{ ❧ Song of the Section; Losing My Religion by R.E.M. }
❧ I'd killed more men than I could count on all ten digits. I'd robbed stage coaches from Texas to California and everywhere in between. On the rare occasion that I found myself in a reflective mood, I sometimes wondered about the state of my moral compass.
But, I tell you what-- standing with Mercy's journal in my hands was not one of those times.
By the time the sun crept up, Mercy was still fast asleep-- a tired lump between two wool blankets on the dewy ground. She'd left the journal tucked deep in her pony's saddle bag, but I couldn't help but stumble upon it while I was saddling up. As soon as I realized what I had in my hands, I leafed through the leather bound book with nimble fingers and hungry eyes, remaining quiet so as not to wake her.
When I had this woman's private thoughts within my grasp, I was exactly the notoriously callous person the papers made me out to be. But, you know-- I'd never given two shits about the papers.
April 13, 1858
I met him on a Tuesday.
August Bell, a newcomer to town, has somehow suckered Papa into taking him under his wing. Why, I do not know. We gave him a tour of the gold mine today so Papa could show him all the bells and whistles.
Later in the afternoon, Papa had to step out for a moment, so I pressed on with the tour and showed Mr. Bell how to pan for gold. We didn't find much, but did converse for a moment by the riverbed. The mid-day sun was beating down on us without avail and we were pleased to find that Mr. Bell was a natural at panning. Almost like he'd been born doing it. August is a cheeky devil and there's something about him that I can't quite put my finger on. He said he was a born and raised Texan, but that if he owned Hell and Texas now, he'd rent out Texas and live in Hell instead. Oh, he's devilishly handsome and somehow mischievous.
I have this uneasy feeling that my life will never be the same again. I'm afraid if I don't end up despising August, I'll end up loving him first.
At the mention of the 'L' word, my manly instinct moved me to find another entry. So, I flipped through the yellowing pages some more in an effort to find something a little more thrilling. Seeing as it was a silly woman's diary though, I kept my expectations rather low.
My eyes flicked back to Mercy, who was still sound of sleep even after the break of dawn. It lit up the evergreen trees with a warm orange glow. I expected Mercy hadn't had the most comfortable nights sleep, considering all she did was loosen those corset strings of hers a bit, but that sure hadn't stopped her from sleeping in too long. Lord, have mercy, this woman was going to be all kinds of a pain in the ass for me, I just knew it. She was just lucky that I found something to preoccupy myself with.
I settled upon the next entry.
June 29, 1858
We had a June wedding--
Nope. That wasn't any entry I cared to read either. I searched adamantly for something to spark my interest. As far as I knew, there wasn't anything less interesting than a girl gushing about her wedding day. Not nearly as exciting as the wedding night, anyway. Now, that would be an entry I wouldn't mind reading in any woman's diary.
YOU ARE READING
Rush
Historical Fiction{ ❧ The Old Colorado Territory. 1860. } The first time I met Mercy Montgomery, she had a smokin' pistol pointed at the back of my head. But that little spark struck up a proposition that was just too sweet to pass up. And that's saying something, c...
