by Vanessa Vale
“A lady who’s pointing a gun at you,” she replied, cool as the shade of a cottonwood tree in July.
Shit, this woman was as feisty as they came.
The man gave her a patronizing little smile. “Come on, little lady, put that thing away before you shoot someone by accident.”
Before I even blinked, she’d shot the man’s hat, a few inches from his left ear. His hand went to his hat instinctively, poking a finger through the neat little hole. Everyone around him flinched and ducked, afraid they might be next.
While I didn’t move, I swore my heart stopped.
“I assure you, when I shoot, I don’t do it by accident.”
Holy fucking hell. We were married to her?
Slowly, she stood, keeping her eyes trained on the man, and stepped around her chair. Tiny as can be, she didn’t even come up to my shoulder. How she could even hold such a heavy gun was beyond me. “And that hole in your hat was a warning shot. Gentlemen, it appears it’s time for me to leave. Thank you for the game.”
The woman’s voice didn’t even waver. She wasn’t sweating. Not even a hint of nerves. For some inexplicable reason, my cock got hard. She wasn’t just a vixen, she was a red-haired sharpshooter who knew how to play—and win—poker. And now that she was standing, I could see she had the plumpest breasts beneath her prim dress.
“Fuck,” I whispered as she turned toward the door.
Men backed up with impressive haste when she walked by. I’d only seen such wary and cautious behavior from a bunch of men when there’d been a rabid dog walking down Jasper’s main thoroughfare a few years past. Both Spur and I stepped back, allowing her to walk out the door. A hint of fiery red was the last we saw through the window before she continued down the boardwalk, prim as could be.
Men surrounded the idiot who’d confronted her, one handing him a shot of rotgut whiskey, another inspecting the hole she’d blown through his hat.
“Now, we go.” Spur put on his hat, left the saloon and went after our woman, grinning and shaking his head. Yes, he was love-struck.
“‘Bout fucking time,” I muttered. “That’s my wife.” I put my hat back on and followed. My cock knew what it wanted and it wanted her. Hopefully, we wouldn’t get shot before the introductions.
CHAPTER THREE
Dr. Spurgeon Drews
I was in love. It hit me like a mudslide, taking me out at the ankles and carrying me away. The best part of it was that I was in love with a woman who was already my wife. And that made it all the better.
Patricia Strong. Yes, the name suited her.
Following her down the boardwalk, I took in her size. Tiny. Her waist. Slim. Her bosom. Ample. Her hair. Brilliant fire. Her spirit. Wild. The sway of her hips. Seductive.
I’d have to wire the mail order bride office in Wichita and thank the man. She was everything I wanted in a woman, but never knew. Usually, I preferred mild women with pale hair and a lithe figure. Perhaps that was why I had been a bachelor for thirty-two years. I’d been drawn to the wrong sort. But it was just looking at a petite, curvaceous hellion that made me hard as a railroad spike. I hadn’t even talked to her yet. I hadn’t kissed her, stripped her of her clothes, made her cry out my name. Filled her with my seed.
“Your wife?” I asked Lane, responding to his comment. He walked beside me. With the heat, I was glad we were on the shady side of the thoroughfare. We’d been thrust together as brothers when we were eight and knew each other well enough to banter easily. Even drunk. Even over the same woman.
At least this time we were in agreement. This one belonged to both of us. Together. Legally everywhere, she was mine. Hopefully stuffed in that reticule of hers—along with a smoking gun and a stash of poker winnings—was a piece of paper that said we were proxy wed. Legally, in Slate Springs, she was married to Lane as well.
I closely interacted with women more than most men. Being a doctor, I tended to them when they were hurt, visited when they had sick children, delivered their babies when the time came. I saw more of them than even some of their husbands. I always looked at women from a clinical lens, ensuring the appropriate doctor-patient conduct was met. But with Miss Strong, I thought differently. I thought… more. Paper or not, town laws aside, she was ours. I saw the intent and purpose in Lane’s gaze as he watched her. I felt it down to my marrow.
“Lil’s going to love her,” I said.
Lane stopped, forcing passersby to walk around us. “Probably, but I don’t want them to meet. Do you think Miss Strong will mind she’s married to two men with mothers who were whores? That we now take care of the woman who’d put a roof over our heads, food in our stomach? That she, too, was a whore, then brothel owner?”
This had always bothered him, the way his birth had cast a stigma over him. Me, as well, but I hadn’t let it fester as he had. But then his mother hadn’t just been a whore, she’d been miserable and mean, even selling her son to her more depraved customers. He didn’t talk about it, didn’t even confirm what had been done to him. It was as if he’d walled off that part of his soul. Fortunately, we’d both risen above it all, he a wealthy mine owner and I was a doctor. We’d turned out better than anyone had imagined and perhaps we’d done it to prove them all wrong. But Lil had always believed in us, taken us in. After our mothers died, she’d been the one to take care of us—save us—as much as any brothel owner could with two wild boys.
“She swears like your miners and is a better shot than both of us, combined. I doubt she’ll get upset over our past.”
“Lil’s still with us. The past isn’t dead yet.” I recognized the flat tone of his voice. No, for Lane, I doubted the past would ever be dead.
I thought of the stout woman who’d taken no guff from anyone, now diminished in body because of sickness. Sadness hardened both our hearts. She’d been there for us when we’d needed it most, and now it was our turn to be there for her. As a doctor, it was hard to watch her wither away, especially since it was my job to save people. “No, not yet.”
I glanced down the block. Miss Strong was stopped on a street corner, waiting for wagons and horses in the street to pass.
“Lil’s going to love her,” I repeated. Words weren’t always accurate, but saying them made me feel better. When Lane nodded his head, even grudgingly, I knew he felt the same. Lil wanted to meet the woman who would be our wife before she died, but Lane still refused the idea.
But first we had to claim our bride. We caught up with her before she stepped off the boardwalk.
“Miss Strong,” I said to her back.
She didn’t turn, only glanced left and right, waiting for a wagon laden with whiskey casks to pass.
“Miss Strong,” I called again, this time louder, thinking the din of the busy thoroughfare kept her from hearing me.
Lane glanced at me. She wasn’t deaf; she’d heard everything the asshole in the saloon had said to her.
We moved to stand on either side of her and I gently took her elbow. “Miss Strong,” I repeated once more as I looked down at her.
Surprise widened her green eyes as she tilted her chin up at me, stepped back out of my hold.
While I wasn’t keen on her startling at my touch, I was glad she didn’t pull her gun out and shoot me.
“Oh, um, yes.”
With my free hand, I tipped my hat. “I am Spurgeon Drews, although since my name is a mouthful, everyone calls me Spur. I apologize to have missed you when you arrived. The stage is not usually so early.”
Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at me. Studied me, just as I did her.
“Spur? Intriguing name. Um… yes, the driver was in a rush to continue on.”
From a doctor’s perspective, she appeared to be in her early twenties, well nourished, healthy, with hips and breasts to birth and sustain a baby. Her coloring didn’t indicate any liver problems, her eyes clear, informing me she wasn’t a lush. She wore no glasses, and it seemed my only concern was that she would lose her hearing from gun report
s.
From a man’s perspective, she was gorgeous. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were as red as the wild mass on her head, all of which only highlighted the emerald color of her eyes. With pale skin, freckles dotted her nose and across her upper cheeks. Her mouth was full, with a plump lower lip. Her face was round and I had to assume she’d have a dimple in her cheek when she smiled. She came up to my shoulder, making her quite small, but she did not lack in curves. I was quite eager to get my hands on her, and my cock in her.
She blinked once, then again, and flushed. “Oh, I’m… I’m sorry. I have to admit you caught me by surprise.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Lane murmured. I couldn’t miss the subtle sarcasm in his tone, but she did. Yes, she was quite surprising. If we’d known she was going to be this pretty and full of… sass, we’d have ignored the weakened timbers at the mine and let the whole thing cave in on itself.
“May I introduce Mr. Lane Haskins?”
Lane tipped his hat. I could tell he liked what he saw up close just as much.
“He is quite trustworthy, and also as you’ve just discovered, dry-witted,” I added. “While we are not brothers, we were raised together from when we were small.”
I left out the details about our mothers being whores and instead of being raised in a traditional home, we grew up in a whorehouse in Denver.
Lane spoke up, perhaps before I told her more about him. “Do you have a bag?” She only carried her heavily laden reticule.
She looked down, as if surprised it was not with her. “Oh, I left it with the man at the livery.”
Nodding, I took her elbow once again, was reminded by her size at the feel of her dainty bones beneath my fingers. “Excellent, for we need to return there for our animals. We will travel to Jasper today as it stays light so long this time of year. You are not too weary to ride after your journey this morning?”
Lane pointed to the right and he led the way toward the livery.
“No, I am quite well. How far is Jasper?”
We weaved and dodged others on the boardwalk and I couldn’t help but notice the way other men stared at Miss Strong. No, Mrs. Drews, for she was my wife. I wasn’t jealous. In fact, I preened inside knowing the men could look at her but Lane and I were the only ones who could touch.
“We will travel up the canyon and into the mountains. We should be there just after dark, if all goes well.”
“And this is where you live?” she asked.
“Lane lives there.” I tilted my head toward him. “I am the new doctor in a town called Slate Springs. It is above Jasper, higher in the mountains.” As we walked across the street, a man riding a horse came barreling our way, the hooves kicking up clouds of dust, so I gave her elbow a squeeze and we stopped to let him pass.
“I see,” she said as we continued on.
Her simple response was the last of our conversation before the livery. I doubted she saw at all, being from Kansas where there were no mountains, but Lane and I looked forward to giving her the full details of our arrangement.
“Are you hungry, Miss Strong?” Lane asked. “We’ve arranged for some food for our return trip, but you must have worked up an appetite playing cards.”
We stopped in front of the livery; the strong scent of animals came from the open entryway.
Looking into the sun, she squinted up at Lane. It was difficult to tell if she was blushing or if she was overly warm from the sun. For July, it was quite hot, although Lane and I were used to the cooler temperatures of the higher elevations.
The man from the livery came out from the building, gave us a little wave, then turned back to retrieve our animals.
I had yet to release her elbow, so I steered her into the depths of the stable. We passed the man who led one of our animals out to be tied to a hitching rail. “I need a private moment with my wife,” I told him as we went into a dimly lit empty stall.
Offering a shrug in passing, he continued out without a word. Either he had quite a few chats with a wife of his own or he didn’t care.
“You saw that at the saloon, did you?” she asked, looking from Lane to me, then back.
“We did,” I said.
“Are you planning on shooting us?” Lane asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Do I have reason to do so?”
I held out my hand. Waited.
It took her a moment to understand my tacit request. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out the gun, placed it in my palm. Quickly, I checked it for bullets, then tucked the muzzle into the front of my pants.
“Careful,” she warned. “You wouldn’t want to shoot anything off.”
I could see Lane’s lips twitch and I had to clear my throat to keep from laughing. “It pleases me to know you are so concerned about my… body. I assure you, I am hale and hearty and everything about my body is in perfect working order.”
It was her turn to clear her throat, but she looked away as well. For the first time, she wasn’t so sure of herself. Beneath all the bravado, she was an innocent. At least in the one way that counted. Although I did not count her virginity to be a requirement, I definitely did appreciate knowing Lane and I would be the first ones to see her discover the pleasures to be had between a woman and her husband. No, husbands.
“You are quite skilled at shooting.”
“That old buzzard?” she asked.
I lifted a brow at her description of the man who’d threatened her.
“I assume you didn’t start by aiming at people.”
She shook her head. “No. I have five brothers so it was a given I’d learn. They lined bottles up on a rail of a fence. I rarely shoot at people.”
I had to wonder how many others had been in an altercation with her and her weapon.
“Those five brothers,” Lane commented. “Ever shot one of them?”
She smiled then before remembering herself. It slipped away. “No. I never did, although I wanted to time and again. Harry shot Frank in the foot once, but it only took out the leather and nicked his little toe. He was aiming for a tree branch by the barn.” She shook her head. “He’s a terrible shot.”
I was quiet as I listened to her story.
“Are you planning on giving that back?” she asked, eyeing her weapon.
“We have some things to talk about first and I’d like to know I’m safe until we’re done.”
“It’s that bad?” she asked, biting her lip, all of a sudden worried. She looked around the stall and realized we were quite alone.
“On the contrary. I admit, Patricia… may I call you that?”
She bit her lip, then said, “While, um, my name is Patricia, I’m called Piper.”
Piper. An unusual name and it suited her more than Patricia. “I admit, Piper, that I’m quite surprised by you. And pleased that you are my wife,” I added when I saw the worry show on her face.
“Do you frequent saloons often?” Lane asked, leaning against the stall wall.
She looked to him and I saw her hands clench into fists at her sides. “I needed to earn some money,” she countered.
“Why is that?” he asked.
Piper crossed her arms over her ample breasts. My cock jumped at the sight. I was sure a spider web of small veins could be seen beneath such tender skin there. And her nipples? Perhaps a lush coral color. But would they be big or small?
Her chin tipped up. “You were not present when I arrived and was without much coin for food or lodging.”
“So you bested the men out of their hard-earned money?”
Pink tinged her cheeks now and her green eyes all but danced with fury, aimed directly at Lane. “They may have worked hard for that money, but I did not drag them by the ear into the saloon, nor did I force them to play. I earned that money from them. Based on the fact I had to shoot that man’s hat, I’d say it was hard-earned.” She barely breathed as she spoke, her words tumbling out. “Let me ask you, Mr. Haskins, if you’ve ever needed to shoot someone because while you won fair an
d square, they refused to have their ego bruised by losing to a female?”
“I’ll part with my money and anything else you desire, with pleasure. For both of us. No shooting involved.”
Her mouth fell open and I could see a straight row of white teeth. “You speak out of turn.”
Now she sounded like that prim miss again. Intriguing.
“And you behave out of turn. You will not go to saloons and gamble. Alone. You will not tempt fate with ill-mannered, dangerous men.”
Her green eyes turned darker and her cheeks flushed. “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” she asked.
“Perhaps now is the perfect time to tell you about our marriage,” I interrupted. “The town of Slate Springs is quite small. Mining is one of the main sources of employment and income, therefore there are a large number of men in the community. The ratio of men to women is very skewed. Last year, the town passed a law that allowed a woman to have more than one husband.”
She had been watching Lane closely until now, for clearly he riled her, and by the smirk on his face, he was enjoying it.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked. Her question was so prim, yet I knew her to be anything but.
“You are married to me… and Lane. Therefore, he can and will tell you that you are no longer allowed to visit seedy saloons. Any saloon for that matter.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she asked, spinning away and pacing in circles in the small space. When she realized how close she was coming to both of us, she stopped and faced away, her eyes on the warped boards of the far wall.
Lane laughed. “That’s better. I was worried there for a minute, Piper, that you’d been possessed by a proper lady.”
She spun on her heel and narrowed her eyes at Lane. Her reticule bumped into her thigh and the coins within jingled. Yes, it was a good thing I had the gun.
“I can’t be married to both of you!”
“I assure you, you can,” I countered.
I hated to be the rational one sometimes. While I knew Lane was intentionally riling her, he would be the one to get her passion because of it. We just had to get her past her surprise.