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Mrs. DuVere nodded sharply. “There are ways to help prevent a little bundle of joy from showing up unexpectedly,” she said.
Mercy’s eyes widened. She wasn’t completely surprised. She’d heard talk of such things from other women occasionally. But always in hushed tones and never in much detail. She had never had reason to seek out any further knowledge on the matter, and her mother hadn’t had time to impart any great wisdoms before she passed away. The relatives she’d stayed with over the years had never discussed such things with her, either. And her father certainly hadn’t.
Mrs. DuVere explained a few methods for preventing pregnancy and Mercy nodded, listening carefully. She didn’t know if it was something she should discuss with Gray or not. She had no idea what his thoughts on children were. Perhaps once Josiah had been handled, they could talk about it. Right that second, though, bringing a child into the world wasn’t something she wanted to risk. She wouldn’t afford Josiah more leverage by giving him another target to aim for.
“It might already be too late, mind,” Mrs. DuVere said.
“What?”
“It only takes once, you know. And from the look of those circles under your eyes, I’m guessing it’s already happened more than once.”
Mercy blushed again, cursing her tell-tale cheeks for their inability to remain cool and collected.
Mrs. DuVere chuckled. “No worries, love. Just something to keep in mind.”
Mercy nodded, her head a swirl of information and what ifs.
Mrs. DuVere, having imparted her dizzying words of wisdom, settled back again with another cookie and nodded toward the door. “Do you think he’ll settle in well as sheriff?”
Before Mercy could answer, a sudden crash and a yelp of dismay came from the street, and Mrs. DuVere and Mercy looked at each other, eyes wide.
“Oh dear, I wonder what’s happened now,” Mrs. DuVere said as they both rose and hurried toward the door.
Frank stumbled into view, having apparently just upended a small cart Martha had been using to transport what looked like Gray’s lunch and a few other odds and ends. Mercy caught sight of Gray standing in front of the jailhouse watching the scene and excused herself to Mrs. DuVere.
Gray nodded at her, his lips pulling into an adorable half grin, though he continued to watch Frank as he stumbled over the mess he’d made. Martha’s grandmother was giving Frank an earful and hitting him about the head and shoulders with what looked like a loaf of bread.
“Well, sheriff, are you going to do something about that?” she asked, nodding in Frank’s direction.
Gray shrugged. “Do what? He’s just walking on the street.”
“Walking is a rather optimistic term for what he’s doing,” Mercy said, her lips twitching. “He’s drunk.”
Gray shrugged again. “Don’t see how that’s any of my business.”
“You’re the sheriff now. So, you could say it’s your only business.”
He snorted. “If you say so.”
“Gray, I think you’re gonna have to arrest Frank,” Mercy said, trying to hold back her laughter.
He frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”
“He’s drunk,” she pointed out. Again. “And stumbling around the streets in broad daylight.”
“No law against that.”
“No,” Mercy said slowly, like she was trying to explain something to a child. Or to a stubborn adult who enjoyed being obstinate. “Though most towns typically like to keep the drunk and disorderliness to a minimum.”
“Well, there’s only one of him. That’s pretty minimum. In fact, I believe that is the exact definition of minimum.”
Mercy gave him the exasperated look that statement deserved. “You know that’s not what I mean. He’s causing problems.”
Gray shrugged again. “Not causing problems for me.”
Frank finally noticed Gray watching him and raised the bottle in his hand in salute. “Afternoon, sheriff!”
Gray gave him a little wave.
