Hunt, Sofia - The First Bride [Brides of Bachelor Bay 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Sofia Hunt

  “Do you know who that is?” Lizzie gestured to the man across the street.

  Lucy looked up from the socks she was darning and doing a poor job at that, unless the owner of that particular pair of socks was missing his big toe. Lucy’s eagle eyes focused on the stranger. The man ducked into the mercantile store, as if he’d known he’d drawn their attention.

  “That’s Mr. Farrier. He’s a timber buyer from San Francisco.” Lucy reveled in possessing information others didn’t.

  “I see. Do you know anything else about him?”

  Lucy leaned toward Lizzie and lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “A little, but you must keep my secret as I haven’t told anyone this.”

  “Of course.” Lizzie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lucy wasn’t capable of keeping a secret.

  “He’s negotiating with both the Pettys’ and the Gallaghers’ for the lowest price. I hear it’s a very lucrative contract. He’s originally from back East.”

  Lizzie went cold inside. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I overhead him tell Hayden Petty.”

  “Do you recall where?”

  “I believe it was Boston.”

  Lizzie’s uncle resided in Boston, but then so did a lot of people. Surely it was a coincidence, along with the fact that the man appeared in the same places Lizzie and her sisters appeared. After all, it was a small town.

  But was it that small?

  * * * *

  A few days later, Gage shored up his nerve and paid Lizzie a formal visit. Waiting for her to appear, he clasped his hands together in an effort to stop fidgeting. He stared around the garish parlor only Hattie could love. Though he doubted the clashing colors in the room could be held responsible for the butterflies battering his rib cage.

  He breathed in through his nose, breathed out, several times, but the calming technique he’d used in the past deserted him. Regretting the rash decision that brought him here, he considered escape routes and fought the urge to sneak out the side door before Lizzie entered the room.

  A chair scraped across the floor in another room. He jumped at the sound. Heels tapped on the wood floors, growing closer with every footstep. His heart beat in his chest, and his throat constricted.

  Was any woman worth this agony?

  Lizzie was. He knew it in his heart.

  Much to his disappointment, Lucy entered the room. Gage sighed, resigned to his fate. The sturdily-built Lucy had made an immediate impact among the lumberjacks. Despite being desperate for female companionship, every man in town ran like hell when Lucy appeared. She chattered non-stop and quickly earned the reputation of the town’s most prolific gossipmonger. In addition, her singing voice, which she exercised at every available occasion, likened to a crow caught in a rain barrel.

  “Gage, what brings you here?” Lucy’s eyes lit up, obviously anticipating an opportunity for fresh gossip.

  “I have business to discuss with Miss Prescott.” The less information given to Lucy the better.

  “Really? Which Miss Prescott?”

  “Lizzie.”

  “And what business would you have with Lizzie?” Lucy sat down and poured herself some tea. Ever the gentleman, Gage sat, too.

  He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but his mama had taught him too well to respect a lady, not that the description fit this annoying woman. “I need to discuss the refurbishing of the inn.”

  Lucy’s sharp gaze narrowed as she focused her entire attention on him. “You should include Constance in such conversations. She’s as much the voice of the brides as Lizzie.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.” Gage shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with Lucy’s interrogations. Hearing a swish of skirts, Gage stared at the doorway.

  Lizzie walked into the room wearing a matronly dress that would have looked dowdy on most women. On Lizzie, it hugged her slender body and aroused every fiber of his body.

  He stood quickly. His feet wrapped around each other, and he stumbled. Lizzie ran the last few steps and put out a hand to steady him.

  “Are you well?” A tendril of her auburn hair brushed her cheek. He imagined tucking it behind her ear, how silky the strands would feel in his fingers, how she’d tremble at his touch.

  “I’m fine, ma’am.” Heat spread from north to south, not all of it caused by embarrassment. He cursed his lack of confidence around women. Put him in a room full of ledgers, lawyers, or bankers, and he’d whip them into shape. Yet he shivered in his boots from one slight woman.

  Across the room, Lucy watched his performance with extreme interest, most likely taking mental notes to repeat to any bride who’d listen.

  Lizzie noticed Lucy for the first time. “If you’d excuse us.”

  Lucy hesitated, not wanting to miss any choice gossip. “I’ll just sit over here and work on darning these socks. I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I believe Hattie needs help in the kitchen.”

  Frowning with disappointment, Lucy rose and left the room.

  With an exasperated sigh, Lizzie sat across from Gage and waited for him to speak. He sank back down into the chair. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and refused to get out of the way so he could form words.

  “Gage, are you sure you’re fine?” Her concern almost undid him. No one had looked at him with such concern since his mother died.

  He leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his seat. “I’d like to escort you to the dance on Saturday,” he blurted and held his breath, strung tight and aching with fear she’d turn him down flat.

  Lizzie’s eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. “You want to escort me?”

  He nodded. “I’d be honored.” She didn’t seem upset, just surprised. Hope swelled inside him.

  “But there are so many other women to choose from.”

  “But I choose you. Will you attend with me?” He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

  A myriad of conflicting emotions crossed her strong features. She met his gaze and nodded. “I’d love to.”

  Chapter 4

  Lizzie’s Journal, Saturday, June 18, 1864

  Port Steele, Washington Territory

  Today is the day of the dance. I have attended my share of dances both in Boston and now here at Port Steele, but never accompanied by a young man who makes my heart flutter and my knees like jelly. I am certain he extended his invitation out of pity for my plain appearance and lack of interested suitors. Regardless, I am determined to enjoy myself.

  Mr. Farrier, the timber buyer, skulks in the shadows, always seeming to be a few steps behind me. When I go the mercantile store, he peeks through the shelving. I chastise myself that I am merely imagining his scrutiny.

  * * * *

  By Saturday, Lizzie had worked herself into a dither.

  She pondered what craziness had come over her to accept Gage’s invitation. He’d caught her off guard. She’d expected them to discuss the current status of the brides’ complaints. Instead he’d offered to escort her to the next dance. After she’d accepted, she’d noticed movement near the doorway. Within a few hours, blabbermouth Lucy would spread the news throughout the inn.

  But she had bigger issues than Lucy’s nattering to any bride who’d listen.

  Surely Gage didn’t have an interest in her. Perhaps pity motivated him. The possibility didn’t sit well. She hated to be pitied.

  She didn’t want a man, couldn’t have a man. She’d misrepresented herself in countless ways and lived in daily fear of being exposed. All the brides signed statements attesting to their exemplary moral character. Lizzie falsified her statement. She wasn’t an innocent young miss, not anymore.

  If Connie found out, she’d be ruined and shipped back to the East Coast, back to her abusive uncle and her dead husband Herbert Stein’s repulsive brother. Her stomach rolled at the thought of another lecherous old man touching her with rough, bony fingers.

  Gage des
erved better than her. He deserved a woman devoted to him, not a woman with baggage from her past. Yet, she chastised herself, it was a dance, not a marriage proposal.

  Despite her misgivings, she succumbed to Hattie’s ministrations. She actually didn’t look half bad. Amelia announced her sister’s appearance to be understated elegance. While Olivia beamed at her like a proud sister. Even Lucy had been at a loss for words, hopefully a good sign. Constance stared at her with undisguised animosity and stomped from the room, Lucy on her heels.

  Hattie had piled Lizzie’s auburn hair on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils framing her face. Amelia, the most endowed of the sisters, loaned Lizzie one of her favorite dresses. While Lizzie didn’t quite fill it out, the emerald green dress accentuated the green in her eyes and gave a slightly immodest view of cleavage.

  So now she sat in the parlor and waited for Gage. He was late. She shooed her sisters on their way, tired of their giggling and teasing.

  Gage showed up a few minutes later and stood on the front porch, seemingly flabbergasted. She smiled what she hoped was her best demur smile. Grabbing her cloak, she hid her shaking hands under the thick wool fabric.

  Gage took her elbow and led her the short distance to the dance. Lizzie smiled up at him, feeling less self-conscious than with most men. His shyness brought out a protective instinct in her. She worked to draw him out. Someone must have broken his heart once. She saw the sadness reflected in his kind, blue eyes. She understood heartbreak. She’d suffered enough of that affliction in her not-so-long-ago past.

  Dancing in Gage’s arms proved to be surprisingly enjoyable. He danced as well as his brother. Stifling a grin, she imagined the two large men practicing dancing in the privacy of their parlor, arguing over which brother got to lead. Heaven knew in this remote area, they’d have had little, if any, women to dance with.

  Gage looked down at her and smiled a lopsided smile she found very endearing. “What’s so amusing?”

  She met his gaze. “Amusing?”

  “Yes, amusing. Is it my dancing?”

  She decided to come clean. “Actually, both Logan and you are accomplished dancers. I wondered if you’d practiced with each other, given the absence of women in the area.”

  He grew red from his neck to his ears. “If I told you the truth, Logan would never forgive me.”

  “Now that doesn’t surprise me. He’s upholding an image.”

  “Yes, and an uncompromising one that doesn’t allow for any weaknesses.”

  His broad smile and sparkling eyes sucked her in, like a leaf sucked into a whirlpool. His body’s nearness shot little prickles of pleasure through her. She shivered as she imagined pulling him closer, feeling the solid wall of his body against hers. She longed for his fingers to roam over her naked skin to unmentionable places of hidden pleasure. Such disgraceful thoughts solidified her belief she’d become a soiled woman, the type no decent man would want to bed.

  Her future consisted of two opposing directions: become a school marm and never experience a man’s touch or become a tainted woman like Hattie. Of course, she’d already been tainted by a decrepit, yet lecherous, husband.

  Lizzie glanced at Logan standing against the wall in a deceptively casual pose while nursing a drink. The tight line of his mouth and narrowed eyes pulsed with irritation. For a split second, their eyes met. Her body tingled as if he’d touched her. She jerked her head back to concentrate on Gage, yet the heat of Logan’s gaze scorched her backside.

  Her attraction to both men appalled her. A decent woman did not desire two men, yet she did. Always priding herself on her control, her reactions disturbed her. Yet she could no more control the wicked thoughts running through her head than she could control the weather. Shaking off her disgust with herself, she vowed to enjoy the evening.

  Lizzie danced several more dances with Gage. Once she drew him out, he proved to be as witty and charming as his gregarious younger brother, Andrew. She couldn’t recall ever meeting a nicer man.

  While Lizzie spoke with Andrew, Gage whirled Hattie around the floor and made the older woman’s evening.

  “You’re smiling.”

  Lizzie jumped as warm fingers grasped her arm. Her eyes locked with Logan’s intense dark ones. “Mr. Gallagher, you frightened me.”

  Logan’s half smile softened the hard lines of his handsome face, though he still appeared formidable. “The name is Logan. I believe this is my dance.”

  “Really. Well, Logan, enjoy it.” She turned away from him and clasped her shaking hands in front of her.

  “With you, Lizzie. I’m dancing with you. My brother monopolized your time all night. Now it’s my turn.”

  “To dance with me or monopolize me?” My lord, she was flirting with him. She didn’t flirt. Didn’t even know how. It must have been the thimbleful of sherry she drank earlier for nerve-building.

  He chuckled, a warm, welcome sound from a cold, determined man. Without waiting for an answer, he steered her to the dance floor.

  “Do you always behave like this?”

  He regarded her with wary eyes. “Like what?”

  “Accosting women to dance with you, regardless of whether or not they accept the invitation?”

  “If it serves my purpose.” He pulled her body shamefully close to his hard, muscled chest, but then, the man had no shame. He demonstrated such on numerous occasions, just the type of man an unchaste woman like her deserved. After a man like him ravaged a woman’s body, he’d walk away without a second thought.

  “About the list of improvements. We’re still waiting for...”

  “Shhh.” He held one long finger up to her lips to silence her. The intimate gesture froze the words in her throat. “No talking business. This is pleasure.”

  She shuddered at the way he drew out the word pleasure. His hand splayed across her back, branding her with his heat. Strong fingers played with the fastenings on her dress. She stared at the worn fabric of his jacket, probably the only one he owned.

  “You like me to touch you, don’t you?” His low, husky voice whispered in her ear.

  She met his question with silence. A gentleman never asked such questions of a lady. But then, he was no gentleman, and she’d already established she was no lady.

  Something caught his eye behind her. He stared over her shoulder. His entire body tensed, like a fighter ready for the fight to start. His eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Logan, what is it?” She strained to look over her shoulder.

  “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  “But, what?” Confused, she gazed up at him. He didn’t so much as glance down but continued to shoot daggers at an unseen object behind her.

  “You’re one nosy, pushy woman.”

  “So I am. Tell me what’s angered you, as I won’t let it go until I know.”

  “The Pettys.”

  “The Pettys?”

  “My cousins.”

  “You don’t sound as if you like them.”

  “Let’s just say there’s a family feud. I have something they want, and they won’t get it as long as I still draw a breath.”

  “So your relationship with them is contentious?”

  “Very much so. You can’t pick your relatives.”

  She knew that story all too well. The arrival of the Pettys darkened Logan’s uncharacteristically light mood. He deposited her at his brother’s side and stalked toward the intruders with malice on his face.

  “Oh, no.” Gage shook his head as he watched Logan approach their cousins. “I’ll be right back.” He nodded at Lizzie and hurried after Logan. Their two younger brothers brought up the rear.

  Four against two seemed like good odds to Lizzie, not to mention the Gallagher men easily outweighed their smaller cousins. Logan towered over the Petty cousins. She couldn’t hear his words, but she didn’t need to. Tension radiated off his body. He jammed his fists into his hips and stood tall and proud with his legs braced apart.


  Regardless of the situation, the Petty cousins didn’t flinch. In fact, their superior smirks and surly expressions seemed to infuriate Logan even more. Lucy, ever the gossip, crept close to the men, the only woman with the guts—or stupidity—to linger close enough to hear. Constance smirked from her vantage point in the corner, most likely waiting for a report from the ever-accommodating Lucy.

  Next to the Pettys, holding a snifter of brandy, stood Winston Farrier, the timber buyer. While every eye in the room focused on the Pettys and Gallaghers, his gaze focused on Lizzie. Their eyes met. He acknowledged her with an imperceptible nod of recognition. But how could he possibly be acquainted with her? An unexplainable fear crawled through her. She averted her eyes for a moment. When she glanced up again, he’d turned away.

  Lizzie moved back a few steps, disturbed by the stranger with the knowing gaze. Her imagination surely had seized control of her common sense. She’d never met this man before and had no reason to fear him.

  Across the room the conversation grew more heated between Logan and Miles Petty. Toe to toe, like two roosters fighting over control of the henhouse, they sized each other up, mentally and physically.

  Assuming the peacemaking role, Gage stepped between Logan and Miles. Gage spoke a few words to his brother. Logan’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but he clamped his mouth shut. Ignoring his cousins, he barked a few terse orders to his two youngest brothers, spun around, and stomped off with Gage on his heels. They disappeared out the door. Miles and Hayden helped themselves to some whiskey, while Andrew and Noah stood sentry duty nearby as if they feared their cousins might steal the good china, or worse, the ladies from Boston.

  Lizzie poured herself some punch and sat down to wait. Patience happened to be one of her virtues. If her escort didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time, she’d sneak back to the inn and quiz Lucy later on the details. The said gossip currently whispered in Constance’s ear, while Constance’s eyes gleamed with a calculation expectation.