Authors: Reece Butler
Bride Train 8
Disguised as a twelve-year-old boy, Casey Wright’s options are limited. Winter is coming and she’ll die without a job. Her brother, Willy, gets her hired as winter cook for the Sweetwater Ranch. She’s lusted after Cole, Byron, and Marshall all summer, but what will happen when they discover she’s a twenty-one-year-old woman?
Cole Taylor weds the backwoods mountain gal to keep his reputation as a gentleman and to enjoy the cook-housekeeper for the winter. He insists it’s a paper wedding, that she’ll still be a virgin in the spring. He’ll then have the marriage annulled and find a better wife.
But Casey demands some of the hot multiple sex she’s heard about. She easily seduces Marshall Stevens and Byron Ashcroft, who show her how much fun two men and a woman can have.
As their feelings grow, so does her desire to stay. What will it take for Cole to join his cousins in pleasuring his hot-blooded wife?
Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among cousins.
Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Bride Train 8
Siren Publishing, Inc.
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IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
Copyright © 2012 by Reece Butler
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-069-8
First E-book Publication: December 2012
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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Regarding E-book Piracy
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Amanda Hilton, Publisher
This, my tenth book, is for my loyal readers, old and new. You have inspired me to continually improve my work. Thank you for believing in me and in Tanner’s Ford. You keep me on my toes, and I listen to your suggestions. A special thank-you to a woman who insists on being nameless for her suggestion about Grace’s future.
I’d also like to thank my family for supporting me, especially my dear husband, who sends me back to the keyboard while he takes over the mundane, but necessary, part of life. Not only does he listen to my disjointed mutters and complaints, he is my rock, giving me wings to fly.
Bride Train 8
Copyright © 2012
Tanner’s Ford, mid-September, 1872
Tears streamed down Cassandra Wright’s face. She wiped them with the back of her left hand but still couldn’t see any better.
“Casey, give those onions another couple of minutes before you add the garlic.” Sophie McLeod’s voice drifted down the hotel’s back staircase.
Wrinkling her nose, she pulled her head back to avoid the steam as she stirred. The peach pies she’d made first thing that morning had smelled a whole lot better than a pound of chopped onions. She looked over her shoulder to the far side of the kitchen. Steam still rose from the last batch of pies, so it was too early to cut them.
“Where the heck did you go, Willy? There’s work to do.”
She muttered the words, not expecting an answer. Having been alone most every day since Mama died she had a habit of talking to herself. She didn’t mind. It was a lot safer than the company Pappy brought home. She wiped suddenly damp hands on her apron. It was one of Sophie’s old ones and she’d had to wrap the strings around her waist twice to do it up.
“Pappy’s far away and you’re safe,” she reminded herself. Or as safe as a woman hiding as a twelve-year-old boy could be in a place with far too few women.
She automatically took a quick glance around. Sophie wouldn’t let her wear her coat while she worked. It usually hid the fact she had a waist, hips, and a curving bottom. A bottom that had grown in size since Sophie offered them jobs working in the hotel kitchen in return for leftovers and a place to sleep in the hotel’s storage shed.
The thought of sleep made her think of what else could be done in a bed. Not that she’d ever slept in a real bed, or even kissed a man. She’d wanted nothing to do with the lot of them until she arrived in Tanner’s Ford and saw Byron Ashcroft bending over the back of the Sweetwater Ranch wagon.
Just like he’d been doing that morning. The front of the mercantile could be easily seen from between Sarah’s Bakery and Jennet’s bank. While she watched, the three Southerners climbed off the wagon and went into the mercantile. Cole Taylor went first as he was the ramrod. Byron was next, then Marshall Stevens who’d stopped to pat the Tanner’s old dog. She’d waited, heart pounding, to see them again. That made her dizzy, which had a lot to do with her ribs being tightly bound to hide her breasts.
They didn’t know she spied on them every time they came to town. Nor did anyone know what she hid under her hat, loose pants, and long coat. Even when they did see her, they paid no attention. She was just the boy who’d shot and killed Mayor Orville Rivers as he tried to kill either the banker or the Pinkerton agent. Nobody knew who he was aiming at, or why. Since the banker had pulled the derringer to shoot Rivers himself, bets were on Jennet being the target.
She’d fidgeted while she waited in the chilly morning to see Byron or his cousins. She only had a short break because Sophie was feeding the whole valley dinner and there was so much to do. Thinking of them had warmed her from the inside out. It also made a heavy ache throb between her legs.
She shifted her bare feet as she stirred, rubbing her thighs together. The ache started when Byron came out of the mercantile carrying a cask. She knew it was heavy, but he carried it easily on one broad shoulder. He’d set it on the wagon with a loud thump and then leaned over to shove it forward. With his coat off she could see his pants tighten over curve of his arse. He stood up, stretched his arms, and—
She jumped at the shout behind her. She hauled her knife out as she whirled around, ready to attack.
“Dang it, Willy!” She panted, unable to take the deep breaths she needed. Her brother strode forward, grinning like a jackass. He lifted her in the air and spun her around. “Put me down!” She pounded his shoulder with the fist that didn’t hold her knife. Though they hugged in private, brothers didn’t act this way with each other.
“See, Casey, I said I’d take care of ya!”
She heard Sophie’s feet coming down the stairs so she kicked his leg with her bare foot. He set her on the wood floor, but didn’t let go.
“I got you a cook job fer the winter so ye won’t freeze ta death!”
The tightness in her shoulders relaxed enough to let her return his smile. Sophie told her they could stay in the shed once the dining room closed but there’d be no leftover food to eat. Of course the shed had no heat. Casey’d replied that she and Willy would find somewhere else. Sophie had suggested Casey look for work at one of the ranches. The wives were all having babies and perhaps could use a chore boy.
“Dang it, Willy, why didn’t you say that instead of grabbin’ me?” She pushed but couldn’t budge him. While her bottom had spread from the regular food, Willy’d put on muscle. “Didja get me a job on one of them Elliott ranches?”
Willy’s grin changed from eager to sly as he slowly shook his head. He was taller and stronger than Casey now, but she was five years older and had raised him from a baby. He used to follow her orders, but he’d acted like he was the boss of her since they left home. She did not like that look of his.
“Got ya a job on the Sweetwater Ranch.” He waggled his eyebrows knowingly. “With Cole Taylor, Byron Ashcroft, and Marshall Stevens.”
“No,” she whispered. Desire collided with fear in her stomach, making her tremble. Her body flashed hot, then cold. Dizzy, she clenched her fists in Willy’s shirt.
Willy couldn’t know that thoughts of the three partners filled her dreams. She’d imagined them touching the breasts she kept bound tight, the bottom covered by her loose pants and long coat, and everything in between. Sometimes she even imagined them doing the wicked things she’d overheard the valley wives whispering about.
Willy’s knowing snicker pulled her back into the room. “They’ll give ya that home and babies yer pinin’ fer,” he whispered in her ear. “They’d be good to ye, Casey. Real good. They’d not beat ya or git drunk like Pappy.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I knows ye want ’em, Casey.”
She leaned her forehead on Willy’s chest. He’d grown so much that it touched his breastbone now. She inhaled as deeply as she could, which wasn’t much.
“Cole might want to use me as a man would any woman, but never as a wife,” she whispered back.
“He might if ye practice talkin’ like Mama and use some of them fancy manners she taught ye. Yer a good cook, kin work hard, and ye ain’t ugly.” He shrugged as if nothing else mattered. “Everybody knows they’se plumb desperate fer a wife. Might as well be you.”