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“What I think doesn’t matter. Do you love him?”
Mercy didn’t answer, too many emotions crashing over her to articulate anything. And the man before her was the wrong person to tell them to anyway.
She pushed out of the chair and stalked to the door.
“Where are you going?” Jason asked.
“My husband is making a mistake,” she said.
“Yeah. So what are you going to do about it?” he said, hot on her heels.
Mercy took a long, shuddering breath and grabbed the reins of his horse. “Well, I’m certainly not going to let him leave,” she said. “Get me on this horse.”
Jason grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
He mounted and hauled her up on the horse behind him. “Hold tight,” he said, and she wrapped her one good arm around his waist as he spurred his horse into a gallop. If what they said about Gray being drunk was true, she probably didn’t have to worry about him disappearing on her just yet. But she needed to see him. Needed to make sure he knew how she felt and, if truth be told, she kind of wanted to see what Gray drunk looked like. But mostly she wanted to tell him that she loved him and…maybe he would say it in return. And then…who knew. But she couldn’t let him leave without telling him.
When they made it into town, Birdie was still tied up in front of the jailhouse, her snores rumbling the windowpanes. Mercy breathed a sigh of relief. Gray wouldn’t be going anywhere until that horse woke up. For all his grumbling about her, he loved that old nag.
The moment Jason pulled to a stop, Mercy kicked her leg over and slid down, marching straight into the tavern before Jason could even tie up the horse. The moment she pushed through the door, she drew up short, her eyes going wide. Gray was slumped over the bar, an almost empty glass of whiskey in his hand.
“Gray?” she said, not sure if she should be concerned or give in to the urge to laugh.
He swung around, the last of the whiskey in his glass flying out in a large amber arc through the air.
“Mercy?” He squinted like he was trying to bring her into focus.
She stared, not believing what she was seeing. Granted, she had only known him a short time, but in all those weeks she had never seen him drink anything other than water and coffee, with the occasional lemonade. He wouldn’t even drink a mild cider let alone something as debilitating as the whiskey in his hand. He didn’t look as bad as Frank usually did—Frank actually looked pretty good at the moment, sitting two stools away and watching Gray with a bemused expression. But…her husband didn’t look great. She shook her head and turned to the bartender.
“How many of those has he had?” she asked.
“Just two. The one in his hand would be number three, but I don’t think he actually got any of it down.”
She shook her head again. Okay, so apparently the man couldn’t hold his liquor. At all.
“I’m not drunk,” he said, though his words were slightly slurred. He squinted at her again. “What are you doin’ here? You should be home, restin’. Iz not safe out here.”
He put a hand on the bar to help push himself to his feet, and he managed to stand steady for about half a heartbeat before he began tilting to the left. Doc was immediately there to prop him up and help him back to the stool.
She planted her one good hand on her hip. “What am I doing here? What areyoudoing here? Last I heard, you couldn’t wait to get out of town. You must have thrown your belongings in those saddlebags so fast Birdie’s head spun and yet here you are having a drink with your buddies.”
He made a visible effort to open his eyes wide enough to focus on her. “I was on my way out, but I had to stop at the sheriff’s office to leave my badge. An’ tell Jason to take care of you.”
Her tenuous hold on her anger broke. “It’s not Jason’s job to take care of me! First of all, I can take care of myself just fine. And second of all, if therewasanybody else who had the job, it would beyou. That was what you vowed to do, remember? Stay with me in sickness and in health, for better or worse? Well, this is definitely what I would call worse, and yet at the first sign of trouble, you go running.”
“Trouble?” He pushed back to his feet, his eyes clearing a little with the force of emotions running across his face. “This isn’t trouble. It’s multiple gunmen showing up in town to try and kill me and shoot everyone who happens to stand in the way!”
“So? You’re supposed to be the best gunfighter in the west. This is your home, you stubborn mule of a man! So stay and fight for it!”
“I can’t, damn you!”
“Why not?” she shouted, almost nose to nose with him.
“Because if something happens to you, I’ll never survive!”
She sucked in a breath, too stunned to say another word. His eyes squeezed close, and he breathed deeply through his nose a few times. Then he rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, and Mercy realized he’d lost his hat somewhere. She wanted to smooth her fingers through the unruly strands, and cup his scruffy, wonderful face. She knotted her fist in her skirts to keep from reaching for him.
“I’ve never had a place before,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “Since my parents died…I’ve never had a place…never had people…someone…” Gray swallowed hard. “Walkin’ away might be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. But it’s easier than watchin’ anyone here die. Watchin’youdie. And being the cause of it.”
