Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43) by Jacquie Rogers Read Free Book Online

with no decoration.  She’d much rather have shown them after Ray had checked them, but there was no backing out now.  Not that she’d ever been good at backing out of anything.
    “Dang, those look nice!  Who’s the lucky man to get ’em?”
    “Quill.  He doesn’t know I’m making them, though.  He asked Ray to do it—said his are worn and he wanted to take an extra pair on roundup.”
    “I’d say Quill’s a lucky man.  You gonna marry him?”
    “I don’t think a pair of chaps will convince him to marry anyone.  He doesn’t seem the marrying type.”
    “Let me tell you about this marrying business.”  Scamp pawed at Jake’s shirt and she let him nurse.  “It can be damned good.  Me and Ben—I call him ‘Boston’ just to tweak him some, but his name’s Benjamin—get along just fine, long as he don’t try to tell me what to do.”
    Mercy couldn’t imagine anyone getting very far in that regard.  She’d always been accused of being stubborn, although she certainly didn’t see it, but she had an inkling Jake could put her to shame in a stubborn contest.  “Ike sent for me.  I’m a mail-order bride.  My father made the arrangements and I thought I was marrying Isaac Fairchild.  Turns out that he used his name and position to get the approval but he intended me for one of his nephews.”
    “Ike’s too old.  Harp’s too young and too damned full of vinegar.  So you marrying Quill?”
    “He’s not interested.”
    “You want him to be?”
    “I don’t know.  He avoids me.”
    Jake chuckled.  “Is that a fact.  I saw him makin’ eyes at you.” 
    “Oh, that’s not what you think.  He doesn’t believe a city girl can adapt.”
    B.J. tugged on Jake’s sleeve.  “I want a cookie.”
    “When we get home.  Whip’s got some in the cookie jar, I bet.”  To Mercy, she said, “Best you make him interested then, else you need to piece out how you’ll support yourself.  You could start a business, maybe a clothing shop.  Then again, you’d make more money in leather, if that suits you.  But just what do you think of Quill?”
    “Oh my, he’s handsome.  Every time I look at him I feel all quivery inside.  Only thing is, he doesn’t return the sentiment, so maybe I should see about setting up my business.  I like your ideas.”
    “If you ask me, you ought to have your own income anyway.  I don’t cotton to relying on a man—no one—to support you.  What if you get a passel of young ’uns and your man gets himself killed or hurt?”
    “I never thought of it that way.  But you’re right.”
    “I know.  And I know one other thing—Quill’s skeert of you on account of you make him feel all quivery just like he makes you feel.  And I’m here to tell you, once that quivering starts, it don’t stop.”
    “What would you do?”
    “Go on the roundup and make yourself useful.”
    “I’m not supposed to go.  Ike and Quill both said it was too dangerous.”
    “Can you ride?”
    “After a fashion.  I’ve never had a horse of my own, so don’t have much experience.”
    “Well, I’m bringing extra horses for you.  I have a couple that’s right gentle and they’d do you just fine.  If you wanna go, that is.”
    “I do!  Not only do I want to be with Quill, but I want to learn what all goes on so I can at least carry on an intelligent conversation at the supper table.  I really, really want to go!”
    “You can’t work in them duds.  Get yourself a pair of britches, a warm shirt, and some good boots.  Might have some boots that you can use.  Homer, my oldest, just grew out of them and I was saving them for Ted.  Fast as his feet are growing, he’ll likely fit into them by next year.”
    “Wonderful!”
    “Get some muslin and bind your bosom good or you’ll be sorry.  You’ll need a bedroll, too.  And a piece of canvas—I can bring one.  But you got to promise you won’t do anything stupid and you’ll mind what I say.”
    “I’ll