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Where had her slovenly, complaining ol’ retired gunslinger gone?
She had no doubt the moment the wedding finery came off and the guests had cleared, he’d return to his usual ways. He was who he was. And, as aggravating as he could be, Mercy didn’t think she’d mind it much. He certainly livened things up anyway. Well,livenedwas a strong word considering his propensity for falling asleep at the drop of a hat. Interesting, then. He made things interesting.
And then she remembered what else would be happening when the wedding finery came off and choked on her chicken.
Gray thumped her on the back. “You’re meant to chew that before swallowin’,” he pointed out.
Ah, there was the man she’d gotten to know. “Wiseacre.” She wiped her mouth and waved off another attempt to beat the chicken from her throat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she rasped out, downing half a glass of lemonade.
The setting sun glinted off her wedding ring and she held it out, admiring the gold band with its delicate engraved pattern of entwined daisies circling around it.
She caught him watching her and blushed. “It’s so lovely. Where did you get it on such short notice?”
He took a large gulp of lemonade before he answered her, though even then he didn’t meet her eyes. “It was my mother’s. I always carry it with me in my hat band. She gave it to me the night she died, said to give it to my wife when I married.” He shrugged. “I always figured it’d be buried with me and my hat.” He glanced at her with a half grin that did funny things to her belly. “I think she’d be happy to know you’ve got it.”
Mercy’s heart swelled until she could scarcely breathe. And when he looked up at her from beneath his lashes, as though he was unsure of her reaction, she just wanted to wrap her arms around him and protect him from whatever, or whoever, had put that look on his face.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat. “I’m honored to wear it. I’ll keep it safe, I promise.”
His small half smile tore at her heart. Then he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the finger that wore the ring, and her heart damn near exploded. “It suits you.”
She stared at him, trying to blink away the moisture in her eyes—really what was going on? Her emotions were all over the place.
The fiddler who had played their wedding march picked up his instrument again and began to play a jig.
“Bride and groom!” Martha shouted, waving them over to the makeshift dance floor.
Mercy glanced at Gray, who raised a brow and said, “I donotdance.”
Her response broke off in a peal of surprise when Martha grabbed her hands and pulled her out onto the patio. She tried to keep an eye on Gray as she was pulled and twirled. After a few moments, she was laughing and breathless.
And then a sudden spin brought her face-to-face with Gray, who stood staring down at her with a look that set fire to her body.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she managed to say.
His long, slow smile sent her knees quaking. “I don’t,” he said.
Then he scooped her up in his arms and marched out of the courtyard, accompanied by the whoops and applause of their guests, and a mess of butterflies set loose in her belly as she realized what would happen next.
Chapter Thirteen
Gray might have been huffing and puffing, but he made it to the wagon—barely—before he put Mercy down. He couldn’t lie; he was a bit proud of himself. It had been a while since he’d hauled anything of any size that far. And dropping his new bride on her rear end an hour after their nuptials would have sent the wrong message, surely. Actually lifting her into the wagon, though, wasn’t going to happen, but he did hold out a hand to help her up onto the bench before he followed her up.
“What about Jason?” she asked.
Gray grimaced, annoyed she asked about the other man, though he had no reason to be.
“He’s sleepin’ at the jailhouse tonight. Keepin’ an eye on the prisoners.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “We’ll be alone, then.”
He pulled himself into the wagon and grabbed the reins. It had to be a sign of how flustered she was that she didn’t insist on driving the horses as she usually did. He was a bit flustered himself. He was no blushing virgin, but—he looked in horror at his new wife, suddenly realizing she very well might be.
“Have you…are you…” Damn. There really wasn’t a delicate way to ask a woman that question.
Mercy glanced at him, her brow creased. “Am I what?”
He took a deep breath.Just say it, man!
