Thank you for you continued kind support. Slightly longer chapter.
Standard disclaimer.
As June deepened, Sam had graduated from the crutch and finally quit complaining about, Mercedes renting out rooms to travelers.
Whenever men came to stay, he would find himself engaging them in a game of cards…when she wasn't paying attention, of course and he often made quite a profit doing it.
Mercedes was really busy with Michele's wedding.
Sam scowled at the thought. What was it, that was so fascinating about getting hitched, that it consumed all the women in town, even a prim old maid like Miss Jones?
Maybe, it was because, she'd never have one, he thought, but of course, he didn't say so. He liked living.
So far, his attempts to charm her, were getting him nowhere, which was not only unusual, it had all the members of the Town Beautification Committee laughing at him.
Worse yet, he knew that snooty lieutenant often took her driving.
What did she see in that dandy?
"Hi," Mercedes said to him, as she came into his office/lounge, with a pencil and papers in hand. "I've told Michele to invite the whole town…"
"The whole town?" Sam grumbled. "You know that will cost us, don't you? Why don't they elope and get Reverend Lovejoy to hitch them?"
She scowled at him.
He was charming alright, and downright handsome, with sinful, succulent lips, but she wasn't stupid enough to fall at his feet.
He could charm a dog off a meat wagon.
"A girl only gets married once, so it ought to be memorable and nice." Sam snorted.
"This may be the only fancy wedding in Texas history, where half the men in the audience, have slept with the bride." Mercedes felt the blood rush to her face.
"Don't be crude, Sam Evans. Everyone deserves a second chance, including the bride. Anyway, I thought we'd have the wedding out on the front lawn, among the lilies…"
"The big bird bath is in the way." She shrugged.
"So, the morning of the wedding, we'll move it and lock Sherwin up." He sighed.
"You inviting the ranchers to come?"
"Yes, I expect them to behave."
"With a little liquor in them, they'll get bawdy and start yelling at each other or singing, and we'll have a brawl on our hands." He grinned at the thought.
"Maybe it will be fun after all…nothing like a good drunken brawl, to top off the afternoon."
"There will be no fights and no liquor," she declared, and then, "We are serving lemonade and soda, maybe a little sparkling cider and wedding cake."
An incredulous look blossomed on Sam's face.
"That's all?"
"I think it's enough."
"You'll draw a better crowd with beer and barbecue," he suggested.
"This is a wedding, not a brawl." Sam grinned.
"Men would enjoy a brawl better, especially the Texans."
"As I said, cake, lemonade, soda and sparkling cider. The rancher is marrying Michele and they'll live happily ever after."
"Doesn't he get to say anything about the arrangements?"
"He gets to say, 'I do' when the minister asks him. The ladies have planned the rest of it."
"If he ain't full of beer, he might not say 'I do'…"
"Mr. Evans, how many weddings have you attended?" He thought about it for a minute, leaning on his desk.
"So far, I've managed to avoid them all. I was afraid they were contagious."
"I rest my case. It will be, as I say, and all the men will be expected to behave like gentlemen, including the Texans."
It would have been a beautiful wedding, but just before Mercedes sent Josiah and Len out to move the birdbath, it began to rain.
Mercedes moved right into recovery mode.
"We'll just have to move the whole thing inside. Mr. Evans, you can bring the bride down the stairs and we'll all scoot the poker tables back and have the ceremony in the main room. We can set up the cake and punch in the dining room. Carmen, let's get busy."
Sam managed to open the bar for the men, while they were waiting, as more guests arrive and either stood, or took seats on each side.
Mercedes suspected what was going on downstairs, but she couldn't be in two places at the same time. She had to help Michele get dressed and then get herself ready, seeing as she was asked to be maid of honor.
After digging through her closet and finding something to wear, one of the other girls did her hair, so that, it was pulled back in soft curls, with a few ringlets about her face.
"Gosh, Miss Jones, Eva said. "You look ravishing in red." Mercedes blushed and smiled. "Is Sam ready?" she finished.
"He should be. I hope he's not too well oiled. If he stumbles down the stairs and ruins this wedding, I may beat him to death, with the silver cake server. Is Michele ready?"
The girls giggled and went in search of her.
Michele was a vision in white.
Her hair framed her face beautifully, but she had a worried look on it.
"Miss Jones, do think anyone will laugh? I mean, about me wearing white?"
"If they do, they'll answer to me," was her reply.
Sam stood in the doorway, all dressed up and smiling. He might have been a little drunk, too, but he looked so handsome and so sexy, Mercedes almost forgave him for that.
She felt him staring at her.
"What's the matter, do I look that ridiculous in this get up?" she asked.
The 'get up' she was referring to, was a red, one shoulder neckline, frill side-split dress, with red and gold strappy heels.
"Miss Mercy," he started, bowing low. "You look like a fine juicy steak, to a starving cowboy."
"What?"
"You're pretty," he announced soberly, ignoring her question. "I've never realized just how pretty you are."
Mercedes almost smiled at him, but she remembered he was smooth with women.
'He could talk a cow out of her calf.'
"Thank you. You look nice yourself…drunk, but nice."
"A southerner is never drunk," he corrected her, rocking slightly. "I just had a quick drink for courage."
He leaned against the doorway and grinned at her.
Her breath caught and she cursed her traitorous body.
Just then, the preacher came through the door, interrupting their little moment.
"There's a nice crowd downstairs, Miss Jones. And someone has set up a barrel of beer. A lot of the crowd is snockered." She glared at Sam.
"Now, I wonder who did that?" Sam shrugged.
"You wanted it to be a success, didn't you? You think Texans would settle for lemonade?"
Her face turned stony, but Sam remained, as cool as a cucumber.
The reverend could sense the tension between the two, as he anxiously glanced down the stairs.
"We'd better get with it, before it reaches to a point of no return." He started for the stairs, then paused.
"Miss Jones, come down after the music starts. I'll signal you. And Sam, once Miss Jones is almost to the front, you escort Michele down the stairs, okay?"
"Got it," Sam declared.
He looked like the only way for him to make it down the stairs, was to fall down, Mercedes thought.
Outside, the rain pattered gently on the roof and the garden.
"Watch yourself. If you fall down the stairs and ruin this wedding, the ladies will kill you, after I'm done murdering you," she warned Sam. He grinned crookedly at her.
"You look beautiful, Mercy…as pretty as the bride, you know that?" Her heart fluttered, but she kept a stoic look, pasted on her face.
"Now I know you're drunk," she admonished. He sounded sincere, but she didn't trust him. "Are we all ready?" she called back to the girls.
"I'm so nervous," Michele said, twisting her bouquet of white roses, courtesy of the major's garden. Sam stepped up to look over the banister. He said,
"You think you're nervous? You ought to see the groom."
"Does he look like he's about to run?" Mercedes anxiously asked. Sam shook his head.
"I don't know. He looks like a cornered calf in a roping pen." Tears welled in Michele's eyes.
"Maybe he's regretting marrying a wh…" Sam put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.
"No, he's not. He's just nervous. Getting married is a big thing for a man…it's like going into battle. He knows he'll look like a fool, if he runs…besides, he's about to do the most important thing, he's ever done in his life. And he wants to, he's just a little bit scared."
Mercedes looked at him and their eyes met.
This was a side of him, she hadn't seen before.
"That was sweet. Thank you," she said to him. He scowled.
"I didn't do it for you, Mercy."
Mercedes sighed.
It was one step forward and two steps backwards with him, she thought.
Downstairs, the music began on the saloon piano.
Mercedes took a deep breath, held her bouquet of pink roses and started down the stairs.
She looked down into the curious faces, of about fifty people and for just a moment, when she saw Lieutenant Fortenbury in his best uniform, she imagined it was her wedding.
She smiled at him and he smiled back.
Down by the bar, she saw the minister, the groom and his best man, all dressed up, with their boots polished.
She reached the foot of the stairs and glided over to stand near the preacher. Then, she turned and looked up at the balcony.
To the strains of the wedding march, Sam came down the stairs with Michele on his arm.
'If he stumbles and falls and ruins this wedding, I'll kill him,' Mercedes vowed.
As they crossed the saloon, Sam stared at her, and kept on staring, as if he'd never seen her before. She felt herself flush and ducked her head.
They all stood before the minister, watching and waiting. Reverend Lovejoy asked,
"Who giveth this woman?" Sam had to clear his throat twice, before he could speak.
"I do...her former employer." Some man in the crowd laughed and Sam turned to glare at him. The laughter broke off and Reverend Lovejoy said,
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered at this place, before God and these witnesses…" Somewhere in the crowd, a child whined, asking,
"When are we gonna get some cake?" And the mother shushed it.
Sam had taken a front seat now and Mercedes was well aware, he was staring at her so hard, she felt naked.
She tried to ignore him and turned her smile towards Buford. Still she felt Sam's gaze on her.
Finally, the minister said,
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The cowboy grabbed Michele and kissed her soundly, whilst the entire crowd applauded. Sam stood up and signaled for silence.
"I believe, we're all ready for some refreshments and some dancing…led by the bride and groom, of course."
The crowd applauded even louder and moved towards the dining room, while the piano struck up a waltz and the cowboy danced his new bride, out into the middle of the saloon.
Mercedes realized both Sam and Buford were moving towards her, but Sam elbowed the shorter man out of the way.
"My dear Mercy," he said, bowing low, "May I have this dance?"
"I was going to ask first," Buford argued.
"Oh, shut up!" Sam said and swept her into his arms and danced away.
"That was very rude, Sam Evans," Mercedes said, attempting in vain, to put space between them.
"I got there first, remember?" He grinned down at her and she inhaled the scent of bourbon, his aftershave and some expensive cologne on him.
"Did I tell you, you look beautiful?"
"Mr. Evans, to put it bluntly, you are pickled. I know how plain I am."
"You make it tough to compliment you, know that?" He held her even closer.
"Must you hold me so tight?" she complained, struggling to pull back.
"I must. Now stop trying to be so proper and enjoy our dance," he murmured against her hair.
His breath was warm on her ear, even his big hands were warm. One was on her waist and the other had hers entrapped, so that she couldn't get away.
Outside, the rain had stopped falling and dusk was setting in.
She peered at Buford, behind Sam's arm. He seemed to be summoning up some courage. Finally, he marched over and tapped Sam's broad shoulder.
"May…may I cut in?"
"No, you may not. This is my dance," Sam snapped.
"Have you no manners?" Mercedes scolded, as they danced way.
"None. I'm not gonna let that ninny, take the woman I'm dancing with."
Mercedes didn't know what to say. She wasn't used to having the attention of two men.
When she was younger, she had always been a wallflower, at any dance she was forced to attend. She would stand on the sidelines, pretending to be laughing and having fun with the other girls, while never being asked to dance.
It was a warm evening and someone had opened the French doors, out onto the big covered porches, that wrapped around the house.
With the coming darkness, a cool breeze blew through, and before Mercedes could realize what he was up to, Sam whirled her out the French doors and onto the porch.
"What will they think of me, as a hostess…if I'm not in…"
"Who cares? They all seem to be having a good time. Let them be. Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?"
"Several times." She sighed.
"So pretty." He shook his head and his breath stirred the tendril of hair near her cheek.
"Mr. Evans, dancing out here in the darkness with you, is not good for my reputation."
"Mercy, honey, being seen anywhere with me ain't…isn't good for your reputation." Her heart skipped a beat at his term of endearment.
"Now, that's a fact…but I'm not yours, or anyone else's honey," she declared.
"You could be." He paused, looking down at her. She stared up at him in the moonlight and the burning look in his eyes spoke of hot desire.
'Has to be the liquor,' she thought. No man has ever looked at her like that before. She was taken aback, and it must've shown.
"I wouldn't worry, if I were you, Miss Jones. You're so innocent, not even I could smudge your precious reputation. I bet you've never even been kissed."
She looked away and flushed.
"That…that is hardly any of your business," she stuttered out.
"You haven't, have you?" An incredulous look was on his handsome face.
"I…no…but when the right man comes along…"
"Hell, woman. You don't know what you're missing." He smirked.
"Don't laugh at me, please."
She looked up at him, into those intense green eyes, now a shade darker and at that full sensual mouth. They had stopped dancing, but he hadn't let her go and she didn't try to escape his embrace.
"Mercy, does it look like I am laughing?"
His eyes darkened further, and she shivered. She was powerless to stop what was about to happen.
Sam bent his head and gently kissed her.
His lips were warm and tasted faintly of whiskey.
His body felt warm and strong against hers, and he molded her to him.
Her mind told her to pull away, but she just couldn't force herself to leave his embrace.
The kiss deepened and her heart seemed to pound, like a bass drum inside her chest.
She moaned, as she felt his tongue flicked along her lips. Immediately, her lips opened, and his tongue entered her mouth.
She leaned into him, completely surrendering, as her plump body melded to his.
The kiss grew deeper, until she found herself gasping for air.
Sam groaned aloud and pulled her closer, if that was possible.
"Mercy…Mercedes…" he whispered against her mouth.
One of his big hands caressed her bare shoulders, until she was shaking.
For a moment, his hand stopped on her throat and she willed him to go lower with his caress, into the bodice of her dress.
His mouth touched her throat and she threw her head back, wanting him to kiss all the way down, until his lips touched the swell of her breasts and…
Faintly from inside, she heard Buford calling,
"Miss Jones. Miss Jones, where are you?"
Like a cold splash of water, that slammed her back into reality.
What was she doing out here in the darkness with this rogue? She managed to pull away from him.
They were both breathing hard and Sam looked as surprised as she felt.
In her confusion, she turned to go back inside, but Sam grabbed her arm.
His eyes held hers and he shook his head from side to side.
"Don't." His lips looked so pouty and so kissable, she almost gave in and stayed. She gently took his hand off hers and fled, saying,
"I'm here, Buford."
Sam wanted to punch something, or someone, specifically, Buford Fortenbury.
What did she see in that fool? He wondered.
He decided to stay out in the cool air to calm himself, before returning inside, to follow through with what he had in mind.
Buford Fortenbury stared at Mercedes anxiously, as she rushed up to him.
"Are you alright, Miss Jones? You look a bit flushed."
Her heart was beating wildly.
Could he tell, by looking, that she'd been kissing Sam with wild abandon? She hoped not.
"I…I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Of course, she wasn't sure.
Her mind returned again and again, to the wildly passionate kiss on the porch. She shook when she remembered it.
"Shall we…shall we have our dance now?" he asked.
"Certainly."
He bowed low and took her hand in his white gloved one, the other, he placed carefully on her waist.
He kept a respectful distance between their bodies, as they waltzed around the floor.
Mercedes danced like she was hypnotized and when Buford whirled her, she saw Sam come in and leaned against a wall, watching her.
His stare was as intense as his kisses.
All she could think about, was his hot, virile embrace on the darkened porch, where she'd acted like a harlot, letting him devour her mouth, run his hands over her…do everything but take her on the porch swing.
She had never lost control of her emotions before.
The music played on and the officer kept humming in her ear, as they danced.
She hated that.
As he whirled her around the floor, she noted the other officers' wives nodding with approval.
Sam Evans stood on the sidelines, watching her. He looked as puzzled and as confused, as she felt.
As the dance ended, officer Fortenbury whispered in her ear,
"Would you like to go out on the porch?"
"I…I think it's a bit chilly outside." He frowned.
"It's June. All the French doors are opened and it's hot in here."
"Alright, let's go out," she reneged.
She took his arm and they headed for the porch.
She glanced back over his shoulder and saw Sam Evans sipping a drink and scowling at her.
It made her feel loose.
The way she'd let him paw her…and kissed her…but, dear God! She loved every moment of it and that surprised her most of all.
She and Buford went out on the porch and stood looking up at the warm Texas sky.
Under the full moon, the lilies glowed like orange fire.
"Let's take a walk through the garden," she suggested.
"I'd rather sit on the porch swing," he said. But she ignored him and dragged him off the porch.
"It's lovely to walk through the flowers," she said. S
he knew, if she sat on that swing with him, he would try to kiss her and she didn't want that, not after…
"These flowers are nothing but common day lilies," he snorted, as they went down the steps and out along the drive.
"I hear, Sue Sylvester came out here every morning, working on her flowers, but she didn't have much taste. My mother wouldn't have had anything so ordinary in her garden. Did I tell you she has a conservatory and raises orchids?" he finished.
"How nice," Mercedes said, as they walked. He paused and took both her hands in his.
"Two proper families, coming together as one. We'd certainly produce some fine quality children, won't we?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What I'm asking, Miss Jones, is…will you marry me?"
Mercedes was stunned speechless.
But hadn't she been dreaming of her engagement to this ambitious young officer?
"Miss Jones?"
Was she an idiot? Of course, she should say yes.
Suppose he ever found out, about her kissing Sam out on the porch? Her heart yearned for the Texan, but she pushed him from her mind.
'Be sensible,' that was what her mother would've said.
'Buford is from a distinguished family, as are you.'
"Uh…of course I'll marry you, Lieutenant."
"Buford," he corrected with a smile. And then, "Now that we are engaged, may I kiss you?"
She took a deep breath.
This should be the happiest moment of her life. So, why wasn't it?
"Of course, Buford."
He awkwardly took her in his arms and gave her a big, wet smack on the lips. She resisted the urge to hurl and wipe the back of her hand, across her mouth.
It was extremely different, to the kiss Sam had given her.
But of course, that scoundrel had probably kissed hundreds of women.
Just passed Buford's narrow shoulder, she saw a blur of grey.
"Look out!"
Her warning came too late.
Sherwin charged the officer, butting him in the rear and tossing him into the lily bed. Then the goat paused, bleating and shaking its curled horns, as if proud of himself.
"Buford! Are you hurt?" He sat up, his white gloves smeared with dirt and sputtered,
"That beast! He ought to be shot and barbecued. He's a dangerous animal." Mercedes reached out and took Buford's hand, helping him to his feet.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know why Sherwin has taken such a dislike to you." Buford was still sputtering, as he brushed himself off.
"I should sneak over some night and kill that goat."
Sherwin returned to munching flowers, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Mercedes and Buford started back towards the house.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Buford. He's really a very nice pet and I'm getting fond of him. Besides, I believe Sam Evans would beat you up, if you shot Sherwin."
Buford snorted.
"The owner is as wild and uncivilized, as his goat. Honestly, Miss Jones, you should move out of this place, until you can get control of it…I mean…before your reputation is ruined."
"I…I can't…at least not now. I've got a big stake in this property."
"My dear mother would not approve," he said, shaking his head.
"Neither would mine," she sighed. He smiled at her, as they walked up the steps and went inside.
"We are two of a kind, you know that?" he said. And she smiled.
There was still a large crowd, but it was mostly cowboys and single soldiers, as the respectable ladies had left.
Of course, the men would stay until the bar ran dry, Mercedes thought.
There was a little pushing and minor insults going on between the some of the guys, but they were all still having a great time.
Sam Evans' expression was as black as thunder, as Mercedes and the lieutenant returned.
Before she realized what he was going to do, the officer stepped in front of the piano and gestured for silence. Gradually, the room quietened.
"Everyone," he shouted. "I just can't keep this good news to myself anymore. This evening, Miss Mercedes Jones, lately of Lima, Ohio, has consented to marry me!"
'Dear God!' Mercedes thought, placing her hand to her lips.
There were cheers from the drunken crowd, but Sam glared a hole in her so much, she had to look away.
Men were gathering around the officer to shake his hand and some were offering him good wishes.
Sam Evans did neither.
He gulped his drink, slammed the glass down on the bar and yelled for another
Mercedes knew she should be happy, but somehow she wasn't.
Buford Fortenbury was everything she had dreamed of in a husband…respectable, upper-class and fine ancestors.
Yet, all she could think about, was that wet sloppy kiss… and the smoldering one, Sam Evans, the Texan emigrant, had given her.
Mercedes did it again. She made me mad. But what a kiss, from Sam I mean, not from that a**hole.