by Reece Butler
He carefully shut the book and pushed it away.
“Well, that solved my horniness.”
Unless he or Lance had sons to inherit the ranch, there was a damn good chance those Texas MacDougals would inherit this time around. The original deed from that crafty son of a gun Laird Finan MacDougal, Chief of the MacDougal clan in America, had set it in stone. The ranch was never to be sold. Just like in Highland Scotland, where the old Laird had grown up using his huge claymore sword daily, the clan was more important than the people in it.
The MacDougal Clan needed land to hold for future generations. Nothing was more important.
His parents thought they were going to be fine with three sons. They’d raised Fergus to hold the leadership of the Clan as well as the ranch. But then he was gone. Nothing would ever replace his mother’s precious firstborn son. Though Lance, a couple of minutes older, had then become heir to the Clan, it had never been acknowledged. Simon was expected to take over, having had little training. His father’s daily disappointment that he wasn’t Fergus still hurt.
“I’ll never be as good,” said Simon.
He might have been a great history teacher, though. He’d talked to all the families around Tanner’s Ford and gathered up all the old family diaries. At the time he was furious his aunts insisted on keeping them under lock and key. He was in college when the news came about Fergus. Simon had put aside his dream and come home to keep the ranch going.
But unless they had legitimate heirs, they’d be facing the same situation as their ancestors in 1871. Simon scrubbed at his hair in frustration. He wanted to have lots of hot sex with Marci Grant. But more, he wanted her married to him and producing MacDougal sons and daughters.
“I don’t know a damn thing about her, other than what she told me. It could all be a pile of horse hooey.”
But there was no one else he’d even consider spending more than a week with, and that would be in a hotel room far from home. Marci was his last chance. He’d see how she was with Donny’s kids this afternoon, and how well she coped with cooking on that wood stove.
He leaned back in the chair. Family lore said that Great-Granny Amelia was a lousy cook. Sunbird, Nevin and Ross’s mother, did all the cooking along with her sister, known only as “Auntie.” He could stand to have a lousy cook if she was a good wife and mother.
Did Marci really make those brownies? When he saw Doc Meshevski on Monday, he’d demand to know where she’d found Marci Grant, and if that really was her name. Until then he’d check out her cooking skills. He reached for the diary.
“And her bedding skills, as my great-grannies would say.”
Chapter Twelve
Marci let the kitchen door bang behind her as she ran into the yard. She knew her face was flaming at being caught in near orgasm. She stopped at the sight of the huge raven perched on top of the barn. It tilted its head and regarded her as if she was a tasty bug. The dogs rushed out to greet her. The black bird leaped gracefully off the roof, swept down, and landed on the largest dog’s rump. The dog gave a startled wuff and took off. The bird rode him like a jockey until the dog got too close to the bushes. Then he flapped away making a sound too close to laughter for Marci to think it was accidental.
Was the magnificent bird a half-wild pet? She’d always had a fascination with ravens, having read some urban fantasy stories where they changed into human form. She shrugged it off and entered the barn.
Thankfully, Donny didn’t say a thing other than a quick good morning. Simon’s cousin had her watch him work at first, then she did the jobs while he corrected her, and then he let her do it on her own. They’d fed the horses using individual buckets hung on posts, a separate one for each animal. Now they were cleaning the stalls. The dogs lay nearby, content to be part of the process.
“Is Sophie feeling better?” she asked as they used forks to remove the dirty straw. Donny’s fork could fill her wheelbarrow in one load. She took about eight to do the same job. Half the time the fork wobbled and she dropped part of her load.
“She was sleeping like a baby should when I left.” His deep chuckle reached over the stall partition. “Keith was feeding the older three while Aggie napped. Something tells me I’ll be reading the bedtime stories tonight while they have a bit of a romp.”
Marci choked at his bald statement. This was the country, and sex was part of life. The hush-hush snickers of an Eastern city had no place here. To thank their neighbors for helping Simon she’d have to make sure the older children had a couple of sleepovers while she was here. Otherwise when did the couple—triple?—have a chance to share their bed knowing they wouldn’t be interrupted by little feet?
“Does that bother you?” he asked when she didn’t reply. “Agatha marrying both of us, I mean.”
Heat flared up her face. “It’s none of my business,” she choked out.
“That’s not what I asked,” he said dryly.
She realized he was leaning over the stall watching her. She stood up and turned, wiping stray hair out of her face.
“To be honest, I’d just told myself that I would have your children for a few sleepovers while I’m staying here with Simon.”
His eyes lit up. “You’d do that?”
She nodded. “I love kids, and if the others are anything like Sophie, they’re adorable.” He grimaced, making her laugh. “Yes, I’m sure they’re loud and exhausting, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still adorable.”
“Marci, if you could manage that, I’d do anything you wanted.” His white teeth flashed. “Would you like a hint on how to handle Simon? If he gets into those diaries, he’s liable to read them all out loud. Our ancestors worked hard, and played hard. They were a lusty bunch.”
Heat flooded her face in memory of Simon’s mouth between her legs. Donny raised a knowing eyebrow but did nothing other than wink and go back to work. She groaned and thudded her head on the wooden stall. That didn’t help so she took her wheelbarrow, rolled it between the stalls, and dumped it.
“Few men are suited to share their wife with a brother, cousin, or close friend,” said Donny when she came back. He didn’t stop working, or look at her. “But ranchers in Tanner’s Ford, and a few others, have been doing it for generations. It started in 1870 after the war ended and gold was discovered. All sorts of men headed west for gold, land, or just to escape bad memories. That left many women in the East without a chance for a husband, especially ones with education or an attitude. Back then were at least 300 single men for every available woman in Montana Territory, so a Bride Train was set up to haul those unmarried women here.”
He caught her eye and grinned. “Mostly, the women who rode that train didn’t fit Eastern society. They refused the husband their father chose, were too outspoken to be acceptable, were too tall, or not pretty enough. They figured they had a better chance of finding a husband and gaining a family out here, so hopped on the train. The ones who came to Tanner’s Ford married three men each.”
“Nobody objected?”
“Aunt Dot wouldn’t let anyone see those diaries, but from the way she blushed when anyone asked, I figure they were happy. Most of them had a bunch of children.”
His grin faded to serious. He set his fork down again. She stopped as well.
“You have to understand, Marci, that there was a lot of danger back then. Everything was done by men, women, children, or animals. Everything. You ever go camping?”
She shook her head. Camping, along with anything beyond basic survival, were luxuries she couldn’t afford. Having enough food and warm clothing, especially when Nikki grew so fast, were her priorities. If she had a child it would not worry about having a home to come back to after school. Her child would not carry a backpack all the time to keep her few precious things from being tossed on the sidewalk when they were evicted. Why would she want to play at camping out when it was only a few steps below her daily struggle to live?
“Making a cup of coffee is easy now, just throw thing
s together and push a few buttons. Back then you had to cut down trees then chop the wood to make a fire. You had to have a coffeepot, mugs, and coffee. You needed water, and a way to carry it. And matches, or a flint and steel. Then you had to get up early enough to start the fire, boil the water, and make the coffee before the men started stirring. And that doesn’t even hint at what was needed to make breakfast, and then clean up.”
“I hadn’t really thought of it,” she replied. “The more people, the more workers.”
“Having three men share the ranch and family worked well. If one of them died, there were two more to keep things going.”
Reading about dry history was one thing. But she was hearing about it from a man who lived a life fairly similar to his ancestors. There were many modern conveniences, but they still did the same tasks, in much the same way. The pneumatic tire on the wheelbarrow was an improvement on one made of wood, but the horses still ate as much and produced the same amount of output in the same manner.
“It makes sense the way you explain it.”
“The next generation dropped mostly to two husbands each, so it was three adults. It’s stayed that way since. If you grow up with two dads, and half the kids in school do as well, it’s normal to you. It’s just the new people coming in who look at us strange.” He winked. “Though there’s some outside women who don’t mind having two men love them. Aggie being one. We met her at college. She was a country girl at heart, but her family loved their tiny tenth-storey downtown apartment. We invited her to visit for a weekend, and, well, we’ve got four kids now.”
She smiled in reaction to his slight flush. “If Keith’s anything like you, Aggie made a smart decision. I lived the so-called good life in the city. I had the clothes, the house, and the wealthy, self-important husband who ignored me unless I was convenient to him.”
“You had the trappings of a house, but none of the heart of a home.”
Marci slowly nodded. “I don’t think Ted had a heart. I was bored and unhappy, but trapped in a marriage I didn’t know how to escape. But he died, so now I’m free.”
Her mother got almost nothing from the men who’d left her pregnant and alone. But at least they’d had access to electricity, running water, heat, and warm clothes, unlike the pioneer women. Most people today didn’t have to work sixteen hours a day just to survive, though her mother did because she had too much pride to take charity. Their single-wide trailer wasn’t much bigger than the original MacDougal cabin, which was now Simon’s kitchen.
“Those women must have been strong to put up with three men while living in a small cabin, working dawn to dark,” she said.
“They were,” replied Donny. “Beth Elliott was the first. She married Trace, along with his twin brothers Simon and Jack, in 1871. Your Simon was real fond of her. She used to read him stories from her journals.” Donny chuckled. “We found out later she skipped parts because she didn’t want him to hear all the shenanigans she and the others got up to.”
“He’s not my Simon,” she muttered to herself as she put her hand on her back and stretched out. She looked up at Donny. “Simon’s reading one of those journals. It belonged to Beth Elliott. He showed me the MacDougal family bible as well.”
Donny raised his eyebrows. “You interested in history? He’ll talk your ear off if you let him.” He looked curious rather than angry at her wanting to intrude.
“I love reading about the lives of historical women. What they put up with, how they survived. It puts our lives in perspective.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That it does.” He went back to work. After a minute he chuckled. “You and Simon seem to be getting along. He’s been wanting to read those journals since we were kids.” His face suddenly appeared over the stall. He winked. “Maybe you’ll cuddle by the fireplace and take turns reading them out loud. Could be you’ll act out a few scenes as well. Great-Granny Elliott was wild.”
“You saw me!” she squeaked. She knew her face flamed. He waved it off.
“That table’s been used for generations to bring pleasure, both physical and food-wise. Just like the matching one at the Rocking E.” His slow smile reached his eyes. “I guess whatever you were up to this morning makes you an honorary member of the family.”
She groaned and covered her face.
“Don’t get all embarrassed, Marci. You were doing nothing that me, Keith, and Aggie haven’t done. Mind you, there ain’t much that the three of us haven’t tried at some time or another.” His chuckle sounded so kind that she had to look at him. He gave her another big wink.
“Beth Elliott enjoyed the body God gave her and didn’t hold back. I heard a couple of my aunts giggling after reading about her taking all three husbands on a picnic at the Double Diamond’s hot spring. They must have been in their eighties but nothing can stop a determined woman, especially three men who’ve loved her for over fifty years.”
He turned away, thank goodness, as her eyes misted. She heard the sound of his high-stacked wheelbarrow trundle away. Someone had actually stayed married that long, and still loved each other, physically and emotionally? Was there something in the water here?
“We’re done, Marci,” called Donny. “I’d best get back to my dear wife.”
She wasn’t ready to see Simon again so she said she’d just look around for a bit.
“I’m going to say good morning to my laid-up cousin. I’ll be back with the kids about ten.”
He turned away and walked toward the house. She was sure she heard him mutter something about it being danged well time. The dogs stayed with her, giving her company. She talked to them, which meant she wasn’t talking to herself. It was about ten minutes before she heard Donny’s truck leave. She decided she’d better stop hiding in the barn and admit how much her pussy throbbed for more of Simon’s attention.
“I think it’s time for Mr. MacDougal to have a nap.”
* * * *
Marci had been gone a while when the throbbing in Simon’s leg finally got to be too much and he decided it was time for drugs. He tried to get the crutches but knocked them on the floor. After cursing a blue streak he hauled off his shoe and sock and used the long toes of his good foot to pull them closer. That took a while. Then he almost fell out of the chair bending over to get them. He managed to grab the heavy wooden table before he toppled over. Once he got his crutches under him and balanced, he shuffled carefully across the floor to the counter.
That was when the kitchen door opened and Donny stepped in. He had that gleam in his eye that meant trouble. He looked around, sniffing the air. One side of his mouth curved up knowingly. He grabbed the childproof bottle off the counter right by Simon’s outstretched hand. He opened it with a flat-handed twist and handed it over.
“Four kids,” he said by way of explanation.
He sauntered to the sink without any effort at all and filled a glass of water. He waited while Simon swallowed the pills. Then the gleam got stronger. He set his fists on his hips and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Simon began his slow shuffle back to his chair. Donny waited, unmoving, until Simon landed his butt safely.
“Her boobs aren’t bad. Nice and compact.”
Simon cursed. “You didn’t tell her you saw—”
Donny shrugged, which could mean anything. “Didn’t have to. She knows the sun comes up in the East, shines through that window”—he pointed to the big one over the sink—“and lights up the whole room.” He grinned and tilted his head toward the table. “Good thing that’s sturdy. Mind you, Marci doesn’t weigh near as much as Aggie.” He scratched his chin. “Of course, there was just one of you, and since you were dressed I don’t think the table was rocking like it was with both of us making Aggie scream. Unlike,” he added with a grin, “Marci, who was cut off too soon. So, cuz, what’s your plan to finish the job?”
Donny always had to have a plan. Simon tended to wing it. He had a major plan for his life but he wouldn’t tell anyone, even Donny. No one other than he and Lance, an
d maybe some of his uncles, knew what would happen without heirs. No one wanted those bastards from Texas to take over. He might find evidence in the diaries to support the family stories of how cruel Finan MacDougal was to the Elliotts he’d taken in, and to his sons by his second wife, Nevin and Ross. Maybe that would sway a judge should the worst happen. He hadn’t asked a lawyer for an opinion as to whether the document was still legal. Didn’t want to waste the money if it wasn’t necessary.
“This cast comes off Monday morning. Marci feeds me and cleans the house while I do what I can. She’s welcome to stay as long as she wants. When Lance comes back, I should be fine, and we can go on as usual.”
Donny strolled past Simon into the bedroom. He hummed for a moment, then came out. “The lady’s suitcase is beside the bed you slept in. Now why would that be?”
Simon refused to be embarrassed. That didn’t stop his face from heating. “The lady insisted on staying near in case I needed something. Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m impressed,” said Donny. He snickered. “Impressed that you could say that with a straight face. So, how often did you, ah, need something?”
Donny knew him almost as well as Lance. Simon was better off coming clean before Donny started in on him. “It was more a case of what the lady needed. Turns out she’d never had an orgasm.”
“As in past tense?”
Simon couldn’t help bragging. He was a man, and had done a man’s job even if he was half crippled. He leaned back in the chair, trying to get comfortable.
“Let’s just say she’s discovered a new type of fun.” He shot Donny a foul look. “She would’ve had another if you’d taken five minutes more getting here.”
“Five minutes? It takes you that long to make a hot woman come?”
“I like to make her wait for it. That way she enjoys it more.”