Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 7) (12 page)

“You should,” Mr. Benson said, stepping into the room.

I turned to face him, my skirts whipping about my ankles.

“Benson! Have you heard such lies?” my father asked.

Mr. Benson eyed me shrewdly. The dark anger was still there, in his eyes, the tenseness of his jaw, in every line of his body. I also saw the cunning he’d hidden so well before. Gone was any artifice of caring or concern, for myself or my father.

He closed the door behind him, turned the lock with a loud snick. I took a step back, knowing that the man was unhinged and I was truly in danger. My father hadn’t realized it yet.

“Actually, Gregory, your daughter is very astute. The Beauty Belle is dry. I’m barely pulling enough from her a day to pay the bills.”

Father’s eyes widened and I worried for his health. I’d never seen him so angry, so out of control. “This is preposterous. You’re bringing in a million a day!”

“You are,” Benson countered. “I’m bringing in as much as a two-bit whore on Broad Street. It would have all worked out, if not for you.”

He shifted his focus from my father to me. Knowing the arrangement was dead, that he would not be owning a portion of the Millard mine, he wanted retribution.

I took another step back, held my hands up in front of me. “You had not declared yourself and I met Mr. Sullivan while I was in Billings. It was very romantic.”

“Romantic? You talked of fucking on the train platform.”

Father moved back, stumbled over an ottoman. A lamp teetered, a small clock tipped and fell over.

“He is my husband, Mr. Benson. I am allowed to have… sexual congress with him.”

“Yes, of course you are. But he is not here? Where, pray tell, is Shooter Sullivan?”

He knew where Sully was, knew that his paid men were laying siege to kill him. I just had to have faith that Sully and Parker, the other Bridgewater men, were more skilled and outmaneuvered them. I had to hope they were all safe.

I had
not
expected to have Mr. Benson arrive at my father’s house. I’d intended to tell my father of Mr. Benson’s plan, warn him so he wouldn’t follow through. Simple, really.

Except…

“You married Shooter Sullivan?” my father asked, clearly stunned.

“Yes, I did.”

“She married a Bridgewater man,” Benson told my father. “Do you know what that means?”

I flicked a glance at my father. I’d rather him hear the truth from me than from Mr. Benson. I was proud to be married to both men. I would not diminish it by making it seem tainted. “It means I married Shooter Sullivan
and
Parker Corbin. Two men. I married both men from the train.”

My father stilled, his face blank. “You… I mean… I don’t understand.”

No, he wouldn’t.

“It means Mr. Benson wants Sully dead. If that occurred, then I’d be a widow. Marriageable. He wouldn’t need your business arrangement to get the Millard money. I’ve been the key all along.”

“Yes, you little bitch, you ruined everything!” Mr. Benson’s eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on his brow and he began to stalk me across the room.

My father sought shelter behind his large desk.

“Ruined everything? I did nothing. I lived my life how I wanted it. For once, I didn’t do what my father bid, what was expected of me. I married for love, to not one man, but two. They love me and cherish me, and yes, fuck me. But that’s what marriage is, not an
arrangement
.” 

My heart was hammering in my chest and I began to shake.

“I wanted the business deal, yes,” Father admitted. “But I thought Mr. Benson was a good fit for you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Mr. Benson grinned, his teeth gleaming as bright as the whites of his eyes.

“Mr. Sullivan is dead.” His words held a dark vehemence. He was so sure of himself that my faith in Sully was beginning to waver. What if… “I’ve taken care of him.”

No. He couldn’t be right. Sully was too good at being… Sully. He had Parker with him, the other men from Bridgewater, too. I slowly shook my head. “You’re wrong. You’ve been watched. We knew your men were coming.”

“What men?” my father asked, dropping down into his desk chair.

“Men hired to kill her husband,” Benson snapped.

“With the last of your money?” I asked. “It was wasted. Sully’s not dead.”

“You are a fool. No man, not even Shooter Sullivan, could survive the O’Malleys.”

I’d never heard of them, but that didn’t mean much. I hadn’t heard of Sully’s reputation either and he was so gentle with me. Unless he wasn’t and then he was tossing me on the bed and… oh. I couldn’t think about that. Not now.

“You are coming with me until I have official news of his demise. Then we will wed. No church ceremony, a Justice of the Peace will suffice.”

“I’m not going with you.” I backed into a side table; a porcelain figurine fell to the wood floor and shattered.

His anger radiated from him. “That bastard, Sullivan. He
stole
you from me! You are mine. The money is mine. Your father will not stop us.”

A horrible sound rent the air and we all spun to look at the door. It had been locked, but now it slammed into the plaster wall with a harsh thud, then bounced off. The doorframe was splintered, ruined.

I jumped and gasped, even Mr. Benson took a step back.

Sully stood, big and brawny, in the doorway. His head almost reached the top of the doorframe. He stepped into the room, gun in hand. “Her father might not stop you, but I fucking will.”

God, he looked so good. I raked my gaze over every inch of him. He appeared whole, healthy. Perfect. He was
not
dead. Elation and relief made me giddy.

Parker came in behind him, then Kane. The three of them were so big, the room suddenly felt tiny. But Mr. Benson was desperate and quick.

He grabbed me by my wrist and tugged me into him. The thick scent of hair tonic was cloying. With one arm banded about my waist, he wrapped his hand around my neck. Squeezed. His grip was tight, a little too tight. I could breathe, but barely. My eyes bulged and I clawed at his grip with my fingers. Panic set in. Sully and Parker had their eyes sharp and fixed on Benson but didn’t move any closer.

Why weren’t they helping? Grab him! Do
something
. Wheezing, I shifted and tried to wiggle from Benson’s hold, which made him laugh, the sound maniacal.

“Oh really? One twist and she’s dead.” His hand squeezed a little tighter and I made a gurgling moan. My nails dug into the top of his hand, in his wrist, but he was strong.

Sully looked beyond angry, but I couldn’t focus on anything or anyone. Not anymore. Only Mr. Benson’s tightening grip.

“Let her go,” Sully said. I’d never heard his voice so angry. “You want me dead so you can marry her. She holds no value to you dead. Besides, you can’t kill me if you’re holding her.”

Mr. Benson’s hand loosened a bit and I could breathe. I gulped in air, relaxed slightly in his hold. It seemed silly not to fight him, but I was too interested in catching my breath.

“That’s a start,” Sully told him.

“You’re holding the gun on me, Shooter. I’m not stupid enough to release your wife. You’ll just shoot me.”

Sully held out his hands from his sides, walked sideways to a small table, laid the gun down. “There now. I’m not going to shoot you.”

Mr. Benson relaxed his hold even more.

“Benson!” Father cried.

The man turned instinctively toward my father and as he did so, took a half step away from me.

A deafening gunshot had me jump, then cover my ears.

My father’s voice was flat. “He’s not going to shoot you, I am.”

My father’s gun was smoking and I was slow to understand that he’d shot Mr. Benson. As that became clear in my befuddled mind, the man fell to the floor, solid, dense. Dead.

“Fuck,” Parker muttered.

Sully ate the distance between us and tugged me right into his arms. I felt the beating of his heart against my cheek, felt his warmth. Knew he was alive. He was kissing the top of my head, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe, but this time, I didn’t care.

My ears were ringing from the single gunshot, but I heard Parker speak.

“Are you insane? You could have killed her!”

“I might be old,” my father replied. “I might even be a bastard when it comes to my daughter, but I’m a very good shot. That man threatened Mary and he deserved to die.”

I lifted my head and looked at my father. He’d never once said he loved me. Never hugged me, told me he was proud of me. Nothing. But his killing Mr. Benson proved that somewhere in his heart, he cared about me.

“Father...”

He shook his head, put the gun on the desk. Kane came around to stand beside him, surreptitiously taking the weapon away. I doubted my father even knew he’d done killed a man. He was in shock as much as me, perhaps more. Not only did he discover his daughter hadn’t run off to get in bed with a stranger, but he discovered his business partner was dirty and intended to commit several murders.

He’d been wrong. He’d been wronged. I didn’t expect an apology or anything from the man. But I could give him something.

“Thank you, Father. Thank you for saving me.”

I looked up at Sully. His eyes held so many emotions. Anger, fury, fear, lust and anguish.

“Let’s go home,” I told him.

He nodded once, then turned us toward the door. I doubted he would let me out of his arms anytime soon. I was just fine with that.

“Mary,” my father called. Kane still stood near his desk, perhaps to ensure he didn’t do anything else reckless. “I’m sorry.”

Sully pulled me out of the room and down the hall. I wondered if it was the last time I would be in this house, if my father was rid of me once and for all, but I wouldn’t worry about that now. Now, I would find that peace and quiet with Sully and Parker.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SULLY

It had taken three hours for the sheriff to be summoned, inspect Benson’s body and for us to be questioned about the incident. Millard’s money and standing helped, and no one was thrown into jail before being questioned. While her father might be an asshole, he’d ensured Mary was kept outside and away from the body, as well as the first to recount to the lawman what had occurred. Parker, Kane and I offered our information next, and quickly, too, for Millard was insisting Mary had been through enough and that I take her home. He’d said she could succumb to hysteria from her ordeal. While I doubted a bout of that, it showed the man had at least one caring bone in his body.

It had taken three more hours to ride back to Bridgewater. She’d sat in my lap the entire journey, but remained quiet, even falling asleep with her cheek against my chest. I’d calmed during the journey, becoming more at ease the further we distanced ourselves from Butte, the longer I held her. On the ranch, everything was quiet and Mary was safe. Unless she went off on some harebrained idea again. Before the day was out, Parker and I would ensure she would never do something like that again.

Standing outside the front door, I took in the peaceful view—prairie grasses waving in the soft breeze, snow-capped mountains in the distance. The only sounds were the grasshoppers and the wind.

As Mary walked hand in hand with Parker to the house, I knew I was right where I belonged. I was with my family. By marrying Mary, we’d become just what I’d always longed for. Soon, we’d make the family even larger. I wanted to see Mary become round with child.
Mine.
Ours.

Very possessively, we took our bride directly to the washroom. As I began to fill the tub with water from the sun-heated cistern, Parker helped her out of her clothes. When she’d stripped off her dress, I made note that she wasn’t wearing her petticoat or drawers. It pleased me that she followed that dictate even while we’d been gone.

We bathed her then, Parker and I kneeling at either side of the tub, using soap and our hands to wash away the dirt and filth of the day.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

 “Should we drown you instead?” Parker asked, running a cloth over her pale shoulder.

She looked down at the water. There were no bubbles, only the scent of roses that came from the bar of soap in my hand.

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“I was angry,” I admitted. “The journey home has tempered it.”

I hadn’t just been angry. I’d been frustrated and afraid and… fuck, so many emotions had roiled through me. When we’d walked in Millard’s house and heard the crash from the hallway, we’d followed the sound of raised voices. There were more than two people in that locked room, meaning it wasn’t just a little father-daughter discussion. Our bride, in the invariably short time we’d known her, had never been one to throw tantrums, and I doubted she’d have started then. I’d given Parker a quick glance, and he’d nodded, his jaw tight. Only a door separated us from Mary. Lifting my leg, I’d kicked right beside the doorknob, forcing the wood to splinter around the solid lock.

The sight before us when the door had slammed open… fuck.

“We were so scared that something had happened to you. Then Benson—”

Parker didn’t say more than that, just had Mary tilt her head back so he could wash her hair. In that position, I could see that her neck held no marks from the attack.

“Better?” Parker asked, wringing the water from the long strands of her hair when he finished.

I’d just been content watching.

She nodded, gave us a smile. “Much.”

“Good, then it is time for your punishment,” I said as I stood, grabbing a bath sheet from the nearby stool.

“Punishment?” Mary asked, looking up at me, a frown creasing her brow.

She looked perfect. Whole. Unharmed. Her hair was a wet mass over one shoulder. Her cheeks were bright with color, which was much more agreeable than earlier when they were pale with shock. Beneath the surface of the water, her body was so pale and lush. Her nipples were plump and full, and lower, I could just discern the glint of pale curls at the top of her pussy. I ached to sink into her body, to lose myself in her. As Parker stood, he shifted his cock in his pants and I knew he felt the same. It was time to take her together, to claim her fully. But that had to wait.