Their Reckless Bride (Bridgewater Ménage Series Book 11) Page 2

  The groans and swearing fell away as we made our way north along the creek bank until the bluff lowered and met the flat land. Cutting across the water, we turned in the direction the gunman must have taken. There were no trees here, nothing to obstruct our view. There was nothing in front of us but miles of open prairie. He might be nimble and quick, but he wouldn’t have made it out of sight without a horse. Charlie turned and cut up along the bluff’s edge to where he’d have perched and fired. Even though it was a hot day, it had been a wet summer and the grass was tall and green still. We couldn’t miss the trampled path the kid had taken and we turned to follow.

  “She’s fast, I’ll give her that,” he said, riding at a quick pace alongside me, but not too hard as to tire our horses.

  I tipped back my hat. “Her?” I said.

  He looked to me, raised a brow. Grinned. “The woman who saved us back there.”

  Woman?

  I sighed, more relieved than when I thought I’d been shot. “Oh, thank fuck.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Bloody hell, man. You thought she was a he, didn’t you?”

  “My cock had it right,” I said, shifting in the saddle as I remembered her standing above us, the gun in her hand. “Have you ever met a woman who wore pants? That’s not normal for a woman, even around here. Besides, we almost died. I’m allowed a little leniency.”

  I felt the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks. I was the sheriff. I chased bad men. Saved people, not the other way around. If I couldn’t tell a man from a woman, it was possible I’d lost my balls.

  “We were lucky she was there.” He laughed, then scratched his chin. “I’ll admit, the pants had me fooled for a moment, but it was her shape—”

  “What shape?” I countered. I didn’t remember the curve of womanly hips, the lush swell of a pair of breasts beneath the baggy men’s clothing. And yet, I’d still gotten hard. Still was.

  “Her long neck, the tip of her chin. Her lithe figure.” He looked ahead, but I could tell he was envisioning her in his mind. “My little warrior.”

  I didn’t miss his use of the word my.

  “A woman who has the balls to shoot two men in cold blood, dresses like a man and has no discernible curves,” I said. It was very uncomfortable riding a horse with a hard-on. “Why do I want to fuck the breath right out of her?”

  He looked to me. “Because the second she fired that gun and saved our sorry asses, she became mine.”

  I took off my hat, set it in my lap, wiped my forehead with my sleeve. I offered him a dark look.

  “Ours,” he corrected, realizing his error.

  I paused. “You don’t think she’s one of them, got angry at the others and decided to shoot them?”

  Charlie looked off in the distance. Considered. “Not a chance. Eyewitnesses describe the third man as stocky. Tall.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I thought as well. She’s not one of them, but she definitely hates them for some reason. We already have something in common.”

  “She’s not a meek miss, simpering over ribbons and bows,” he added. “Neither of us want that in our woman. Hell, if I’d wanted that, I’d have stayed in England. This one’s fierce, brave and because… fuck, I don’t know, but I feel the same way. I can’t wait to strip her bare and learn every inch of her.”

  “I’ve never stripped the pants off of someone before,” I countered, setting my hat back on my head, nudging my horse a little faster.

  She was a mystery. An enigma. I was eager to learn everything about her. Who she was. Why she was there on the bluff. Why she shot the Grove men. Why the fuck she was hiding the fact that she was a woman. Any female dressed like that was clearly keeping her gender a secret. She didn’t want to be discovered, or she didn’t want it to be known that she was a she.

  “Those men’s clothes were overlarge. I’d bet that bag of money she’s got all kinds of curves hidden. Remember, if we can’t see them, no one else can.”

  So true. We’d be the only men who saw what was beneath. And that made my cock even harder, knowing she’d sealed her fate. She was ours.

  Whoever she was.

  A tiny, one room cabin, if it could be called that, came into view in the distance. Dilapidated and leaning precipitously, a strong wind would finish it off. Set on the bank of a small creek—a different one from where we’d been ambushed—I was surprised it hadn’t been washed away during a heavy spring run-off. There was nothing out here for miles but open prairie, Simms several miles away. I saw no fencing for a horse pen or even an outhouse. A beautiful but lonely spot. Surely, no one had lived there for years. Small animals, perhaps, or someone seeking shelter from a storm… or hiding.

  I slowed, then we halted our horses a good distance away. We saw no woman, only a horse grazing. All was quiet except the wind.

  “The path leads right to it,” Charlie said, pointing from where we were and the broken grass that went directly toward the rundown structure. He dismounted, patted his horse’s flank and dropped the reins to let him graze. “If we’re approaching, we need to take her by surprise. No way in hell am I letting her shoot me.”

  I agreed with my friend. The only holes in a body I was interested in were hers. All three of them, and we’d claim each one of them soon enough.

  3

  G RACE

  I SWIPED AT MY BROW, tucked a long strand that had come loose from my braid behind my ear. My emotions were restless. Unsettled.

  Instead of remembering the look of Father and Travis bleeding and writhing, nor their sounds of anger and pain at being shot, I couldn’t get the other two men out of my mind. The rugged build of the dark-haired sheriff. The strong jaw and muscled torso of the other. Both of them appealed to my feminine senses and that had never happened before. I hadn’t even realized I had any. Until them.

  These lingering thoughts did nothing to ease the heat that had built within me, and it wasn’t from the strong sun. I crouched down beside the creek’s edge, letting my fingers dip in the cool water, watched as a leaf floated by, swirling and working its way downstream. I wondered where it would go, what it would be like to go with the current and see where it took me. Away from here, away from the life in which I was trapped.

  While I may have shot my family—and without a bit of remorse—they were the least of my problems. Surely, the sheriff was leading them back to town now and to jail. The doctor would tend to their wounds and they’d be fine, at least until they were hanged. But Barton Finch…

  I cupped my hands together, leaned down and splashed water on my face. Again, then again, as if I could ever get clean from what he’d done. What he’d intended to do.

  He was still out there, and now not only evil, but ornery as hell by being bested by a mere woman, and would want revenge. I’d kneed him in the balls and he’d dropped like a stone, then curled up in a ball on the floor in his filthy house. I’d fled when he began to vomit. That hadn’t been the payment he’d expected out of me. Once recovered, he’d go straight to the house. He’d hear soon enough of the Grove gang’s capture. Instead of giving him money, Father had given Barton Finch me. Father had told him I was virgin pussy to be broken in. It wasn’t a prize he’d be denied. He’d come looking for me. To claim payment.

  I had no doubt. The man was more ruthless and cold-hearted than Father. I hated my family—enough to shoot them in cold blood—but I was scared of Barton Finch. I couldn’t return to the cabin as it would be the first place he’d look for me once recovered. Not that I had any interest in returning to the cabin. Ever. There was nothing there for me. Nothing of sentimental value. This shack, a place I’d come to in the past when I’d needed to be alone, would be my shelter until I considered my options.

  I sighed and pulled a handkerchief from my pants’ pocket, wet it, then ran it over the back of my neck. Undoing a button on my shirt, I slid it over my skin above the binding on my breasts. That snug material did the job of hiding my figure, but it also made me hot and sticky. I was ready to s
trip and bathe in the cool water, don clean clothes I’d put in my saddle bag along with some food I’d grabbed from the house this morning, enough for a day or two.

  I was safe here. It wasn’t much, but there was no one around for miles.

  Or so I thought.

  A sound had me whipping my head about. I stood abruptly at the sight of a man. My hand went to my hip out of habit for my gun, but it wasn’t there.

  “Looking for this?” It was the sheriff, holding up my weapon. Barton Finch’s weapon I’d taken from him. I’d set it and its holster upon a large rock.

  With a finger, he tipped the brim of his hat back, cocked his head and eyed me. His casual stance made me think he wouldn’t shoot me, but I’d seen crazier things happen. It was the wry turn of his lips, that bit of taunting, that had my gaze narrowing.

  No, he had no intention of shooting me. His eyes were as dark as night and focused squarely on me. It was the same look he’d given me when I’d stood upon the bluff, but this close, I couldn’t miss the disconcerting intensity. He stood only ten feet or so before me and I could see the dark whiskers on his square jaw. His light blue shirt clung to his sturdy frame, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders. With the sleeves rolled up, I couldn’t miss the corded forearms. The tin star on his chest glinted in the sunlight, reminding me of what I was. The daughter of the remaining members of the Grove gang. Hell, to him, I was part of that group that had robbed and killed their way across the Montana Territory. He, himself, witnessed me shooting two people in cold blood.

  He was good and I was bad. Bad clear through. Bad blood. Bad lineage.

  But what was he doing here, eyeing me with an intent to capture, but not put in jail? He’d come after me with a purpose, could have shot me by now, or at least had me cuffed. Why not? He should have been seeing to Father and Travis, but he wasn’t. Had they been left where they’d fallen? I’d intentionally aimed to hurt, not kill, although if left for too long, they could die. And still, the sheriff wasn’t taking them to Simms. He was here. Studying me.

  It was difficult not to squirm as he took his time scrutinizing every inch of me. After years of practice, I was used to being patient and waiting to discover a man’s mood before I reacted, but couldn’t wait any longer. “What… what do you want?” I asked finally, my voice slow and calm. Much calmer than my racing heart, but I still stuttered. Dammit.

  I sighed when the red-haired man slowly came around the side of the shanty. I should have expected him, too, but the sheriff’s handsomeness had definitely distracted me.

  “We want to thank you,” the second man said.

  But his words had me puzzled, especially with the unusual accent. I frowned as he stepped closer… and closer so I had no escape; water behind me and two men in front. “Thank me?”

  I lifted my foot to retreat, then realized I’d step into the water.

  He grinned and lordy, I swear my heart skipped a beat. Up close, he was tall, an inch or two more than the sheriff. He had a few pounds on the lawman as well, but it was all well-defined muscle. His pants were a dark black, the cut didn’t hide his thickly muscled thighs, the narrow hips. “I assume you weren’t one of the ones who robbed the bank and decided to take a larger cut.”

  My eyes widened and I stared at him for a moment. He thought I was one of them? I was a Grove, but I didn’t rob the damned bank. “Fuck, no.”

  “You saved our lives,” Hank continued. “You’re a really good shot.”

  “I never miss,” I replied, stating plain fact. It was a bold, ego-filled statement, but it was true. “If I aim, I hit my target.”

  He pondered this. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. A few words of thanks are the least we can offer.”

  I nodded, trying not to wonder why my nipples hardened at the dark rasp of his voice. “All right, you’ve done so.” I cleared my throat, glanced down and kicked a pebble. “You can go now.”

  This feeling, god, this was a new sensation. Nervous. Not bad nervous as if I were afraid if I was too loud washing the dishes my father might slap me. Not horrible nervous like when Barton Finch had me pressed against the wall and I’d felt every doughy, smelly inch of him.

  The sheriff slowly shook his head. “Like Charlie said, that’s the least we can offer. We’d like to offer you more.”

  “Oh?” I wiped my damp hands on my thighs.

  The sheriff’s gaze dipped to my mouth, then lower still to my chest. I glanced down saw the button was undone, parting my shirt more than it should in other’s company. The material was damp in spots, but nothing was revealed because of the thick binding wrap. Perhaps he was wondering why he couldn’t see anything.

  He set the gun back on the boulder and approached. Clearly, he wasn’t worried I’d somehow get to it and shoot him, perhaps because I’d had prime opportunity to do so earlier and hadn’t.

  I tipped my chin up when he stopped directly before me. He didn’t say a word, only reached up and took off my hat. My braid, which had been tucked up, fell in a thick plait in front over my shoulder.

  “Hey!” I said, trying to take my hat from him. He held it aloft. “Give that back.”

  Instead of doing as I requested, he tossed it onto the ground behind him. “Your outfit is quite the disguise. I’m very glad to find you’re a woman,” he murmured. He took hold of the bottom of my braid, his fingers playing with the tail below the leather tie, staring, as if mesmerized.

  “Oh?” I asked again, licking my lips. He wasn’t touching me except for my hair, and yet I felt it.

  A groan rumbled from him and my eyes lifted to his.

  “I’ve never been interested in kissing a man before.”

  He wanted to… to kiss me? That answer was obvious when he stepped even closer, his body pressed to me, his mouth hovering just over mine, his lips barely touching mine.

  He grinned down at me, which totally transformed him. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes, making him seem… nice. It showed his age as well, perhaps a decade or more older than my nineteen years.

  “You’re right, Charlie,” he said, pulling back just a touch. “The men’s clothes hide the curves.”

  If I could feel every hard inch of him, including—gasp!—the thick bulge that pressed firmly into my belly, which wasn’t his gun, then he could feel every inch of me as well. Could feel my curves, that I was, indeed, a woman. Everything I tried to diminish, to keep hidden.

  He lowered his head and did just what he wanted. His lips met mine, brushed over them gently, so very softly, completely in contradiction to the ruggedness of the man himself. His tongue flicked out and stroked over my lower lip.

  Stunned, I took a step back, my foot landing in the water. With the rocky bottom, I lost my balance. Instead of falling, the sheriff’s large arm hooked about my waist and pulled me into him. He grinned.

  That wry turn of his mouth set my temper blazing, and I pushed at his chest. “How dare you.”

  It was like trying to move a brick wall, but was warm to the touch, and I could feel the beating of his heart. He was real, flesh and blood male.

  Still, he was just like any other man, pushing his advantage, ready to take whatever he wanted, regardless of my wants. As soon as I thought that, I knew it was a lie. If he were like Barton Finch, he wouldn’t have kissed me. That would have been too personal. He’d have groped me. Thrown me onto the grassy bank and had his way, even with his friend watching.

  As for my wants, he knew. Perhaps it made him a good sheriff, but it seemed he could look at me somehow and see that I desired him, that I longed for his lips to close that last fraction of an inch to press against mine. To kiss me for the first time.

  I wasn’t resisting him because I was angry with him.

  I was angry at myself.

  Feeling the heat of him, the hot brand of his palm against my lower back as he held me close, the way the tips of his fingers settled dangerously low on my waist, practically cupping my bottom had me all but whimpering. Made me alm
ost swoon like a… woman.

  He made me weak. He made me… distracted.

  “How dare us? What have we done, sweetheart?” he asked.

  What had he done that I could tell him? You’ve confused me? Made me aroused? That I liked my first kiss and wanted more… with both of them? “You’ve… interrupted my bath.”

  He looked over my shoulder to the creek.

  He released his hold so abruptly, I almost lost my balance once again. I felt… cold and alone without his touch, even though he was right before me.

  Slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest and winked. “Don’t let us stop you.”

  His friend, the handsome red-haired man, came to stand beside him. I could get past them, but they felt like a heavily-muscled wall blocking my way.

  “I can’t… I can’t bathe with you here!”

  I shivered thinking about the very idea and I continued to cover my fear and confusion by bickering. If I acted tough, perhaps they wouldn’t be able to see past the façade to the real me, the one where I was very affected by them. That I wasn’t scared of them as I was Barton Finch or even my family, but was frightened in a different way. A way that had me fearing they could see all the way to my soul.

  The red-haired man, the one the sheriff called Charlie, held out my soap, the little bar I’d set upon the rock beside my gun. Where the sheriff was outright grinning, this one’s lips turned up in a small smile. He was equally amused, but wasn’t quite so… pushy. He didn’t have to be with actions or words, giving me the soap was enough. He agreed with the sheriff. They weren’t keeping me from bathing.

  “Why not? You watched us at our most vulnerable. We can watch you take your bath.”

  “I saved you from those men,” I countered, setting my hands on my hips. Both their gazes dropped with the action.

  “And we’ll save you from anything that might happen while you’re washing,” Charlie said. Yes, he did have an accent, proving he wasn’t from these parts.