thought were two completely different things. OK, so you do know a thing or two about her. But that doesn't mean—
"Woodrow is a small hamlet in Amersham. Sounds stuffy, doesn't it? And when I first met this big ball of fur, that's how he struck me." She stroked the cat's nose and said "Stuffy."Then, "My mother was born there."
"Amersham? As in England?"
Mercy nodded. "She spent the first fifteen years of her life there, dreaming of ways to escape Buckinghamshire."
Interesting, Austin thought. "But she took you there, for family visits, right?"
A strange expression flickered across her face. Regret? Resentment? His questions were answered by the brittle edge to her voice when she said, "Mother died when I was ten, before I was old enough to figure out that she didn't want to go back. Ever."
He didn't see himself as the curious type, but Austin found himself considering all the ways Mrs. Samara might have died, especially after hearing that Mercy's father had been killed.Woodrow ambled across the couch cushion between his mistress and her guest, and promptly made himself comfortable in Austin's lap. Grinning, he scratched behind the cat's ears."Now that the story of how this guy got his name has been told, why don't you tell me how you got yours."
"Have you ever looked up the word 'mercy' in the dictionary?"
"I guess it must have been on a list of vocabulary words or a spelling assignment back in grade school." Woodrow's hearty purring reached his ears, broadening his smile.
"Most folks think it means forgiveness," she said, "and it does. But it also means compassion. My mother's parents didn't approve of her relationship with my dad. They even went so far as to threaten to disown her because of his heritage."
So her folks were prejudicial bigots. "Good thing they're not around to meet me, then," he said. But his laughter died a quick death when he realized what a silly comment might sound like to Mercy. "It's just . . . with my, uh, with my past issues, and the reasons I left the department and all, they might get the idea I'm—"
"No, you would have passed their litmus test. With flying colors."
Austin didn't get it, and said so.
"You could be a Brit with those blue eyes and blond hair.But even Irish or Scottish would have been more tolerable than—"
"They didn't like—" He paused, not knowing how to refer to her father's nationality without sounding like a bigot himself.
"Don't be afraid to say it. I'll grant you it's a four-letter word, but not one of the unacceptable ones. At least, not in all circles."She slid closer, her tiny hands manipulating his lower jaw. "Arab," she said, exaggerating the pronunciation. "Aahrub.Go ahead, now you try it."
"Arab," he echoed, feeling every bit like the ventriloquist's dummy. "But you're not getting off the hook that easily. No way. Nuh-uh. All this skirting the question has me more curious than ever."
"Curious? About?"
He saw the teasing glint in her eye, and it made him want to kiss her for the second time since he'd arrived. Oh, who was he kidding? He'd wanted to kiss her that day in her office, when she took hold of his wrists and swore that she hadn't been testing him. The truth of it? He really did want to know why her folks had named her Mercy. "About the reason your parents chose such an unusual name for their only daughter."
"Who says I'm an only child?"
Another bit of proof that he knew diddly about her, but Austin decided to call her bluff. "You did."
"Oh." She shrugged. "Actually, I have a half-brother. We've not kept in touch, I'm afraid."
From her expression, Austin couldn't tell if she'd written the rules that kept her and her brother apart, if it had been the brother's doing, or if it had only been a matter of miles that separated them. But something in her voice made him think Mercy would have liked more time with her only sibling.
"Mom was quite the free spirit in high school. Afterward, too. Ran around with hippy types, spent a few summers in
"Woodrow is a small hamlet in Amersham. Sounds stuffy, doesn't it? And when I first met this big ball of fur, that's how he struck me." She stroked the cat's nose and said "Stuffy."Then, "My mother was born there."
"Amersham? As in England?"
Mercy nodded. "She spent the first fifteen years of her life there, dreaming of ways to escape Buckinghamshire."
Interesting, Austin thought. "But she took you there, for family visits, right?"
A strange expression flickered across her face. Regret? Resentment? His questions were answered by the brittle edge to her voice when she said, "Mother died when I was ten, before I was old enough to figure out that she didn't want to go back. Ever."
He didn't see himself as the curious type, but Austin found himself considering all the ways Mrs. Samara might have died, especially after hearing that Mercy's father had been killed.Woodrow ambled across the couch cushion between his mistress and her guest, and promptly made himself comfortable in Austin's lap. Grinning, he scratched behind the cat's ears."Now that the story of how this guy got his name has been told, why don't you tell me how you got yours."
"Have you ever looked up the word 'mercy' in the dictionary?"
"I guess it must have been on a list of vocabulary words or a spelling assignment back in grade school." Woodrow's hearty purring reached his ears, broadening his smile.
"Most folks think it means forgiveness," she said, "and it does. But it also means compassion. My mother's parents didn't approve of her relationship with my dad. They even went so far as to threaten to disown her because of his heritage."
So her folks were prejudicial bigots. "Good thing they're not around to meet me, then," he said. But his laughter died a quick death when he realized what a silly comment might sound like to Mercy. "It's just . . . with my, uh, with my past issues, and the reasons I left the department and all, they might get the idea I'm—"
"No, you would have passed their litmus test. With flying colors."
Austin didn't get it, and said so.
"You could be a Brit with those blue eyes and blond hair.But even Irish or Scottish would have been more tolerable than—"
"They didn't like—" He paused, not knowing how to refer to her father's nationality without sounding like a bigot himself.
"Don't be afraid to say it. I'll grant you it's a four-letter word, but not one of the unacceptable ones. At least, not in all circles."She slid closer, her tiny hands manipulating his lower jaw. "Arab," she said, exaggerating the pronunciation. "Aahrub.Go ahead, now you try it."
"Arab," he echoed, feeling every bit like the ventriloquist's dummy. "But you're not getting off the hook that easily. No way. Nuh-uh. All this skirting the question has me more curious than ever."
"Curious? About?"
He saw the teasing glint in her eye, and it made him want to kiss her for the second time since he'd arrived. Oh, who was he kidding? He'd wanted to kiss her that day in her office, when she took hold of his wrists and swore that she hadn't been testing him. The truth of it? He really did want to know why her folks had named her Mercy. "About the reason your parents chose such an unusual name for their only daughter."
"Who says I'm an only child?"
Another bit of proof that he knew diddly about her, but Austin decided to call her bluff. "You did."
"Oh." She shrugged. "Actually, I have a half-brother. We've not kept in touch, I'm afraid."
From her expression, Austin couldn't tell if she'd written the rules that kept her and her brother apart, if it had been the brother's doing, or if it had only been a matter of miles that separated them. But something in her voice made him think Mercy would have liked more time with her only sibling.
"Mom was quite the free spirit in high school. Afterward, too. Ran around with hippy types, spent a few summers in
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