Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 by Fire on the Prairie

table, industriously engaged in ripping strips of old clothing which would later be turned into braided door mats.
    “I’m not certain,” Mercy answered, well aware that the question referred to Bloody Ned Sykes and his gang of cutthroats. Unwilling to place Prudence in a dangerous or compromising predicament, Mercy had decided not to divulge the plan to her sister. Although she was now beginning to worry that something may have gone awry with her grand scheme – dusk had already fallen and help had yet to arrive.
    A wistful smile flitted across Prudence’s lips as she tore an old petticoat in half. “Well, at least I’ve been able to spend time with Dewey.”
    “Prudence! How can you even think, let alone say, such a thing.”
    Her sister’s hands stilled, clearly bewildered. “But Dewey isn’t like the rest of them. And neither is his brother Spencer.”
    “He most certainly is like the rest of them. Lest you forget, it was Spencer McCabe who brought these demons into our home.”
    “Oh, but Dewey explained all that to me,” Prudence rebutted, quickly coming to her beau’s defense. “He told me that Spencer figured it was the only way he could keep us safe from —”
    “Thank you, I’ve heard all that I care to hear,” Mercy interjected, annoyed with Pru for being so b esotted with Spencer’s brother.
    Why Prudence would think that Spencer was any different from his fiendish cohorts was a mystery to her. True, he didn’t necessarily act like the other bushwhackers. Rather than wile away the afternoon drinking spirits and playing cards, his time had been spent chopping wood and mending fences. He was also conspicuous for being plainly attired ; his rebel comrades garmented in a jaunty array of elaborately embroidered hunting shirts and beplumed slouch hats. And she supposed there was something to be said for the deep, fraternal bond that he obviously shared with his younger brother. Any man who harbored such strong familial loyalty must have a deep sense of—
    Belatedly realizing that she’d been on the verge of praising the rogue, Mercy banished the treacherous thought to the far recesses of her mind. Dear God in heaven. I’m no different than Prudence. Mooning over the man simply because he had a handsome face, a broad pair of manly shoulders, and eyes the color of—
    Flustered, Mercy splashed more vinegar into the kettle, inwardly vowing not to waste another passing thought on Spencer McCabe.
    Alas, i t proved a short-lived vow, Spencer entering the kitchen several moments later with his brother in tow.
    “Mercy, might I have a word with you?”
    “I’m listening,” she said somewhat stiffly, applying herself to her pot scrubbing with renewed vigor.
    Spencer put a restraining hand on her wrist, gently forcing her to cease her efforts. “In private,” he said in a lowered voice.
    Mercy debated the wisdom of obliging him, thinking that whatever he had to say, he could surely divulge in front of Prudence and Gabriel. About to refuse his request, something in Spencer’s earnest expression caused her to change her mind.
    “ As you wish.” Turning her back on him, she unrolled her dress sleeves and untied her apron, hanging it in its customary place.
    To Mercy’s ire, Spencer cuffed a hand around her elbow, guiding her through the open back door.
    Once they were in the yard, she jerked her arm free.
    “What is it that you wish to say to me?”
    “Not here.” He reclaimed his hold on her elbow as he led her away from the house.
    When they reached the back of the barn, Spencer came to a halt. Slipping his hand inside his wool en vest, he removed two small framed daguerreotypes which he handed to her. Overcome with emotion, Mercy stared at the well-loved pictures of her father and two uniformed brothers.
    “You don’t know how much this means to me ,” she said, clasping the cherished keepsakes to her bosom. “Whatever can I do to thank you?”
    “How about slipping those pretty lil’