Page 54 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

“Low blood sugar. We didn’t have breakfast.”

“I don’t think it best for you two to linger until the commune gathers for lunch, which won’t be for another hour. The more time you have at Mac’s camp, Rocco, the better,” Marshall said, almost sounding helpful. “But it’s a long drive. Let the four of us break bread together in peace before you go.”

“An early lunch would be good,” Mercy said in a defeated way, as if all the fight had been kicked out of her. “If that’s okay with you?” She looked at Rocco.

“I’m starving.” He’d prefer not to endure an awkward meal with the mighty Empyrean and jealous Alex, but he could eat. “And we still need to know where we’re going and what to expect once we get there.”

“Alex, go to the kitchen. See what the cooks can rustle up for us quickly.” Marshall shooed him out, and Alex stalked off with clenched fists.

Rocco hoped that guy wasn’t petty enough to spit in his food.

Mercy’s father stepped around behind his desk, unlocked the top drawer and pulled out a map. “Here, let me show you what roads to take.”

Marshall pointed out the route that ran right through the mountains, past the overlook where he was supposed to meet Percy. It was possible that the doctor might have been fleeing from Cormac’s camp that night. That Mac had been the McCoy Percy had been referring to.

Her father annotated the turns to take and circled the spot where they’d find the camp.

Rocco studied the map. “How big is the camp?”

“Nowhere near our size. He’s got a much smaller outfit. About ten cabins up there. Some of his people prefer to rough it in tents when the weather permits.”

“How many people?” Rocco asked.

“I don’t know. I’d estimate thirty to forty.”

“You buy your weapons from him?”

“I do. He has an overseas connection. Other than that, I don’t know how his end of the business works. After we make a transaction, one of his guys meets Alex at a predesignated spot that routinely changes for safety purposes.”

“You don’t mind losing your source of weapons?” Rocco was still skeptical.

“As you’ve seen for yourself, we’re well stocked.”

Indeed, they were.

“Any suggestions on how I should handle this with my uncle?” Mercy asked.

“Just be yourself.” Marshall smiled at her. “And stick to the story. The two of you are to be married. Rocco’s radical views and inclination for violence made him a bad fit for my commune and I thought that Cormac’s would be better.”

Alex returned, carrying a tray of food. “The kitchen already had three-bean chili prepared for lunch. It’s been cooking all morning,” he said, setting down the tray on the desk. He handed Mercy a bowl, napkin and spoon.

She took a seat facing the desk.

Rocco chose his own bowl when Alex offered him one and sat beside Mercy.

Marshall directed the man to pull up an extra chair from the corner and to sit next to him. They said grace while Rocco listened and then dug in.

“This is outstanding,” Marshall said after his third spoonful, and Rocco reluctantly agreed, not missing the meat in the dish. “Such depth of flavor. I must compliment the kitchen staff during our lunch hour. I don’t do it often enough. Everyone works so hard.” The rambling continued, filling in the awkward silence as Alex’s gaze bounced between Rocco and Mercy. “See, we can all be mature adults and act with civility.”

Coughing, Mercy put her bowl on the desk. Her face was flushed. She put a hand to her throat. Scratched her cheek with the other. The coughing turned to a wheeze.

“Mercy?” Marshall leaned forward, peering at her.

Rocco clasped her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head and stood. “Something’s wrong. Can’t breathe,” she uttered through a rasp.

Red bumps and welts began appearing on her face and arms, probably beneath her clothes as well.

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