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

more than one?  Jake had stayed with Ben for five years.  He wondered how long she planned to stick around.
    “You ever thought about leaving Ben?”
    “Hell no.  That poor feller is stuck with me, and don’t you go trying to make time with me or I’ll punch you in the snoot.”
    “Naw, I wasn’t meaning that.  It just seems like women don’t stick around very good, is all.”
    “Just ‘cause your mama didn’t stick around don’t mean the rest of us is like that.”
    “That don’t have nothing to do with nothing.”
    “Quill, you ain’t making one bit of sense.”  But then she chuckled and he wondered what that was all about.
    *   *   *
    “I thought they’d never get out of here.”  Ike went into the house, his hand pressed against his back.  As Mercy followed him, she thought his limp was more pronounced than usual. 
    When they got inside, he said, “I’ll fetch my war bag and get the horses and mule saddled.  You best get changed out of that dress and into your working duds.  Then let Ray know that we’re ready to pack our supplies on the mule.”
    “I’ll bring down your war bag if you’re not of a mind to climb the stairs again—that is, if you don’t mind me going into your room to fetch it.”
    “Naw, I don’t mind at all.  Much obliged.”
    “Do you really want to go with me, Ike?  Because I know long hours in the saddle are hard on you these days.”
    “I wouldn’t miss this show for the world.”   He flicked his hand as he walked out the door.  “Now get a move on.”
    Mercy thought he had a little more spring in his step than normal, even if he was stiff with old age.  She certainly did!  This morning had been a trial, what with her acting as if she wouldn’t see anybody for a few weeks.  A few hours, more like it.
    She dashed upstairs and yanked off her dress, petticoats, and corset, but left on her chemise and drawers.  It took some effort and experimentation, but she managed to bind her breasts in a criss-cross fashion—Jake had told her that the less flopping she did, the better off she’d be.  Then Mercy dressed in the shirt and britches she’d bought from Tresa.
    Never before had she worn britches, and the sensation of cloth between her legs was rather strange.  After pacing back and forth across the room, she decided she liked the freedom of movement, and wondered why and how women came to wear such inconvenient clothing.  That thought never would’ve crossed her mind back in Massachusetts, but the West required different thinking about a lot of things.
    Her saddlebags were already packed with her sewing kit, another shirt and pair of britches, and a few underclothes—everything except for her hairbrush and toiletries she’d needed for her morning ablutions.  She threw those items in, secured the buckle, then pulled on some heavy socks and the boots Jake had given her.  They were a little big but would be fine since she’d be riding most of the time, not walking.
    Little prickles of excitement ran up her spine as she dashed down the stairs, carrying her saddlebags and Ike’s war bag, and she prayed Jake had made the right call.  Ike seemed to think she had.  Mercy hoped so with all her heart—because even though her feelings were unrequited, Quill had her heart and always would.  She just needed to get him used to the idea.
    “Ready to pack the mule?” she said to Ray.  “Ike’s saddling him and the horses now.”
    “Got it all toted out to the porch, along with a nice bag of food for you to eat along the way.  I expect you won’t want to catch up with them until they’ve pitched camp so I packed extra.”
    She nodded.  “Ike said we wouldn’t make ourselves known until they’re all eating supper, so we have a long day.”
    “You might get a mite saddle sore before the day is out.”
    “Maybe, but a little discomfort won’t dissuade me.”
    Ray took her saddlebags and patted her on the shoulder.  “Mercy, you’re