Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  Finally, the cowboy relented and retired to the modest, wood planked room that formed his own private haven at Elsa’s Rose; a room occupied only by a camp bed and an unpainted bureau, and adorned only with yet another portrait of his beautiful late wife.

  Here he could escape the cold condemnation of his mail order bride. He could not, however, avoid the all knowing almond gaze that followed him throughout the room; seeming to condemn him even as her smile remained kind and gentle.

  “Are you condemning me for betraying your memory with another woman, and in your own house?” he asked her at one point, tossing and turning in his plain cotton sheets in the midst of a torturous sleepless night. “Or for clinging to your memory, refusin’ in the process to go on with my own life?”

  “Or maybe she just has a mind that you’ve gone half batty, riding around town and having a deep conversation with no one but yourself.”

  Cal jumped in the saddle as a masculine voice that he recognized all too well resounded from his immediate left; lifting his eyes to meet the sardonic gaze of his brother, Stephen Hopkins.

  Himself sitting astride Dallas, his prized ebony charger, the young rancher inclined his head in a show of apparent curiosity.

  “Are you OK there, Pardner?” he asked Cal, his usually casual tone lined with genuine concern.

  He jumped in his saddle as his brother met his concern with a hard, piercing glare.

  “No actually I am not OK, dear brother,” Cal countered, adding with a cutting glare aimed straight in his kinsman’s direction, “and that situation is entirely your fault.”

  Stephen sighed.

  “Ut oh,” he released on a hard breath, adding as he shifted his feet in his stirrups, “You don’t like your mail order bride, do you? And so now you blame me for bringing her into your life in the first place.”

  Cal shook his head.

  “As seems to be usual as of late, you, my brother, are dead wrong,” he scoffed, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I like Abigail far more than I ever thought I would. I’m beginning to wonder how I ever ran the ranch without her.” He paused here, adding as he spoke more to himself than to a watching Stephen, “I’m also ponderin’ if I want to live my life without her. I think I might be fallin’ for her—and it’s all your fault! Blast you, your varmint!”

  Stephen pursed his full lips, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to consider this nonsensical assertion.

  “Well, all things considered,” he began, tone thoughtful and deliberate, “Isn’t it a good thing to fall in love with your bride?”

  Cal sighed.

  “That’s the whole problem, Stephen. She’s not my bride,” he informed him, adding in a sad tone, “And at the way that things are goin’, she never will be my wife.”

  Stephen gasped.

  “So you mean to tell me that you, the dang gum deputy sheriff of this here town, is livin’ in sin with a woman?” he asked, tone harsh and confrontational. “Well, no wonder ya can’t make peace with yourself. What would Ma and Pa say? What would your boss, the sheriff of this town, have to say? I did not place that ad so you could take a mistress, Cal….”

  Cal had heard enough.

  “Abigail is not my mistress!” he thundered, drawing startled gazes from two prim older women who crossed the common dirt road in front of them.

  Tipping his hat in the direction of the ladies, who sniffed sharp and loud in return, Cal waited until they passed to turn with cold eyes in the direction of his still stunned brother.

  “When Abigail first arrived at the ranch, we both agreed that we had no true intentions of falling in love, or for that matter of living together as husband and wife. I told her that I never could love anyone but Elsa, and as for Abigail? Well, she’s a lone rider. She didn’t want a man at all. So we decided that she would work my land in the role of a ranch hand,” he explained, adding as he made a broad gesture in the air before them, “Then I had to get to know the woman, and she quite simply is the smartest, funniest, hardworking gal I ever did meet. I really am beginning to like this gal, Stephen—but last night when I tried to kiss her, she plum broke away from me and ran from the room! You would a thought I had the croup!”

  Stephen smiled.

  “Chances are, brother, that you’re both a little skeered—and given your histories and life situations, that’s no surprise at all,” he paused here, adding as he graced his brother’s broad shoulder with a reassuring pat, “It is high time you faced the fact, though, that your sweet Elsa isn’t coming back. Of course, she will always live in your heart, but she of all people would never want you to live your life alone and miserable. Abigail is here; she’s alive; so why not give her a chance?”

  Cal thought a moment, then nodded.

  “I reckon you’re right,” he allowed finally, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I’m just not so sure that she’s at all willin’ to give me a chance.” He paused here, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “As is almost always the case when we play poker, she holds all the cards.”

  *****

  The evening could not come quickly enough for Cal’s liking; and as he rode his trusty steed with purposeful strides through the tall steel gates of his ranch, his eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of the woman that he simply couldn’t wait to see.

  When finally he spotted Abigail, herself riding in an emerald leaved meadow astride Gentry, her beloved chestnut mare, he dug his heels sure but gentle into the sides of his own ride; quickly catching up with her as he opened his mouth to issue her a hearty greeting.

  This same mouth snapped shut moments later, as she saw him coming and ran.

  “Ha!” Abigail summoned her horse, racing her mare into a steady gallop as the two raced fast and free across the meadow.

  Immediately taking the challenge to heart, Cal urged his horse onward until he’d engaged his ranch hand in something of a madcap race; soon the couple rode neck and neck as they approached the door of the ranch house.

  Bringing her horse to a dead stop in the grasses of the lawn beneath her, Abigail turned slightly in her saddle to regard Cal with cold eyes.

  “We’d best get inside the house,” she told him, tone dry and noncommittal. “It’s high time for supper.”

  Cal nodded.

  “Indeed it is,” he allowed, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “Before we chow down, though, I have a question for you. Would you consider bein’ my date for the barn dance this Friday night? The one that Old Man Hodges is hosting at his farm on the south side of town?” he paused here, adding as he held his hands up before him in what seemed a defensive stance, “Now before you tell me to go to blazes and ride clean off my range, consider this. As the deputy sheriff of this town, I am expected to attend this dance—half to keep the peace, half to make an appearance on behalf of the sheriff’s department. Sheriff Michaels expects me to come—if I don’t, well then I could be out of a job!”

  Abigail shrugged.

  “Sorry to hear that,” she allowed, adding with arched eyebrows, “All the same, surely you know a lot of pretty young ladies in town. Why not ask one of them?”

  Cal shook his head.

  “As my brother Stephen reminded me today, Abigail, many people in town happen to think of us as husband and wife,” he reminded her. “I do not want the populace I serve to take me for a cheatin’ cad. And I can guarantee you, Abigail, that if you agree to tag along to this particular dance, you won’t get stuck alone in the corner.” He paused here, adding in a loud and declaratory tone, “Nobody sticks Abby in a corner!”

  Abigail had heard enough.

  “Oh criminy,” she declared, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “No need to be such a cornball, Cal. I’ll go to the dag gum dance.”

  Abigail came close to regretting these words a few days later, as she found herself poised at the broad apple red doors that fronted a massive, ably constructed barn; a structure that would be the site of a dance that she had no ea
rthly desire to attend.

  Dressed once again in that ancient torture device known as a dress, Abigail winced beneath the weight of a stern tied bodice that came darned close to cutting off her circulation; even as she did have to pause and admire the design of the dress itself.

  A gift from her date for the evening, who had purchased the exquisite garment from a dress shop downtown, this exquisite frock boasted a full scarlet-hued calico skirt adorned with a pattern of bright yellow roses—appropriate, she supposed, especially when topped with a lush ivory cotton top graced with lacy sleeves and a high lace collar.

  A pair of sleek ivory hand gloves and a gold-tinted heart shaped choker—also gifts from an attentive Cal—completed the look, which she wore with pride as she strode headfirst into the barn that had been morphed this evening into a social hall.

  Her soft dark hair piled high atop her head; Abigail lifted her chin as she clutched her smooth, voluminous skirts and made her way between lines of people who talked, danced and nibbled on cheese, corncakes, and bon bons.

  Several onlookers performed marked double takes as they identified the mysterious beauty who roamed among them; their eyes flying wide as they identified the lady as good ol’, hardworking Abigail Tompkins.

  One man, in particular, stared enrapt as Abigail came to stand stock still before him; his mouth falling agape as he beheld his date for the evening.

  “You’re beautiful, Abigail,” Cal breathed, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “Absolutely lovely.”

  Abigail snorted loudly, adding a very human dimension to her glamorous façade.

  “Yeah, well don’t let it get around,” she chided, adding as she waved an admiring hand down the length of his tall, muscled form, “And may I return the compliment? You are even more handsome than customary this evenin’ Cal; how’d you manage that?”

  Cal did indeed shine resplendent in a fine curved cutaway coat with a red brocade vest and white cotton shirt underneath; also cutting an exquisite form in black pin-striped pants and a smooth dark cravat that completed the look.

  Also, striking was the charming white toothed smile he now flashed in her direction.

  “Well thank you, Miss,” he praised her, adding as he struck a low courtly bow in her direction, “On this night, though, I do not want you to think of me as Cal, the rancher and good friend whose land you happen to work. I want you to regard me as a mysterious handsome stranger who has swept into your life to show you the meaning of romance.” He paused here, adding as he clasped her hand in his and led her in the direction of the dance floor, “May I have this dance?”

  Although still surrounded on all sides by bundles and bales of fresh-sown hay, the candlelit center of the dance floor proved an ideal platform for a couple who seemed to want little more than to lose themselves in one another’s arms. And with a single smooth flourish Cal launched them into a dance that felt more like a romantic embrace.

  Abigail thrilled as her ardent date gathered her up in his muscled arms; wrapping his sturdy hands around her full waist and swinging and swaying her across the floor.

  Bracing her arms around his bulging shoulders, she finally allowed herself the sublime pleasure of touching the man she’d admired for so long; pressing herself against his hard massive chest as his trim toned hips cradled hers.

  Losing herself in his masculine presence, she relaxed in the cocoon of his muscled embrace as he made her feel as light as air; most literally sweeping her off her feet as he now flew her across the floor.

  Two became one as the couple writhed together, timing their moves to the melodic rhythm of a live fiddler who played with fervor at the head of the room.

  Abigail brightened at the resounding notes of “San Antonio Rose,” one of her favorite classic ballads, and she nestled closer to her attentive dance partner as his hands ran like warm spring water down the planes of her back.

  She felt his tender touch even through the tight corset that threatened to claim her sanity; yet as they moved as one with feather light steps in time with a timeless tune, all elements of discomfort and self-consciousness subsided abruptly—giving way to nothing but feeling.

  Closing her eyes tight, the besotted woman felt her heart pound as he clutched her closer still; soon it was difficult to tell where one ended, and the other began as they dissolved in a dance that likened an embrace.

  These eyes flew open moments later, as her dance partner drew back only slightly to stare deep into her eyes.

  “See, Miss Abigail?” Cal asked her, tone both tempting and teasing as he rubbed her broad shoulders and tilted his forehead gentle against hers. “Dancing isn’t as bad as all that—and neither, for that matter, is romance.”

  Abigail smiled.

  “Very true,” she assented with a dreamy sigh, adding as she pursed her lips in a mock show of skepticism, “I am still not at all convinced, however, about this thing they call kissing.” She paused here, adding as she inclined her head teasing in his direction, “Care to do some convincin’ this evening, Cowboy?”

  She took in her breath as Cal met this challenge with a downright devilish smile.

  “Well I’d much obliged Ma’am,” he assented on a growl, accenting his words with a good bit of action as he swept her up in his arms.

  Claiming her lips in a passionate kiss, his full moist mouth massaged hers in soft hypnotic strokes.

  Moaning outright in response, Abigail plied her date’s mouth with feverish kisses as their tongues entangled between them; their public surroundings dissolving around them as they engaged in their first passionate kiss.

  Sinking full into his sheltering arms, Abigail trembled outright as his ardent kiss set her heart and body afire; sending thrilling tingles down her spine as his long wet tongue licked and laved her mouth.

  The moment was fleeting.

  “Well, I never!”

  The couple broke their kiss as the sound of a pronounced sniff resounded just beside them; one produced by a petite, beautiful ebony haired woman dressed in a gown of stark black taffeta that seemed to befit her frowning—if still dazzling—face.

  “Well, I never!” she repeated, regarding the couple with a condemning gaze as she stood beside them on the dance floor.

  Unphased in the face of this blatant umbrage, a cool Abigail shrugged her shoulders in reaction to these words.

  “No Ma’am, you probably haven’t ever,” she replied, adding with arched eyebrows, “And that’s the whole problem.”

  The woman gasped.

  “Well I guess that I’d expect nothing more from such a common woman as yourself,” she sniffed, adding as she pointed an accusing finger straight in Abigail’s direction, “You really have some nerve, Girl, living in sin with one of our finest citizens—and under his wife’s roof!”

  Cal had heard enough.

  “Now you listen here, Mrs. Susie Marks,” he bellowed, stepping between the two women as he seared their critic with a cold hard gaze. “Of the two women I see here before me, I’m afraid that only one could be called a lady,” he paused here, adding as he made a broad gesture in Abigail’s direction, “The fine woman you see before you works hard and diligent on my land—coming home at the end of the day to seek some deserved respite in her own room; one that’s separate from my own. You, on the other hand, made an inappropriate advance toward me in town two years ago; while both of our dearly departed spouses still lived. And, if you will rightly recall, I rejected you flat.”

  Susie shook her head, her delicate cheeks flushing as she considered these words.

  “Yes, well, I guess I went a bit out of my mind when Doc told my husband that he didn’t have much longer on this earth,” she explained, adding as she once again faced the couple before her with a rough, cutting glare, “It still ain’t proper for an unmarried man and woman to be sharin’ the same living quarters.”

  Cal nodded.

  “Well on that point Madame—and that point alone—you and I just
happen to agree,” he acknowledged, adding as he wrapped an encompassing arm around the shoulders of his wide-eyed date, “And that is precisely why Miss Abigail and I plan to be married next month.”

  “We do?” Abigail sputtered, recovering quickly as she kissed the cheek of her smiling “intended,” “Oh I mean, yes we do! I do, most literally!”

  With this she grabbed her date’s muscled arms and pulled him into the spirited reel that had now erupted on the dance floor; a riotous square dance set to the tune of a lively fiddle.

  The couple laughed and chortled like free-spirited youths as their steps became fast and frantic; soon they launched into a fast-paced do si do that sent them spinning across the floor.

  “You make just about everything in life so much more fun!” Cal praised his dance partner, adding as he pulled her off to the side, “Still and all, I do believe I need just a bit of a rest. Care for some punch?”

  Soon the couple stood beside a sparkling crystalline punch bowl that rimmed with scarlet liquid; sipping from delicate rose print tea cups as their gazes remained clenched.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry about that miserable shrew back there,” he told her at one point, adding with a distinct wince, “She’s been chasing after me since we were kids, and never got the hint that I was never even remotely interested.”

  Abigail shrugged.

  “Oh that’s all right,” she allowed, adding with a slight wince all her own, “I’m just sorry that you had to lie for me.”

  Cal frowned.

  “Lie for you?” he repeated, adding as he shook his head in a show of pure confusion, “Not sure what you mean, love.”

  Abigail gritted her teeth.

  “Well in a noble effort to save my reputation,” she reminded him, “You told him that we were going to be married next month.”

  Cal smiled.

  “Well Miss,” he began, putting aside his punch glass and taking her hand in his, “I don’t see those words as a lie, as much as they are a wish or a dream.” He paused here, adding in a whisper, “I’m in love with you, Abigail. And with your kind permission, I would indeed like to marry you next month.”