Bewitching Bret

by Cheri Chaise

  At least in town there were bankers and shopkeepers aplenty. Surely there was a kind gentleman among them who needed a pretty and proper wife.

  Such attributes were of less consideration out here than in more civilized circles. But even bankers and businessmen had to eat. Without a bevy of servants available, that meant Abby had to undertake to learn more practical matters besides needlepoint and watercolors if she planned to make the Montana Territory her home.

  And if ever I was to get Bret back to our bed.

  A full head of steam came off the pot of boiling huckleberries as I scooped out the apple peels needed for their pectin, added sugar, and then gave it a little stir.

  “Mmm,” Edna sniffed. “You’re using the recipe I sent you, eh?”

  I tapped the spoon and set it aside, leaving the lid off the pot now to let some of the liquid boil off the jam. “I’ve found it works well for a variety of fruit jams…but huckleberry seems to be the favorite around the reservation.”

  Edna’s brow furrowed as she pulled the clean jars from where we heated them in the oven. “I wonder why you go to such trouble for the likes o’ them.”

  “I do it because Bret has family there.” I refrained from mentioning they were mine and Meghan’s family too.

  “Humph.”

  I wiped my hands before grabbing a clean bowl from the cabinet. “We try to get over there a few times during the year to help out with things like food and medicines.”

  “What types of medicines?” Abby asked.

  “Salves for minor cuts and injuries. Tinctures to help with coughs and the like, which seem to plague them a good deal during the winter months.”

  Abby just stared at the heap of flour I measured and poured into the bowl. “Where does he obtain such things around here, so far from civilization?”

  “Mostly he makes them from herbs and plants found on the prairie. Others he orders shipped in on the post.”

  My sister dipped her fingertip into the mound of flour and rubbed the seemingly offending powdery substance between her fingers. Meghan stood on the footstool, her face barely clearing the counter as she watched the biscuit lesson Edna and I endeavored to impart.

  “I still remember coming upon the two of you in the kitchen back in Washington before you left, Estella,” Abby mused aloud. “Do you remember?”

  The chuckle escaped me as the image of that disaster rose in my mind. “I still miss that dress.” But I didn’t miss the corset it had required.

  A smile brightened Abby’s eyes as she tittered behind her fingertips. “You were covered in bits of dough and flour from head to toe.”

  “You shoulda seen her the first time we tried makin’ biscuits,” Edna offered in furtherance of my humiliating attempts at cooking all those years ago, particularly when it came to the hard rocks I’d produced.

  The grin faltered. Abby gazed down at her black dress all decked out in ribbons and lace. “Good heavens, I’ll never be able to wear this dress again after this, will I?”

  “Probably not.” I scraped in a cup of lard, sending a puff of flour flying into the air that emphasized my point more than words could ever say.

  Abby hopped away and brushed at the black taffeta she wore today that swished and crinkled with each movement.

  “I love your biscuits, Mama. So does Papa. I hear’ed him say so.”

  “Heard, dear,” I corrected then kissed the top of Meghan’s dark head. “And thank you, sweetheart, but you wouldn’t have liked them so much back then. It took Mrs. Barker…”

  “Edna.”

  “Edna…,” I amended. “…months just to get them to the point where they were…how did you put it?”

  Edna stopped what she was stirring on the stove and wiped her hands on her apron before bending down and tweaking Meghan’s little nose. “Yer ma’s biscuits were edible by the time she got on that train to come out here and have you.”

  Meghan squealed and giggled, which brought the twins running into the now very warm and crowded kitchen – and sent a scowl to her face. My daughter leapt from the footstool and chased her brothers as they scampered underfoot.

  Abby swirled around in a flurry of taffeta and backed out of the way – right into the flour.

  “Your bustle!”

  She whipped around and sent the bowl and all its contents tumbling to the floor with a crash in a shower of floating flour and lumpy lard.

  Edna’s eyes widened along with her mouth as she took in the fluttering mess. “Well that never happened with you, Estella. Scoot now,” she called to the children. “Out of the kitchen before someone gets hurt.”

  “Go on now,” I followed. “Run outside and find your Pa...pa Bret.”

  I dove to my knees and started scooping up pieces of the broken bowl to cover over the flame that rose to my cheeks. I’d caught myself just in the nick of time before everything I’d tried to hide from these women was laid bare.

  It was only when I stood up that I realized the extent of the damage. “Oh Abby.”

  My sister still stood in the center of the kitchen, her arms open almost as wide as her mouth in shock as she took in the fine dusting of white layered over the black taffeta. But instead of sniffles of despair, I heard something I didn’t expect.

  The titters began softly, with just a slight jiggle of her thin shoulders – until our gazes connected. After that, the kitchen descended into rich laughter from all quarters.

  “Did I really just wear mourning black to a cooking lesson? And for biscuits, no less?”

  I tossed away the broken bowl and wiped my hands of the offending flour before planting them on my hips. “We need to find you some more appropriate clothes for this.”

  Edna was already attacking the floor with a broom. “Go along now, both’a ya. Leave it to me to right this mess while you get changed int’a something more appropriate for the kitchen.”

  With a final burst of laughter, Abby hopped up and down to shake more of the flour from her dress before we escaped to my bedroom to do as commanded.

  She stopped just inside the door as I closed it and scurried over to my dresser. “That is…that is quite a bed.”

  The bed. The bed that was big enough to sleep four people. My bed that each night cradled me, Cole, and Bret, and sometimes Drew in blissful comfort.

  Or at least until our guests had chased all but Cole and I from it.

  I buried my head in a drawer full of shirtwaists. “Didn’t you see it the other day when I gave you a tour?”

  “We apparently skipped this room,” she said as she started to sit down on the end – and thought better of it apparently as she popped right back up.

  I held one of my creations up to the light of the window to ensure there were no stains. “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

  Abby glanced around at the armoire and the highboy chests as she worked her buttons loose. “You have some beautiful furniture pieces in here.”

  “Aren’t they though?” I laid the shirt out on the bed while I searched for a soft, cotton underskirt for her to wear under the wool one, since my sister noticed every chill in the air. “Drew made them years ago for…Cole’s first wife.”

  “What a talented young man.”

  “That he is.” I smiled to see her tracing her fingers along the intricately carved scrollwork of the headboard. “He’s been trying to squeeze in time to make a new bedroom set for Meghan for when we move her upstairs.”

  “Oh? And when will that be?”

  “Before the baby comes next spring.”

  “And none too soon.” I could almost hear our mother in her tone. “It is quite improper for a young lady to sleep in the same room as her brothers, you know.”

  “Thank you for your insight, dear sister, but the twins won’t even be three for a few more weeks yet.”

  The jacket then bodice slid from her arms and dropped in a puff on the floor before Abby presented her back to me. The skirt and petticoats followed suit as I released their fasteners befor
e getting to work unlacing the corset.

  “There’s just something about them sharing the nursery at Meghan’s age that seems so…untoward.”

  I could only imagine how untoward she would think of me if she ever found out what went on in the bed she stood beside.

  “Then I won’t tell you about the families out here that all share small, one room cabins.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Surely you jest.”

  “That I do not,” I grumbled as I at last released her from her cage. The breath she took this time was almost grateful. “If you plan to make your home in the Montana Territory, you will have to let go of certain mores society holds dear. They aren’t always practical in the real world.”

  Starting with the idea that one woman could share love with only one man.

  And how a woman should dress, as Abby stood in the satin bloomers and camisole, looking skeptically over the pieces of her new wardrobe I’d laid out across the white coverlet. “Is this all I’m to wear?”

  “It’s what I wear every day now,” I said, swishing my skirt freely around my ankles. “Wait until you experience the freedom of life without the confines of a corset.”

  Or society’s expectations.

  “And this is what you wear…even on your visits to the reservation?”

  “Certainly, though I usually wear a coat while out on the trail.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “And even sometimes trousers in an emergency.”

  She gasped. “But how will the Indians learn what is proper if we don’t demonstrate it to them?”

  “They are their own people,” I said. “With their own culture, which will rapidly die out, I’m afraid, if they’re forced to adapt to what we consider proper.”

  Her brows furrowed as if she was finally able to contemplate a world outside the narrow one in which we’d been raised. “When did you say Bret planned to leave for the reservation?”

  I helped her dress, pinning the waist of the skirts until I had a chance to take them in. “As soon as everyone returns from the hay haul.”

  “You spoke earlier as if you were accustomed to accompanying him.”

  I pulled the last pin from between my lips. “I usually go, yes.”

  She contemplated further in silence. “I think I should like to go with you.”

  I nearly stuck the pin through my finger, such was my surprise at her unexpected request. “Well I…Bret didn’t expect me to go with him. Company and all that.”

  And the fact that Bret didn’t want me to go on this visit. But when it came to my dusky husband, I always found a path to getting my way.

  A path that usually involved plenty of kissing and lovemaking. A path that was currently blocked.

  She faced me when I finished pinning. “But could we?”

  “It’ll involve more than a night or two under the stars,” I cautioned, checking my injured fingertip.

  She waved away my concerns with a flourish. “I was overly tired then. Now that I know what’s expected, I think I can manage.”

  “Well…”

  “Oh please, dear sister? I’m more than curious to meet more of Bret’s…people.”

  I knew it was a bad idea. The possibility of the extent of mine and Bret’s relationship being discovered while among his family grew even greater if anyone misspoke. But it would give us a chance to have uninterrupted time together on the trail, without children underfoot – or Edna.

  “Alright.”

  She practically hopped with uncontained glee as she hugged me, the first time the shadows of all she’d left behind lifting from her countenance – if only for a moment. Without all of the fluff and frippery in the way, I truly saw how thin my sister had grown since our previous parting, and how hard these last few years had obviously been on her.

  She held her arms across her chest as she stepped away. “It’s so loose.”

  “I apologize for that,” I said as I surveyed the skirt’s length. “We will have to sit down by the firelight after the children are put to bed and put darts in a few shirts and take up the waist in this and at least another skirt until we can make you some new clothes to accommodate your smaller frame.”

  But instead of a frown, a delighted grin struggled to peek out. “What I meant was that there is so little to hold me together. I feel like my parts are about to spill out.” She swished her hips back and forth. “You’re right. It’s very freeing.”

  “It’s also easier for your husband to remove them too,” I offered with a brow waggle.

  “Ee!”

  She playfully smacked my arm then glanced down at her unbound chest before giggling. I picked up her garments to take them outdoors to shake out and see if we could save the fabric.

  “Just don’t tell Edna that, or she’ll strap you right back up in that corset. Or worse,” I returned before dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And don’t say anything to Bret about our going with him to the reservation. I want to keep our going a surprise as long as possible.”

  Abby raised a brow and thrust back her shoulders like a thespian. “I shall be the Huck Finn to your Tom Sawyer on this adventure, dear sister.”

  Laughing together, we headed out of the bedroom toward the porch to attempt to restore some order to the taffeta.

  “What are you girls tittering on about?” Edna called from the kitchen.

  Abby bit down on her lower lip and opened the front door carefully with a shushing finger over her mouth.

  Just like when we were little girls.

  Except back then it was I who usually did the shushing as I led my sister off on another harebrained adventure certain to bring down our mother’s wrath. The torch of understanding had finally passed.

  And offered me a tiny glimmer of hope that perhaps Abby would come to understand the other choices I’d made in my life.

  And accept who I’d become.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bret

  The sun wouldn’t be up for another few hours, but I was ready to get a head start on the trail since my brothers had returned. If the Black Prince and I kept up our stamina, we might make it to the reservation with only one night sleeping on a bedroll.

  Even the ground was better than another night on the lumpy sofa at this rate.

  I quietly dressed, slung my belt around my waist and shoved my pistols into the holsters. Then I grabbed my hat and boots and silently made my way out onto the porch before slipping them on.

  It only took a few steps toward the barn before I noticed the soft lantern light shimmering from the open door.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered to myself.

  I crept across the yard and slid a pistol from the holster. The snick when I cocked it seemed to echo in the early morning darkness.

  But I quickly shoved the gun back where it belonged when I peered around the door and took in the scene.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Essie?”

  Our wife straightened from bending over a crate perched on the end of the wagon and offered up a grin. “Why I’m finishing loading supplies to take to the reservation, that’s what.”

  How she’d slipped by me in the house was a mystery. So much for getting a head start – and for spending only one night under the stars. Until I noticed there were no horses hitched to the wagon.

  “How’re you going to get all this there without a team?” I smirked without sympathy. “Planning to pull the wagon yourself?”

  She sat down on the wagon’s edge then slid to the ground, brushing her skirts. “I might need a little help hitching the horses.”

  “Well, you’re not gonna get it from me,” I said, heading for the door.

  There was no way I was going to encourage this. Essie had guests to see to. Our children to take care of. I wasn’t about to let her come gallivanting off with me to the reservation this time.

  Even if it meant we might have some time together alone. But no matter how much my cock begged for it, I wasn’t about to let her come along
when there was someone possibly hanging out around here. I’d already been caught unawares while fucking my wife recently – and with my resistance nearing zero, that risk was simply too great now to take.

  “I didn’t ask for your assistance,” she called out after me.

  “Stay home, Essie. Dragging a wagon along will only slow me down.”

  She followed behind as I tramped toward the stables. “It’s only a few things. And I can help you.”

  “You’re needed here…for your guests.”

  “They’ll be fine without me for a few days.”

  “What about the children?”

  “Edna will be here to take care of the feeding and watering of the family while we’re away.”

  I noticed she hadn’t mentioned her sister. I doubted there was much that woman could do to take care of anyone out here. She couldn’t cook. Probably had never cleaned a thing in her life. And with her puritanical society ways, and the lack of any children, it was doubtful Abby had ever allowed a man to touch her after the wedding night.

  Though what I’d overheard her tell Essie in the stables about her husband might have more to do with that.

  “You need to stay here where it’s safe.” I whirled on her, catching her soft body in my hard arms when she stumbled against me. My heartrate sped up, and my cock immediately sprang to life. “It’ll be better that way.”

  My growl was rough with need. The cool breeze tickled loose strands of her hair against my face, her lavender scent wafting to my nostrils. Eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she lifted her face, her lips parting – begging for me to capture them with mine.

  I let her go before the fire running under my skin flamed too high, then I opened the stable door.

  To be greeted by my brother leading a pair of horses. “Better for who, brother?”

  Cole’s shit-eating grin revealed he’d overheard and knew exactly what the answer to his question was. I remained silent.

  Which was the wise choice when I noticed Essie’s sister behind him. “I hope we won’t be too much of an inconvenience.”

  My narrow-eyed stare cut to Cole. I had to work hard to tamp down the frustration this surprising turn presented and kept my tone even.