Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

BOOK: Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
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Casey rubbed her forehead against her little brother. The ache between her legs grew to a throb.
Oh, God. What would they do when they found out?
She let go of Willy and straightened up. She was a survivor, just like Mama. She’d find a way to live through the winter in a cabin with three men.

Sophie’s voice came in from the dining room. Casey thumped Willy’s chest with the flat of her hand and stepped back. He smirked, giving her a look that was both I-told-you-so and I-know-better-than-you. She ground her teeth. At least she’d have a couple of weeks to get used to the idea. Sophie wouldn’t want her to leave until the season was over.

“Casey, Cole Taylor would like to speak with you.”

She looked at Sophie McLeod. After catching Sophie’s shrewd glances one time too many, she’d wondered if the older woman had guessed her secret. A light tinge of pink on Sophie’s cheeks suggested the woman was up to something.

“I gave him a piece of your peach pie. That convinced him,” said Sophie briskly. “You’re both hard workers. You know I can’t give you a place for the winter, but Cole and his partners can. A hungry man doesn’t care if his cook is a boy as long as his belly gets filled.”

“He’s lookin’ for a wife,” replied Casey sullenly. She dropped her head, tracing a path with her toe through some dropped flour. “A wife won’t want no boy in her kitchen.” Or another woman, but she couldn’t say that.

“Nonsense,” said Sophie loud enough to be heard in the dining room. “Cole promised to keep you for the whole winter, and his word is good.” She pursed her lips and dropped her voice. “The fool says he’ll only marry a high-class lady. Someone like that would be too delicate to do the hard work of running a home.”

Casey swallowed hard. Cole was proud of being a Southern gentleman. That meant he’d not touch a virgin, no matter how eager, without first standing in front of a preacher. She’d been fourteen when Pappy first promised her in marriage to one of her cousins. Two more times in the last seven years she’d prepared herself to marry a man who made her skin crawl. The third time that her fiancé died before the preacher arrived, the clan had labeled her a Death Bride. That meant no man could marry her and survive.

She didn’t believe it, not really. It was the feud and stupidity that got her cousins killed, not planning to marry her. But being a Death Bride kept her from being forcibly married to a brute like her father. She and Willy had encouraged the rumor.

Her gut clenched. She had no choice but to accept this job if she wanted to live until spring. She made her decision, choosing to live. This was her choice, and she’d give it everything she had.

After putting her coat on she checked that her knife was in place, pulled the ragged brim of her hat low to hide her face, and followed Willy into the dining room. Their bare feet made little noise, but Cole noticed them right away. He might look relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his feet out, but she could read a man faster than a rabbit could bolt.

Every time she saw him, his muscles were tight, and it was no different now. The cords in his neck showed his tension, as did the way his fingers twitched. The look in his eye, judging her and finding her wanting, made her want to lash out. But she’d learned to hide her feelings behind a mask before she was old enough to walk. No matter that her body tingled in response to him, she knew he was a dangerous man to those who crossed him. She wouldn’t make that mistake.

“You make a tasty peach pie.”

Cole’s deep voice rumbled through her like thunder.

“Thankee.”

She kept her chin high and eyes down, staring at his boots. They were old, but clean. The knees of his pants were patched, but also clean. She’d be doing that cleaning and patching if she got the job. No, not if. When. She wiped damp hands on the sides of her thighs.

“If you work for the Flying X brand you’ll put the Sweetwater Ranch first, doing what’s needed to earn your keep. I’ll give you bed and board. Not that it’ll take much to keep a pup like you in grub.” The last words were said in a dry tone that might have been his version of a joke.

“Yessir,” she whispered when he paused. Her heart was thumping too fast for her to speak any louder.

“You’ll hunt, cook, clean, and anything else that needs doing. Don’t ask, just get the job done. Come spring, you’re free to go. Understand?”

“Yessir.”

“Then we’re done.” He stood, his boots stepping close to her bare feet. The hair at the back of her neck stood up at the danger he posed. She waited, feeling like a mouse quivering before a fox. He cleared his throat. “I don’t hire a man, or boy, before I look him in the eye and shake his hand.”

Cole’s cold, soft words slid to the base of her spine. She wasn’t afraid of him, not really. She tried to inhale but her bindings made it impossible. Her heart pounded like she was staring down one of Pappy’s drunk friends and was armed only with a knife.

“Casey?” Willy nudged her with his elbow.

She pushed back her shoulders and slowly raised her head. Long, sturdy legs led to a broad chest. She was only a bit over five feet, but Cole topped Willy’s five foot ten by a few inches. He was clean shaven, lips firmly shut above his broad jaw. His nose had been busted a few times. Did he like to fight, or was it from scrapping with his cousins? His face was stern, his brown eyes hard.

She already knew his back and chest were hard with muscle. She was watching him one time when a wasp or something got into his shirt. He’d whipped it off his head, inside out, and shook it. She’d seen lots of men without shirts, but none had made her burn like the sight of his broad back and lightly furred chest. He looked nothing like Pappy, who was a soft from lying around drinking ’shine while young’uns and womenfolk worked. She’d dreamed that one day Cole would hold her against that chest, his arms tight around her. Dreamed that he’d whisper she was safe, that no one would ever hurt her again. Silly girlish dreams. She swallowed hard.

He raised an eyebrow. The small movement sent a message of overpowering danger.
She automatically dropped her eyes. She flexed her right fingers near the seam of her pants. Yes, her knife was still there. She was safe.

“Don’t try it, boy.”

Startled, she looked up at Cole’s low growl. His eyes narrowed, fixing on her like a hawk. She took a half step back at the threat. Pappy beat her lots, but he was nowhere as strong as Cole, whose big hands could break her neck with one snap. She trembled, curling her bare toes under for traction. Willy grabbed her arm to hold her from bolting. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and shook him off. She had to do this or die.

“Don’t think of running from me. Ever.”

Cole set his hands on his hips and leaned over her. She’d never been this close, had not fully realized his size and power.
He would keep you safe.
She dropped her eyes before he could notice she was more aroused at his strength and power than fearful.

“Do your work and we’ll leave you alone,” Cole continued softly. “Try us and we’ll take you so fast your head will spin. You hear me, boy?”

She gulped. He wasn’t the type to yell and bluster before pounding her. He’d strike, fast and sure, like a rattlesnake. She had no doubt he’d best her, but he’d only do it if threatened, not because he was drunk or mad at someone else, like Pappy. No, Cole was too controlled to rage. If he ever got really angry he could kill someone. So, unlike the weaklings and bullies she knew from home, he kept it leashed.

A man like that respected those who stood up to him while knowing their place. She met his eyes, showing her determination as well as the understanding of who was boss.

“Yessir, Mr. Taylor.”

He held out his hand. She did the same. But instead of shaking it, he turned her palm up. His traced his fingertips over her calluses. Something shivered up her arm and down her back, landing between her legs. She clenched her jaw to hide her reaction. When he finally did shake she returned the firm grip. He could have crushed her like a bug. Instead he took her measure and released her. Something flickered in his eyes, then was gone.

“Be ready to leave right after the meeting.”

“But…” Cole’s eyebrow said he was now her boss and he set the rules. She would do what he told her, immediately, or suffer the consequences. She licked lips dry from panting as she struggled to breathe. “Yes, sir,” she croaked.

At his nod of dismissal she bolted to the kitchen. She leaned over, palms on the table to hold herself from falling over in dizziness. The hand Cole had touched still burned, as did the spot between her legs.

But she had work to do. Sophie had worked on the stew and it was time to add the potatoes. Her hands shook so bad she dropped a few chunks on the floor. She bent over to pick them up. The seam of her pants rubbed against her skin. She stood, pressing her thighs together to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. She held back a groan, part worry and part arousal.

It was going to be a long, hot winter.

Chapter 2

 

Byron automatically removed his hat as he stepped into the hotel. He waited a moment, Marshall at his side, as his eyes adjusted to the light. The murmur of voices drifted out of the dining room. Stomach grumbling, Byron followed the sounds down the wide hall.

“Look at all the pretty women,” said Marshall with a sigh. “Too bad none of them belong to us.”

Byron grunted agreement as they stepped into the crowded dining room. Losing Kate to the Running W Ranch had hurt at first, but Cole said the new Mrs. McInnes was too wild for him anyway. Byron, on the other hand, wouldn’t mind a wife full of laughter and mischief to brighten up their lonely homestead. From what Cole said that morning, they were likely to end up with a miner widow from Virginia City. At this point all Byron wanted was to come home to a warm cabin full of light and the aroma of decent food. As long as the woman at least pretended to enjoy sharing their bed, he’d be content.

It would be a hell of a lot more than what they had now.

They spotted Cole on the far side of the room and strolled over, nodding at the men and tipping their hats to the women. The room was full of ranchers and their families. Sheriff Barstow talked with Trace Elliott, who’d called the meeting.

The remains of a slice of pie sat on a plate in front of Cole. Marshall grabbed the spoon and cut off a chunk. When he put it in his mouth, he groaned, mimicking ecstasy. Byron reached out a long arm and picked the rest of it up. He chewed, enjoying his first piece of peach pie in years. Juicy and full of flavor, it made him hungry for more. He finished it in two bites, daring the others to complain. Cole looked amused, but Marshall’s eyes promised retribution when they weren’t surrounded by neighbors. Considering the younger man had hogged most of the salt pork that morning, Byron considered them even.

“I want a wife who can cook like that,” said Marshall. He kicked a chair into place and dropped into it.

“No wife yet, but I hired the cook who made that pie,” said Cole.

Marshall perked up. “I didn’t hear about a new cook in town. Is she pretty? Will she marry us? Can the judge do it today so we can bed her tonight?”

“You’ll have to wait a few more weeks for a wife,” replied Cole drily. “A boy made that pie. Casey Wright. He’ll hunt, cook, and do chores, inside and out, until spring.”

Byron leaned back in his chair. He extended his boots far under the table as he considered Cole’s words. He licked peach juice from his fingers, knowing how much bad manners annoyed Cole. Usually he kept a low profile, but he was feeling particularly ornery today. Maybe he was out of sorts from seeing the other ranchers with their wives and children. It rubbed his nose in what he couldn’t have. Yet.

“That the boy who spies on us?”

Byron nodded at Marshall’s question. Damn near every time they came to town for supplies the kid would hide across the street and watch them load the wagon. The boy likely figured no one noticed, but Byron had learned early to be aware of everything around him. He looked longingly at the empty pie plate. He wouldn’t mind having food like that to come home to. Now all they needed was a wife with lots of curves and an open mind.

“Had a long talk with Casey’s older brother,” said Cole. “They’re from high in the hills past where Grandpa was born. A feud killed their older brothers, their mother died a while back, and their pa’s fists got to be too much.” Cole shrugged. “All that matters is if the boy can do the job.”

Byron grunted. Maybe the fear of big, rough strangers explained Casey’s hiding. After all, they were big, and he and Cole didn’t act too friendly. It didn’t explain the watching, but the boy would be living with them starting tonight. It would work out or the boy would leave.

Whoops erupted around them as Sophie entered with a pot of coffee. She was followed by others, including Willy and Casey, carrying serving platters with plates of stew, slices of bread, and pickles. While Willy nodded eagerly at them, Casey kept to the far side of the room, head down. Byron pushed thoughts of their new cook aside and dove into the stew. Thick and flavorful, it filled more than his stomach. After a long day in the saddle, coming home to this would make all the difference in the world. He caught Cole’s eye and nodded his satisfaction at hiring a cook.

Two hours later Byron twitched in his chair, eager to move. Cole’s glare stopped his drumming fingers on the table. So, toes on the floor, he quietly bounced his feet, making sure his heels didn’t tap. He hated to be kept inside. That was what had started everything. A quick look across the room suggested he wasn’t the only one fidgeting from sitting too long. The meal was good. It was the meeting that dragged on. At least they’d done a lot of business, organizing the gather and electing a reluctant Trace Elliott as mayor.

Sheriff Barstow stood up. “First, I’d like to thank y’all for asking me to this shindig.” He briskly nodded at Trace. “My Mary’s a great cook, but it’s always nice to eat at somebody else’s table. Since pretty near everybody’s here”—he looked around the room, catching most of their eyes—“I’ll only have to say this once. We need a strong mayor like Trace, someone with backbone who’ll ride the river with us. Killin’ Rivers solved one problem, but it’ll stir up a hornet’s nest. Rivers had his fingers in a lotta pies. Now they’ll have to be cut up different. Some won’t like their new piece and will fight hard to get more, and new ones will demand a slice.”

BOOK: Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
10.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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