Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (3 page)

“So you expect trouble.” Jed Adams put his arm around his bride, Victoria, who leaned closer.

“Expecting trouble is my job,” replied Barstow. He gave Jed a speaking look. “Frederick Smythe is mighty riled with the J Bar C for taking their cattle back.” He turned to Ace. “He has a grudge against the Double Diamond for winning the ranch from him. Since Ross MacDougal and Trace were part of the discussion to suggest he leave town, I expect he’s not too friendly with them either.”

“You should’ve seen his face when Ross’s pigsticker hit the headboard not an inch above his head,” said Riley Jansen, chuckling. Other chuckles spread through the room along with murmurs as men explained things to their wives.

“Rivers helped keep Joe Sheldrake in check. With him gone, Sheldrake may try something. We know he’s banged up”—Barstow shared a nod of thanks with Luke Frost of the Circle C—“but stompin’ on some snakes only makes their poison stronger. So I ask that you keep a keen eye on the hills for strangers riding through.” He turned to the Sweetwater table. “You gents have a front-row seat from your ranch. I expect you’ve got some good places to watch the town and the road to Bannack City.”

“Thanks for the warning, Sheriff,” said Cole. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

Beth handed her baby daughter to Simon and stood. “Thank you, Sheriff. I have a few words to say as well. I’m the one who’ll have to do without a husband if Trace has to stay in town to do mayor business. But I think it’s a wonderful idea.” She looked at her other men. “Simon? Jack? What do you think? You’d have to take over Trace’s chores.”

“Ranger said he was thinking of hiring Willy Wright, but didn’t have enough work for him full time,” said Jack without bothering to stand. “Between the Rocking E and Bitterroot ranches, I expect we can keep him out of trouble. If he wants the job.”

Trace looked at the back of the room. Everyone craned their necks. Willy’s face and ears turned bright red, but he stood straight. Casey, standing at his side, kept his head down as usual.

“That all right with you, Willy?” asked Trace.

“Yessir,” he replied. No one laughed when his voice broke. His eyes flashed to the two Redmond girls to see if they noticed.

Trace narrowed his eyes at the seventeen-year-old boy. “Don’t even think of getting sweet on my girls.”

Willy blanched, gulped, and nodded. “Yessir! I mean, no, sir!”

Trace gave a last glare and turned to Cole. “Sophie said you hired Casey as cook and chore boy. That means both boys’ll have a home for the winter.”

“Casey made the pies,” said Cole as if that explained everything.

“Guess you don’t need a wife, now that you got yourself a good cook,” drawled Oz Cutler.

Cole sent an icy glare in reply to the barbed comment. Though he’d calmed down a bit since his partner Luke married Sarah, the redhead still enjoyed scrapping.

“If you think all a wife does is cook, you can sleep in the barn for a while,” replied Sarah Frost tartly.

“You’ll change your mind after a few of my kisses.” Oz winked his good eye at her.

“Whoa, there’s bachelors here,” said Marshall loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Don’t blame me,” said Zach McInnes. He draped his arm around his brand new bride. Since he was facing the other way, he didn’t see Rusty lean in from the other side and quickly kiss Kate. “You weren’t fast enough on the draw when—”

“Enough!” Trace glared about the room until things settled. “This meeting’s over.”

Byron shot to his feet. He tugged at his coat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Marshall rubbed his hands together eagerly. “The sooner we get home, the sooner we get some home cookin’.”

“You just stuffed yourself.” Cole led the way toward Casey.

“A man can never get enough of a good thing.”

Marshall woke to the smell of frying ham and coffee. He’d heard quiet rustlings earlier and rolled over for more sleep. But now the welcoming smell called to him so loud he groaned and sat up. He stood and stretched, his morning erection jutting proudly out. A squeak had him turning toward the sound. Casey, hat firmly on his head, hurried back to the stove as fast as his bare feet could take him. He hunched over the stove stirring something, his cheeks as red as a potbellied stove in January.

The boy was embarrassed by a good-morning cockstand? Surely by now the same thing happened to Casey, though at twelve his cock wouldn’t be as large. The boy had been sleeping next to his older brother so the sight shouldn’t surprise him. Unless he was afraid of men. Marshall cussed under his breath.

“Better be redeye gravy to go with that ham,” said Byron. He stood and stretched. His cock was in the same shape as Marshall’s.

Cole blinked, bleary eyed, at them. “Hell, boys, y’all got a contest going?”

“We ain’t had a morning pecker contest in years,” said Marshall with a grin. Like Cole, his cock stood out proudly from a nest of brown curls. Byron’s nest, like his moustache, was blond.

“Shorty,” taunted Byron. His cock was still the longest.

“I’m the biggest,” said Cole. Though the same length as Marshall, his cock was thicker, the head dark.

They snickered at each other as if they were Casey’s age before parading out the back door to water the bushes. The September-morning chill turned their skin into gooseflesh but did nothing to lessen the size of their cocks. Byron got his stream to go the farthest. Marshall cussed at losing twice before the morning even started. He was still doing up his shirt when he followed the others into the kitchen part of the cabin. Three plates waited on the table, along with three cups and spoons. Casey held another plate, which he used to dish out the grub. The boy still wore his hat, brim pulled low. His hands looked clean, but he hadn’t washed his face.

“What’s for breakfast?” asked Cole. He moved closer to peek into the pan. Casey stuck out his elbows as if to keep him back.

“Ham, eggs, corn pone, redeye gravy and biscuits, and coffee. That good enough for you?”

Cole gave him a quelling look, but the boy had his head down and didn’t see it.

“Mm, smells good,” said Marshall. He sat in his usual spot and reached for a biscuit. Cole filled his plate and sat across from Marshall. After that no one spoke until every plate was clean.

“That was a fine start to the day,” said Cole. He patted his belly after he rose from the table.

Marshall held back until the others headed for the barn. “Did you eat?” he asked Casey. He got a shoulder shrug in return. He sighed loudly, set his fists on his hips, and walked closer. “We expect you to do a man’s job. To do that, you gotta eat.”

“I ain’t used to eatin’ much.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it fast. The more fat you have covering your bones come winter, the better off you’ll be. You ever been so cold your spit froze before it hit the ground?”

That made Casey raise his eyes. He had long lashes, like a girl. His hazel eyes looked deep, the skin underneath bruised like he’d been crying or hadn’t slept well in far too long. Considering Casey and his brother had been sleeping rough for months, Marshall wasn’t surprised. He held back any reaction. The boy had nothing but pride, and he’d not take that away.

“No, sir.”

“Then you don’t know cold, boy.” He slowly reached out and rested his hand on Casey’s bony shoulder. The boy twitched, but didn’t pull away. “I expect you to put some weight on. We’ll get extra sugar and lard from town so you can make some cakes and pies. That’ll help fill you out. We’d appreciate a good feed. Haven’t had cake in a coon’s age.”

The boy worried his bottom lip with his front teeth. Surprisingly, they were straight and white.

“You like yer rabbit fried, or stewed?”

“Stewed,” said Marshall, though he really didn’t care. He’d eat damn near anything if he was hungry. If someone else cooked, so much the better.

“Dumplings with ’em?”

“Now you’re talking,” said Marshall with a laugh. “Figure out what we need from the mercantile and we’ll get it.” He squeezed gently and released. “Welcome to Sweetwater Ranch and the Flying X brand. You’ll be safe here.”

Knowing the boy was jumpy, he closed the door quietly behind him rather than hauling it shut as usual. He had to hustle to get his horse tacked up before the others finished.

“What was that?” asked Cole, frowning.

“Boy didn’t have breakfast. I told him he’d have to put some fat on to get through the winter. He asked if I liked my rabbit fried or stewed.”

“Stewed,” said Byron.

“Fried,” said Cole.

“I said stewed, and yes to dumplings.” Marshall mounted. “He’s going to make a list of what’s needed in town.”

“A list? I didn’t think a boy from back in the hollers could write,” said Cole, frowning.

“I expect he’s learned to remember,” spat Byron. He dug his heels into his horse and trotted out of the yard, leaving the others behind.

“Huh. He’s still touchy,” said Marshall, watching him ride off. He shook his head. Leather creaked as he climbed into the saddle. “Don’t know why. He’s smart, and lots of men can’t read or write.”

Cole followed Marshall down the lane. “Bruises heal but you can’t take curses back. He got too much of both before his parents dumped him on Grandpa and Grandma.”

* * * *

Curling in front of the stove had given Casey a wonderful sleep. Though the men were strangers, she trusted them enough that their snores had lulled her all night. While they sounded like Pappy and her four brothers, she didn’t have to fear being woken with a boot to the ribs.

She cleaned up after breakfast first thing, doing the best job she could. When she was sure they weren’t going to come back and check on her, she went exploring. Already she knew some wonderful things about her temporary home. The cabin had a real, honest-to-goodness floor. The boards were chilly under her feet, but it was far softer than gravel, which had to be raked whenever big feet made holes. But gravel was better than dirt. Water passed through gravel. She grew up with mud squishing between her toes every time it rained. And then there were the things that liked to live in mud…She curled her lip and shoved away the memories.

In spite of three men living together the cabin was fairly clean. Whoever had raised them had taught them well. She hesitantly peeked into the front room. There wasn’t any furniture, but having a separate room just for a parlor was a luxury she’d never known.

Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. Cassandra Wright did not cry. Ever. Tears did no good when things were bad. But this time things were good. She had no defense against hope. Her chest shuddered. She tried to inhale, but could only pant. She almost wished they’d find out she was a woman. Then she could take off that dang cloth binding and take a deep breath for once!

She sank to her knees.

“I ain’t prayed to ye in a long time, Mama.” She coughed, shaking her head. “No. I can talk better, Mama. Just like you showed me.”

She set her shoulders back and closed her eyes. Six years since Mama died. Six years since she tried to talk proper. Pappy belted her when he heard her, saying she was putting on airs. She’d gotten better since coming to Tanner’s Ford, but Cole made her nervous. That made it almost impossible to remember how to say things right.

“I have not prayed to you in a long time, Mama,” she said slowly, sounding out all her letters and vowels. “But I knows…
know
you listen when I talk with Willy. He’s doing very well for his—” She shook her head in frustration. “For
him
self. He’s a fine man, Mama. He’s got a grand job, working for the richest men in this here valley. He’s sweet on a couple of sisters, but he don’t—doesn’t—think he’s good enough for them.”

According to Cole, she wasn’t good enough, either. All he wanted in a wife was that she talked and dressed fancy. He didn’t care about who she was, her hopes, or dreams. Casey dreamed of a husband who wanted
her
, Casey Wright, and no other. Beth Elliott, Jessie Langford, and the other ranch wives had married men like that. But if a good enough man came alone, she might say yes. More than anything she wanted to live long enough to raise babies and see them give her grandchildren.

First, she had to survive this winter, living with three men who made her feel things she’d only heard about from Mama. Her chin trembled. She took a couple of calming breaths. Her fingers were so tightly knotted they’d turned white.

“That’s all I have to say, Mama. Willy’s happy, and I will work so hard they’ll want to keep me on for the winter even if they find out I ain’t a boy. Long as they don’t get themselves a wife, I’ll be safe.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks when she closed her eyes. Her head pounded, tight like a drum. But she wiped everything away and stood up. Head high, she swept the smooth wood floor with the broom. Her bare feet drifted slowly and gracefully over the boards as tears rolled past her wide smile.

No more dirt and mud tracked everywhere. No holes in the walls for critters to crawl or slither in. The windows even had glass in them, and shutters to keep out the wind and rain.

She was safe, warm, and fed. How could life get any better?

Marshall caught up with Byron and Cole before dinner. They rode the last bit home together.

“We’ll see how well Casey works out for the next while,” said Cole. “If he can do the chores right, we’ll leave him here while we bring our cattle to Virginia City. That’ll give us more time to find a wife.”

“About time,” grumbled Marshall.

“Breakfast was good,” said Byron, ignoring him. “Redeye gravy was almost like Grandma’s.”

“Takes a Southerner to make good gravy,” agreed Cole.

Marshall nodded absently. What had happened to Casey to make the boy as jumpy as a trout in a pond full of fishing hooks? No matter, he’d figure it out eventually.

“If he keeps on like this, he’ll work out fine,” said Cole. “The boy wants to stay near his brother, so he won’t get into trouble. There won’t be a need to show him the error of his ways.”