The Fall of Jericho

  The Fall of Jericho

  By

  Rebecca Goings

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Fall of Jericho

  Copyright© 2010 Rebecca Goings

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-566-2

  Cover Artist: Sable Grey

  Editor: Barbara Louise

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Dedication

  For all the love, for all the laughter, and for living—this one’s for Dad.

  Chapter One

  Sagebrush Springs, Arizona Territory, 1879

  The sharp, insistent knock on the door woke Jericho James from a sound sleep. He’d passed out not more than a few hours before, exhausted from chasing Charlie Butcher halfway across the country. He’d found the no-good outlaw in Sagebrush Springs, the city Jericho had called home so long ago.

  Thankfully, he’d caught the man before Butcher robbed the bank and high-tailed it out of town. Collecting that hefty two thousand dollar bounty came just in time, as all Jericho had had left in his pockets was lint.

  He hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d flopped on the poor excuse for a bed, but now, he was determined to give whoever thought it prudent to pound on his door a piece of his mind. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he yanked it on, not bothering to button it. Another knock sounded as he buckled his gun belt.

  With a growl, Jericho ripped open the door. “What is it?”

  The woman on the other side stared at him, letting her gaze move over the skin of his chest. Her cheeks blazed with color, but she didn’t look away. He grinned and relaxed his stance, hanging his left hand on the top of the door.

  “Jericho?” The woman seemed flustered and smoothed away the tendrils of hair that had fallen from her bun. It was a light brown shade, non-descript, but her eyes were the color of tanned leather. His memory punched him right in the gut.

  “Mercy?” he breathed, looking her up and down in much the same way she had done to him.

  “I saw you earlier,” she said. “Over at the jail. Thought I’d ask around and find out if you were staying in town.”

  For the first time in his life, he was dumbstruck. The lady before him was all grown up, with swells and curves in all the right places. Last time he’d seen Mercy Ainsworth, she’d given him a wildflower and professed her undying love. But that had been four years ago, when she’d been a girl of sixteen and he a man of twenty. Now, however, she was very much a woman.

  It reminded him of just how long he’d been without someone to warm his bed.

  “Well, you found me,” was all he could think to say.

  “How...how have you been?”

  “Hot. Hungry. Horny.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened, and she gasped in shock. But instead of running away like he thought she might, she stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You still need a lesson in manners, I see,” she said haughtily, trying her best to look down her nose at him. He remembered that look. It spurred memories he’d wanted to keep locked away for the rest of his life.

  “I’m not the one knocking on a man’s door when he’s trying to sleep, honey.”

  Mercy wrung her hands in front of her and chewed her bottom lip. His jeans were suddenly uncomfortable. He’d have to cut this conversation short or risk dragging her inside his room just to have a release.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “I was afraid you’d leave before I could see you again. It’s been a long time, Jericho.”

  He closed his eyes at the mention of his name. He’d always hated that his father, the esteemed Reverend Malachi James, had given him the name of a city from the Bible. But coming from Mercy, it only served to ignite his blood.

  He was delirious from exhaustion, that was all.

  Yet the more he remembered the mousy waif from his past, the more he realized just how beautiful she’d become. Her unruly hair was now pinned back. Her light blue dress didn’t have any wrinkles. And her long, black eyelashes ringed her unique eyes in such a way that he couldn’t stop staring into them.

  She’d been cute then, but as a woman, she was stunning. His heart galloped at the memory of her lips underneath his.

  But that had been an eternity ago.

  “You look good.” He was amazed his voice didn’t waver.

  “So do you,” she said, a moment before glancing at his chest once more. He wondered what she was thinking as she trembled slightly. Perhaps she remembered their ancient kiss as well.

  “I’d invite you in, but...” He let the sentence hang. She glanced at the rumpled bed through the doorway. Joining him in his hotel room, alone, was a very bad idea.

  “Perhaps we could meet at the stables, like we used to, and talk about old times.”

  The hope in her voice crushed his own. She wanted to talk. Probably about Joy. Pity. He could think of more exciting things she could do with her mouth.

  Chapter Two

  Mercy nervously wrung her hands as she stood outside the stables an hour later. Jericho had grumbled at her, telling her exactly how long it had been since he’d had a good night’s sleep, but she’d convinced him she needed to talk with him. She had a suspicion he’d merely agreed to get her to go away. It was altogether possible he’d ignore her plea and go back to sleep. She hoped he was good to his word.

  He still managed to steal her very breath. He’d been the reason the sun rose and set so many years ago, and if she wasn’t careful, Mercy might just find herself right back in that pit of longing and despair.

  It had seemed back then that he’d been interested in her as well, if his ardent kiss had been any indication. Yet even after she’d told him of her feelings for him, he didn’t give a damn, choosing instead to hunt down the man who’d killed his sister and riding out of her life for good.

  That had been hard for everyone to deal with, as Joy had been such a sweet girl, in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been caught by Frank Merchant’s bullet, a known horse thief, who’d made off with her brother’s prized colt shortly after Joy had taken him for a ride in the wilderness. Jericho had blamed himself, as he’d always been the one who’d protected her, and he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him most. Becoming a bounty hunter had been the only way he knew how to cope with the loss.

  Mercy understood his pain. He’d wanted to find the son of a bitch who took his sister’s life and bring him to justice. She didn’t blame him for wanting to avenge Joy, but that hadn’t kept her heart intact when she’d learned from his father that he’d left town late one night. She hadn’t heard from him since.

  Until now.

  Her heart fluttered when she saw him. He was crossing the street with his hat pulled low, bathing his face in shadow. The way he moved reminded her of a cougar, strong and lithe, a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. She swallowed hard and tried not to remember his naked chest with a light peppering of hair that had greeted her at his hotel room. It had been all she could do not to stare, and she wasn’t sure she’d accomplished that goal.

  Seeing him now made her yearn for quieter, happier times. The stress of the trail was written all over his face, aging him beyond his years. He’d let his golden hair curl around his collar, and sometime during his travels he’d broken his nose. But if anything, all of his aged
features served to make him more handsome than he’d ever been. More virile, more dangerous.

  Her breathing quickened, and her mouth went dry.

  Jericho’s easy demeanor had fled and was replaced with the hardened man he’d become. His eyes scanned the road, watching as people hustled to and fro, even glaring at a cowboy who dared pull his horse too close. Once he made it to the stable, he stalked toward her, seeming to bring with him a chill wind despite the heat of the day.

  “I don’t have time for your games, woman,” he growled, his expressive blue eyes staring daggers at her. “Let’s get this over with.”

  His words shocked her and she stood gazing at him with her mouth wide open. That sweet young man she used to know was truly gone.

  Jericho rested his hands on his guns and gave her a condescending smirk. He was staring at her lips and watched intently as she wet them with her tongue. If anything, it seemed to make him even more upset.

  “You got something to say to me? ‘Cause before you begin, I wanna tell you I don’t have time for romancing. On the other hand, if you don’t mind parting with your virtue now, honey, I don’t mind takin’ it.”

  Mercy gasped with fury a moment before she lifted her hand and struck him across the cheek. The loud smack echoed off the stable wall.

  “How dare you?” she cried. “I asked to talk to you as a friend, and you throw the words I once spoke to you in confidence back in my face?”

  He rubbed his stubbled jaw and gave her an icy stare. “Mercy Ainsworth, you better not be here to talk about my sister.”

  She was through with giving him the benefit of the doubt. There was nothing left of the old Jericho she used to know, the one who used to give her coy smiles when she’d played with Joy, the one she’d pledged her virtue to when he’d stolen that passionate kiss. But he’d never cared about her then, and he certainly didn’t care now.

  “Your mother is sick. Could be dying. But I’m sure you’d rather ride on than pay your parents a visit. It’s a pity that when they lost their daughter, they lost their son as well!”

  She turned and walked away. Climbing the steps to the boardwalk, she was intent on never seeing that odious man again. But his hand clamped down on her elbow before she could get too far, stopping her retreat.

  “Damn it, I’m sorry, Mercy.”

  Her eyes stung with unshed tears at the tone in his voice, but she refused to let them fall. Without sparing him a glance, she yanked her arm free. “You should be,” she threw over her shoulder. “Your mother has been asking for you, but nobody knew where you were. When I saw you again, I...I had to see you.”

  Jericho sighed behind her then climbed the steps in an apparent effort to get her to look at him once more. She crossed her arms and intently watched a man and his wife loading their wagon a few feet away with sacks from the general store.

  She couldn’t look at him, not when he’d just cut her to the quick.

  “How long has she been sick?” His voice sounded pained.

  “Months.” Mercy chewed her bottom lip and sighed herself. “Doc’s been feeling some lumps under her skin. They’re painful, and sometimes she can’t get out of bed. He’s been giving her medicine, but it doesn’t seem to be working. She has good days and bad.”

  “How—” He cleared his throat. “How do you know all this?”

  Steeling herself, she found the courage to look into his eyes. “After you left, they had no one, Jericho. I did the only thing I could. I cared.

  “I came by during the holidays, cleaned their house when your Mama couldn’t do it herself. Sometimes I bake for them or chop their wood when the weather turns cold. You know how achy your father gets.”

  He gave her a vacant look. “You chop their wood?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes, the parishioners do it, but when no one is there, and a storm is coming in...” Mercy shrugged.

  Jericho scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight from foot to foot. A few passersby gave them looks, but continued on.

  “I fear for your father,” she said gently. “He knows Nora isn’t long for this world. He needs you right now. When she passes, I’m all he’ll have. And I’m not family.”

  With a deep sigh, Jericho leaned against the wall of the store and rubbed his eyes. His left hand pulled off his hat while his right found its way through his hair. He glanced back at her with red-rimmed eyes. Her heart broke just a little.

  After a long, pensive silence, he whispered, “I’m so tired, Mercy.”

  She wondered if he meant literally or figuratively. Perhaps a little of both.

  Chapter Three

  “Son!”

  Malachi James wrapped his arms around Jericho and cried into his shoulder. Mercy couldn’t help but sniffle at the scene as the two men patted each other on the back right there on the porch. She and Jericho had walked to the church on the other end of town, where his parents’ house stood a stone’s throw from the chapel where Malachi had preached most his life.

  They’d talked about mundane things, the weather, the growing town… But nothing of substance.

  “How’ve you been, Pa?” Jericho asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Not good, boy. You heard?” The reverend nodded his chin toward Mercy. Jericho gave her a fleeting glance.

  “Yes, Mercy told me.”

  The older man didn’t miss the look that passed between them. His countenance suddenly hardened when Mercy intently studied the floorboards.

  “You best give this woman the respect she deserves. Your mother thinks the world of her.”

  Jericho cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Where is Mama?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Resting. But as soon as she wakes, she’ll be wanting to see you.”

  “I should go,” Mercy said, backing toward the front steps. “I just wanted to check on Nora.”

  “She’ll be sad you’ve left.” Malachi pushed his round spectacles further up his nose.

  Mercy gave him a kind grin. “I’ll come check on her in the morning. Maybe bring some biscuits and apricot jam.”

  “Mmm, she’d like that.”

  “She would, or you would, you old coot?”

  With a chuckle, Malachi moved away from his son to wrap her in his strong arms as well. “You lock your door, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir. Take care.”

  “You too, now.”

  As Jericho watched her walk away, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sway of her hips, or the way her hair seemed to shine gold whenever it caught the light. He swallowed hard and blinked, but was unable to erase her image from his mind. She had a good heart. He couldn’t believe all she’d done for his parents these past years, and his chest swelled with emotion.

  When she disappeared down another road, he murmured, “Perhaps I should give old Henry Ainsworth a visit while I’m in town.”

  Malachi sighed. “Won’t have to go far.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His father merely pointed to the cemetery behind the church. “Buried him two years ago.”

  Jericho’s heart stopped. Mercy’s father had always doted on her. Ever since her mother died in childbirth, she’d been his one bright spot, and she’d loved him just as much. Not having been raised by a woman, Mercy had spent her days at the church, fascinated by womanly things, things his mother and his sister often did together. She stayed for dinner on more than one occasion, begging his mother to teach her to cook so she wouldn’t have to endure her father’s thin soups and burned rolls any longer.

  But that meant she was returning now to an empty house.

  He gave his father a quick glance, but Malachi held up his hand. “I know, son. We asked her to live with us, but she refused. Said it wasn’t her place, she wasn’t family. But she’s the closest thing...”

  His father’s eyes filled with tears, and he could no longer talk. The reverend turned and entered the house, leaving the door open behind him.

  Jericho st
ood alone on the porch, gazing down the road where Mercy had disappeared, remembering the cocky way he’d spoken to her earlier.

  He felt like an ass.

  Chapter Four

  Mercy sighed after cleaning the dinner dishes. An entire day of chores was lost. Her baking hadn’t been done, she’d meant to harvest a few vegetables from her garden, and butter didn’t churn itself. Not to mention she was low on jam and her laundry loomed in a pile. All she could do was hope that finding Jericho had been worth her time and effort. She didn’t do it for herself or for him.

  She did it for Nora and Malachi.

  Her entire life, they’d been her second parents, treating her as one of their own. After Joy had passed, her bond with them only seemed to grow closer, as they mourned the loss of a daughter, and she the loss of a friend.

  “Oh Joy...I miss you.”

  Mercy hadn’t had another close friend like Joy. There had been a few young ladies who’d come and gone from her life, like Betsy, the seamstress, who left town with her new husband, and Margaret, one of the local laundresses, whom she’d fallen out of touch with.

  Glancing at the laundry pile she kept in a basket by the back door, Mercy wondered if it wasn’t worth rekindling their friendship, if only to tackle that daunting task.

  Just as she was about to head to bed, the sound of a breaking window in the parlor stopped her in her tracks. She’d locked her door as soon as she got home, but she never thought someone might break her window!

  With a pounding heart, she glanced around her kitchen for somewhere to hide. If it was a burglar, he’d soon find there was nothing to steal but mixing bowls and quilts. The only place to hide was under the table, in plain sight.

  Mercy dashed for the back door, praying she wouldn’t be seen before she could make her getaway. But just as she pulled the latch, a pair of strong arms circled her waist.