Teresa Bodwell

LOVING MERCY
By Teresa Bodwell
ISBN: 0-8217-7815-3
Publisher: Zebra Historical Romance

“New author Bodwell’s fresh, vibrant voice adds spunk, emotional intensity and sensuality to the conventional western dangerous journey, and she is going to make a mark on the genre.” – Kathe Robin, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine.
Read more reviews below the excerpt.

LOVING MERCY
©Teresa Bodwell

Chapter Three

Thad and Harold tied their horses to post in the quiet yard in front of the house that belonged to Mercy Clarke’s uncle. Harold had told him Mrs. Clarke’s given name. Mercy. He hoped her name was a good omen–he could use some compassion. If they could sit down and talk, he was certain he could persuade Mercy to take him to Colorado territory. His fight at the bar had made the wrong impression on her, but he could overcome that.

“Where do you suppose everyone is?” Harold looked around.

There was smoke and voices around the far side of the house and they headed in that direction when a honey-sweet contralto singing “Oh, Susannah!” caught Thad’s attention.

“I’m gonna check the house,” he tilted his head toward the front door and Harold nodded.

Thad knocked on the front door as Harold continued around the house. Thad was certain that voice belonged to Mercy. She continued singing. Likely, she didn’t hear the knock. He removed his hat and let himself in. There was no one in the front parlor. He hesitated a moment before following the voice down the hall.

The song stopped. She was humming now, soft low and–Oh Lordy. She sat in a tub in the middle of the kitchen naked as the day she was born. Only this was no fragile newborn. Those long shapely legs–bare, wet and gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the kitchen curtains–drew his eyes to the tub. He ached as he watched a soap bubble slide along her breastbone and disappear between the two full breasts that floated just beneath the surface of the water.

He took a step toward her and froze. What’s wrong with you Buchanan? A gentleman did not walk in on a lady’s bath. A wet cloth covered her face. She hadn’t noticed him yet. He should walk out before it was too late. Except that, his boots seemed to be nailed to the floor. He just kept staring at those legs.

“Miranda?” she asked, “You here to scrub my back?”

“I’d be happy to oblige–” Dammit, shut your mouth, Buchanan.

The lady sat up, trying to fit her legs into the tub. Pulling her legs into the tub forced her bosom out of the water and he had a view the memory of which he would take to his grave. Perhaps today, since the lady would be within her rights to shoot him. Too late, he lifted his hat to cover his eyes. He heard the cloth splash into the water. Maybe he could convince her he hadn’t seen much.

“Out!” She yelled with a voice he had no doubt could carry over a herd of cattle. “Get out!”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Don’t go in there!” Thad heard a girl shout and he let go of the doorknob as though it were a hot coal.

From where he stood on the front porch, he saw Harold approaching with Miranda on his arm. Thad understood now why the boy had been so eager to guide Thad to this farm. Harold had attached himself to Miranda like a billy goat to a hillside.

“My sister’s bathing.” Miranda giggled. “She’d have you skinned alive if you walked in there.”

He relaxed a little. They thought he was going in, not coming out.

Skinned alive? His shoulders went taut again. He stepped away from the door. Maybe he could still escape.

“You’ve met Mr. Buchanan, Miranda?” Harold smiled at her as though she were the only person present.

“Sure have. He nearly got hisself beat to a pulp trying to rescue us from a drunk.” Miranda laughed.

Thad remembered Mercy’s fist in his chest. He scowled. Was the girl laughing at him for trying to be a gentleman?

“Come meet my relatives, Mr. Buchanan.” Miranda waved for him to follow her.

They moved away from the door, but Thad wished they’d move faster. He wanted to be miles away before Mercy Clarke emerged from the house. The embarrassing bathtub incident had surely lost him any chance he might have to persuade her that he should join their trip to Colorado. How could he convince Harold to depart before she appeared and suggested skinning, or perhaps hot tar?

Damn. He’d been determined to convince the woman to take him along with her. He could be useful–provide a bit of protection for two vulnerable young ladies. Mercy would never believe that now.

Around the side of the house, Miranda’s relatives were preparing for supper near a makeshift summer kitchen. Miranda introduced Thad to her Aunt Emily, a woman who seemed far too young to have adult nieces. Uncle Will was a bit older, but young enough to laugh with his children as they recited their day’s adventures. Thad couldn’t help smiling as Uncle Will patiently instructed his young daughter to put a spoon at each place rather than all the spoons at one place. The little girl, Thad reckoned, was teasing her papa and he knew it.

Before Thad could protest, one of the older boys had added a place for Thad and Harold as well.

“Harold tells me you have a sister near Denver?” Aunt Emily asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Thad turned to face Aunt Emily who was struggling to remove a Dutch oven from the coals. He grabbed a towel and lifted the heavy iron pot. “She runs a mercantile about sixty miles from Denver.” Thad kept a wary eye on the house as he set the Dutch oven down and took the seat Aunt Emily indicated.

What would he say when Mrs. Clarke accused him of . . . immorality? It wasn’t as though he’d intended to spy on her. He’d only wanted to talk to her.

He couldn’t have known she’d be naked. Good Lord. He still might have escaped if she hadn’t invited him to scrub her back. Not that she was inviting him. She’d mistaken him for her sister. For all her unpolished appearance, he knew Mercy was a lady, not the type of woman who allowed strange men to. . . . He should have kept his mouth shut.

It was hard enough trying to think what to do with those legs in plain view. When her breasts appeared above the water and. . . . He swallowed. Whatever the punishment was for accidental sins, that view might just have been worth it. Remembering the scene was causing Thad the same discomfort he’d experienced inside when he was so near those legs and . . . all. Thank goodness, the table offered him more cover than his tight-fitting pants.

He’d covered his eyes the moment he’d regained his senses. Perhaps she hadn’t seen him looking. He glanced back at the house.

“Mr. Buchanan?” Miranda’s voice penetrated his worried thoughts.

She had asked something. He turned to her. “Hmm?”

“Sixty miles north or south of Denver?”

“North. Fort–.”

“Not Fort Victory?” Miranda almost squeaked.

Thad nodded. His sister was in Fort Victory and he was never going to get there.

“Your sister runs the mercantile in Fort Victory?” Miranda laughed.

Thad checked over his shoulder again. Mercy was coming around the corner wearing a yellow gingham dress that swirled about her legs as she marched directly for him with . . . was that a bullwhip? She released the end of the loop and allowed the whip to hang down to its full length. Her eyes fixed on his. He was dead–she’d definitely seen him looking.

“Clarisse Wyatt is your sister?” Miranda asked.

Mercy froze a few feet from him. Her head swiveled from Thad to Miranda, then back to Thad.

He ripped his eyes from Mercy, turning to face Miranda. “You know Clarisse?” It didn’t seem possible.

“She’s Mercy’s best friend in the world. Isn’t she Mercy?” Miranda put her hands on her hips. “What are you doin’ with that whip?”

Thad whirled back to Mercy. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the whip. She relaxed her hand and turned from Miranda to him, studying his face with clear green eyes. Her damp hair was pinned loosely up on her head, revealing a graceful neck that he hadn’t noticed before. Little wonder.

He’d been wrong earlier about putting her in a dress. It might be a shame to hide those legs, but the dress hugged curves that her jacket and loose fitting men’s shirt had nearly hidden.

He pushed up from his seat. His mother would be appalled he’d failed to stand to acknowledge the approach of a lady, but damn this woman was distracting. How was a man supposed to think when she kept dazzling him with her figure and those probing green eyes?

“You’re a friend of my sister?” Thad looked deep into her eyes, willing her to hear his thoughts. They don’t know I saw you bathing. We can keep this secret between us.

Mercy blinked. It was as though a shutter had closed, hiding a part of her. She looked at her gathered family then back at him. She drew the whip back into a circle.

He held his breath, waiting like a soldier who knew the enemy was hunkered down just across the field.

Mercy lifted her eyes back up to his. “You’re Clarisse’s baby brother?”

Thad grinned. His tiny sister loved to call him baby brother. He studied Mercy, unsure whether he’d been forgiven or not. Best play the cards he’d been dealt. “It’s a family joke. There was a time when I was a good deal smaller than Clarisse.”

Mercy pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. He thought for a moment that she would demand an apology. Or worse. His eyes dropped to the whip, which she now held at her side. Her face revealed her battle for control, her lips pinched together so tightly he thought they’d become one.

Now, or never. “I’m very anxious to see my sister again,” Thad said. “I’ve never even met my nephews.”

She looked away for a moment, before leveling a serious gaze at him.

Thad plowed ahead before she finally rejected the idea. “I’d pay fifty dollars to go along with you.” He could almost see her mind working, considering. “In gold coin.”

“Seventy-five,” she said.

Had he heard right? She was going to take him to Clarisse?

“I know how anxiously Clarisse has been waiting for you to come. Reckon I couldn’t face her if I told her I’d left you behind in Abilene.”

Seventy-five dollars, hell that was nearly half of what he’d managed to save. But he was going to see Clarisse again.

Mercy placed her hands on her hips. “If you’re traveling with me you’ll be following my rules. First, no whiskey. The trail’s dangerous enough with everyone awake and alert. We can’t have a drunk to look after.”

“No ma’am. I don’t drink.” Not to excess, he didn’t.

She raised one eyebrow, clearly not believing him and proceeded with her list. “No gambling.”

“I’m no gambler either.”

“Mr. Buchanan, I saw you at the saloon.”

“Poker, Miz Clarke, is a game of skill.”

“Humph!” Mercy crossed her arms in front of her chest, but her eyes told him she was ready to laugh. “I’ll do my best to get you to Fort Victory, but the first sign of trouble and I’m leaving you behind. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Thad extended a hand. Mercy hesitated before taking it. Her grip was as firm and confident as any man’s, but her skin was womanly soft. Except that, unlike any woman he’d met, her lean fingers fit around his broad hand. “I appreciate you letting me join your party.”

The humor left her eyes, and he had another glimpse inside her. She nodded, slipping her hand out of his grip. The invisible shutter closed again, locking him out.

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. “For Clarisse’s sake.”

AMAZON.COM or your favorite book store!

Reviews

“Part of Kensington’s new Zebra Debut line, this is an impressive first book. Readers who dote on the spunky heroines in the exciting tales of the Old West by Jodi Thomas . . . will enjoy Bodwell’s spirited tale of a courageous woman and the man she tries very hard not to love.” – Shelley Mosley, Booklist.

“Loving Mercy is certainly a fine debut, and Bodwell has a way with her characters. By the end I really began to think of Thad and Mercy as real people, and I especially liked the way the author pulls off the role reversal. Mercy is the more opinionated Alpha, while Thad is the more understanding Beta with Alpha leanings. Prickly rancher softening with true love is certainly nothing new as far as plots go, but when that prickly rancher is the heroine it makes for a nice spin.” Wendy Crutcher, The Romance Reader.

“I really enjoyed reading this fine historical romance. Bodwell writes in a clear, descriptive style that takes the reader into the life and times of the characters. Thad and Mercy emerge as characters of depth and presence. I can=t wait to read about them in the next book in the series.” – Jeri Neal, The Romance Reader Conncection

“Author Teresa Bodwell tells a charming story of growing love amongst the plains of Kansas and the mountains of Colorado. Set in post-Civil War America, LOVING MERCY combines romance and adventure to deliver an intriguing historical romance.”

4 Stars! BooksForABuck.com (Click to read the entire review of LOVING MERCY!)

“LOVING MERCY is a wonderful tale that will have you sitting on the edge of your seat . . . truly the ultimate love story . . .” – Kimberly Leslie, Romance Junkies

“Bodwell’s debut novel is a sweet historical romance guaranteed to melt the reader’s heart. Filled with excitement along the way, readers will reach the end of the book long before they are ready.” – Cindy, Love Romances

“Author Teresa Bodwell tells a charming story of growing love amongst the plains of Kansas and the mountains of Colorado. Set in post-Civil War America, LOVING MERCY combines romance and adventure to deliver an intriguing historical romance. With bullets flying, bad guys striving to outwit plucky Mercy and wounded Thad, and with desire simmering ever more deeply between these characters, the story is sure to please.” – Rob Preese, BooksForABuck.com

“LOVING MERCY is for readers who enjoy a strong heroine and a hero who is man enough to love her.” – Sandra Brill, Romance Reviews Today.

“Teresa Bodwell enters the scene with a sassy heroine, one who can easily stand up for herself. And, to my delight, Mercy is also a sexual woman.” – Tracy Farnsworth, Roundtablereveiws.com