Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (18 page)

“For now.” It was Byron who spoke. “We agreed to let you lead when we left home. But we’ve been working this ranch together, and any of us could do the job. Don’t draw a line in the sand over this, Cole. You’ll either lose the ranch or the woman. Maybe both.”

“Or maybe all of that and us as well,” added Marshall.

Cole understood why Marshall’s face was white—he’d seen the blood on the floor even though Casey had tried to scrub it out of the wood. Byron’s face was white as well, only it was in anger. Was he angry at Marshall for defiling Casey, even if she begged him? Or was By angry because he agreed with Marshall against Cole?

“I want the Sweetwater Ranch
and
Casey,” said Marshall. He held his hand over his throat as he spoke. “She’s a hard worker, can do more to put food on the table than any of the other wives, and she’s Southern, so she understands us.” He gave one of his typical smirking looks. “And not only has she got one heck of a body, she has enough passion for all of us.”

Cole’s hands flexed in frustration. He knew all that! Though she was shy, the way she’d returned that kiss on the wagon he had a good idea she’d be wild in bed. That’s why he had to back away. He could happily enjoy her wildness when naked, but not everywhere else. No, she’d been running wild for too many years. She’d never be trained to a wife’s harness. Somewhere out there was his perfect woman. It wasn’t Casey. Not by a long shot.

“You might be right about all those things, but she talks like mountain trash,” he said. “I can’t listen to that for the rest of my life. She swears, and that I will not tolerate.” He gave a pointed look at Marshall for doing the same thing.

“You wouldn’t have to.” Marshall settled more comfortably in bed, smug that he had all the answers. “Grandma said Grandpa was the same when she met him. He learned, and so can Casey. I think her accent gets worse when she’s nervous. And you, cousin, make her nervous.”

“Don’t know why,” replied Cole, grimacing. He ignored Marshall’s snort of laughter. “It’s one thing for a man to speak rough. We work hard outside and don’t always have time for fancy manners. But other ladies expect a wife to know all those things Grandma said it took years to learn.” Cole tried to make them understand. “Women are real critical of each other. They can tell the class of another female by the way they dress, hold themselves, and talk as fast as we can read brands.”

“Grandma tell you that?” asked Byron.

Cole rubbed his hands through his hair. He exhaled. Suddenly tired, he slumped on the bed. The ropes creaked under him. He wanted Casey there, beside him. No, he wanted her massaging his sore muscles. Unless he could have her sitting on him or lying underneath. Yep, he wanted her just as much as Marshall, dang it. He also liked who she was out of bed and he loved her singing voice, not that they’d taken any time to sing since the wedding.

The wedding. Something he had to do as a gentleman, telling himself it wouldn’t be difficult to get through the winter and let her go. And then he saw her in that dress and his body turned to flame. He wouldn’t admit it to the others, but the main reason he was so mad at Marshall was because he was jealous. But Casey would never fit into his plans for their future.

“Before either of you arrived at the farm, Grandma used to talk about growing up in her daddy’s big white house in the city,” said Cole. “That must’ve been, heck, around the turn of the century. She had to dress up pretty and sit on a stool while lady friends of her mama’s came to call. If you weren’t one of them, following all those rules that nobody writes down, those white-gloved witches ripped you to shreds.”

“Rules like what?” asked Byron.

“Ridiculous stuff, like you had to flick your fan, curtsey, arrange flowers, and pour tea just right. Heck, even how you spread your skirts when you sat mattered to them.” He rolled the kinks out of his neck. “Casey can’t learn those things. She’ll never be accepted by the wives of men of influence. That means those men won’t accept us. Our opportunities will be limited.”

Marshall struggled, waking Zeus in the process. He hauled the pup into his lap, automatically scratching around its ears. “If someone’s gonna judge our worth by what his wife thinks about Casey sticking flowers into a glass, then we don’t need them.”

Cole rubbed his face with both hands. They had to get this settled between them before Casey came back from picking flowers or whatever. It was too important to wait.

“Byron?” Cole expected this cousin to show some reason, unlike Marshall who flew off the handle at the drop of a hat.

“Sorry, Cole, I’m with Marshall on this one.” Byron curled his lip as if he’d just sucked a sour pickle. “I heard my mother and her friends picking at a woman over tea one day. They criticized her dress, her hat, her boots, her fan, how she sat, walked, and talked. They did it as ‘helpful suggestions,’ right to her face. Finally, she stood up, thanked my mother politely, and walked out. I saw her tears as she walked to the front door. My mother crowed, calling it a triumph of society.”

Marshall made a loud gagging sound. “Heck, By, I thought you were so lucky with all that money growing up.”

“I can barely remember my mother,” said Cole quietly. “What I can, I wish I didn’t.” He shook his head as if that would shake the memories loose. “And this is exactly why we need a wife like Grandma.”

“Casey’s a lot like Grandma,” said Marshall. “But she can hunt and—”

“Hunt?” Byron spun around and strode into the kitchen part of the cabin, Cole close behind. Her neatly folded skirt and shirt sat on the table. “She’s wearing pants. Not good.” He turned to Marshall, raising his voice to reach the far corner. “How far was she planning to go, Marsh?”

“Oh, no.” Cole stood and strode toward the door. “Seeing him laid up in bed pushed it from my mind.”

“That calf Byron brought home is all gone.” Marshall called out, struggling to get upright. “She’s hunting supper.”

“Her rifle and slingshot are gone.” Byron cursed.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Marshall moved as if to get out of bed. He gasped, cursed, and fell back.

“Casey could be in danger,” said Cole. “Sheriff Barstow heard a few things from the Pinkerton agent. He’s been following a trail he thinks is Mr. Isaac, that piece of filth who hurt Molly and Sarah, and who knows how many others.”

“Gibson’s the one Casey saved when she shot Rivers,” reminded Byron. “He’s back in town.”

“Sheriff Barstow talked at our meeting about a few changes coming after Rivers died. He left a few debts and certain people want a piece of whatever they can get,” said Cole. “Frederick Smythe, Stickley, that judge in Helena who said Jed and Victoria’s first wedding wasn’t legal, and a few railway men are eager to get their gold.”

“Or their pound of flesh,” added Byron. “And since it was Casey who shot Rivers, Barstow thinks they might blame her.”

Cole rubbed his face with his hands. Casey better come home safe. If she didn’t, he was going to put her over his lap and—he groaned. And nothing. He was her husband but had promised not to touch her. That included putting her naked body over his knees and spanking her. Most important was that the ones wanting gold wouldn’t care about her. They’d sell her to the highest bidder.

“There’s a chance she may be kidnapped and used as either a hostage or bait,” said Cole.

“For what?” demanded Marshall. “Casey hasn’t got a pot to piss in. Hell, until a week ago no one knew she was a woman!”

“Rivers wasn’t the only man wanting fresh young women,” replied Byron. “If they want what they’re owed, they may go after Casey. She shot Rivers, she’s beautiful and, thanks to Cole’s insistence, everyone knows she’s untouched. That means she’s in danger.”

Byron’s quiet words fell like bricks to the floor. He’d admired Casey’s strength when he believed the boy had accompanied his older brother all the way from the East. Knowing she was female made him care even more about her. It also confused the heck out of him.

Casey was a compelling mix of strength and vulnerability. He wanted to both protect her as his woman and have her stand beside him as his partner. Most of all, he wanted her naked beside him, under him, on top of—

“Oh, shit.” Marshall screwed up his face in an exaggerated wince.

“She’s a virgin,” said Cole bitterly. “And I made sure everyone knew our wedding was only on paper. Untouched women, especially beautiful ones, are rare in these parts, unless they’re too young or well protected.”

“That’s easily solved,” said Marshall quietly.

“Nothing’s too young for those sons-a—” Byron pressed his lips together before Grandma’s ghost walloped him for bad language. He turned to Marshall. “Do you know where she went?”

“I heard her head up behind the cabin as I was dozing off,” replied Marshall. He lay back against the pillows, his face pale with more than blood loss. “She was on foot as usual, so she likely took a different route than we use with the horses.” He thumped the bed with his fists. “Dang, I can’t even help find her with this leg!”

“You can stay here in case she comes back before we do. And keep her here,” added Cole. He screwed up his face as if in pain. “If it means holding her in that bed with you, then do it.”

“We can’t tell her why,” said Byron. “She’s more likely to go after them than let us protect her.”

“But if we don’t tell her, she won’t be prepared.”

Byron dropped his head, silently mouthing the words he wasn’t to say aloud. “You’re right. We have to tell her. Otherwise she could—”

“Tell me what?”

Byron whirled around, his knife poised to throw. He recognized the small shape shadowed in the doorway. “Casey! I almost killed you!”

“Tell me what?” she repeated belligerently.

He lowered the knife as she stepped into the kitchen. How much had she heard?

“What’s so all-fired important that you got such a head of steam up about it?”

All three of them stared at her. She rolled her eyes and slammed what she’d been carrying onto the table. Two good-size rock-chucks, already cleaned and skinned. In her other hand were their furs, rolled tight, and her rifle. Her slingshot was stuck in her back right pocket. Byron took a moment to enjoy the curve of her arse. It drew his eyes as much as his hands. Round and firm, he wanted to tug those cheeks apart and slide his cock right into her.

“Y’all keep talking while I work.” She set her rifle by the door before washing her hands. “Pappy said idle hands are the devil’s tools. You folks shore look idle.”

Byron felt her glare like a lightning bolt. He saw a fair amount of hurt in it as well as anger. He knew what he’d feel like if people decided he wasn’t capable of protecting himself. If a person didn’t know about a threat he—or she—would be even more vulnerable.

Casey was a lot like Jessie, so he’d best start thinking on how the Double Diamond men kept Jessie in line. If Ace, Sin, and Henry tried to keep something like this from their woman, she’d rope, hog-tie, and dang near brand them for treating her like a prissy miss.

“I apologize, for all of us, for trying to keep it from you,” said Byron.

Casey’s hands slowed for a moment, then she continued deboning the chucks. Her knife was so sharp it slipped around the bones and cut through tendons as if they were soft cheese. That she wielded it so well made their attempts to hide her away even more insulting.

“You shot Rivers,” said Cole. “The people he owed money don’t like it. They lost gold and want more, no matter what it takes.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I can do ’bout that,” she said calmly. She looked up, catching Byron head-on.

“You heard what Rivers did to Molly and what happened to her and Sarah in Bannack City?” Byron stared right at her. She flinched, just enough for him to notice before it was gone. “There’s rumors someone wants to use you to pay off a debt Rivers owed them. They’d sell you to a brothel, like happened to Sarah, or a private collector.”

He couldn’t describe the emotions that flashed over her face. But a second later he held her in his arms, not knowing how she got there, or caring. Her hot body pressed against him from forehead to knees. Even her bare feet were snuggled to his boots. There were only two thin pieces of cotton between those full breasts pushing into him. Just like when they kissed. His cock jumped in eagerness.

“Shh, it’s all right. We’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. She pulled back, or tried to. “With your help,” he added. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take you at my back anytime, Casey. You’re fast, smart, and can flick a knife like nobody’s business.” He gave her another kiss, this one more gentle. He lowered his voice to a caress. “I want to heave Marshall out of that bed and show you I can do a much better job of making you very, very happy.”

Someone cleared his throat right behind him. Loudly. Byron winced. “Ah, yes. Cole.” Casey snickered. He looked down. A pair of hazel eyes, sparkling a bit from a hint of tears, smiled up at him. She pulled back, and this time he let her go. She went back to work. He hadn’t even noticed she still held that skinning knife. She could have put it through his back and into his heart any time she wanted.

“Y’all mind if I’m the one who hugs my wife?”

Byron turned toward Cole’s slow drawl. He looked furious, but not in an I’ll-kill-you-now way. Not quite. It was more of a meet-me-behind-the-woodshed glower.

“Casey needed a hug,” said Byron, using a good offense as his defense. “If you moved faster, you could’ve hugged her. If you weren’t scared of touching her, that is.”

“I didn’t know
my wife
liked hugs.”

“She also liked the kisses I gave her after dinner,” replied Byron. “Casey’s almost as much my wife, and Marshall’s, as yours.”

He crossed his arms and set his feet, mirroring Cole, and returned the glare. He didn’t know why he wanted to push him, but it felt good. Almost as good as Casey’s soft breasts against his lower chest and the way her thighs had brushed his. If they were naked, his hard cock could have slid right between her thighs, all the way home.

Byron waited, not bothering to hide the evidence of his desire. Cole didn’t bother to hide that he’d noticed. His pants strained just as much. Byron realized he couldn’t stand still any longer, but he didn’t want to seem to give in. He pulled out his own knife, headed for the table, and began peeling the mound of potatoes. Not to be outdone, Cole stood across from him and did the same.