Their Reckless Bride (Bridgewater Ménage Series Book 11)

by Vanessa Vale

  CHARLIE

  I’D BEEN AN IDIOT. Falling for a woman on sight. And a woman dressed like a man. That should have been my first warning. But no. My cock wanted her. My head wanted her. My heart, well, it fucking wanted her. And now it was crushed. I felt like a pussy being so devastated by a mere woman. A mere woman I’d only known for two days.

  Fuck.

  But this wasn’t a woman I bedded for the night, or even for the hour. I was no virgin, nor had I been a monk. From England to Mohamir to America, I’d had my fair share of pussy. Grace was different. Oh, she had the sweetest, tightest, most perfect pussy ever. But that wasn’t it. I wanted more from her than just temporary pleasure.

  I wanted forever. Grace was mine.

  She had my ring on her finger. Hank’s, too.

  And we were hunting her down just as we had the Grove gang the other day. For being a fucking outlaw.

  And yet, it was our job, our honor, to protect her. It was the way of those in Mohamir to cherish their wife. The reason for two men to claim a woman together was for her, to ensure she would be seen to if something happened to one of her men. The wife was the center of the family, the heart. Without someone guarding and watching out for her, it could be ruined.

  It went against every bit of my personal honor to go after her like this. Robbing banks, even from the wrong side, was dangerous. She could be hurt, killed holding up the place, especially after the string of robberies. The tellers were on guard and nervous they would be next. Surely, they were armed and waiting.

  We had to get to Grace before she got hurt. I’d protect her, then find out what the fuck was going on. She didn’t need a noose about her neck, she needed a trip over my knee and a serious spanking. It had been beautiful to watch her give over to us, and she’d do it again, but this time, we’d have the truth. We wouldn’t wait for it, we wouldn’t assume we had the rest of our lives.

  We’d asked her why she shot the Grove men. She’d said she’d been passing through and hadn’t wanted to see us hurt. But where had she been and where had she been headed? Why hadn’t she killed them? She could have, just tilting her gun slightly would have finished both men in an instant. Why the fuck did she wear pants?

  So many questions unanswered. We should have asked them, but hadn’t.

  I spurred my horse to a faster gallop. I needed to know it all. I needed to know the truth.

  GRACE

  I’D NEVER ROBBED a bank before. Even after living with Father and my brothers my whole life, I didn’t even know how. That was why I was surprised Barton Finch wanted me along. His plan was to get in, get the money and get out. Get gone. He thought me a woman stuck under his control, that he could blackmail me into being his new partner in crime. I had to admit, he had plenty to hold over me.

  Because I was a Grove, he considered me to be something I was not. I wasn’t ruthless. I wasn’t mean. I might have an infamous surname, but I was one no longer. The second I shot Father and Travis, I’d been done with them. I’d been ready to strike out on my own. Survive without them. Knowing they’d been caught and were no longer hurting people or wreaking havoc on the Montana Territory, I had been set free.

  But then my heart had been caught in a snare so well hidden, I hadn’t even known I’d been trapped. I’d been caught by love and that was something Barton Finch would never understand. His threat to kill those at Bridgewater, to hurt Charlie and Hank, was enough to bring me here, and I was willing to sacrifice myself so they could be safe.

  What he didn’t realize was that I wanted him gone. Wanted him caught. Captured. Hanged. Because if he’d tried to rape me, he’d surely done it to another woman in the past and would do it again. A man like him never changed.

  I’d sacrifice myself for my husbands and newfound friends, but I’d take him down with me.

  And so I’d played the role of exactly what he thought I was: a weak, simpleminded female.

  I’d gone into the Carver City bank and stood there holding my gun and tried to look threatening. I was in my usual uniform of Travis’ worn pants and shirt. I’d even found the binding for my breasts and wrapped them snuggly. My hair, back in the long braid, was tucked up under my hat. I didn’t look much like a man, but I definitely didn’t look like a lady.

  Luckily, there were only the teller and the manager in the building when we entered. Carver City wasn’t as big as the name implied. Most people in the area bartered or didn’t have enough money to warrant a bank, instead stuck it in a coffee tin or beneath their mattress. But, there were some rich ranchers in the area, or those who needed loans.

  Barton Finch entered the bank full of piss and vinegar, shouting and waving his gun about to incite fear. I didn’t point my weapon at anyone, but high up toward the ceiling. To Barton, who was at the counter and focused on the money the teller was shoving in a bag, I was doing my job. He’d told me I was to shoot anyone who entered or anyone who, as he’d said, even breathed funny. The only person I wanted to shoot was him and up until he waved the gun in the teller’s face, he hadn’t done anything wrong in the eyes of the law.

  No one knew who he was or that he’d been part of the Grove gang. A third man was known and wanted, but not his name. If I’d shot him in cold blood, I’d have felt justice had been served. But then I’d have been the guilty one. A murderer. I had to ensure he was caught red-handed. And that was why we were standing in the bank robbing it.

  A shot rang out. I jumped, startled out of my thoughts.

  “I told you no weapons!” Barton Finch shouted, grabbing the gun the teller had pulled from beneath the counter. “Do it again and it’ll be your head I aim for.”

  The teller had turned a ghastly shade of white and shoved the money into the bag with more haste, his entire body shaking.

  Thank god he hadn’t been shot.

  The bag hadn’t been closed or pushed across the counter when the entry doors burst open.

  Hank and Charlie stormed in, guns raised, eyes sharp. Inwardly, I sighed and I tried not to smile at the sight of them. My heart flipped and knew they’d found my note. But when they glanced at me, all I saw was coldness. Hatred. My plan was working, but even though I’d known they’d hate me, it still hurt.

  Barton Finch spun about, pointed his gun at the men.

  “Don’t even think it. Put the gun down,” Hank ordered. I’d never seen him like this. Focused and intent as usual, but he was driven by anger. He was handsome and virile, ruthless, and I loved him for risking his life for assholes like Barton Finch.

  “Shoot him, Grace,” Barton Finch snapped.

  Hank kept his gaze on Barton Finch, but Charlie was watching me.

  “What?” I asked, and began to shake, my weapon wavering. “I… can’t.”

  “Why? Because he’s your husband?” Barton Finch snapped. “Please, you’re a Grove. Shoot the fucker.”

  Charlie’s eyes flared wide and I saw the stiffening of Hank’s shoulders.

  Barton Finch noticed their reactions as well because he started to laugh. “You didn’t know, Sheriff? You didn’t know your own wife is an outlaw? You might have captured two of the Grove gang, but you missed one. Hell, you were between her thighs all night.”

  “You’re Grace Grove?” Charlie asked.

  I swallowed back the tears that threatened. Now wasn’t the time to get upset. I had a plan and I had to follow it. I had to see it through, no matter the cost.

  “You were part of all the robberies?” he wondered next.

  “I… I…” I sputtered, then lowered my weapon.

  “Her? Part of the robberies?” Barton Finch laughed.

  Inwardly, I smiled. He did exactly as I’d expected. No woman could take credit for his efforts, no matter how dastardly.

  “Look at her, she’s too nervous to even wave a gun at you. I’m not,” he snapped and cocked his weapon.

  “No!” I shouted, lifting my gun and pointing it at Charlie and Hank.

  Through all of this Hank remained silent. His eyes
were on me now, narrowed, jaw clenched.

  “Shoot them, Grace. I want to see you kill your own husband.”

  I swallowed, aimed my gun at Hank. Looked him in the eye. Fired.

  12

  HANK

  FUCK. Holy fuck, she’d fired her weapon at me. I didn’t think she’d do it, but it went to show how ruthless she was. How much she’d had us played all along. I’d married a fake. She was even worse than her father and brother. They hadn’t hidden who or what they were. They wore their evil like a coat and that made Grace’s duplicity even more wicked.

  But then, I realized… she hadn’t actually shot me.

  She’d missed.

  “He’s fifteen feet in front of you! How could you miss?” The fucker shouted at her.

  He was in his thirties, with scraggly hair, ragtag clothing. He looked like he hadn’t seen water in a few months. But none of that mattered. It was the evil gleam in his eye.

  He was filthy through to the bone.

  When I looked at Grace, I didn’t see that hardness. It wasn’t something easily faked. What the fuck was going on here? There was no question this asshole was robbing the bank. There was no question Grace was robbing it with him. But she didn’t seem to be with him.

  If she really was Grace Grove, then she was taking her father’s and brother’s place in the gang. But why? Money? Why had she shot them in the first place the other day?

  She had everything with us. Two men who loved her. Yes, love. A home. Friends at Bridgewater. Even a fucking copper tub.

  Why did she leave it all for him? And why did she leave us a note to come here?

  If she wanted to claim a rightful spot on the Grove gang, it didn’t make sense to tell the sheriff where and when she was going to commit her next crime.

  But it all came down to one thing. One bullet.

  She hadn’t shot me.

  “I told you earlier, I’m a terrible shot,” she said, pleading with the fucker. Who the hell was he anyway?

  A terrible shot? Grace?

  “You’re a worthless bitch. Good for nothing but spreading your legs. But you’re uppity and frigid. Worthless.” He spit a wad of tobacco onto the bank’s wood floor.

  Grace wasn’t a danger to us. She wasn’t going to do us any harm. It was the man, the asshole who was talking shit about her, disrespecting her, who was my sole focus.

  “That’s my wife you’re talking about,” I growled.

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “It must stick in your craw you’ve married a Grove. That you fucked a Grove. I’ve got the money, it’s time to get gone,” he said, the full satchel in one hand, waving his gun about with the other.

  I knew what was coming. He wasn’t letting us leave this bank alive.

  “Clearly Grace is useless for shooting people. It’s you or me, Sheriff, and I think it’s going to be you who’s dying today.”

  Instead of being shot… again, a weapon fired. Again, it was Grace’s. She’d spun lightning fast, when the fucker’s attention had been on me and Charlie. His gun flew across the room as she’d shot his hand, right through the palm.

  He screamed, clutched the wounded hand as he bent over. Blood dripped onto the floor. “You bitch! You shot me.”

  Grace walked over to him. Slow and easy. Her false fear was now gone. “The only person dying today, Barton Finch, is you.”

  “You set me up,” he growled. Sweat dotted his brow, his skin becoming pale from pain.

  “I’m just a worthless bitch, remember? How could I do something like that?”

  “You’re going to jail. You’ll hang! Your own husband is going to put a fucking noose about your neck,” the fucker she called Finch, snarled.

  Grace smiled coldly. “Maybe, but I’ll die knowing you’re in hell while the men I love are safe. Just like my pa and Travis learned, no one fucks with my family.”

  Her voice was flat, even. Cold. I knew that look, the feeling coursing through her. Justice. Retribution.

  Did she say love?

  “You shot your own father and brother? They’re your fucking family!” he shouted, grimacing in pain.

  “No. They’re not family. They didn’t give a shit about me. Made me cook, clean. Beat me. Gave me to you as payment.”

  Fuck. I saw red then. If I didn’t have a star pinned to my chest, and we weren’t standing in a bank with witnesses, I’d have shot him through the head and left him for the coyotes to find. He wasn’t worth digging a grave.

  Finch actually grinned. “A man’s dick doesn’t get hard for anything in pants. I doubt you even have a pussy.”

  Grace raised her gun, pointed it at Finch’s head, ready to do exactly what I wanted.

  “Grace, no,” I said and approached.

  “He deserves to die,” she countered, not looking away from the fucker.

  “He does, and he will. But not by your hand.”

  She didn’t need that in her mind. I knew what it felt like to kill, even a worthless piece of shit like Finch. It lingered. It wouldn’t go away. Ever.

  “Just like your father and brother. You shot them because of what they did to you, because they were going to kill us, but you didn’t kill them.”

  “They’ll be hanged?” she asked.

  “No question.”

  “And him?” She didn’t lower her weapon, still intent to finish him. I didn’t care if Finch died, but I cared about how it would affect Grace.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And me?” she asked.

  I looked at her, back in those fucking pants and loose shirt. There was no sign of her curves and that meant she had that fucking strip of material wrapped over her gorgeous breasts. Her hat was tipped low over her face, but I couldn’t remember how I’d ever thought her a man.

  I knew how those lips felt on mine, on my skin. I knew what her pulse at her neck felt like against my lips. I knew the softness of her breasts, the feel of her tight nipple against the roof of my mouth. The taste of her pussy. The feel of it clenching my cock.

  The way she looked when she came. I knew everything about her.

  But then, I knew nothing about her at all.

  “You’ll pay for what you did.”

  GRACE

  I HAD EXPECTED to be dragged back to Simms and jailed with Father, Travis and Barton Finch. To be locked up to await the judge and then sentenced to hang. Being with them until we were hanged would be far worse than dying. That would… I hoped, be swift.

  If Charlie and Hank had seen me on the bluff, Father and Travis probably had as well, even writhing in pain. They’d know I was the one who shot them. Who’d left them to be arrested and put them in their current predicament.

  Barton Finch would know I’d played him the fool.

  Their necks were going to snap because of me and I wasn’t sure if I would survive a jail cell in their company.

  Barton Finch had his hands in cuffs upon one horse, Hank holding the reins with his gun out riding beside him. I’d been in Charlie’s lap, his arms securely about my waist. As we rode into town, the more I worried, the more I panicked. Sweat dampened the binding about my breasts. My heart pounded as loud as a stampede and it was hard to catch my breath.

  “Charlie, I’m sorry,” I said for about the fiftieth time. I’d known what was coming. I’d known all along, accepted it. With Barton being yanked off his horse, swearing at Hank as he did so, I knew my plan had worked. Charlie and Hank were safe. Everyone at Bridgewater wouldn’t be shot in their sleep. Still… I was scared.

  He didn’t respond this time, or any of the others. Gone was the quick smile, the easygoing nature. The gentleness.

  Hank shoved Barton toward the jail and inside.

  Charlie didn’t move. Didn’t force me down to follow.

  “Charlie—”

  “I don’t want to hear it now, Grace.”

  His words were cold and smooth as ice on a winter pond. No love on the end.

  Five minutes later, Hank returned, mounted his horse
and we left town. Heading north, I knew instantly we were going to Bridgewater.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, glancing from Hank and tipping my chin up to look at Charlie. He didn’t look at me, just stared forward, his jaw clenched.

  We rode straight to their house, the place I’d thought I’d never see again. Hank dismounted, then came over and helped me down. Charlie followed.

  But we didn’t go inside. Hank sat down on the steps that led to the front porch tugged me to stand between parted knees. Charlie settled beside him so I was eye to eye with both of them. One dark gaze, one green gaze boring into me as if they could see my soul.

  There were times I thought they could, but Hank’s next words made me realize they knew nothing.

  “We’re home. It’s time to talk,” Charlie said, reaching out and taking off my hat, just as they had by the creek when we’d first met.

  My braid fell down my back.

  Hank nodded his head in agreement. “I think it’s time you introduce yourself, wife.”

  I swallowed, licked my dry lips. Had it only been dawn since I rode away from them?

  “I’m… I’m Grace Grove.” I sighed, relieved to finally say it. To tell them the whole truth. “The name I used to marry you yesterday… Churchill, was my mother’s maiden name.”

  “You shot your father and brother,” Charlie said.

  I nodded, my thumb rubbing over the material of my pants on my thigh. “Yes.”

  “Did you shoot my father?” Hank asked.

  All the blood drained out of my face and little spots danced before my eyes. “Dear lord, no. It was Father. He got drunk, pleased with himself.”

  “Why?” Hank asked. “Why did you shoot your family?”

  I sighed, flicked my gaze to his. There were no laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. There was no softness to him that I’d seen when we’d been in bed together. He’d shed his sheriff persona along with his clothing.

  I didn’t need the glint of sunlight off the badge on his chest to know who he was in this moment.

  “Like I told you, they were going to shoot you. I couldn’t let that happen.”