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His full lips pulled into a small but genuine smile that did odd things to her belly. She cleared her throat. “I’ll go get started on your supper.”
He nodded and closed his eyes again, probably about to make good on his first nap in that chair. Good. The more comfortable he got, maybe the longer he’d stay. And of course, the longer he stayed, the more likely she could convince him to use his particular skill set to teach her how to get Josiah out of her life once and for all.
She walked into the kitchen, closed the door behind her, and sagged against it, feeling some small measure of relief for the first time since her father had died. Her troubles weren’t over by a long shot. But she’d get the protection—scant though it may be—that Gray’s name seemed to be providing.
Like it or not, Gray had hitched his wagon to hers and he’d have to see it through.
At least, that’s what she hoped. With that man, though, she was starting to realize he was unlikely to do anything expected.
Chapter Four
“Breakfast!”
Gray cracked an eye open and rubbed a hand over his face. His new fiancée had the lungs of a rooster getting his feathers plucked. He slowly pushed himself upright, pulled his suspenders back onto his shoulders, and shuffled out the door of the small bungalow that sat behind Mercy’s house.
It didn’t contain much more than a bed, a small dresser, and a chair, but that was all he required. It was quiet, separate from Mercy’s house, close to the outhouse, and even had little window boxes. Maybe he could plant some daisies. He’d always loved daisies, and he’d had a fair hand for gardening once upon a time. It was relaxing. He could use some relaxing. Best yet, the structure sported a small porch on which sat a rickety, but quite comfortable, rocking chair. He could live and die there a happy man.
“Are you coming?” she called.
Gray grimaced. The whole dying happy thing of course hinged on his landlady—sorry, fiancée—leaving him in peace. Which she seemed less and less likely to do.
Still, it was hard to complain too much when he was getting free lodging and free food. Well, such as it was. Dinner the night before had been blackened chicken with blackened beans and rice and hard biscuits. A choice he thought she had made on purpose. The smoke billowing from the kitchen this morning, however, suggested otherwise.
He shuffled into the house, running a hand through his knotty hair. Mercy glanced up at him, her forehead creasing with a frown as she took him in.
“What?” he asked, looking down at himself but finding nothing out of the ordinary.
“Did you sleep in your clothes?”
He shrugged and slouched into a chair. “I was just gonna put them on again, anyway. Sleepin’ in them saves me some time and aggravation.”
She opened her mouth to say something and then blew out a breath, instead going back into the kitchen, to reappear a few moments later with a pan of what he thought might be scrambled eggs. They were the right size and shape, though the color was more of a light brown than fluffy yellow.
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he loaded his plate. He gave it an experimental sniff and then shoveled a forkful of the mystery meal into his mouth. He chewed, contemplating for a moment, and then shrugged and ate another bite. Didn’t taste half bad if he didn’t concentrate on it too hard.
Mercy watched him eat for a moment as if she expected him to complain. It certainly wasn’t the best meal he’d ever eaten in his life, but it was free and he didn’t have to cook it, so she wasn’t gonna hear a peep from him. Especially while she was holding that wicked-looking frying pan in her hand. He ate another forkful, and she gave him a sharp nod before going back to the kitchen.
After breakfast, which he ate alone, he shuffled out to the front porch and collapsed into a rocking chair. He leaned it back as far as it would go, propped his crossed ankles on the railing, and shoved his hat down over his eyes. The morning was sunny, but not hot, with a nice breeze blowing in now and then. Perfect napping weather. The only sound in the yard was the twitter of birds and the occasional shuffle of the horses and goats Mercy kept. Pure heaven.
Until the scrape of a chair, rustle of skirts, and faint scent of charred apple suggested Mercy had sat down beside him.
He held perfectly still, hoping she’d go away if he pretended he hadn’t noticed her.
Ignoring a woman had never in all his long days made her go away, so he didn’t know why he’d hoped it would work this time. Mercy waited all of two seconds before she poked him in the ribs.
He swatted at her hand but didn’t remove his hat from his eyes. She poked him again.
“What?” he growled.
“Are you really not going to help me with Josiah?”
He sighed. Why did women feel the need to harp over the same conversation a million times?
“Iamhelping you. My big scary presence is supposed to keep him cowering under his bed, remember?”
She snorted. “We both know that won’t keep him away for long. He’s probably coming up with a plan even now. Gathering more men. Something.”
“I agreed to go along with the engagement story.”
