by Vanessa Vale
“She is younger than Abel,” he reminded. His son was twenty and Tennessee just nineteen. “I would be more of a father than husband.”
I studied my friend. From what he’d told me, his marriage after the war had not been of love, but honor and duty. It had been short, less than a year before he became a widower with an infant son. He was jaded toward the fairer sex, even after two decades.
“Tennessee’s father used her to gain a rich alliance and she prescribed to that notion.” I briefly shared how Tennessee had set her sights on Grimsby for his large bank account. “The man had been pleased as he’d been eager for her money in return. When it came to light neither actually had any, blackmail and extortion ensued. She needs more than sweet words. She is wily and cunning.” I put my hand up to my eye as proof. “Guidance and a stern hand are required.”
My palm itched to spank her. My cock twitched to fill her.
“Even though it was at her father’s bidding?”
I lifted my hand to my eye again, winced. “Not all of it was at his bidding.”
“And we’re the ones to give it to her?”
I thought of any other man besides Jonah and myself touching her. “Fuck, yes.”
He tilted his head to consider my words. “That’s all well and good, but first we need to find her.”
Sighing, I was content he didn’t outright say no. I set my hands on my hips as I took in the busy thoroughfare. Where would a woman such as Tennessee Bennett hide in Butte?
2
TENNESSEE
“Put this on.” The woman shoved an emerald colored gown into my hands. Her gaze was more intense than the most eager of men, studying me with an experienced eye. “Spend one night on your back and you’ll make all the coin you need for your trip home.”
At least twice my age, she was wizened to the ways of the world I couldn’t even imagine. Her dress revealed more cleavage than I did in just my undergarments, the enormous swells above the low bodice plump pillows that any eager man couldn’t miss.
The establishment was a saloon, not a brothel, but that didn’t seem to matter when it came to… to servicing the miners after a hard day digging for copper below ground. Standing in the kitchen, the scent of boiled cabbage soured the air. A Chinese man was stirring a steaming pot on the stove. Either he didn’t understand what was being said or he didn’t care; he paid us no mind.
“It’s true,” added a second woman, perhaps a few years older than me. Sitting at the scarred table, the food on the plate before her was mostly gone. Her red hair was piled high on top of her head haphazardly, and she’d donned a garment similar to what I now held, although hers was blue and had lost some of its luster. So had she. Her bosom, while not as ample as the older woman’s, spilled from above the racy neckline. I had to assume she was taking a late lunch since she’d been busy upstairs. I diverted my gaze from the way a hint of her nipple appeared every time she took a deep breath. “They like a tight pussy. Until you’re opened up as wide as one of the mines in the hillside, you’ll get lots of coin.”
It was clear they were both working girls, but the older woman appeared to be in charge. Both laughed and I winced, knowing while she spoke in jest, she was stating fact. Men didn’t like used goods. I was far from used goods. I’d never even been kissed, let alone… everything else. My intention here had been mistaken, and I had to alter their thinking.
“I’m not here to sell myself.”
“There’s only one role for women who come to the back door.”
I wanted to grit my teeth with frustration. “I didn’t come to the back door. I entered through the saloon, but was sent into the kitchen.” I tipped my head toward the front of the establishment. “I want to participate in the card games, not… not do that.” I held the dress out in front of me with two fingers. I had no idea who had worn the dress previously, but I could guess the activities that had occurred while she’d done so. Selling my body was not part of my plan.
My plan was to collect enough money for the train to North Dakota and to save my sisters, Virginia and Georgia. Mr. Grimsby had become irate when he’d discovered my duplicity, that I wasn’t really a railroad heiress as my father had led him to believe. He’d been so irate, he’d given me a bruised eye and killed Father, and I’d become his prisoner until the money he’d expected from me could be achieved. It seemed everyone had been lying, for while Mr. Grimsby appeared solvent with his large mansion and fancy dress, his mine had gone dry and he’d sought a bride to replenish his coffers. While I’d been kept under his roof, Mr. Grimsby had also sent one of his goons to North Dakota to harm my sisters if I wasn’t successful in providing him with income. Abigail had miraculously—and with a large gun—come to the rescue, and Mr. Grimsby was now behind bars for kidnapping, extortion and murder. But his man headed to Fargo didn’t know that. My sisters were going to die if I didn’t save them.
Georgia and Ginny knew nothing of Father’s deceptive intentions… and death.
“Poker,” I said. “I’m here to play cards.”
“Poker!” The older one laughed as if she’d never had a woman request to join men at the tables. “You’ll not be allowed into a game here.”
The tinny music from a piano made its way through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the main saloon. While not filled to capacity, there were men drinking and a few playing cards at this hour.
I frowned. “Why ever not? I’m skilled. Capable. I’m here to earn money at poker, not… not in other ways.”
Even though, in the end, my father had lost all of the family money gambling it away at cards, he’d taught me the game of poker from a young age, the skill and logic behind winning. It didn’t always mean a good hand, but with the talent to read the other players, the ability to bluff and a good deal of luck, I could win. I did it at finishing school, winning the other girls’ pin money often enough. I would here at the saloon and be able to travel back to Fargo.
A dark brow arched. “Skilled? I care about your skill with an eager cock. If you’re not a virgin, I’ll eat my right shoe.” She looked me over. “The men will be in a frenzy to claim virgin pussy. You don’t need skill to spread those thighs.”
I blushed furiously, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks at her bluntness and the other woman’s nod of agreement. “Skilled at cards,” I clarified.
The only man who piqued my interest in claiming my… virgin pussy was James Carr. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, the day I’d arrived at finishing school when he’d brought his sister, Abigail, he made my heart pound. My nipples harden. And lower, between my thighs… I ached. I would tell none of this to Abigail, for it would have been awkward at best for her to know I’d pined and dreamed of her brother—and we hadn’t even been introduced! No, I’d kept my interest in him a secret. My secret, even as my father pushed me toward advantageous, but empty, matches.
As Abigail had told Mr. Grimsby, the Carrs didn’t have money, they had land. They may have scraped together enough for her to go to finishing school, but they had cows, not cash. A cow couldn’t get me money to rescue my sisters.
Wealthy or not, I wondered now why I’d ever found James Carr attractive. He was bossy and demanding and extremely annoying. The fact that he was tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled and had the loveliest dark eyes made him even more bothersome. I itched to run my fingers through his chocolate colored hair, feel the rasp of his whiskers against my palm. Breathe in his dark scent. My body had reacted to seeing him again, even in my frazzled state. I’d lost my wits at the feel of his corded forearm beneath my palm as he’d led me down the street. At the clean, dark scent of him. He hadn’t even kissed me and I’d been eager for him to… to have his way with me.
I’d just been freed from Mr. Grimsby’s house, dealt with the sheriff, discovered Abigail was married to not one man, but two, then been introduced to the most handsome man I’d ever seen, the man I’d pined for for two years. After all that, I shouldn’t have practically s
wooned on the street because of James Carr, especially since he’d told me… told me in no uncertain terms, I was going home with him. That I would marry him. Marry!
Deep down, I’d initially been relieved at his adamance. He’d offered a safe place to go, and he was Abigail’s brother, my hero, and I was the damsel in distress in all those dime novels we’d read late at night at school. In real life, it wasn’t all that exhilarating because I’d been the worst heroine ever and ruined it all. I should have been patient instead of impetuous, told him my fears, my concerns. I trusted Abigail and should have trusted him. Instead, I’d had him beaten up.
James Carr should return to his ranch and forget I even existed. He was probably halfway there by now.
And that was a good thing, for I couldn’t marry him. I needed money, a job, a rich husband. Something so I could save my sisters.
I had nothing. Less than nothing. I had no room at the school any longer. No money. No name since my father had destroyed it with his gambling and demise. And yet, he wanted me. Me! I was a walking disaster. I had no fortune. While it hadn’t been my fault, my family was obviously led by a schemer who’d gotten himself killed. I had two sisters in North Dakota I had to somehow rescue. I’d put his sister in danger. While I’d completed finishing school, I had been unable to find a husband with my father’s requirements during my tenure, even with my supposed beauty and education.
When James had told me we were to marry… told, it had been irritating, and that was why I’d acted so irrationally. James Carr hadn’t given me a choice. No option whatsoever. Just like my father. Just like Mr. Grimsby.
That, I detested.
Why would I go from one demanding male to another? My father’s actions had all but forced me into pandering. He hadn’t sent me out searching for love; I’d been searching for a bank account. A bank account to save him and his bad decisions. And now, even from the grave, he was dictating my actions. I had to save Ginny and Georgia.
I wanted love desperately, for I had felt none at home. Mother had died when I was six, leaving Father with three daughters, I was the middle child. He’d cared not for us, for we were not boys. He’d been cruel enough to tell Ginny, even though she was the oldest, I was the pretty one, the one he was sending to school to find a husband. Besides being plain mean, his drinking and gambling had grown worse over the years and his coffers had needed to be replenished. His desperation went as far as sending me to the rich city of Butte, using the last of the money to pay for finishing school. The town was famous for its riches in copper and because of it, the wealthiest men in the world I could marry.
Was love so impossible? Was a woman expected to marry a man who offered no fondness, no comfort?
I’d told my father of James Carr, but when I mentioned he was a rancher, he’d paid him no interest. My father had told me he needed a wealthy husband for me and how to go about getting one. I’d flirted and played coy, done as he’d wished obediently. One man after another. Mr. Grimsby was proof of the trouble that he had put me in.
Here, in the saloon, it was of my own making. The woman before me seemed to have plans with my virginity. The only way she would allow me to stay was to sell it. Like my father had done, like James Carr had as well, she expected me to obey her.
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. This is a mistake.”
She looked at me with a mixture of boredom and annoyance. “You aren’t the first woman to fall on hard times to come here. They quickly learned they aren’t as high and mighty as they thought.”
While I knew she was insinuating I was “too big for my britches” as the saying went, I didn’t care. I was desperate, but not that desperate. My sisters were living in relative comfort at the graciousness of a distant cousin—more so than could be said for me.
I shook my head. “I won’t sell myself.” Glancing at the woman at the table who only shrugged at my statement, I knew I couldn’t become as indifferent as she about such things. I shoved the dress at the older woman and walked toward the back door, my stride quick. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
“Where will you go?” she called.
I paused in the open doorway, turned to look over my shoulder at her. I had no answer to her question. I would have to try another saloon—there were plenty of them in Butte—and had to hope I wouldn’t be denied elsewhere. The prospect of going with James Carr now held ample appeal. He was a gentleman and while dominant, wouldn’t force himself upon me. He’d been generous, and I’d tossed that generosity in his face. No, I’d punched him in the face. The big man with the barrel might have done the actual strike, but it had been my doing nonetheless.
I’d destroyed any chance I had with him. With the first man to make me feel… things.
When I remained silent, she continued, “I’ll save the dress for you. You’ll be back.”
“No, she won’t.”
I startled at the deep voice behind me. Spinning on my heel, I bumped into a hard body. A big, tall, broad, hard body. Large hands settled on my shoulders. My heart skipped a beat, and I whipped my chin up to see who it was.
James Carr with a blackened eye. There was no other reason for James to be at the back door of the saloon. He was here for me.
3
JONAH
As we rode our horses north toward the Carr ranch, leaving Butte behind us, I was able to study the infamous, and beautiful, Tennessee Bennett. The landscape was stunning—the late afternoon’s sun dappled on the rolling prairie, snow-capped mountains in the distance—but I only had eyes for her.
I’d heard as much of the conversation with the prostitutes as James had. If he hadn’t pulled her out of the clutches of the woman eager to earn coin from Tennessee’s virginity, then I would have. Once out of the alley behind the saloon, James had made introductions, and while she’d studied me, tipping her head back to meet my gaze because she was so small, her eyes had widened, but she’d remained silent.
She hadn’t said a word, but appeared relieved to have James and I at the saloon to rescue her. From what she’d said, she’d been ready to walk out the back door on her own, but having two large men see to her safety once again must have been reassuring. A woman alone in the Montana Territory. No harm would come to her in Butte as she’d walked between us; remaining vigilant to possible threats to her person would be exhausting otherwise.
Now, the small woman who’d frequently ensnared my neighbor’s focus—and eager cock—currently sat upon his lap, her back ramrod straight. As I rode alongside, I had to imagine she was stiff and quite uncomfortable from holding herself in such a position for over an hour. My lips turned up at the action, for I wasn’t sure if she was afraid to make such close contact with a man if she were to relax, or if she was angry with James and tried to remain aloof. Based on the dark bruising forming around James’ eye, I guessed it was more the latter.
By the look of her, all prim and proper, she was most definitely an innocent. No man had gotten beneath that dress. Hell, I had to wonder if she’d ever sat atop a man’s lap before now. Ah, perhaps she was sitting so primly because she couldn’t miss the hard prod of James’ cock, which no doubt was rock hard due to having her delectable ass sway with the motion of the horse.
It was obvious now why James had been fascinated by her. No, not fascinated. Obsessed.
He’d talked about her like a lovelorn youth. He spoke of her hair… spun gold in the sunshine. He spoke of her femininity… tiny and quite curvaceous. He spoke of her smile… I’d not seen one grace her lips. Yet. He spoke of her fiery nature. While she’d been subdued ever since we pulled her out of that seedy saloon, it was obvious she was keeping herself in check. Perhaps it was because she realized how close she’d come to prostituting herself. Or that she’d been rescued from a mad man, both on the same day.
Just the thought of what she’d done… or almost had done to her, had me gritting my teeth. Grimsby could have put his hands on her, killed her, or even both. And then there was her visit to the
saloon. Fuck. I couldn’t stay sane and think of grubby miners eager to get between her thighs.
When James had grumbled about her needing a keeper, I’d been amused, not thinking him serious. Just looking at her so small and quiet upon his lap, one would not think her so impetuous. But James’ recount of the bastard who’d held her against her will, expecting a ransom in exchange for her life… perhaps she did need guidance. A stern hand to keep her safe. Or two. It couldn’t be just anyone who took care of her. No fucking way.
James had been right. I’d just needed to have a look at her and I wanted her. She was beautiful, to be sure, but she was also a feisty little thing, if James’ black eye was any indication. Yes, I’d marry her with James. She’d be his legally in name, Mrs. James Carr, but I would claim her as well, content in the Bridgewater way. After two decades, I felt it. Wanted it. A connection, a desire to possess. She would be mine.
I hadn’t been searching for a wife. I was a confirmed widower in these parts with a grown son. At twenty, I’d been bound in an honorable, yet loveless, marriage. I’d walked out with Victoria twice, only to have her announce she was with child. I had yet to kiss her, let alone fuck her. I could have said it wasn’t mine, which had been the truth, but no one would have believed me. They’d have seen me as shirking my responsibility, leaving an unmarried woman sullied after slaking my lust. I’d been truly trapped.
And so we’d wed. I hadn’t loved her, and after the vows were said, we never shared a bed. It had been in name only. While I hadn’t wished her demise in childbirth, I’d been set free of my obligation, but with a newborn. A son I’d raised as my own.
I wasn’t old or near my deathbed, only forty, but in all that time, no woman had caught my interest enough to ensnare me. I hadn’t been a monk either, but a quick tumble beneath the sheets did not warrant a preacher and a ring. Yet James’ insistence I also marry Tennessee had altered my perspective. The woman would not be my sole responsibility. James would be able to offer her what I could not, perhaps a depth of love I didn’t have within. I would not be an absent husband. I would be attentive, protective, and looking at her now, quite possessive.