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For once, Gray understood how she felt.
Him? A lawman?
The whole town was more off-kilter than a one-legged dog in a horse race.
If he had any sense, he’d be packed and gone before dark. Well, after he ate the pie, at least.
Chapter Eight
Mercy didn’t see Gray again until suppertime, and while he came promptly when called in to eat, he sat silently at the table, avoiding her eyes. If he thought that would keep her from speaking to him, he was sorely mistaken—however, she could wait until after they’d both eaten.
“What’s that?” he asked when she put the food in front of him.
“Lemon chicken.”
“Is it supposed to be black?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. The char gives it better flavor.”
Or at least that’s what her father had said whenever she’d made it. If she could ever make it without burning it one of these days, she’d be able to compare, though she really did like the char flavor. With this dish, at least.
Gray tucked in, the only sound coming from him an occasional grunt as he gnawed on his supper. Halfway through the meal, a knock sounded at the door, and Gray and Mercy both froze.
“Probably just someone from town,” she said, though her hammering heart betrayed her nerves.
She rose to answer the door, but Gray motioned for her to stay behind him.
“Might as well earn my keep,” he muttered.
She couldn’t argue with that.
She hung back as he pulled open the door and then jumped when he uttered a sharp curse followed by a “No!” and slammed the door.
“What in the world…”
Gray stomped away, then turned to come back before stomping away again, all the while saying, “No. No. Nope. Not again. I said no, I meant no. Not only no, but hell no.” He glanced at Mercy. “Pardon my language,” he grudgingly added. Nice sentiment, though she didn’t know why he bothered, since his foul language usage in front of her had never seemed to bother him before.
“What is going on?” she asked.
But he was too busy stomping and swearing to answer.
Mercy blew out an exasperated breath and opened the door. A young man stood there, immaculately dressed with nary a wrinkle in his three-piece suit and brocaded vest, his dusty boots the only thing betraying the hours he must have spent in the saddle to get to Desolation. His face beamed with a brilliant smile at the sight of her.
“Hello there,” he said, removing his hat, his fingers quickly smoothing over his thick, curly, dark-brown hair until it was as neat as the rest of him. “Might I speak with Mr. Wood—”
Gray pushed past her, held up a finger, and said, “No!” again, before once again slamming the door.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, what is all this about?” she asked.
Gray just glowered some more and said, “Him,” jabbing his finger at the door.
She narrowed her eyes and pulled the door open again. The young—and very handsome, she couldn’t help noticing—man still stood in the same spot. He gave her a jaunty wave.
“Anyone who irritates Gray to this degree is welcome in my house,” she said, standing aside to usher the gentleman in.
Gray sputtered in outrage, but she ignored him.
“Thank you, kindly, Mrs.…?”
