by Reece Butler
Climax, Montana 3
The Bartered Bride
Raised to be arm candy, Penelope Stark's life is turned upside down when she's forced to plead guilty to crimes committed by her sister. Community service encourages her to stand tall. When her father insists she marry a brutal crony who makes her skin crawl, she escapes, calling herself Jane.
She finds refuge with Travis and Riley Adams of the J Bar C Ranch in Climax, Montana. They are in Port Aransas, Texas, to renovate a set of condos. Determined to take control of her life, and aroused by the two brothers, Jane is able to put her fears behind her, enjoying her body and theirs. Delighting in temporary freedom, she is devastated when her past catches up with her, bringing danger.
The Adams brothers bring her to the ranch for safety, and Jane eagerly embraces the life, realizing how much they mean to her. They offer marriage, but is it for love, or just a safe haven?
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage A Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Length: 105,112 words
THE BARTERED BRIDE
Climax, Montana 3
Reece Butler
MÉNAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
THE BARTERED BRIDE
Copyright © 2013 by Reece Butler
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-170-7
First E-book Publication: December 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
This book is for my fantastic Aunt M in Wyoming for proudly supporting my career as an author of erotic cowboy ménage. That bit on the ferryboat is for you, dear aunt (snicker).
I spent the first four months of 2013 in Port Aransas, right on the Texas Gulf Coast, researching small-town life. This book is also dedicated to the wonderful Port A residents and Winter Texans who showed me their town, and put up with my endless questions. Any errors are my own. Have a drink for me at Shorty’s!
THE BARTERED BRIDE
Climax, Montana 3
REECE BUTLER
Copyright © 2013
Chapter 1
Early January, south of San Antonio, Texas
Jane peered from the shadows as an old blue pickup pulled into the honky-tonk’s parking lot. Another Texan good ol’ boy ready to party whether she wanted to or not, or a white knight to rescue her before something worse happened?
So far it was Good Ol’ Texan Boys 12, White Knights 0.
Her pain and exhaustion were secondary to her need to escape this pit stop on the road to hell. She was dirty, bloody, and had little more than the clothes on her back, her determination to survive, and a chance at freedom. That chance might end right here if she didn’t escape.
Another truck roared into the lot, this one with a spray of gravel. One of the two lights that hadn’t been shot out lit up the license plate. It was not from Texas, thank God! She peered at the first truck. The plate looked similar. The air wheezed out of her lungs, allowing her shoulders to drop from the tense position by her ears. Would they be willing to help her?
The door of the first truck opened. The driver stepped out and stretched. He fit every description of the word “cowboy” with his well-muscled body, battered black hat, blue T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed boots. A calm sense of command radiated from him. Her shoulders dropped another inch. It allowed her to inhale rather than pant like a terrified rabbit.
This was a man who knew what he wanted, and was confident he could get it. A warm hum of appreciation trickled through her cold body. For almost twenty-five years she’d been surrounded by arrogant bullies in thousand-dollar suits with souls as bad as the maggots in the bar behind her. Her father had forced her to smile and be pleasant to them no matter what they said, or did. No more. She’d learned a lot since she’d escaped out her bedroom window. Little of it was good, but she was still alive, and free. For now.
The second driver opened the door, leaning to the side to push it wide. He grunted as if in pain, then took his time getting out. He shoved the door shut before approaching the other man. This one’s shirt was red and he was slightly shorter, but they resembled each other enough to be brothers. Blue Shirt started walking toward the bar with that cowboy-style roll of a man used to riding a horse. Not that she knew it personally, but she’d watched a lot of John Wayne movies.
Both men’s jeans hugged harrow hips. Light bounced off huge metal belt buckles. Broad shoulders flexed as they walked, perhaps working out muscles tight from driving. Red Shirt suddenly roared, rushed forward, and slugged Blue in the shoulder. Blue growled something, grabbed Red around the neck, and bent him over. Both hats fell off.
She jerked back into the brush. Wasn’t that just her luck. The first non-Texan vehicles to stop in hours and they were fighting!
But instead of punching back, Blue Shirt rubbed his knuckles over the top of Red’s head. Both of them laughed. She pressed her fist over her pounding heart. After some scuffling they bot
h looked at each other, grinning. The main difference between them was Red Shirt had sandy-blond hair, while Blue had brown.
Another new bit of knowledge to add to her growing list of actions done by people totally unlike the way she’d been raised. Grown men, play fighting and laughing openly, as if they actually liked each other. A man who could laugh and joke like that was surely safer than the furtive, ogling creeps in the bar. No matter what, she had to convince these two cowboys to let her ride with them. Maybe they could drop her off at a decent-size town, or even better, a city.
She automatically checked herself to ensure she was presentable. She choked back a cry, forcing it into a scornful laugh. Her ridiculously expensive boots were ruined. Her short black skirt was too tight to run in unless she hiked it higher. Her sleeveless ivory shell had survived without too much damage, though her raw silk black jacket was beyond repair. The dirt didn’t show too much on her skirt, but the jacket had protected her elbows when she was thrown to the ground. She would discard it, but not until she had something to replace it. Though it was ripped and filthy, it added a needed layer of warmth.
Over a thousand dollars of fashion, ruined. But if she used what she’d been taught and kept their attention they would see her cleavage and face rather than her ruined clothing. They don’t care who you are inside, so don’t let them see anything but what you want revealed. She tightened her glutes, straightened her back, and put on her mask.
The men, still grinning at each other, bent over and grabbed their hats. She focused on how their jeans curved over nice buns. It helped keep the fear back. They smacked their hats against their thighs to get the dust off, and stuck them on their heads.
“Let’s get it to go,” said Red Shirt. “We’ll stop a few miles down the road to eat.” Blue shirt nodded, and they headed toward the honky-tonk.
She fluffed up her hair, pasted on the serene welcoming smile of a society hostess, and stepped into the light. This was life or death.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
She inwardly winced at hearing the nasal high society accent she’d done her best to lose. Her throat was so tight from nerves she had little choice.
“Zarah?” said Red Shirt.
His eyebrows drew together. His look of surprise changed to ice. He took a menacing step forward. She caught her breath, but kept moving forward. He had the look of a predator. She knew firsthand they chased anything that seemed weaker. Considering the size of him, and the fists he held stiffly at his sides, he could easily kill her.
She stopped a couple of feet away. They were both at least six inches past her own five foot eight. Red Shirt obviously had something against her, so she turned her attention to Blue’s massive chest. She looked higher, meeting his eyes. She blanched at his piercing gaze until she realized he was not attacking. He was looking at her, not through her. Something flashed between them. She glanced away, shaken. When she looked back, it was gone as if it had never existed.
Instead, he looked as if he almost cared. Her heart crashed against her ribs. She could handle distain and disinterest, even fists and blows. Kindness was not something she had experience with. She licked dry lips.
“Would you like some company after your meal?”
She automatically tilted her head and leaned slightly forward to show a hint of cleavage. Nothing overt, just a hint of possibility. It was how things were done in Penelope’s world. She didn’t yet know how to behave as Jane.
“We don’t buy pussy,” said Red Shirt, spitting the words at her.
She jerked at his venom, then forced her back straight and stared at him head on. He curled his lip as he looked her up and down. A flash of heat rose to her hairline, of both embarrassment and anger. She hadn’t meant to offer sex, but that was the message he heard. It proved his mind was in the gutter.
“Not interested either, ma’am,” said Blue Shirt in a flat tone. “We’re just here to eat.”
She raised her chin and her eyes once more, in challenge. She didn’t get the same sense of menace as from Red Shirt. She cleared her throat. She would ask, not beg. Never again.
“That wasn’t the offer I was making.” She hated that her voice trembled. Her hands did as well, so she clasped them behind her back. “I need a ride out of here.”
“Tough shit,” said Red Shirt. “You’re just like Zarah. Talking like there’s a stick up your ass even though you’re in trouble, expecting someone else to bail you out of the problem you created. Well, sugar, that ain’t gonna be me.”
She kept the poise that had been drilled into her. A lady never shows emotion. She always has a pleasant expression and voice, no matter what she feels inside.
“I meant that I could keep you company as you drove,” she explained patiently. “To help you stay awake. You don’t have Texas plates, so I thought you might be travelling a distance, and would be tired.”
Though she spoke to Blue Shirt, the other man answered. Derision dripped from each word.
“Listen to her accent, Trav. Sounds like she’s from Baaston, just like Zarah. Her family came over on the Mayflower so she expects everyone to bow down and kiss her feet.” He curled his lip. “You got yourself into this, babycakes, you can damn well get yourself out.”
Her heart hammered in her chest but she stared back. She had nothing to lose, and for the first time could say what she thought to a man without too much danger of attack.
“I do not expect you to bow,” she replied with false calm. “However, I did expect common decency.” She fought the urge to curl her lip back at him. “It seems decency is not common in Montana.”
“We don’t bother talking decent to your kind.”
Red Shirt made the parting comment before stomping toward the bar. Blue Shirt seemed to hesitate, and her hopes went up. But after a head shake, he followed behind.
“At least I have manners!” she yelled after them.
Getting the last word for the first time in forever felt good. She swung around, swiped at a few tears before they left her eyes, and stomped toward the road. Tears didn’t count unless they hit your cheeks. If you stopped them before that, you still kept your pride.
Pride was about all she had left. Its value was dropping by the minute. She tripped, wind-milling her arms, but stayed upright. Her ears burned but she didn’t hear a derisive laugh behind her. No, they’d already dismissed her as insignificant. She stopped, wrapped her arms around herself, and stared at the empty highway.
She heard a low whine. She turned quickly, thinking of coyotes. Instead of a predator, a medium-sized black and white dog sat about ten feet away. It was one of those breeds that always seemed to smile. She couldn’t help doing the same. Its tail swept the ground in return. Where had it come from? She remembered the nasty man opening his truck door and saying a loud oof before getting out. The dog must have trampled Red Shirt’s lap on his way out of the truck.
“Aren’t you the clever puppy,” she said with a smile, crooning the words.
The dog’s answering smile widened. He got up and, head low, slowly came over, tail wagging. She held out her hand, palm side up. The dog sniffed it, then gave her a quick lick.
“You poor thing, having to travel with such a nasty man.” She rested her hand on the dog’s head. It gave a soft woof of encouragement, so she ran her fingers behind its ear. “Your fur is so soft, puppy dog.” The dog seemed friendly, so she leaned over and put both hands to work on the dog’s head and shoulders. The dog sighed in contentment until she gave him one last pat. “I’d best get back in the bushes. Once those low-down good-for-nothing cowboys of yours leave with you, I’ll start walking. Any action is better than waiting.”
She turned, and the dog followed. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t leave her side.
“Come on, puppy, I’ll take you back to your truck.”
The truck he’d jumped out of was locked, but the passenger window of Blue Shirt’s truck was wide open. “J Bar C Ranch, Climax, Montana,” was written u
nderneath what must be the ranch’s brand.
“I bet you could jump right in there.”
The dog gave her a look that she took as “uh, that’s why the window’s open.” She peeked inside the backseat, finding a duffle bag and warm-looking coat. Jane pressed her fist against her breastbone, barely able to breathe from the knot of tension and hope.
“I won’t be hurting anyone if I stow away for a few miles,” she said to the dog. “Just enough to get across the county line.”
She retrieved her pack, then yanked opened the truck’s back door. The dog leaped up, quickly jumping over to the front seat, and she followed. She’d do anything to escape, including folding herself on the floor behind the passenger seat. She had no choice, so would deal with it. Survival was all that mattered.
Chapter 2
“We can’t leave her here,” said Travis before they reached the graffiti-laden door of the bar.
Something about the woman had hit him like a two-by-four over the head. Her accent grated on his nerves, but that face, all fear and determination and a strange sense of innocence, made him want to haul her to his chest.
He blocked his older brother from entering. Riley blew up over things and raged. Travis let things settle while he analyzed events, figured out the best course of action, and set new goals. By then Riley had calmed down and got his naturally cocky self back in gear. Rye was over the blowup stage but hadn’t progressed far beyond it.
“I know, dammit.” Riley kicked a toe of gravel into the deep brush beside the building. “She surprised the hell out of me, coming out of the dark like that, all blonde and sexy with her nose in the air. She looks just like that—”