Barefoot Bride for Three

by Barefoot Bride for Three (lit)

  Trace was nothing like any man she’d ever met. That in itself was a problem. She couldn’t figure him out as he didn’t react as expected. The only thing she was sure he’d do was reach for her as soon as they were alone. Or not, she mentally added, remembering the deep kiss she received just inside the dining room. She swatted him on the chest when she recovered. He grinned like a boy caught sneaking a cookie, proud and eager for more.

  Holding back a smile in memory, Beth picked up her teacup and sipped from the delicate china. By this afternoon, she’d have her own kitchen. It might be just a table in a dark, cramped cabin, but it would be hers. She knew nothing about her new home, not that she had any choice. But no matter what, she’d finally have a real home. One where she belonged and could stay forever.

  Trace nudged her leg. He winked when she looked up. She pretended to be irritated, but she felt like they belonged together. No one else had ever treated her like this, teasing her, knowing she was secretly proud though pretending embarrassment.

  “There’s no need to boast.” She kept her voice low, only for his ears.

  “Sweetheart, I’m not boasting,” he croaked at full volume. “I’m stating a fact. What was it, six times? Seven? Dang, I could hardly keep up with you, wife.”

  “I am going to kill you for that,” she bit out between tight lips.

  He erupted in a harsh croak, what she’d learned was a laugh.

  “Slowly. Painfully.” She set her teacup in its matching saucer and continued, her voice rising. “I’m thinking poison. Something that will wither your manhood and make it fall off.”

  “You tell him,” called Old Walt from the corner. “I’m the only man with enough balls to put my name in the mayor’s hat.” The grizzled prospector gave a gap-toothed grin. “Figured if Big Joe kilt me, least I’d die happy.”

  Old Walt cackled as roars of approval erupted from the men in the dining room. Beth played along, groaning theatrically and dropping her head in her hands. The old man was kind to her. He brought a checkers board and they played through her cell bars while he told her stories of the old days.

  She looked up when Trace rose to greet an equally huge man. He had an ugly slash mark across one cheek. Tendons rose from their forearms when they shook hands. The man finally gave in with a wince. In return he slapped Trace hard on the back in congratulations. Trace glared but the man laughed.

  “Beth,” growled Trace, “this here’s Luke Frost. He and his partners have the Circle C north of town. Luke, this is my wife, Beth Elliott.”

  “Pleased to meet you this fine morning, Mrs. Elliott.” Luke took off his hat and bowed to her. She returned his nod. “Dang, but you are a lovely sight. The one time I’m a day late getting to town this curly wolf snaps you up. Is it too late to switch husbands? My ranch partners aren’t as ornery as those Elliotts.” He gave her a woeful grimace, his scar pulling at his skin. Crinkles around his dark eyes proved he was joking.

  She laughed, more at Trace’s proprietary glare than Luke’s chagrin.

  “Sheriff wants a word with you,” said Luke to Trace. “I’ll entertain your lovely wife while you’re gone.”

  “I bet you will.” Trace sighed. He turned to her. “Can you put up with this varmint?” She nodded. “Don’t believe a thing he says.” Trace bent down, a wicked look in his eyes. He pulled her close and gave her a thorough kiss, bringing roars from those nearby. Adjusting his hat, he sauntered out of the room leaving Beth flushed, knees tight together.

  “That man never does a thing by halves,” said Luke. He dropped into the empty chair with a sigh, hat on his lap. He shook his head, pouting like a hound dog that just missed out on a juicy bone. “When I tell Gabe and Oscar how we missed marrying the prettiest woman in Tanner’s Ford, they’ll howl in misery.” He sighed as if the weight of the world held him down. “Sure you won’t consider trading husbands, ma’am? A lovely wife like you would make my life complete.”

  “Mr. Frost, you put the great tragedy actors to shame with that performance.”

  He laughed. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

  “I’m a happily married woman.”

  “So I heard.” He raised his eyebrows and winked. “Seven times, was it? I had the room next door.”

  Heat flooded her face. She arranged her teaspoon so it rested against her saucer just so. “A gentleman wouldn’t mention such a thing.”

  “He might if he was jealous.” Luke leaned forward. “Take it as a compliment, my dear lady. I’ve known Trace a few years now and never seen him act this way. He’s a good man and I wish you well.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat quietly for a minute while Luke twitched in his chair.

  “If I may be so bold, ma’am…”

  “You have something more to say?” Thinking he was still pretending, she acted the part of a high society matron forced to accept a ruffian in her salon.

  He leaned forward, both elbows on the table, chin in his hands. “If the Circle C bagged a few turkeys, would you cook ’em? We haven’t had decent roast turkey since we left home.”

  “Mr. Frost…”

  “Ma’am, we’re just a trio of banged up old soldiers. I got this,” he pointed to his scar, “Oscar’s blind in one eye and Gabe, well, he says so little we’re not sure what happened. Seeing a lovely woman putting food on the table would brighten our miserable life.”

  “You really must consider theatricals, Mr. Frost.”

  “Grub is serious business to us bachelors, ma’am.”

  Beth looked straight at him. While he played a part, his words were true.

  “You must discuss your flowery request with Mr. Elliott. Should he agree, I would be pleased to cook a turkey dinner for you.”

  Luke sat up and nodded his thanks. He flicked his eyes toward the door, then rose to his feet. Stepping near, he picked up her hand and bent over, slowly bringing it to his lips. He grinned the whole time. She heard Trace roar toward them, huffing like a locomotive. Luke released her just as Trace arrived.

  “Keep your hands off my wife, Frost.”

  “I merely thanked the lady for her kind offer.”

  Trace glared at Beth. “I told him he’d have to ask you first.” Trace glared even harder. She sighed at the two squaring off. “Mr. Frost wants a Sunday dinner invitation. Roast turkey, with him providing the birds.”

  “Dinner.”

  “Yep. What did you think I meant, Elliott?”

  After a tense moment Trace laughed. He slapped Luke so hard on the back the man had to take a step to gain his balance.

  “Guess I can’t blame a man for wanting his wife to himself during his honeymoon,” said Luke. He settled his hat back on his head. “What’ll the boys do when you come waltzing home with your lovely bride? You set up an account at Lily’s yet?” He dropped his voice, but not low enough that she couldn’t hear. “Or will you teach her to share? That’s what I’d do if I had a wife.” He nodded to Beth, replaced his hat, and strode toward an empty table at the back of the room, calling out for Nettie to bring him hot food.

  Teach her to share? Did Trace expect her to provide female comfort to his brothers as well as cooking and cleaning for them? She knew the Bride Trains had started because there were hundreds of single men for each available woman in the West, and too many women unable to marry in the East.

  Could she do that with another man? If Trace made her feel so wonderful, could it be even better with his brother? An odd flutter make her belly quiver. Odd because it should not happen at the thought of someone other than her husband touching her.

  Beth pushed back her chair, face burning at the words she was not supposed to overhear, as well as her improper reaction. Trace helped her to stand, saying nothing. He silently held out his arm and escorted her from the dining room. As soon as they cleared town, she had a list of things to ask her new husband. For now, she’d enjoy the sunshine, her freedom, and new clothes.

  Once they left Sophie McLeod’s hotel, he tucked
her arm under his to keep her close. They strolled along the scarred wood boards as if on the finest street in New York City. He kept to her right, both to protect her from the street and to ensure easy access to the gun resting low on his left hip.

  A mild wind followed them down the street. The cool air blew up between the boards under her feet and filled her skirt. She gasped when it billowed out, swirling around her naked belly and nether regions.

  “Think of what I’m going to do to those parts of you. It’ll warm you right up,” said Trace.

  Her body immediately responded, flooding her with heat. “You are a wicked man,” she murmured.

  “Yep. And there’ll be more later. First I’ll lift your—”

  “Hush!”

  He chuckled but fell silent.

  Saturdays the population swelled as scores of men descended on the town, eager for the comforts of beer, warm food, and hot women. Most stopped in the shacks outside the town limits as strangers weren’t allowed firearms in Tanner’s Ford. A few left their gun belts in the jail to get a hot bath and shave. The thought of being served by a pretty girl lured many to Sophie’s dining room. When it grew dark, Miss Lily’s Parlor and Baldy’s Saloon did a good business.

  By dark she’d be home, starting her new life with her husband and his two brothers. She prayed the cabin had more than one room. Earlier that morning, Trace said he’d have to corral the horses until they got used to her screams. She couldn’t bear the thought of Trace doing those things to her with their bed screened only by a thin curtain. The loud snores and smells of men kept her awake on the train. How could she sleep with three grown men in the same room?

  Later. She put the future where it belonged and concentrated on their stroll. Trace doffed his hat to the ladies and nodded at the men. She noticed him glaring at a few who grinned too broadly at her.

  “You’re enjoying this.” She spoke between teeth clenched in a smile.

  “Yep.”

  “Why? Everyone’s staring at us.”

  “So what? I’ve been stared at ever since I got my neck roped. No,” he continued after a moment’s hesitation, “since the seven of us were orphaned. But it’s a bright sunny morning. Instead of working, I’m showing off my beautiful new wife. For once, every man is damn jealous.”

  After the way she’d been ogled in jail, she understood exactly what his quiet words meant. She wanted to show him off as well. She pulled him close, slowing her steps to sway her hips.

  “Now you’re teasing,” he whispered.

  “Perhaps,” she replied. “But am I teasing you, me, or the rest of the town?”

  He stopped and pulled her into his arms. At first he kissed her tenderly. But the chaste kiss soon erupted into the wild abandon they’d shared last night, at sunrise and again, after their bath. When he lifted his head for air, she grabbed on to him to keep herself vertical as the buildings spun around her.

  “Best you get your wife home quicksmart, Trace Elliott, afore she does something you’ll be ashamed of. She needs to learn her place!”

  Mrs. Emslow ran a very strict boardinghouse for single men. She ruled her boardinghouse with a moral fanaticism. Though the place was clean and the food excellent, few men stayed long as they inevitably broke one of her numerous rules. Maurice Lumley, the officious hotel clerk, was the only regular. The woman had looked down her nose at Beth for riding the Bride Train. Even marrying an upstanding member of the community rather than Trace Elliott wouldn’t make up for Beth’s time in jail.

  “My wife will never shame me, Mrs. Emslow,” growled Trace. “She’s already learned where her place is. At my side.” He dropped his voice. “And anywhere else I want her.”

  Mrs. Emslow gasped, holding her white-gloved hand over her massive bosom. She gifted them with her best glower and harrumph. She lifted her skirts and swept them aside, looking down to make sure Beth’s new dress didn’t touch her own, and sailed past. Beth’s good spirits dimmed at the obvious snub.

  “Always thought that woman’s pursed lips looked like the back end of a chicken,” said Trace calmly.

  Beth burst into laughter. He rewarded her with a smile and wink. They reached the mercantile without further problems. Trace nodded to the old men gossiping in the morning sun. An equally ancient hound dog opened one lazy eye as Trace escorted her inside Tanner’s Mercantile.

  Beth inhaled the mix of tobacco, leather boots and belts, fresh-ground coffee, sour pickles, spices, and everything else that filled the store. The ceiling was high enough that her head didn’t brush against the hams, slabs of bacon and cooking pots hanging from the rafters. She automatically veered to the right where bolts of material filled wooden shelves right to the ceiling. The royal blue velvet was still there, waiting for some lucky soul.

  Patsy Tanner hadn’t objected to Beth sighing over the fabric during her first few days in town. Though she wasn’t interested in fashion, Beth had used her needle on most of her sister’s dresses. When her father sold the farm and hauled her home, they couldn’t afford seamstresses. She’d taken apart her sisters’ dresses and put them back together, mixing and matching to make new fashions. As most everyone else was in the same tight straights, no one mentioned it. Before she was put in jail, she’d sketched out a few gowns on Patsy’s carefully ironed paper, fashions that might never reach town.

  But this time she kept her eyes down, hands tightly clasped so she wouldn’t touch anything. While Trace had bought her everything but her newly shined boots, it didn’t mean he had any cash. Spring was an expensive time, with seed and equipment needing to be bought. She understood pride and would never ask for something her husband would feel obligated to provide. Wearing new clothes was enough of a wonderful thing.

  “Morning, Mrs. Tanner,” said Trace. “This here’s my wife, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Morning yourself, Trace. It’s about time you got yourself a smart woman. Elizabeth and I are already friends.”

  “Good.” He handed the storekeeper his order list. “John out back?”

  At her nod, Trace kissed Beth’s cheek, murmured something to Patsy, and quietly ambled through the store and out the back door.

  “We came here just after the Elliotts and MacDougals,” said Patsy. “Those two families had twelve boys and two girls between them. We watched them grow. Trace was a rapscallion but he grew into a good boy. I hope you realize you’re a lucky woman.”

  Beth nodded. She held back a smile at the spry older woman calling her huge husband a boy.

  “As the only woman on the Rocking E, you’d better sew a few nightshirts first thing.” Patsy winked and began pulling down bolts of fabric, some far too soft and feminine for men to wear. Beth blushed at the reminder of his brothers. She’d be mortified if they heard her cries, but she didn’t want to give up the glorious pleasure she’d just discovered.

  When Trace returned through the back room, Beth and Patsy sipped cups of tea, bolts of fabric and notions piled all over. He kissed her cheek, picked up her cup, and swallowed the last of her tea before looking at the counter.

  “Missed something, sweetheart.”

  She flushed, thinking he was making a sarcastic comment at the amount waiting for his approval. “We put all that out so you could choose what you want. Mrs. Tanner said you and your brothers need nightshirts.”

  “Nope. Just work shirts.”

  He pointed to a bolt of heavy blue cotton, another of ticking. He piled three flower-sprigged bolts on top, one red, one blue, and one spring green. Then he pointed high on the wall.

  Beth gulped. He couldn’t be pointing to the royal blue velvet she’d spent hours thinking about while in jail. Just how she’d drape it, what the bodice would be like. While shivering in the dark, she decided which lace trim to use, gold or silver. Since it was all in her head, she’d gone with the expensive gold, to match her hair.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Patsy with a nod. “Suits her coloring perfectly. There’s some gold lace that would edge it beautifully.
”

  “Oh, Trace, no,” she said, tearing up at the thought of her small dream coming true. His name slipped out so easily she didn’t notice she’d used it.

  “Oh, Beth, yes,” he growled in reply.

  “But it’s so dear. What will your brothers think?”

  Patsy began humming loudly. She rolled the ladder over and climbed high. Trace hunched down and kissed Beth, uncaring who might walk in. She held him tight, squeaking when he molded her breast with his hand. She panted when he pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “Jack and Simon will say you’re worth it. With all of us to take care of, you’ll need something special to wear now and then.”

  “But there’s nowhere I can wear it. It’s too proud for church and the dirt floor of the cabin would get it dirty in no time.”

  “You’ll wear it for me,” he replied. He held up one finger and tapped her nose with it. “But no more than three buttons. I want easy access to my wife.”

  A couple of hours passed before they left town. Sheriff Chambers stopped Trace to tell him that Big Joe was still in jail, sleeping off his drunk from the night before. Beth might see him again when visiting town, but she’d be surrounded by Trace and his brothers. If the man even looked sideways at her, they’d warn him off.

  Sophie handed Trace a packed lunch basket for the way home and gave her a hug. She didn’t yet know how to cook over a campfire, but she had lots of experience with a cook stove. Trace didn’t ask if she could cook so she hadn’t volunteered the information. With Patsy’s encouragement, she added enough fixings to their order to surprise “her” men. Simon and Jack wouldn’t be telling stories about bad cooking when they came to town.

  She gritted her teeth and faced straight ahead as they passed the shacks west of town. She didn’t understand some of what the men and painted women called out but what she did, was bad enough. Trace answered with growls and gestures that no one could mistake. Would this have been her life once Big Joe finished humiliating her?