Their Lusty Little Valentine [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “I tried to get your husband to see reason, but he and his brother refused to discuss the matter of compensation. They are both guilty of marital interference, and I fully intend to get what’s coming to me. They owe me for the years of pain and suffering I endured because of them!”

  The man wasn’t making sense. Samantha didn’t think he had a very high opinion of women, either.

  “How do you think approaching me will get you what you consider to be your just desserts?” Miranda spread her hands. “I’m just a lowly wife.”

  Apparently Miranda had picked up on that attitude, too.

  “I expect you to exert pressure on your husband to be reasonable and fair. I’m sure that you would not care to have the good people of your town made aware of such a tawdry business as this. No woman wants her dirty laundry on display for all to see. Can you imagine what your friends and family would say if they were to discover that your husband shared a woman with his brother? This won’t have to become common knowledge if you can convince your husband and his brother to be reasonable. I happen to know that you’re comfortable, financially. I’m only asking for twenty thousand dollars.”

  He sued Martin and Nick for ten million hoping for ten grand. Likely he thinks he’s owed more because of the week-long trip he just made to get here. The man was an idiot. Samantha prayed that Miranda would just step back and slam the door in his face.

  She put her hand on her, hoping to send her that message, and noticed the one thing that had escaped her attention until then.

  Miranda Barnes Kendall was furious.

  “The only person not being reasonable, sir, is you.” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest, and Samantha got a pretty good idea what this woman would have been like in the classroom. Her voice had even taken on that tone Samantha recalled so well from her own school days. Mrs. Farmington, her fourth grade teacher, was being channeled, right here in Lusty, by Miranda.

  “So please, feel free to inform all and sundry of this silliness. You can start with the people who live in that rather large house across the way. But I’ll warn you, you’ll be laughed right out of town.”

  “You’re bluffing. No decent woman wants her neighbors to know the things I have to say about her husband.”

  “I’ve had enough of your insults, Mister Robbins. You’re a horrible, despicable con man. Poor Judith deserved better than you. For your information, sir, I am a woman being shared by two men who are brothers. Martin and Nicholas Kendall are both my husbands. I was fully aware of your pathetic attempt to get money from them with that fabricated law suit. I applauded their decision to fight you. Now leave. You won’t get one penny from any of us.”

  Samantha was watching Robbins’s face. As Miranda spoke, she saw the real man fully emerge, and he was an ugly sight. He couldn’t keep the sneer, or the meanness from his eyes, from settling around his mouth.

  His face reddened as his temper grew. Then he treated them both to a kind of leering look that made Samantha shudder.

  He moved fast, pulling Miranda out onto the porch. Samantha stepped forward and then froze.

  Morton Robbins had a knife, a switchblade, and it was open and held perilously close to Miranda’s throat.

  Chapter 23

  “We should get there no more than fifteen minutes after her,” Charlie said, “if we maintain this speed.”

  Taylor sat forward in the backseat, anxiety strumming through him. “I know you’re probably right. But I don’t feel that you’re right. I feel edgy as hell.”

  “You mean edgy beyond the normal Samantha withdrawal we’ve all been suffering from?” Preston asked.

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t explain why he felt so tense. He knew from speaking with Samantha’s friend, Mrs. Patterson, that their woman was on her way, not just to Lusty, but to them. The doubts and worries he and his brothers had been plagued with since last Sunday had begun to dissipate immediately.

  “Are you worried that she thinks we’ve changed our minds?” Charlie looked at him from his shotgun seat, concern marking his brow.

  It’s because of my damn intuitions. Charlie was clearly picking up on Taylor’s unease. No, they weren’t identical triplets, but they were connected. Sharing a womb meant a connection had been forged between them, one that only death would break.

  Taylor shivered. “I think that’s a part of it. But there’s something more and damn it all to hell, I don’t know what it is.”

  “Let’s look at this logically,” Charlie said. Then he turned to face the front. “Why are we slowing down?”

  “Traffic.”

  “On a Saturday midmorning?”

  “Yeah. There might be an accident up ahead.”

  “Go around it, Preston.” Taylor usually didn’t let his inner Dom show, and especially not with his brothers.

  Urgency clawed at his guts.

  His older brother met his gaze in the rearview mirror and said nothing. He put his focus on the road and then, holy hell, he drove.

  No one spoke as Preston wove them in and out of the slowing lanes, earning them a lot of horn blasts and, Taylor was sure, more than a few “birds” along the way.

  He took an exit, one Taylor vaguely recognized, and reminded himself in that instant that just as he and Charlie had their own particular quirks, Preston had his. Being a control freak, he would have studied the road atlas for the best routes, just in case, to and from Austin.

  Farmland and oil rigs flashed by, and before long, and thankfully, without drawing the attention of any of the local cops along the route, they were back on the highway.

  “I think we either made up a couple of minutes or broke even on the unexpected detour,” Charlie said.

  “Taylor?”

  Preston’s use of his name conveyed so much. He was asking if Taylor still felt anxious. He said, “We can afford a ticket, but not the delay taking one would cause.”

  “All right. I’ll go as fast as I can.”

  “I’m all for making sure that the moment we get our hands on her we make sure she goes nowhere without at least one of us ever again,” Charlie said. “Taylor’s anxiety has twisted my guts, too.”

  “We’ll buy her one of those big Caddies for Christmas, one that comes with a car phone.”

  “Then we better each get one, too,” Taylor said. “Because if we worry about her, you know damn well that she’ll worry about us. She thinks of herself as the most reasonable and logical of women. But she’s pure passion, with a temper that rivals Mount Vesuvius.”

  “We all know her pretty damn well, don’t we?” Preston asked.

  “Yeah, we really…ah, hell!” Charlie’s expletive didn’t alarm Taylor in the least.

  “What is it?” Preston asked.

  “I locked the fucking door when we left.”

  “Well, yes, because we thought we were going to be gone for the…oh. Oh, hell, indeed!” Preston hit the steering wheel. “We totally forgot to give Samantha a key to the cottage, too.”

  “She’ll go to the New House.” Taylor had no doubts whatsoever. And now that he thought about that, his anxiety just doubled. “She’s at the New House, with Mother, and we have to get there now. Something’s wrong.”

  “Fuck. All right, damn it, hang on.”

  Taylor knew that once they crossed into Benedict County, Preston would take the first exit off the state highway, which he did. Now they drove through more familiar terrain, and familiar houses and ranches passed by in a blur. Taylor focused all his energy as if doing so would get them where they needed to be all that much faster.

  It wouldn’t, of course, but the focus, the meditation, calmed him.

  “Only five minutes out,” Charlie said.

  And for those five minutes none of them said a word. And then they were on the road that led into Lusty. The top of the New House came in sight, and Preston slowed the vehicle to make the turn, and yelled, “Damn it to hell, woman!”

  Taylor’s heart thudded as he watched their Samantha facing some
bastard with a very large and very deadly looking knife.

  * * * *

  “Get in the car. In the trunk. Your husbands may not pay me for what they did to my marriage, but maybe they’ll pay to get you back. Unless, of course, they decide to cut their losses and find themselves another whore.”

  “You bastard.” Miranda fairly shook with rage—rage and fear, Samantha thought.

  “You.” He looked right at her. “You get down those steps and wait. If you scream or run, I’m going to stick this bitch.”

  Samantha did as he said, moving slowly, watching and waiting. Robbins was middle aged, and didn’t appear to be in the best physical shape. He handled the knife like a street thug—meaning he very likely had used it in the past and would do so again without batting an eye.

  There was something of the sociopath about the man.

  “Stop right there. Yeah, I see your fear. Good. You’re just a scrawny kid, aren’t you? A pampered Southern belle.” He said the last two words with derision—the same way she’d heard New Yorkers speak of those in the South for years.

  No wonder Southerners call us damned Yankees.

  Since she hadn’t said a word far, she kept her mouth shut. If he dismissed her as a threat that was all to the good. She had to make a move, and she had to do that very, very soon.

  If they got into his car, they would be dead.

  Samantha stopped and kept her gaze fastened on him.

  “Okay, Mrs. Two Husbands, let’s go be by your little girl. I can throw this knife pretty accurately—better than old Odd Job threw his hat in that Bond flick. So if you fuck up, I’ll be able to kill you both.”

  Samantha watched Robbins, and every time he took his eyes off her she adjusted her position. She would have one chance, and one chance only. Samantha tried to find her center even as she watched and waited.

  Miranda’s feet landed on the ground, a split second before Robbins stepped off the steps. In that split second, his hold on the knife waivered, just by an inch or two, leaving a gap between it and Miranda’s neck.

  Samantha grabbed Miranda’s arm and yanked at the same time she kicked out with her left foot. An improvised maneuver, her foot hit Robbins mid chest. The blow wasn’t very hard but left her a little off-balance. Robbins’ own downward stepping momentum meant he ended up taking a couple of steps backward, away from them as a result, but that was all. He recovered quickly.

  She had a little space, and only a couple of seconds.

  “Samantha!” Miranda’s shock at her move and the restraining hand she put on her shoulder right then couldn’t matter.

  “You bitch,” Robbins spat as he braced himself. “Now I’m going to stick you.”

  Samantha stood between Robbins and Miranda. He feinted with the knife but she kept her gaze on his eyes, and when she saw that telegraphing flicker, she made her move.

  Using her right foot this time, she kicked up, the toe of her shoe connecting with his wrist. He yelled as the pain and, she knew, numbness from her nailing the nerve that traveled up his arm. The knife went flying. She came down on her right foot, spun, and kicked out and up with her left, catching him square in the jaw just as tires squealed on the pavement. Car doors slammed as Robbins fell to the ground, out cold.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, Samantha, you were wonderful!”

  “Damn it to hell, woman, are you fucking crazy?!”

  “What the hell is going on over there? Miranda!”

  Too many sounds, too many people, made Samantha’s head swim and spots appear before her eyes. Then arms came around her, solid, wonderful, beloved arms, and Taylor said, “Breathe, baby. Breathe. You’re safe, now.”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.

  Preston had pulled her close with Taylor and Charlie on either side of them, so that she felt enclosed and safe and cherished.

  “Mother, are you all right?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. Thanks to our Samantha, I am.”

  Horse hooves clopped, more voices shouted out, and the sound of a gun being cocked echoed across the yard.

  Samantha moved, and the arms holding her let her go, but hovered. She turned and took two steps toward Miranda, and then threw her arms around the other woman and held tight.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t nick you with his knife?”

  “No, darling, he didn’t. I’m fine. But I think we’re both shaking like wind-whipped willows.”

  “Damn it, woman, what the hell did the two of you do?” Martin cast a glance down at the man on the ground, and then stepped over the unconscious man to get to his wife.

  Samantha stepped back and grinned when Nick joined him and they both held on to their Miranda, much the same as her men once more enfolded her.

  “Who the hell is that miscreant?” Grandma Chelsea asked.

  “That is Mort Robbins,” Samantha said, “and after trying to convince Miranda that she should talk her husbands into paying him thousands of dollars, the idiot pulled a knife and tried to make us get into the trunk of his car. He thought you’d pay to get us back.”

  “So not only a miscreant but a stupid one,” Jeremy Kendall said. “Trying to kidnap two Texan women with only a knife for a weapon. Damned fool.”

  Samantha had a moment to bask in being called a Texan woman. Then Robbins began to moan, and Jeremy wasted no time. With the help of his brother, Dalton, he turned him over and cuffed him.

  “I think we should let the men cart Mr. Robbins off to jail while we get Miranda and Samantha inside. I suggest a glass of whiskey for each of them.” Madeline Benedict nodded her head to underscore her decision.

  “Good thinking, Mattie,” Chelsea said. “And it won’t be that fancy sippin’ whiskey my sons got for me in Dallas, either.”

  “Y’all go ahead,” Jeremy said. “I’ll call the state boys, and come with them when they arrive to take your statements.”

  Samantha looked at her men.

  “You heard the grandmothers,” Preston said. “Whiskey for you. But not too much. We want you completely sober when we put you over our knees, later.”

  “When you what?” Samantha blinked at Preston as if she couldn’t quite understand what he’d said.

  Charlie cupped her face. He was the one who’d shouted first, asking if she was fucking crazy, and she could feel the fear still running rampant through him. “I have never been so fucking terrified in my entire life, than that moment when we pulled into the driveway and I saw you facing off against a man with a switchblade. You put yourself in harm’s way, love. So it’s a spanking for you. Now, say ‘yes, Charlie.’”

  Gentle, sweet, tender Charlie my ass. But in that heartbeat, in that moment, with their hearts on their sleeves and the fear still fresh in their eyes, she realized she wouldn’t have him, or any of them, any other way. This was the moment Kate Benedict told her would come. She could hardly wait to tell her she’d been absolutely right. Everything was crystal clear, now.

  “Yes, Charlie.” Not only was everything perfectly clear in her mind, it appeared as if her prospects for the afternoon were definitely looking up.

  * * * *

  The door to the cottage closed behind them and Samantha sighed in relief. Taylor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He held her, his head resting atop hers, without saying a word.

  She would never again doubt the depth of the love these men felt for her. They’d surrounded her, as Martin and Nick had surrounded Miranda, as the two of them had recounted the events earlier for the state trooper who’d arrived.

  She thought of the way those older men had reacted as Miranda had spoken, and the way they were looking at her just as she and her men were leaving. “Is it even remotely possible that I’m not the only woman who’s going to get a spanking?”

  She watched as Preston looked at each of his brothers in turn, and then he met her gaze. One eyebrow arched, and the way his expression transformed him just then so that he looked all masterly, positively
gave her gooseflesh.

  He said, “Where do you think we learned the principle from, kitten?”

  “There is one thing before we go upstairs.” Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He took one off, held it up so she could see it, and set it on the side table next to the easy chair. “That’s yours. It’s a key to this house. We have other keys to give you. Later.”

  She thought she already had the most important key—the key to their hearts. Cupid had nothing on her. She looked at each man and then addressed her comments to the one who—if she won her heart’s desire and married these men—would be the undisputed head of their family.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you. But I’m not sorry that I did what I did. When Robbins held—” She had to stop because the image of Miranda, a knife pressed to her throat, struck her hard just then. She hadn’t allowed herself to think or to feel, until now. “When he held that knife to Mom’s throat, I had to do something. So you should know, that spanking or not, I’d do the same thing again. I would put myself in harm’s way again to save the ones I love.”

  “You called her ‘Mom.’” Taylor’s simple sentence, filled with emotion, touched her.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “We don’t want you to change, love,” Charlie said.

  “You’re perfect, just as you are,” Taylor said.

  “We’ll get Mom to let you read Amanda Jessop-Kendall’s journal,” Preston said. “Men aren’t allowed to read it, but Grandmother Chelsea related how her mother-in-law, Amanda, took on an armed man once.”

  Charlie snorted. “And she had not only her future husbands right there in front of her, but Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson, too!”

  “Taking bold action is the way that Kendalls do things,” Taylor said.

  “And so, apparently, is giving spankings,” Samantha said.

  “Speaking of which.” Preston stepped forward at the same instant Taylor stepped back. Samantha squeaked when the oldest Kendall triplet bent and picked her up, placing her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of feed.