Stealing Mercy by Kristy Tate Page B

Steele would tread carefully if he thought her involved with Trent. “Please, Auntie, you know everyone and everything, you must know the Michaels family.”
    The bell on the door jingled, announcing a customer. Mercy turned toward the front, but Tilly raised her hand to stop her. “Well, if I give information then I expect information in return.”
    “Information?” Mercy’s heart speed up. Her aunt had never questioned her sudden arrival in unorthodox clothes. She’d only asked after her brother, how he’d died, where he’d been buried. She hadn’t pried into the circumstances of Mercy’s departure or cross country trip.
    “Of course, I want to hear everything he says, does, where he touches you, if he kisses you --”
    Mercy flushed. “Really, we just met,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the store’s front.
    “Sometimes that’s all it takes. One glance, one brief encounter and poof, it’s like a spark in a tinder box,” Tilly called after her.
    Mercy adjusted her apron and tried not to think about how it felt to be in his arms when he’d lifted her into the coach. Was she the spark or the tinderbox? Was he one and she the other? Did it matter if no matter what, together they were combustible? “If there’s any sparking, I’ll tell you first.”
    Tilly hugged her scissors to her chest, smiling as if in memory. Her aunt clearly missed Bradley Malcolm, just as she would miss Mercy, if the situation demanded her disappearance.
    Mercy stopped in the doorway. Trent stood in the morning light. She took a deep breath and prayed that he hadn’t overheard her conversation with her aunt. She stood, parked in the doorway, until her aunt, coming from behind, pushed her into the room.
    “Mr. Michaels!” Tilly gushed. “We were just talking of you!”
    The blood rushed to Mercy’s face as her aunt bustled toward Trent.
    “And saying kind things, I hope,” he said.
    “I was telling Mercy of your grandparents -- the king and queen of Seattle society.”
    “That was some time ago.”
    “Before your grandfather’s unfortunate death.” Tilly paused, as if paying a moment of silence tribute to the departed Mr. Michaels. “We haven’t seen your grandmother in an age. I trust she’s well.”
    “She’s very well.”
    “And the ranch?”
    “Is flourishing.”
    “Your grandmother runs the ranch?” Mercy asked, surprised.
    “The finest in the west,” Tilly said.
    Trent flushed and pulled on his collar. “Well, that may be an exaggeration-”
    “Oh, I don’t think so,” Tilly said. “Although, as a mere female, what do I know of raising horses?” And from her tone, Mercy suspected that her aunt, while admiring Trent’s grandmother for her success, disapproved of women ranchers. “ Breeding horses, breaking horses, Hester is a wonder.”
    “A wonder,” Trent echoed rather hollowly.
    “And how is little Chloe?”
    “Not so little anymore. She’s actually performing with the Puget Players at the Grand Hotel.” Mercy noticed he managed to say this without moving his lips which made her wonder if her aunt had touched a sore spot.
    Tilly sucked in her breath. “Goodness,” she said in the same tone of voice that she’d used to express her thoughts of female horse breeders.
    Mercy remembered seeing Chloe’s name on a marked trunk in room twenty. Had Trent been familiar with the room because his sister shared it as a dressing room with the female cast members? If his sister had been on the stage, then he might have been on a simple errand, like fetching something from the dressing room. Maybe he hadn’t an interest in Steele, after all. Mercy had a sinking feeling, as if the floor was giving way beneath her feet. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she had hoped for Trent’s help in foiling Steele.
    Tilly smoothed out a piece of fabric on the counter and picked up a pair of shears. “I think it’s curious that we never saw much of you or Chloe until a few