by Vanessa Vale
I’d come to the store with Emma and Ann first thing with Quinn, one of the ranch hands, escorting us. We were in Travis Point, the town with the better mercantile for ladies ready-made wear. I had trusted their judgement on this, and I now looked down at myself. Pale blue gingham covered me from neck to wrist to waist, then belled out in a full skirt that was large enough to hide my unladylike boots.
“We will not laugh,” Emma said through the curtain.
I wasn’t so sure now that insisting I wear a dress to my own wedding had been a good idea. I felt ridiculous. I had never worn a dress, let alone gingham or pale blue in all my days. It was practically suffocating me with how trim the fit was, and I wasn’t even wearing the wrap around my breasts. That had been snug, but it had been beneath my clothes, hiding my figure, not accentuating it as this dress was. I didn’t have much of a mirror, Mrs. Maycomb only had a small one that she held in her hand, but I’d been able to maneuver it about to get some idea of my appearance.
“Are you going to stay back there all day?” Ann asked, then I heard the two of them laugh.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves,” I grumbled. “I’m not.”
“Come out, Grace. You’re going to look lovely.”
I could run out the back door, but that wouldn’t do me any good. I’d still have to face the women when I wanted a ride home. Home. Did I now think of Bridgewater as my home?
I had barely slept last night for all the thinking I’d done. I wanted Hank and Charlie. I did. I was, perhaps, just as crazy as them. As everyone at Bridgewater for they all wed in haste.
But every couple there was happy. The women were adored and protected, the men doted upon and loved. If that was crazy, then I wanted to be a part of it.
I was. I just had to walk out from behind the silly curtain so the ladies could see me in a dress.
Thank goodness Hank and Charlie were in Simms, checking on the prisoners while I was shopping. I’d consistently pushed thoughts of my family from my mind. I hadn’t wanted them in my life and they weren’t any longer. I’d ensured that. I was getting everything I ever wanted.
“Grace!” Emma called.
I sighed, swiped the curtain back and stepped into the back corner of the mercantile.
Ann gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Emma squealed and came over to me and wrapped me in a fierce hug, then stepped back. She looked me over, perhaps even more thoroughly than Hank and Charlie had.
“You’re beautiful! Those two men of yours are going to swallow their tongues.”
“And die of blue balls before they even get inside you,” Ann added.
I blushed and felt something blossom in my chest. Hope, perhaps? Hope that they’d still like me even though I was wearing something that made me different? Wasn’t that what I had always wanted, to be different? To not be a Grove?
“You think so?”
Ann nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. “It fits you perfectly. You have to take it and a few others.”
It was easy for her to speak of dresses. She was wearing one. A pale yellow color that showed off her hair and her three husbands had no doubt she was a woman.
I gave her a funny look. “One dress is plenty. I only need one to marry Hank and Charlie.”
They shook their heads in unison.
“When you get back to Bridgewater and they get one look at you, they’re going to rip that one to bits in their eagerness to have you,” Emma vowed. The idea of Charlie and Hank seeing me and being overwhelmed with desire for me, enough to ruin a dress, made me feel powerful. Being feminine, for the first time, felt like I had some control, that I was somehow bewitching to my future husbands. Was it like that? Did I, with just being me, have power over Hank and Charlie?
“More than one is required,” Ann agreed. She looked to Emma. “Let’s go see if they have a pink. That would look pretty with her complexion.”
“Pale yellow?” Emma countered.
“Let’s go see.”
“I’ll change my clothes and be right out.”
They turned back to me as one. “Oh, no. You may fetch your other clothes, but you are wearing that dress out of the store.” Emma stomped her foot along with it and gave me a look that probably worked well on recalcitrant children, or stubborn husbands. They walked off toward the ready-made dress table, leaving me alone at the back of the store.
I huffed, then spun on my heel to retrieve the pants and shirt I’d worn into town. I took one step and someone stepped into my path.
“Well, looky here. The perfect disguise.”
My heart leapt into my throat. Barton Finch.
“I wouldn’t have recognized you if you’d kept your mouth shut. That sassy tongue of yours gave you away. Bitch.”
His gaze raked over me and he licked his lips when they affixed upon my breasts. They were unbound and I was without a corset. I wasn’t going to glance down to see if my nipples were poking out. “There’s more to you than I thought.”
I cringed at his breath, his leer.
He’d had me cornered like this just the day before, but we’d been alone and at his cabin. Alone. Now, we were in the mercantile and Ann and Emma were at the front with Mrs. Maycomb.
“Don’t make me scream,” I said.
“Don’t make me kill those two fine ladies.”
I froze at those words. He grinned.
“Couldn’t help but overhear. Bridgewater, huh? That the place where two men get to fuck a woman together. Sounds like my kind of place.” He looked me over again.
He now knew where I’d been. Knew where Ann and Emma were from.
“You wouldn’t like it. People bathe,” I countered.
He grinned showing off his yellow teeth.
“What’s this about marrying two men? Did I hear you mention a Hank? Do you mean Hank Baker, the sheriff?”
I’d become accustomed to hiding my every emotion from my family. If they knew something excited me, like a stray cat, they shot it. If they knew something bothered me, they’d continue to pester me with it. They’d left the front door open, allowing flies in the house all summer long just because I’d told them it annoyed me. They were assholes. I’d known it before, but after meeting all the men at Bridgewater, it was confirmed.
And Barton Finch—
“Smart idea, Grace. Shacking up with the sheriff to save your neck. And marrying him?” He laughed. “Fuck, woman, you’ve got guts. You must be a better fuck than I thought if the sheriff can get past your name. That pussy must be incredible.”
I tipped my chin up, stayed silent, for I wasn’t going to respond to his crude words.
Guilt swept through me, fierce and strong, because I’d thought just that the day before. But then I’d stopped thinking it entirely because I wanted Hank for him. I wanted Charlie, too. I wanted them as a woman wanted a man, not a Grove wanting protection. I’d forgotten about my life for a few hours and had hoped. Had wanted. Had actually had something more.
“Did you disguise your name, too? What do you think will happen when I tell him who you really are?”
With Barton Finch standing before me, I knew it was all over.
“As if you’d get anywhere near the sheriff,” I snapped.
He didn’t respond to that. Instead, he asked, “Think your neck will snap when you’re on the gallows or will you swing and jerk for a while until you strangle and suffocate?”
Bile rose in my throat at the words. They were true. I would hang right along with them. I was Grace Grove.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
“I got a bank to rob. Word’s spread about the two Groves who got shot and are in jail.”
He didn’t know I was the one who’d shot my own family.
“I can’t do it alone. Now I’ve got you.”
I shook my head. “No. I haven’t done it yet and I won’t start now.”
He looked over his shoulder to Emma and Ann who were by the front window trying on straw hats. A slight shrug of
his shoulders brought up his rank body odor. My nose wrinkled, but I didn’t move. I didn’t dare.
“Seems to me I’ll have to make a little visit to Bridgewater. Late at night.” His hand settled on the butt of his gun at his hip. “Maybe I’ll do a little shooting of my own.”
My biggest problem now wasn’t being raped by him. He was now a danger to those who had taken me in, become instant friends. They’d made me one of their own unconditionally.
But there was a condition. They wouldn’t want me if I were an outlaw and Barton Finch was forcing me to it. But I would rather them all hate me than see them hurt.
“When and where?” I asked.
He grinned again. “Like I said, smart woman. Carver City Bank. Noon tomorrow. After, you’ll come to my cabin. We’ll spend the night getting to know each other.”
I didn’t say a word. The idea of being in his company now, let alone spending the night with him made me nauseated.
“You and I are going to get along just fine. Don’t worry, I won’t mind a broken in pussy, but I bet that ass is virgin. I’ll take it and make it mine. Since you kneed me in the balls yesterday, I’ll be sure to tie you up nice and good before I get on you. That way I can take my time with you.” His hand came up and he grabbed my breast. I didn’t move, but I did flinch, for his hold was rough, painful. Nothing like the way Hank had touched me the day before. I stepped back.
Lightning quick, he gripped my wrist and I tugged, trying to pull it free.
“Fight me. I like it,” he growled.
I stilled, pursed my lips and tried to slow my breathing, to calm myself.
“Carver City Bank. Tomorrow. Don’t show, I know where to find you. You decide to give your men the proverbial knee to the balls and get on the nearest stage out of town, I’ll still kill them.”
“And if I tell the sheriff?” I hissed.
“Tell that sheriff husband of yours everything. You’ll end up in jail beside your father and brother. Those at Bridgewater will still end up dead.” He pulled his gun out, checked to see if it was loaded, then put it back in the holster, which had me wishing I’d stolen every weapon the man owned. “Or don’t tell him. Fuck, I wish I could see his face when he finds out his soon-to-be wife is an outlaw. Happy wedding day.”
He turned around and walked away, laughing.
I had no idea how long I stood there, staring at nothing. Thinking. Trying not to cry.
I wouldn’t do anything to get those at Bridgewater hurt. Barton Finch didn’t toss out empty threats. I couldn’t tell Hank or Charlie about this. I was going to the gallows no matter what I did, but I’d see them alive and safe. I’d saved their lives once; I’d save them again.
I had until tomorrow. Between now and then, the time was mine. My life was mine. I could be who I wanted. I could be married, to two men. I would try to forget everything else and enjoy one day as a wife, one day where everything was right in my world. Where everything was good. I had one day to be happy, then it would be over.
I’d no longer be Grace Grove. I’d be Grace Pine and though not legally, I’d also be the sheriff’s wife. Then… I’d become what I’d always vowed never to be… an outlaw.
Soon to be dead.
10
C HARLIE
“FUCK ME,” I whispered, standing beneath the tall cottonwood tree outside of Kane, Ian and Emma’s house. Hank was beside me, both of us in our Sunday best of black suits, white shirts, vests and ties. While we were in the shade, the sun was warm, but I barely noticed. Grace was all I could see as she walked toward us, escorted by Robert.
My cock, which had been semi-hard all day, went instantly hard at the sight of her in a pale pink dress that fit her like a glove. It was the first time—besides her being naked—we’d seen her curves. There was lace edging at the high neckline and at her wrists, making her appear almost dainty. With her hair pulled back, not in a braid, but in a bun at the nape of her neck, she was a vision. She was Grace, but at the same time, a different person entirely. I didn’t care what she wore, or hell, if she wore anything at all. It was the perfect female beneath the pink fabric and lace I would marry.
She glanced at us, both of us, with a tremulous smile. I realized then, she was nervous, not to wed us—well, perhaps that, too—but about her clothing. She’d said she had never worn a dress before.
I couldn’t help but smile back. Beam, even. Fuck, if those bloody bastards who ran the orphanage could see me now. They’d told me I’d never amount to anything, that I was worthless. I might now be a simple rancher, but I had everything I ever wanted walking toward me.
She was the woman I’d always wanted but had been waiting for. She was the start of the family of which I’d dreamed. She was what I’d worked my bloody fingers to the bone for in those wretched copper mines. She was the sun and the moon and I was the stars. Shakespeare had it bloody right.
When her eyes met mine, I let her know with a look alone that I was ready for this. For her. I was ready to marry her and make her mine. Yes, we’d claimed her, but God and everyone at Bridgewater would know she was mine forever. She’d take my name. She’d be Mrs. Charles Pine.
Fuck me.
Her hand came up, her fingers playing with the lace at her neck. I was proud of her, doing something so profoundly different. For us. It made my heart pound, my palms sweat, to know that she put in such an effort, even at an emotional risk for herself, to do so.
It had been a long night without her, even though we had yet to spend one night with her. I hadn’t slept well, thinking of her, of how we’d touched her, how she’d responded. Fuck, I could still taste her sweet pussy on my tongue. I’d wanted to use my hand and ease the ache in my balls, but I’d declined, saving all my cum for Grace. I’d fill her with it until we were all sated. I didn’t know how long that would be. Days.
When we’d returned from Simms, confirming the Grove men were alive—albeit ornery and mean—and behind bars, we’d immediately gone to Kane and Ian’s house to see Grace. The women had returned from the mercantile and had frittered about Grace like birds, but they’d refused Hank and I her presence until now. Kane had slapped me on the back and sent both of us to clean up for the wedding, stating if he let us in the house, he’d be sleeping in the stable for a week.
Hank nudged me in the back when she stood before me, prompting me to take her hand. I did, then met her upturned face. I wanted to reach down and shift my cock to make it more comfortable in my pants, but that wasn’t going to happen until I got them off. Soon.
“Ready, love?” I whispered.
Hank moved to stand on her other side, putting her directly between us, right where she belonged.
Her dark eyes were bright and eager, her smile was genuine, the pink in her cheeks showed her excitement.
“Yes, I’m ready to be yours,” she replied. She looked to Hank. “Both of you.”
She was ready. Hank was ready. I was ready. So was my cock. I turned to Robert. “The short version.”
And in about two quick minutes, I was cupping her face with my hands and kissing her. When Hank cleared his throat, I lifted my head and she turned to kiss him next.
We didn’t even let the others do more than offer us quick congratulations. Grace was ours and we weren’t wasting a second finally claiming her. I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her back to the house, not putting her down until we were in my bedroom.
I held her waist as she regained her bearings. She didn’t look fierce in soft pink, or with her hair up in such a dainty fashion. I hadn’t worried overmuch that we’d be too rough with her. Yesterday. But now, seeing her all soft curves and sweet perfection, I worried we’d be too much for her, that we might possibly hurt her.
“Don’t be afraid, love. You might be getting two big cocks in that virgin pussy, but we’ll take care of you.”
She looked up at me through dark lashes, and I was ready to see apprehension or even a touch of fear a woman felt taking her husband for the first time. Grace
had two, so…
Instead of lip biting and hand clenching, thinking of the Queen and all that, Grace flung herself into my arms and kissed me. Hard. Wild. As fierce as she was.
Holy bloody hell.
GRACE
I WAS SO HAPPY. Truly. I felt light. Carefree. Loved. I’d never felt like this before. But standing between two men who’d vowed, in front of their closest friends, that they would honor, cherish and love me, protect me with their bodies, love me with those bodies as well… I knew they weren’t lying.
Unlike Father or Travis, or the bastard Barton Finch, they weren’t talking shit to get what they wanted. They weren’t thinking only of themselves.
Charlie and Hank definitely wanted to fuck me. Their constantly hard cocks were obvious proof of that, but they’d put a ring on my finger first. I was Grace Pine now.
I swallowed back all feelings of my own perfidy by giving them not my true name, but my mother’s maiden name. I’d married Charlie as Grace Churchill, not Grace Grove. But the vows I’d said were honest. I wanted them. Both of them.
I hadn’t fought when Charlie carried me back to their house. Our house. I’d relished the feel of his eagerness, his desire to make me his in all ways. I’d seen Hank’s legs as he followed, and I knew he was just as eager. Just as ready.
I had one day to be Mrs. Charlie Pine, to be Hank’s wife, too, in everything but name. Tomorrow, they’d hate me. Tomorrow, I’d be in jail where I belonged. Tomorrow—
No. I wouldn’t think of tomorrow. I’d think of today. Of now. Of them. If I were going to hang beside Father and Travis, then I wanted one day of perfection. One day of happiness before I died.
And so I didn’t allow Charlie one moment of worry. One moment of being careful with me. I wanted him. I wanted Hank. I wanted it all.
So I threw myself at him. Kissed him with all the pent-up need I’d felt since they’d left me at Emma’s house the night before. There was no time for modesty or questioning. They would never hurt me. They’d only give me pleasure.
For an instant, I’d stunned Hank. Then he wrapped his arms about me and kissed me back. A growl escaped as I boldly thrust my tongue in his mouth.