a long trip.”
“I sat for most of it,” she pointed out. “I can carry my own bags.”
Grant dropped the bags, wondering if this was how this visit was going to go. His mother had been at great pains to teach him manners during the few months of the year he spent with her growing up. When he complained that women didn’t seem to want manners anymore, she’d quietly told him women and men most certainly did, they just didn’t want condescension along with them, and continued her lessons.
He crossed his arms across his chest. But before he could open his mouth, she forestalled him.
“It’s not a gender thing,” she said quickly, as if she’d read his thoughts. “I’m intruding here, I know that. You have a ranch to run, and you’re doing me a big enough favor just by letting me stay here. If there’s anything I can do to help out, just tell me. I don’t want to be treated like a guest, so I don’t want to start out that way.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Then just exactly how do you want to be treated?”
She smiled suddenly, the most genuine smile he’d seen from her yet. And it sent a snap of electricity arcing through him that startled him with its swiftness and power.
“Ignoring me would be fine.”
Despite the unexpected jolt, his mouth quirked with humor. “I doubt anyone ignores you successfully, Mercy,” he said dryly. “I tried every summer for years.”
She only lifted a delicately arched brow at his use of the childhood nickname again. “I know. And the harder you ignored me, the more determined I got.”
“I know.”
He had to look away from her; that smile was getting to him again. He cleared his throat. He’d warned Kristina, who had only been to the ranch in the summer, about all this, but she’d insisted that was exactly what her friend needed. But he didn’t know if she’d passed his warnings on.
“You’ll be pretty much stuck inside once the snow really sets in.”
“I brought lots of books,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to work. But I do expect you not to create any extra work for my men. Winter is our roughest season, and the hands will be hard-pressed enough just to keep things running around here.”
Mercy didn’t take offense. “I probably wouldn’t be much good to you anyway,” she answered easily. “I’ve never ridden a real horse, and I know next to nothing about cows. But I can take care of myself. You don’t need to look out for me.”
“Cattle,” he corrected mildly.
“Okay.” She shrugged, accepting that easily, as well. Clearly she had no problem admitting when she knew nothing about something. Grant wished there were more people like that; he’d seen too many who came to this part of the country thinking they were going to find adventure, never knowing or even thinking of the realities of the life they were taking on. His stepbrother Kyle had been one of those. But rancher Samantha Rawlings had quickly—and permanently—straightened him out, Grant thought with an inward grin. And he’d done fairly well, despite the fact that he’d never been able to settle down to any job in his life before.
But then, with the manipulative, vindictive Sheila Fortune for a mother, that was hardly any surprise, Grant thought, thankful yet again for his own mother’s warmth and genuine goodness. It was amazing that Sheila’s children had managed any semblance of lives of their own, and with Kyle, Michael and Jane all married now, Sheila must be frothing at having lost so much control over her children. He didn’t envy his stepsiblings at all. In fact, there were times when he even felt sorry for his stepfather, but he usually got over that in a hurry.
He forced himself back to the matter at hand, wondering why he was finding it so difficult to simply talk to this woman, why his thoughts were rambling in crazy directions.
“I won’t have time to look out for you, once the snow flies,” he warned. “And neither will anybody else. You’ll be on your own.”
Something dark and painful flickered in her eyes, and Grant regretted using those words.
“I’ll be fine,” she said briskly.
Her tone belied what he’d seen in her eyes, but he guessed she was only hiding it well. Or had a lot of practice at suppressing such emotions. She reached for one of the soft-sided navy cases.
“Split them?” she suggested.
“Fine,” he said, and took the other.
She lifted the bag easily, although Grant knew it wasn’t light. He shouldn’t be surprised, he told himself. As a cop—especially a female one—she probably had to be more than just strong and fit to hold her own. And apparently she did hold her own; Kristina had told him she’d been on the force five years, graduating the academy and turning twenty-one, the minimum age to be sworn in, on the same day. It was what she’d always wanted, Kristina had said, and once Meredith Cecelia Brady set her eyes on a goal, there was nothing and no one who could stop her.
The admiration in his somewhat spoiled half sister’s tone had been genuine, and that was rare enough that Grant had paid attention. And had agreed to her request. Sometimes Kristina could be worse than annoying; only the fact that she was as smart and charming as she was spoiled made her bearable. Someday, he thought, she was going to run into some man she couldn’t control, some man who had no patience with her spoiled-princess act, and the sparks were going to fly.
But Mercy had been her truest friend, kept through the years, and when she needed help, Kristina had been there. And she hadn’t hesitated to use her half brother to get what she wanted. And since it was one of those rare times when Kristina asked for something not for herself, Grant hadn’t been able to turn her down.
Mercy.
She’d told him what to call her, but he kept thinking of her as Mercy, reverting to the old childhood nickname. He wasn’t sure why. A reminder, perhaps, of who she was? A friend of Kristina’s, and a woman in mourning. He would do well to remember that, and if using that name would do the trick, then he’d use it. He hadn’t forgotten that unexpected jolt, or the sudden revving of his heartbeat; inappropriate as it was, it had happened, and if using that childhood name would keep a bit of distance between them, then that was yet another reason to do it. He had no time to deal with that kind of response. He was sure of that.
Just as he was sure it had simply been the result of going too long without feminine companionship; hell, he’d barely seen a woman for a month, and hadn’t been on a date in three times that long. No wonder his libido had kicked to life at the sight of the lovely woman Mercy had become. He was sure that was all it was.
He just wasn’t sure he knew the first thing about providing sanctuary for a heart as wounded as Mercy’s seemed to be. He knew about the pain of loss, he’d known about it for a long time, ever since his mother had left his father and the ranch, when he was three years old. And he’d had it pounded home again when his father died, a long, slow death that had been agony to watch, a strong, vital man wasting away, with his last breath regretting that he’d lost the only woman he’d ever really loved to the city life he hated.
He’d found nothing to ease the pain he felt then. So how could he ever hope to provide it for someone else? He wouldn’t even know where to begin. Kristina
