Thank you for your continued support. Your reviews are not only inspiring, but they are very insightful. And Emma, I love your description of Lieutenant Buford :)
Standard disclaimer.
It was late Sunday afternoon, and after dinner, Mercedes insisted that the girls not leave un-escorted with the visitors.
So now, they were out on the lawn playing golf.
The visitors didn't look too happy, especially, after the fat one from Maine, leaned over to eye the ball and Sherwin couldn't resist that wide target.
When Mercedes looked out the window and saw what was about to happen, she shouted, "Look out!"
But it was too late.
Sherwin had made a mighty thud, and caught the congressman squarely in his…striped pants, leaving him sprawled on the ground.
The goat then stood over him, bleating and shaking his curled horns. It was a sight to behold.
Just then, Sam came out and invited them onto the porch for drinks.
He frowned at Sherwin, who was contentedly munching on the day lilies by the birdbath.
He left the men shortly afterwards, to get them another pitcher of mint julep.
Mercedes frowned at him, as he came in and went behind the bar.
"You're going to get them drunk."
"So. That's not a bad thing."
"This whole thing is liable to backfire on you."
"Aw, you're as nervous as a church deacon, with his hand in the collection basket."
"I'm worried. A lot of people could get hurt."
"You're worried about me? Thank you, m'lady," he grinned. She glared at him.
"You're so conceited. I'm worried about everyone involved."
"Don't be. Everyone knows what they're supposed to do. If Rachel is all packed, have Josiah bring the car around."
He returned to the front porch, where the visitors drank and watched the sun sinking lower on the horizon, as the randy old goat Sherwin, glared banefully from its position, looking at them.
"Well, gentlemen," Sam stood up. "It's been a good weekend, but I think your train will be arriving shortly. And here comes Josiah with the car."
"Is my lady ready? Asked Congressman Hudson. Rachel came out the door carrying her suitcases.
"Here I am, Finn, honey."
"Let me bring a pitcher for the road," Sam said and yelled inside the house, "Mercy, would you bring out some more julep? And if you're going with us, we're ready to leave."
Mercedes appeared momentarily, with said item, looking none too happy about it. She turned her attention to the visitors.
"It was an honor to host you, gentlemen," she said with a smile. "I do hope you'll come again, sometime and bring your friends."
Sam was staring daggers at her.
What the town didn't need, was nosy congressmen…investors, yes, but the others only came to snoop around.
"We'd love to," said the one from Maine, who seemed to have a hard time focusing, as Sam helped him into the car.
Rachel trailed along with Congressman Hudson.
He was beaming at her, like he'd just won a prize at the state fair.
"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. Josiah here, will drive you. I've got important things to do," Sam said.
Mercedes fretted, but let Sam's errand boy, help her into the car.
It was almost dark, as they drove towards town.
Near the station, many had gathered to see the visitors off.
In the distance, the sound of gunfire could be heard, startling everyone gathered.
Down the street came a stagecoach, with Sam driving and Pug riding shotgun.
Dimples, dressed in his wife's old pink flowered dress and bonnet, hung out the window of the coach, screaming for help in a high falsetto.
The fake Indians, half naked and in bright war paint, chased after the stagecoach, shooting and whooping.
Behind them, came the major and his cavalry, accompanied by some of the cowboys from the local ranches, all shooting and yelling.
It wasn't a bad presentation, Mercedes thought with grudging admiration. She even saw Buford riding with the cavalry, gun blazing and shouting with the rest of them.
He wasn't a very good rider, she thought, but he was doing his very best.
From his seat high on the stagecoach, Sam cracked his whip and drove at a galloping speed.
It was turning dark rapidly, but he could see the crowd on the station platform.
He glanced sideways at the fake Indians, riding next to the galloping coach.
"Give us another war-cry old buddy," Sam said to the one closest to him. And the plump Indian obliged.
Sam looked behind him and to each side. The cavalry, even Buford Fortenbury was doing an excellent job of hot pursuit, shouting and shooting.
He looked forward and saw the visitors rushing to get on the train, as he pulled his plunging stage horses up, in a cloud of dust.
He and Pug jumped down, 'shooting' at the circling Indians. Dimples jumped from the coach, lifted his skirts and ran right up on the platform, screaming,
"Help! Save me!"
Everyone was scattering in the noise and confusion, while the fake savages circled the platform.
As Mercedes watched, Sam threw up his arms, grabbed his chest and fell flat on his face. He was a pretty good actor she thought.
The train huffed and puffed, pulling out of the station. Rachel stuck her head out the window and waved at Mercedes, who nodded and waved back.
Alas, the train picked up speed and pulled out of town.
The major wiped his sweaty brow and grinned at everyone.
"Damn good job, folks, if I do say so myself." The crowd cheered but the cowboys reined in and complained.
"Those soldiers let their bullets get a little too close. If that happens again, we'll have to wipe up the streets with them."
"We didn't," said Lieutenant Fortenbury. "We were all shooting above everyone's heads just like we were told to."
Sam was still laid sprawled on his face, on the platform.
Mercedes walked over and looked down at the motionless man.
"You can get up now. It's over and the visitors are gone." He didn't move.
She was annoyed and nudged him with her foot.
"I said, you can quit acting now, they're gone." He still didn't move. The whole crowd gradually grew quiet.
"Sam? Stop this! It isn't funny," she said.
Dimples in his flowered dress, ran over and tried to lift him. Then, he turned an ashen face, framed by his big pink bonnet, to Mercedes.
"Oh my God! He's been shot." Women screamed and men crowded closer, as the major pushed his way through the crowd.
"Somebody, call an ambulance quick!"
Mercedes took a deep breath.
Sam has been shot in this fake fight, just as she had warned, that something might go wrong. She stood looking down at him, even as Quinn pushed her way through the crowd and knelt, cradling his blonde head on her lap.
Quinn began to sob and stroke his face.
"Sam, honey, speak to me."
Mercedes shook so badly, she could hardly speak, but she managed to get control of herself.
Almost robotically, she leaned over, picked up his hat and strode off the platform, to fill it with water from an old horse trough. She returned and threw it on him.
He came awake, his green eyes blinking, as he coughed and sputtered.
Old Doc Miller, pushed his way through the crowd. He was late in coming to see the show, when he saw the crowd gathered. He knelt at Sam's side and scanned his body from head to toe.
"Looks like a bullet grazed his leg."
"Is that all?" Mercedes asked with a sigh of relief.
"Yep. I believe he hit his head when he fell. We need to get him home."
"No, take him to my place," Quinn begged.
"No," Mercedes said, as she stepped forward and knelt next to him. His handsome face was pale, but he managed a grin.
"You rascal. You aren't even dying…you got shot in the foot."
"Did it ruin my new boots?" he asked.
"Only a southerner would be concerned about his new boots, instead of his flesh," she said.
She examined his bloody boot. He had huge feet, but he was a big man.
"Well, the right one now has a big hole in it."
"Hell."
He tried to sit up, but his face was as pale, as fresh milk. Mercedes shoved Quinn aside and cradled him in her arms.
"He's my partner, let's take him home." The major paced up and down on the platform, cursing.
"Don't know how this could've happened. I told everyone to shoot high." Lieutenant Fortenbury strode up to the platform, took off his hat and wiped his sweaty face.
"What a tragedy! Is he going to die?" the fool asked. Sam's eyes flicked to him.
"You wish!" he muttered.
"Hush!" Mercedes admonished. "Buford, you and some of the men help him into the car and Doc, you come too. I might need your help."
Everyone ran to help.
Will and a few guys helped Sam into the car and laid him flat. Mercedes had a smear of blood from him on her dress, but she didn't have time to faint.
"I'll drive. Doc, come with me and let's get him home." Quinn stood nearby, pouting.
"I'm sure he'd rather go with me," she said. Sam's eyes flickered open.
"Ohhh…Mercy. I think I'm dying. Everything seems to be going dark."
"It is dark," she snapped, not wanting him to know how upset she was. She spread her shawl over him. "If you hadn't come up with this foolish stunt…"
He groaned again and looked up at her.
"Are you an angel? Have I died and gone to heaven?"
"That's the worst acting I ever saw," she said, as Doc climbed into the car. "You've been watching too much television."
"Mercy, Mercy?" He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Did…did it work?" The major leaned into the car.
"Did it work? My boy, it was brilliant!"
"Good," Sam whispered and promptly fainted away.
Now Mercedes was really worried. She leaned over him and touched his face gently.
Buford came up to the side of the car.
"Miss Mercedes, is he dying?"
"I don't think so." She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "It's only a flesh wound, but he's lost some blood and taken a serious blow to his head."
"What a tragic accident. I didn't like him, but I'm sorry it happened." Quinn, still trying her best to get them to take Sam to her's, yelled,
"Don't let her take him away. No telling what she'll do. If he dies, she gets full ownership of the Texas Lily." Mercedes whirled on her, anger mounted on her face.
"How dare you!" she seethed. She almost came out of the car and slapped her silly, but she remembered she was a lady. Besides, it was important to get Sam home right now.
Josiah turned up and took her trembling hands off the steering wheel and helped her into the back, resting Sam's head in her lap.
He strapped into the driver's seat and took off, with some of the cowboys following on horseback.
Mercedes stroked Sam's soft blonde hair and whispered to him,
"It'll be alright…just as soon as we get you home."
The riders carried Sam into the Texas Lily and laid him on his bed. They all gathered around to stare.
"I can't work with a crowd here, sorry," Doc Miller said. Mercedes turned and said, in a tone that brokered no argument,
"Everyone has to go. We'll let you know how he's doing. Someone get Carmen."
Doc began to take the bloody boot from Sam's foot, just as Carmen hurried into the room with her mouth hanging open.
"Lord have mercy! What happened?"
"Get some hot water and some clean cloth, Carmen," Mercedes ordered. "The rascal has been shot."
Carmen did as told, with as much urgency, as she could muster.
Mercedes leaned over him.
For once, he looked helpless and it scared her.
She was so used to him being in charge. He was a man, who knew what he wanted and went after it.
The doctor worked on the wound and Sam's eyes flickered open. He looked at Mercedes. He really did have gorgeous eyes, she surmised.
"Mercy," he gasped. "You ain't gonna let me die, are you?"
"Aren't," she corrected without thinking. Sam groaned.
"Even a dying man can't escape from your nagging."
"I'm not nagging," she snapped.
"Both of you, put a sock in it," Doc grumbled, ripping Sam's shirt open.
'Dear God! What a masculine chest, with such rippling, powerful muscles...and those abs...' she thought, as she hovered in the background.
"Can I do anything to help?" she asked, shaking herself from her thoughts.
Carmen came in with the items.
"Who shot Mr. Sam?" Mercedes took the things from her and shrugged.
"Nobody knows. With all those men firing and half of them drunk, it could've been anyone. He had a few juleps…he might've even shot himself."
"I heard that," Sam said.
"Hush," she returned.
"Humph," Carmen said. "Let me get him some whiskey and pain killers." Sam grinned as she left the room.
"Now there's a real angel of mercy," he said, clasping Mercedes' hand, leaving her to marvel at what a big, strong hand it was.
Carmen returned with the items and Mercedes lifted Sam's head and held him, so he could take the painkillers and drink the whiskey, she held to his lips.
"Angel," he whispered. "Dark-haired angel."
"Evans, you're drunk," she replied. He grinned up at her.
"Don't leave me Mercy."
"I won't."
After a while, the doctor was finished and he turned to Mercedes, as she lifted Sam's head and lay it gently on the pillow, and said,
"He'll be fine. He'll sleep now. I think you'd better take a rest."
Without thinking, Mercedes brushed Sam's hair back from his forehead. He looked so pale and defenseless, like a little boy. Her heart went out to him.
"He's lost a lot of blood. Will he be alright?" The doctor smiled.
"I think it will take more than a stray bullet, to finish of this rascal." The major entered the room, knocking softly.
"How's our guy?"
"Fine. He's a tough guy. He'll be up and about by tomorrow," Doc said.
"That's what I want to hear." He turned to Mercedes and said, "I'll investigate what went wrong. I believe some of the men were shooting wildly."
Lieutenant Fortenbury hurried in, offering her his handkerchief to wipe the blood from her hands.
"Are you sure he'll make it? Sometimes people die from small wounds…" She nodded and wiped her hands.
"The doctor says he'll make it…he's tough."
"Well, thank God for that," the Lieutenant said, not sounding relieved at all.
"Even though he's a scoundrel, the whole town would be upset if he died. Miss Mercedes, are you aware you have blood on your dress?"
She looked down at the smear on her dress.
"I…I must have gotten it while I was holding him." The Lieutenant frowned.
"Really, Miss Mercedes. I would think dirty work like that, should be left to the maid, Carmen."
"Shut up, Buford!" she snapped. "You're such a snob."
"What?" He was taken by surprise at the tone of her voice.
"I'm tired and I think I'd better go and see if the doctor needs anything before he goes. Major, can you tell the others, Mr. Evans is okay? And get them to disperse. Thank you."
With that, she turned away and headed for Sam's room.
The doctor was just coming out.
"I'll be back tomorrow, to see how he's doing. See if you can get some food into him, maybe some soup." Mercedes nodded and headed to the kitchen.
"I know, Miss. I've got some chicken soup. I'll bring it in," Carmen said, bringing a smile to Mercedes' face.
Mercedes turned and tiptoed back into Sam's room.
His foot was bandaged and propped up on a pillow. He still looked pale.
She looked down at him and his eyes flickered open. He grinned.
"Looks like you don't get sole ownership of the Texas Lily, yet."
"How dare you…after I got blood all over me, trying to help?"
"Yeah, Doc told me. Thank you." She acknowledged his gratitude with a nod, took a cloth and gently wiped his face.
"Carmen's bringing in some soup." He pouted.
"I'd rather have chili, with some peppers and a cold beer."
"That's not what you're getting. So you can forget all about that." She kept her voice firm. It was the only way to deal with him…going toe to toe with him.
"Miss Mercy, did anyone ever tell you, you're stubborn and hard to deal with?"
"So are you," she tossed back him.
Carmen came in with the soup.
"I can feed him, Miss, Lieutenant Fortenbury is still waiting out front, for you. Besides, he reminded me, that it's my duty to look after Mr. Sam, not yours. He says you shouldn't be playing nurse to the gambler…even one of the girls can do it."
Mercedes looked up to see, the curious faces of the remaining girls, of the Texas Lily, standing in the doorway.
Suddenly, she didn't want any of them feeding Sam or sponging him.
"Never mind. I'll do it."
"You gonna poison me?" Sam asked.
"Don't give me any ideas." She looked towards the door and said, "Everyone can go to bed. Carmen, can you please go and tell the lieutenant, that I can manage just fine without his advice? Wait...No. Just tell him I'll speak to him later and don't give him any details. It's not his business anyway."
"You can say that again," Carmen added, nodded and left the room, taking the girls with her. Sam winked at Mercedes, as she sat down on the edge of his bed.
"What will Fortenbury think?" he asked.
"Lieutenant Fortenbury is hardly your concern. So shut up and eat this soup before I pour it on you."
"You'd do that? Pour hot soup on a wounded defenseless man?" She smiled.
"Don't tempt me, Evans."
Here's my stab at Lieutenant Fortenbury...He's a bare-faced, lying, rotten-to-the-core, grade A Ass****. I think I can find worse to call him, just not yet. See you...hear you...at the next chapter :)