Their Christmas Bride Read online

  Their Christmas Bride

  A Bridgewater Ménage Series Holiday Novella

  By Vanessa Vale

  © 2015 Vanessa Vale

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover Design: RomCon - www.romcon.com

  Cover Photo: Period Images; fotolia.com- ivan kmit

  Allison Travers is in love with two men. Two! Quinn and Porter are both irresistible, and making a choice between them seems impossible. But she fears she'll lose the chance to decide when a malicious man seeks to force her into marriage with him by spreading rumors painting her as a woman with loose morals.

  Quinn and Porter aren't about to buy the lies. They love Allison, and what's more, they both want to marry her. Allison, unaware that one woman for two husbands is the way of the Bridgewater men, soon learns of their customs. And she learns something else as well: once they track her down, these two handsome cowboys will never let go of the woman they plan to make their Christmas Bride.

  THEIR CHRISTMAS BRIDE

  A Bridgewater Ménage Series Holiday Novella

  CHAPTER ONE

  ALLISON

  October

  "You should not have your sights set on a man," Mr. Quinn said, his voice deep and almost quiet, as if speaking to me in a crowded room, instead of alone in an early season snowstorm.

  He was generous enough to escort me from the Bridgewater Ranch back to the boarding house in town where I lived and worked, although it did not seem as if I had much choice in the matter. Instead of asking to lead the wagon and the team for me, he'd told me. The snow had tapered, at least temporarily, but the wind was bitter cold on the exposed prairie. The heat radiating from his side where our bodies touched from shoulder to hip kept me warm, but I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have such warmth surrounding me. Holding me. Pressing me into a soft bed. I pushed those thoughts away and considered his words.

  The heat of embarrassment that rose to my cheeks warmed me as well, for he must have seen me eye Dashiell McPherson on occasion. "Oh?" I responded.

  "You should, instead, keep your eyes on the man who has his sights set on you."

  I tilted my chin and looked up him. His dark eyes were clearly set squarely, and solely, on me.

  ***

  The stage was cold. Bitterly cold. The leather flaps covering the windows did nothing to keep the frigid December air from seeping in, and into my bones. I shivered beneath my heavy coat, boots, gloves and thick scarf, but this was the Montana Territory and there would be no reprieve until April. No other passengers joined me on the ride to Carver Junction, but that was no surprise for it was Christmas morning. The stage driver himself admitted he was only making the journey to return to his home in Billings to be with his family. He was as desperate to get home as I was desperate to get away.

  While I didn't begrudge the Arnolds for selling the boarding house where I'd worked for the past two years, their decision to move south to Denver to be near their grown son and family had been unexpected. A letter bearing news of a second grandchild on the way has spurred them to sell the house to a young couple and move before the longest days of winter. I was out of a job and there was nothing in the small town for me to do. There were no needs for a seamstress, for Mrs. Carnes did that. I couldn't be a laundress for I had no place to live, nor supplies. Besides, Mrs. Adams took in wash for others. Miss Richmond was the school teacher. The only other role for an unmarried woman without family was working at Rose's. That was not a choice. But when Carlton Matthews approached me and forced my hand toward marriage, working in the town's brothel looked a rather appealing alternative. When he'd threatened me with slander or worse if I did not wed him, I fled, boarding the cold, rough stage in the pre-dawn light.

  As a gust of wind made the leather window covering flap noisily against the wood, I thought longingly of the men from the Bridgewater Ranch—Mr. Quinn and Mr. Porter specifically. They filled my thoughts, but any interest they may have had in me would have been lost after hearing the lies Mr. Matthews intended to spread. They were too honorable to be with a woman who had supposedly bedded Mr. Matthews only to steal from him.

  Mr. Quinn and Mr. Porter had been very attentive when I was in their presence, but they'd done nothing untoward, and neither of them had officially declared his intentions. Perhaps it had all been wishful thinking on my part, and I had put too much hope where none laid. Either one of the men would have been a worthy catch, but it did not matter any longer. I crossed my arms over my chest and hunched my shoulders, trying to keep warm as the stage rolled over a rut in the frozen path. Perhaps it was for the best I left town, for what man would want a woman who had lustful thoughts, even impure actions, about two different men?

  Their handsome faces had taken turns filling my mind as I touched myself at the apex of my thighs in the privacy and darkness of my attic bedroom. It had been the unknown things they could do with their big hands—used to gentle a skittish horse or carry heavy sacks of grain—that had made my back arch off my bed as I succumbed night after night to my body's pleasure.

  I groaned and grabbed my small bag, pulling out the biscuits I'd packed. They were dry and stuck in my throat, clogging there with tears. I lusted after not one man, but two. I eagerly sought the attentions of not one man, but two. I longed for not one man, but two. I was a...a hussy.

  I sighed, my breath coming out in little white puffs, knowing the men would remain on the Bridgewater Ranch while I sought work in a larger town such as Miles City or Billings, most assuredly turning their attentions to other women in town, women who were virtuous and did not dream of two men. I would be quickly forgotten. No, not forgotten, for what Mr. Matthews would tell the town would spread like a July wildfire and either one of them would be thankful they'd been saved from a woman such as I.

  Mr. Quinn and Mr. Porter would each have a wife to warm their beds and direct their carnal attentions while I, from whatever town I found work, would continue to think of them in my late night fantasies. It was wrong, I knew, to touch myself intimately and inappropriately, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop, for that short moment of bliss wiped away the hardship, the loneliness and the fear. Even now, as I pressed my head back against the hard wood of the seat and shut my eyes, my core clenched and pulsed. My body didn't care that I was painted a loose woman and a thief. It knew what it wanted.

  When the stage pulled to a rough stop in Carver Junction and not just Mr. Quinn met me, but Mr. Porter and a man with a star pinned to his heavy winter coat, I knew that Mr. Matthews had followed through with his more extreme threats. I'd hoped Christmas would at least delay the rumors, but that did not seem to be the case. Usually my heart skipped a beat at the sight of either Bridgewater man and this time was no different, but the reason for it had changed. It wasn't eagerness or feminine interest. It was trepidation and worry, for their faces were grim beneath their hats. I swallowed down my fear at being hauled off to spend Christmas in jail. At least I would be warm.

  CHAPTER TWO

  October

  "May I carry your parcel for you, Miss Travers?"

  Mr. Porter startled me as I came out the door of the mercantile. I licked my lips and glanced left and right to see if he truly had spoken to me. The man was devilishly handsome with a quick smile and dark eyes. While they were similar in color to Mr. Quinn's, his were less brooding. I felt he could see past my cool facade. My palms were sweating inside my gloves and my nipples had tightened.

  He, too, looked about. "There are no other Miss
Travers, are there?"

  I frowned at his odd question. "No," I replied slowly.

  "Then my attention is solely for you." He held out his big hand and I had no choice but to give him my paper wrapped bundle. I could feel the warmth of his palm as it pressed against the small of my back. I had no interest in moving, for the gesture was the only contact he'd ever made with my person. "I wonder...." His words trailed off and I tilted my head up to look at him.

  When his gaze dropped to my mouth, I realized he'd stopped talking intentionally.

  "Yes?" I asked, trying to fill the nervous silence.

  "As I said, while my attention is solely for you, I wondered if perhaps your attention was given to someone else. Mr. Matthews, perhaps?"

  The other man had circled about me, but his interest was not returned. Mr. Matthews might have been handsome in a way, but there was something unappealing about him.... "No."

  He gave a decisive nod. "Good."

  Butterflies filled my stomach at that one word. We went the length of the block before I spoke next. "Good?"

  "I won't share you with him."

  ***

  Mr. Quinn opened the stage door. Because of his large size, he only looked up at me slightly, but his face was hidden in shadow beneath the broad brim of his hat. "May I help you down?" he asked, his voice a familiar and pleasing rumble, but it held none of the warmth to which I was accustomed.

  I slid across the bench seat as far away from him as possible, my back pressing against the far wall. "If you're going to put me in jail, at least...at least allow me to explain."

  "You'll come with us, Miss Porter," he said.

  I shook my head and my chin slid back and forth over my thick scarf. "No. I won't have the sheriff arrest me." I'd done nothing wrong!

  He glanced behind him to the other men, sighed, then grabbed my ankle over my dress, pulling me slowly closer and closer across the bench seat until he was able to easily grab me about the waist and pull me out of the stage. I was petite, barely coming up to Mr. Quinn's shoulder, so he handled me as if I weighed no more than a feather.

  I struggled in his hold. "I told you, I need to explain," I cried. "I'm not going to jail!"

  Mr. Quinn unceremoniously flipped me up and over like a sack of grain, my belly pressed into the broad expanse of one shoulder, his hand hooking over the backs of my thighs. I squealed in surprise and protest. "Mr. Quinn, put me down!"

  The man clearly chose to ignore me, for my voice was loud enough.

  "Let's not stay out here long," the sheriff began, "for it's colder than a witch's—"

  Mr. Porter cleared his throat.

  "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am." The sheriff tipped his hat, although I could barely see the gesture around Mr. Quinn's back. "It's cold. Let's take this discussion to the jail."

  "I told you I've done nothing wrong," I cried out. "I won't let you take me!"

  A hand swatted my bottom through the layers of my coat and dress. It smarted and was a complete surprise.

  "Be still, Allison," Mr. Porter said from beside me, and I realized he'd used my first name. It was the first time he'd said it, and that alone stilled me.

  I was thankful for the cold weather and the holiday for keeping all of the townspeople indoors, for I did not wish for them to witness my humiliation at being carried across town. I thought of the dark looks on the men's faces and I could only imagine what they thought of me. I turned my head into the back of Mr. Quinn's jacket to hide my face. Tears of mortification burned the back of my eyes. Mr. Matthews had clearly and baldly told me exactly what he would do to me if I rejected his suit and it seemed the false allegations had spread faster than a moving stage. Why else would the men be here with the sheriff waiting for me?

  When Mr. Quinn righted me, he held onto my arm until I got my feet settled beneath me. As I did, I caught the man's scent. Cinnamon and wood smoke. It was not unappealing and I had to admit it was usually quite affecting, but not in our current surroundings. The jail was squat and unappealing, but inside was blissfully warm. The sheriff hung his hat on a peg, and then went over to the stove to add another piece of wood. He stood back to his full height and rubbed his hands together. "Please have a seat, Miss Travers."

  Mr. Quinn turned the chair that faced the sheriff's large desk, but I eyed the door. I itched to fling it open and run away as fast as I could. Where I was to go once I was outside, I did not know, but being incarcerated was the alternative.

  "Don't even consider it," he murmured.

  I pursed my lips, knowing I had no choice but to sit, but I tipped up my chin, letting the man know it was under duress. Mr. Porter leaned back against the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out before him.

  I cleared my throat to fill the silence. "Am I under arrest?" I asked tersely, crossing my arms over my chest.

  "Why would the sheriff need to arrest you?" Mr. Porter asked, undoing the buttons down his coat. It was getting quite warm in here, but I refused to remove my own coat, for I did not intend to stay long.

  "Well...I assume Mr. Matthews' statements were bandied about town." I looked at my lap.

  "They were," Mr. Quinn replied. He moved to lean his shoulder against the wall. "But when we approached him about it, he seemed to offer a different recounting."

  I cocked my head to the side. "Oh? He doesn't seem the type of man to change his mind." If he were, I wouldn't have run away in the cover of darkness. I could have left town with my head held high.

  Mr. Porter cracked his knuckles. "He is when his nose is broken."

  I gasped. "You punched him?"

  The man shrugged. "When he cast aspersions on my bride, I took offense."

  He'd defended my character and that felt good because...wait—what had he said? Bride?

  "What...I beg your pardon?"

  He lifted his head, looked me square in the eye. "I took offense to him putting my bride's honor in question."

  I swallowed down my heart, which had leapt into my throat. Suddenly, it was too hot and I fumbled with the buttons down the front of my coat. Casting a glance in Mr. Quinn's direction, I observed he had not moved, only watched with his usual patient air. "I...my goodness it's warm." I shrugged out of the garment so it fell over the back of the chair. "Bride?" I squeaked.

  "Were you even going to say goodbye?"

  "Mr. Porter, I—"

  "Just Porter, Allison."

  My mouth fell open at his repeated use of my first name and his tone. It came out dark and rumbling, gentle even.

  "Porter," I began again. "I had no choice. There were no jobs in town and I had no intentions of wedding Mr. Matthews."

  "That's good to hear," Mr. Quinn said.

  I turned toward him.

  "He's not for you," he added.

  I knew that well and good.

  "Why would you want to marry me if you're arresting me and putting me in jail?" What man would want to marry a woman who was—supposedly—used goods and a thief, even an innocent one? Just being accused of such a crime was worthy of disassociation, and I was sure neither Mr. Quinn nor Porter wanted a tarnished bride.

  "I'm not arresting you, Miss Travers," the sheriff said. "I'm marrying you to Porter."

  CHAPTER THREE

  November

  "May we see you home, Miss Travers?" Mr. Porter asked, standing among the congregation outside the town church. Both men held their hats as they looked earnestly at me. I couldn't help but swallow the thrill at having their attentions. It was unnerving; I was quite unused to one man's interest, but now, it seemed, I had two men interested. In me. Me!

  I tried not to frown as I considered that. Why would both of them want to walk me home? As chaperones perhaps? I sighed as they watched me. Of course. It made complete sense, for I'd heard that Caroline Pickens had tried to corner—and capture—Mr. Quinn just a few weeks ago after a town meeting. Clearly, he didn't want to be trapped into a hasty marriage because of an overeager woman. He was just being courteous, and cautious,
by having Mr. Porter walk with us.

  I liked a courteous man, but that would not keep me warm at night, for Thanksgiving was quickly approaching and the frost was upon the ground in the mornings now. That meant the start of another long Montana winter. I wanted a man who made my body tingle at the thought of being kissed, needed to know what the rasp of calloused fingers felt like upon my skin. I wanted him to want only me.

  I shivered thinking about Mr. Matthews. He most certainly wanted me. His attentions had just as much ardor, if not more, than either of the men from Bridgewater, but I did not long for him. I did not ache for him. I did not pleasure myself to thoughts of him.

  The men were waiting intently for an answer, so I nodded my head and found my voice, pleased. "Yes, thank you."

  They each took an elbow and guided me in the direction of the boarding house. Walking between them as I was, I felt so small and feminine. I also felt protected and sheltered from any kind of danger, perhaps even the likes of Mr. Matthews.

  Both men were handsome, virile, and gave me the attention I expected—and longed for—from a suitor. Why were they being equally attentive and if the time ever came, how could I choose just one?

  "We have heard the Arnolds have sold the boarding house," Mr. Quinn commented.

  "Yes. The new owners will be taking over the business before Christmas."

  "What of you?" Mr. Porter asked.

  "I am a temptation the new owner's wife does not want near her husband, therefore I will seek employment elsewhere."

  One of the men hmphed. "Your family lives in Miles City, I believe," Mr. Porter added. He remembered that small detail from a previous conversation.