I’d never liked Celeste, and the feeling was entirely mutual. We’d been able to hold a tenuous peace while Daddy had been alive, but she wanted to remarry. No woman wanted a pretty stepdaughter around when courting a fellow. I understood that, and judging by the leers from some of the men coming to call, I’d be wise to make myself scarce.
The house I’d grown up in would be mine and my husband’s when I married, but I didn’t care. The place had ceased being a home the minute Daddy brought Celeste to live with us when I was barely ten. I wondered if I should just pick someone and have it done. Being married to a man I didn’t actively dislike had to be better than living with Celeste and her string of suitors.
When I reached the stable behind the house, I kicked off the painful slippers Celeste had insisted on and shoved my feet into riding boots, breathing out a relieved sigh when I wiggled my toes in the worn leather.
Smiling, I listened to the quiet whicker of the only thing on Daddy’s land I truly cared about. Fishing a lump of sugar from the bowl in the tack room, I went to visit my best friend in the world.
“Hey, Prince.” I stroked my stallion’s velvety soft muzzle as he searched my hand for the treat. “Celeste is being her usual horrible self. I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit.”
He nodded his dished face as if he understood, rubbing his head against my shoulder in commiseration as he chewed the sugar. The palomino stallion had been a gift from Daddy for my sixteenth birthday, bought at an auction from a man who didn’t know the gem he possessed. I knew a fine blooded Arabian when I saw one, as had Daddy. Prince was lean, leggy, fast as lightning, and smart, but he wasn’t a Kentucky bred Thoroughbred.
Prince’s true value was only now being recognized here in Kentucky. His foals were highly regarded as excellent saddle horses with uncommon good sense. I leaned against him, sniffing back a tear as I remembered Daddy making me promise to marry the first man Prince liked.
Maybe a ride would clear my head. I led him from his stall and tacked him up, grimacing at the sidesaddle. I hated it, but didn’t want to return to the house for breeches.
The crisp early spring breeze caressed my face, and I smiled. It was nearly impossible to hold on to a bad temper on such a gorgeous morning. I held no illusions the situation with my stepmother would improve, but at least she might have enough sense to keep her damned canes away from me. I rode past the general store and nudged Prince around, deciding to stop at the hotel and get something for a picnic lunch.
I kicked my foot free of the stirrup and screeched when someone plucked me from the saddle and set me down. Spinning around, my crop in my hand, I scowled at Nathan Bergman, the owner of Lockerbury’s only saloon.
He was handsome enough, and not too old—like some of the others Celeste had presented. Nathan might have made a good husband if he wasn’t so… Well, dishonest and a little seedy, truth be told. It wasn’t so bad he kept a certain type of lady in his upstairs rooms and cheated at cards, but he watered his bourbon. To a born and bred Kentucky girl, that was a mortal sin.
“Can I help you, Mr. Bergman?” I asked, only just managing to keep the tartness from my words.
Nathan tipped his hat, somehow making the polite gesture appear lewd. “Well, I expect you can, Miss Maddy. See, your mama—”
“Stepmother,” I corrected. “And my name is Madelaine.”
His face tightened, but he kept a toothy smile firmly in place. “Be that as it may, your mama and I have mutual interests.”
“And what might those be?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but asked the question. By the determined look on his face, he was itching to tell me anyway.
“You, pretty lady.” He took off his hat and bowed his head. “I’m in fair desperate need of a wife, and your mama has her heart set on seeing you happily married.”
“Not interested.” I loosened Prince’s girth and looped his reins over the hitching post. Nathan Bergman was decidedly not a man who could give me a secret smile. The thought of his touch was repulsive. “I’d think you and she would suit better than you and I would.”
Reaching out a hand, Nathan stroked my cheek, brushing a strand of copper hair away from my face. “I’m not interested in Celeste,” he murmured. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart.”
I backed out of reach, carefully putting Prince between us. “Thank you, Mr. Bergman, but as I said, I’m not interested.”
Nathan smiled, baring his teeth. “I think I can make you interested,” he replied. “There’s another part I haven’t told you.”
Prince rumbled out a low nicker, crowding against me as he shifted his hindquarters toward Nathan. “I can’t imagine what would make me change my mind.”
“Celeste is one step ahead of you, my lovely fiancé.” Nathan’s smile never wavered as he stepped around Prince. “She knows how attached you are to this nag, so she sold him to me. You can either be a good girl and come along with him, or I’ll sell him off to a glue maker.”
I blinked and barked out a laugh. “Why on earth would you consider such a thing? Aside from that, Prince isn’t hers to sell. He’s mine.”
I had no intention of telling Nathan Prince’s true worth. He’d likely force me to the altar at gunpoint. Of course, that was what he was attempting, but it wouldn’t work.
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, little one. Everyone knows how much you dote on the beast. What better way to convince you to do as you’re told?” Lifting his hand, he tugged my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, then smirked when I jerked out of reach. “Your daddy’s will says everything belongs to her until you get married, God rest his soul.” Backing away, he raised both hands and added, “Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me, but I’ll be by in a few days to collect my horse and my new wife.”
Staring at him in horror, I clutched at Prince’s bridle. “You’re lying,” I whispered. He had to be lying. Not even Celeste would be so cruel. Yet even as I thought the words, I knew they were wrong. Celeste would definitely be that underhanded. She didn’t care who got hurt in her search for a new husband.
“Go look, wife,” Nathan advised. “I suggest you start packing, but don’t bother with frills or laces.” He looked her up and down, then smirked. “I’ll buy those myself.”
My stomach roiled and I tightened Prince’s girth before climbing into the saddle. Tears burned, clogging my nose as I trotted away. I might tramp about like a farm hand, but Maddy O’Connor didn’t run. Not where anyone could see me, at least.
I took a quick detour to the general store for a newspaper. It wasn’t an accepted means of courtship, but finding a husband out west was looking like a wiser idea every day. One of the men advertising for a wife had to be a better choice than Nathan Bergman.
Hell, Toby Greer, the shopkeeper’s son and barely a day over seventeen would have been a better choice. I tucked the paper into my saddlebag and set off toward Dahlia’s farm a few miles north of town. She’d help me choose a man from this very paper.
2
CALEB
* * *
I grimaced and tried to bully my mare into good behavior. She spun a few times, nearly unseating me before I got her going in the right direction. Justin had a better hand with our range horses, but even he had trouble with the half-wild stock we’d gathered. We couldn’t afford better, or the time to train them. Not that either of us had the interest in the job.
Between caring for two hundred head of cattle, the fence meant to keep them penned, and running them to market, we barely had time to sleep, much less make our shared house into something acceptable for a bride. I wasn’t sure what I’d been thinking advertising for a wife, but I did it anyway. The desire for a woman of our own knocked the good sense clean out of my head.
Aside from that, it was almost April. I’d nigh on promised Justin our wife would be here before the weather turned.
Maybe Justin was right, and I’d been dropped on my head as a baby, although I couldn’t recall such an incident. I
wasn’t sure why, but something told me I was doing the right thing with that silly advertisement for a bride.
I decided to let him think I was crazy. We’d both spent too long watching the men of Bridgewater create families with their chosen women. We wanted what they had, a woman to please and care for. More than that, we needed her. We hadn’t had a woman between us in months, but I wanted more than a soiled dove. We would fuck her into bliss, and she’d wear the same self-satisfied smile all the Bridgewater ladies wore when they looked at their husbands.
Justin was my best friend, and my brother in all but blood. I didn’t give a damn what people thought about his ebony hide, or the wiry curls he kept almost shaved to his scalp. If the woman who answered my ad didn’t accept both of us, she could turn right around and get back on the train.
My advertisement would get us a wife. I was sure of it. I couldn’t explain the itches of premonition I got sometimes, but they’d never steered me astray. The one time I ignored my gut almost got me leg shackled to a woman who wouldn’t accept Justin in my life. Carrie Frye had been my daddy’s choice and was presentable enough, but her personality left much to be desired.
I followed Justin as he headed north out of town, his gelding settling into a lope under his gentle hand. When we reached our homestead, carved out of the space between a snowcapped peak and a sheer escarpment leading down into a verdant pasture, we got back to work on the chores we’d ignored in favor of going to town.
I climbed off my horse and grimaced at a section of broken fence. We’d lost nearly a third of our herd in the last few weeks—too many to be a natural predator—and more disappeared every day. Our cattle were gold on the hoof, and the loss irritated me to no end. Hopefully, we weren’t looking at a situation with a rustler. People in Bridgewater took care of their own and I’d have heard about it if that was the problem. Regardless of the culprit’s identity, we were no closer to finding our missing cows.
I mentally calculated the funds we had left to carry us until our next cattle drive. We’d be able to feed ourselves, but we didn’t have much saved up to support a wife. Instead of chewing on the problem, I finished fixing the fence and trusted my gut. The right woman would come, and she wouldn’t give two pennies about our finances.
As usual, my mare snapped at me when I made to mount her. I blocked her with an elbow, reminding her of her manners. When I finally gained a seat in the saddle, I scratched her withers in a half-hearted attempt to soothe her. “Be still, sweetheart. Your day is almost done.”
She bucked, nearly unseating me. I barked out a laugh and spurred her toward home. The sun was almost below the horizon when I arrived, and my stomach growled. What I wouldn’t give for a good steak supper from the hotel in town, but we’d have to make do with boiled beans and burnt biscuits.
Neither of us had ever learned to cook. With luck, our new wife would be able to make fluffy biscuits and juicy roasts, but it wasn’t a priority. I wanted a woman who would embrace both of us. She would love Justin as much as she loved me, and we would spend the rest of our lives making her too happy to leave. Despite his misgivings, Justin was as anxious as I was to claim a bride in the manner of Bridgewater grooms.
The thought reminded me I still needed to find a chunk of hardwood and some free time to carve a plug for our wife’s backside. She’d need to be well-prepared for taking both of us. I smiled to myself. We hadn’t even seen the woman yet, and I was already thinking of how her lush bottom would squeeze around my cock as we fucked her together.
“What’s for supper?” I asked, kicking my boots off at the door. We were both making a concerted effort to keep the cottage tidy in anticipation of our bride’s arrival. Once she got here, we’d be too busy making her scream our names to bother with cleaning.
“Same thing as always,” Justin replied, handing me a plate. “But I have a surprise for you.” He laid a sealed telegram on the table between us. It had been sent from St. Louis, but I didn’t know anyone out that way.
“What’s this?”
“Ezra Thompson from the mercantile dropped it by while you were taking care of the south fence. I’m hoping it’s an answer to our advertisement.” His cheeks darkened and he spooned beans to his plate. “I thought we’d read it together since it’s addressed to you.”
I broke the seal and almost fell out of my chair. “She’s coming,” I breathed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Lord have mercy, I was almost drooling at the thought of finally getting a wife of our own.
In just a few days, we’d have our woman in our arms. We’d set our every waking moment to ensuring her pleasure, and I couldn’t wait to taste her sweet pussy. I wanted her desperate cries in our ears as we saw to her wanton needs.
Handing the thin paper to Justin, I let him read it, wishing I’d taken the time to carve a plug for our new wife. Our fingers would have to do for now. We’d finally get to feel her squeeze our cocks like a vise as we fucked her. At least the big bed we’d share was finished, including a brand-new goose down mattress.
His eyes narrowed. “Arriving on noon train Wednesday in answer to your advert.” Laying it on the table, he pointed at the initials on the bottom. “Who’s MO?”
“Margaret?”
“Maybe Matilda?”
Laughing, we began our meal. “I suppose we’ll find out next week,” I replied. “We’ll celebrate with these biscuits that aren’t burnt to a crisp.”
He grunted in acknowledgement, then swallowed his food. “Maybe the mercantile has oranges. Think our new wife might like some?”
The minute he mentioned it, my mouth watered for the crisp citrus and I wondered if our future wife would use lemon soap. Her bare skin would smell like sunshine and taste like the lemon ice my father used to buy for Justin and me when we finished our chores. If she didn’t, I’d be sure to buy her some just so I could lick the sweet essence from her delectable pussy.
MADDY
* * *
I pocketed the advertisement I’d torn from the paper. Wife needed, aged eighteen to thirty-five. Must be able to cook and clean for two healthy men, aged thirty and twenty-nine, owners of JC cattle ranch north of Bridgewater, Montana Territory. Must be willing to work and have a horse and saddle. No portrait necessary.
I was willing to bet the man I selected, one Caleb Mathis, hadn’t gotten any responses. A smart woman would think the man was addled for what he was asking, and wouldn’t consider traipsing out west to be a glorified servant. None of his requests bothered me though. I liked to cook, and a tidy household was my preference. Aside from that, he’d specifically mentioned wanting a wife with her own horse. That meant he had ideas, and I wanted to hear them.
Mr. Mathis had to be better than the gentleman who hadn’t said anything aside from the desire for his bride to be pretty, along with the words protect and cherish.
Cherished and protected, indeed. All husbands wanted a pretty wife. Mr. Mathis did too, even if he had sufficient wit and manners to resist putting it in a newspaper. Would he not do those things if he didn’t consider his bride attractive? How would he feel if his new bride didn’t find him appealing? I snorted and tucked the rest of the newspaper away, setting aside my curiosity about both men being in the Montana Territory.
I had no interest in spending my days as a pampered pet. Being stuck inside bored me to tears. A man who dared ask his wife for the things in Mr. Mathis’s advertisement was looking for a helpmeet—not an ornament he could trot out to impress his equally dull friends.
Tucked in a small purse sewn into my drawers, I had almost a thousand dollars in savings from Prince’s stud fees and the pin money Daddy had given me over the years. It would be more than enough to get me to Montana Territory and leave a healthy dowry.
Maybe, just maybe, if God saw fit to answer my prayers, Mr. Mathis would be the one to put that secret smile on my face. If he didn’t suit me, his partner might. There was no sense putting all my eggs into one basket, after all. One of them would be the on
e to show me what it meant to be a woman and a wife.
Dahlia didn’t think much of my idea of becoming a mail order bride, but she helped me anyway. I promised to write her the minute I arrived, and to skedaddle back to Kentucky if Mr. Mathis turned out to be unacceptable.
I knew she worried, but something told me Mr. Mathis was just the man I needed. I was strangely excited by the prospect of leaving Kentucky behind and wondered what my future husband looked like. Being a rancher, he likely had big strong hands with calluses. I shivered, imagining his rough palms stroking my tender skin.
But to get to my soon-to-be husband, I had to escape Lockerbury without Nathan or Celeste finding out.
Dried walnut husks turned Prince’s pale golden coat into liver chestnut, and some of Reggie’s old clothes turned me into a vagabond with an ugly horse. We found an old nosebag to hide Prince’s conspicuous appearance.
Dahlia dropped her paintbrush in the empty dye bucket and scowled. “You look horrible,” she muttered.
“Perfect.” I smoothed Reggie’s trousers over my backside. They didn’t fit very well, but a little discomfort was a small price to pay for getting Prince to safety. “I’ll send Reggie’s clothes back when I get settled.”
“Take as long as you need. Reggie hasn’t worn those in ages and he’ll never miss them. Just send me your new address the first chance you get.”
“Dahlia! Is supper ready yet? I’m as hungry as a bear, and I want to kiss my beautiful wife.”
The sound of Reggie’s voice echoed from behind the house and Dahlia winced. “You better get out of here,” she whispered.
“Not yet. If Reggie recognizes me, we did all this work for nothing.”
Biting her lip, she nodded and turned to wave at her husband. “Reggie, this here fellow says he needs a job. Do you need help with the planting?”
Their Wanted Bride (Bridgewater Brides) Page 2