Mercy felt her self-control ebb away . . . until all that was left was the memory of the most horrific and painful day of her life.
    “You killed my father,” she hissed in a low voice. “You and all the evil bushwhackers like you.”
    “You got no right to talk to me like that. I ain’t the one who killed your daddy.” Mooney palmed a pistol butt, the smile vanishing from his face. “Course that ain’t sayin’ that I wouldn’t have killed him if I’d had me the chance, him being an abolitionist and all.”
    The youth’s cruel taunt uncorked a day’s worth of bottled rage. Without thinking, Mercy lunged at him, her nails scraping both his cheeks. Raising a black-clad arm, Mooney brutally shoved her to the ground.
    “That ought to teach you some respect,” he snickered as she struggled to her feet. “Spence don’t know how to keep a lil jayhawkin’ bitch like you in line. But I know.” Mooney balled his hand into a fist . But before he could land a punch, his arm was forcefully wretched behind his head.
    “Lay another hand on her and I’ll kill you,” a deep voice rumbled.
    “This ain’t gonna sit right with Ned.”
    “In case you haven’t notic ed, I answer to no man.”
    Admittedly relieved , Mercy watched as Spencer stepped out of the shadows, having pinned Mooney’s arm to the back of his head. Seizing her chance, she hurled herself at the youthful killer, her mind still flooded with the horrific images of the bushwhackers who’d murdered her father. This time, she used her fists, hitting Mooney as hard as she could.
    “Goddamn it, Spence! Get the crazy bitch off me!”
    Those were the last words Mercy heard before she was unexpectedly lifted off her feet and swung in the air, landing square against Spencer’s backside. Treating her much like he would a sack of potatoes, he lugged her across the yard and down the hill toward the creek that ran behind the house.
    At hearing the raucous laughter left in their wake, Mercy pounded her fists against Spencer’s broad back, calling him every unthinkable name that she could summon to mind.
    Listening to Mercy Hibbert’s furious harangue, Spence gritted his teeth.
    What the scornful Miss Hibbert needed was a lesson in keeping her mouth shut and her fists to herself. While he might be young, the last person she should provok e was Kid Mooney. Hell, in the last six months alone, the little