Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 by Fire on the Prairie Page A

arms around my neck and giving me a nice big kiss?”
    “I’d sooner kiss the devil!” Mercy retorted, realizing, too late, that his kind gesture had been a ploy to win her affections.
    “Hey, now. I was only funning with you.”
    “And is that what you were doing when you forced that . . . that horrible kiss upon me last night in front of your hoodlum friends? And this morning when I woke up and you . . . you. . . .” Mercy’s voice faltered, unable to think of a word to describe what he’d done to her. Caress? Fondle? She was uncertain, the correct terminology escaping her.
    Grabbing her by the shoulders, Spencer urged her to step closer to him.
    Mercy’s heartbeat instantly quickened, her breath catching in her throat.
    Dear God above . That’s why he brought her behind the barn, so that he could have his way with her. So that no one would hear her cries for help.
    Terrified, Mercy clutched the framed daguerreotypes to her chest. Unable to meet Spencer’s gaze, she looked heavenward, silently pleading for some sort of divine intervention.
    “Will you at least look at me?”
    “No! Never!” she cried, yanki ng herself free from Spencer’s grasp.
    Realizing that there would be no heavenly assistance coming her way, Mercy lifted her skirts and took off running, ignoring Spencer’s order to stop. When she reached the end of the barn, she came to a grinding halt – a crowd of bushwhackers had gathered in the farmyard. Desperate, she turned her head from side-to-side, searching for some other means of escape. Spying a pitchfork stuck into a nearby haystack, she tossed the pictures to the ground and rushed forward, snatching hold of the pitchfork just as Spencer caught up to her.
    With weapon in hand, Mercy turned on her heel and lunged. Cursing aloud, Spencer jumped backward, only narrowing escaping being stabbed in the belly.
    “You stay away from me, you lecherous fiend! There is nothing, nothing , that you can say that will induce me to engage in—”
    “Will you just stop and listen to me? ” Spencer interrupted. “I’m not asking you to, um, fornicate with me, if that’s what you were thinking.”
    Mercy gasped aloud, his indelicate utterance causing her to take another jab at him.
    “How dare you speak to me in such a vile manner!” Shaking with righteous indignation, she now realized how gravely mistaken she’d been to think that Spencer McCabe might be different from the other bushwhackers.
    “You’ve got this all wrong, Mercy.”
    “Yes, but I now intend to make it right.” Once again she thrust the pitchfork at his midsection.
    As Spencer jumped backward, Mercy speculatively eyed the pair of revolvers belted around his waist. If he so much as made a move to unholster them, she’d run him through.
    Slowly Spencer raised his hands to waist height, his palms held outward. “Whoa, now. Easy does it. I’m sorry if I offended you, all right?” His measured voice and posture was similar to those of a man trying to tame a wild horse. “Maybe I could have been more gentlemanly in my phrasing.”
    “Gentlemanly! Humph! After what happened last night, and again this morning, I doubt you even know the meaning of the word.”
    “Do you always have to be so damned churlish?” Spencer shot back. “I admit that what happened this morning when we were in bed together wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s just that, well, one thing led to another and. . . .things got a little out of hand. It’s not like I planned it that way.”
    Perhaps it was because of Spencer’s earnest expression; whatever the reason, Mercy relaxed her grip on the pitchfork. “And what about last night? What’s your excuse for that horrible kiss that you inflicted upon me in front of your hoodlum friends?”
    Spencer smiled sheepishly. “Aw, come on, now. It wasn’t all that bad, was it?”
    “Many a time I have dreamt of my first kiss,” she told him, her body quivering with repressed anger. “But I never envisioned it