Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Natalie Acres

  “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass.

  Art kept shoveling in the food. He looked at Lane and then shot her a glance.

  Considering the fact she was thinking about all the ways a woman could take a man to the barn and treat him like a wild animal, she imagined she was doing quite well. Yes, all things considered, she was mighty fine.

  Victoria perused the table again, convincing herself to breathe once more. God help her, sitting down between them was no small task.

  “I’m hungry. That’s all,” she finally replied, tossing her napkin across her lap. “I just wanted to see if I could offer you another glass of water.”

  “Is that right?” Art asked, curiously.

  “Sure,” she replied. “You’re guests in my home. It’s only proper to make you feel welcome.” Her mother taught her some things, though little in matters of men. What she learned there, she gained through an unspoken education, and later the words left behind in a worn and torn letter.

  Damn it! She needed to forget about that letter. The very things her mother had written about were the enticing opportunities these two cowboys represented.

  Lane took a bite of his food and eyed the pitcher on the chopping block. He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple twitch. He continued staring at the blasted water pitcher and took the final sip from his cup.

  Art smirked. “I could’ve sworn somebody offered refills.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Victoria said, jumping to her feet again. She hurried to the chopping block, snatched the pitcher, and returned to the table with the container in hand. She quickly filled Art’s glass and then reached for Lane’s. “I must’ve been daydreaming. I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid you’ll have to overlook me. I pumped the water and forgot to top off your cups.”

  When she started to return Lane’s glass to the table, his fingertips scraped past hers. A bolt of power almost as strong as lightning zipped through her hand, setting her skin on fire and provoking a warning about as strong as the current she battled in the creek earlier.

  Then again, she was to blame for that war on the waters. Could they fault her for coming on to them, too?

  She watched Art as he ate. He possessed a boyish expression, with dancing eyes and a mischievous smile surrounded by dimples. When he wiped his mouth, Victoria found herself imagining how his lips might feel rubbing against hers. She wondered if his lips were as sweet as honey, or if his mouth dripped with beautiful lies.

  Lord have mercy, she needed to get them out of there.

  She stood up all at once and cleared away the dishes. “I have some work to do outside. I’ll clean out one of the stalls and get a few things ready. If the two of you are staying, you’ll want to have a comfortable place to lay your head.”

  “We can help out around here, ma’am,” Art said. “It’s no trouble, and the least we can do since you supplied a good meal.”

  “No,” she replied. “I wouldn’t dream of working my guests.”

  Lane arched a brow, stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed. Nice and slow.

  She ran her hands over her day dress, irritated by the numerous petticoats she’d chosen to wear underneath. She wondered if she looked fat, then gave herself a good scolding. Why did she care? They weren’t interested in pursuing her. Were they?

  Art pointed to her vacated seat. “Why don’t you sit there and take things easy. Tell us about yourself. What do you do to pass the time? Is your husband away a lot?”

  She flattened her palms against the tabletop. “What makes you think I have a husband?”

  Oh crying shame. It must’ve been the petticoats. She added too many layers, and now Art apparently thought she looked fat and sassy, maybe even with child. Her hand went to her stomach.

  Lane rubbernecked and stared at her splayed fingers. He picked up the napkin, dabbed his mouth, and tossed the cloth on the table. “She doesn’t have a husband.”

  “How would you know?” Art asked.

  “She wouldn’t have been so eager for a man to look at her if she had a husband. Am I right, Victoria?”

  Again, her hand fell to her stomach. This time, Lane stared at her belly.

  Sure enough she was convinced. She looked fat. Damn blasted skirts! She was burning the petticoats as soon as they went to bed.

  As Art and Lane gaped at her body, she became uncomfortable, self-conscious. She’d allowed perfect strangers viewing rights. They’d seen her naked. They’d gawked at her like she was a whore-for-hire working in the saloon.

  She should’ve been uncomfortable. She should’ve been at a loss for words.

  She was.

  “You’re acting as if something is bothering you,” Art said.

  “You don’t know me well enough to know how I act.”

  “She has a point,” Lane said, leaning back in his chair.

  “But you keep shaking your head like something doesn’t suit you.”

  “Or maybe she’s having an internal debate,” Lane suggested.

  “What?” she asked, studying her accuser, but he was right on the money. She couldn’t fault him for that.

  “You’re trying to figure out if we’ve got something in store for you,” Art said, sounding hopeful.

  “No I wasn’t,” she said. A beat later, she added, “Why? Do you?”

  “Uh,” Art muttered, unable to manage anything more.

  “No, Victoria,” Lane said. “I’m speaking only for myself, but I don’t have anything in mind for you. I lost my wife five years ago. I reckon I’m still grieving her, or so folks tell me.”

  “Oh that’s just awful!” Victoria exclaimed. “Where did you lose her? Do you know? Did you try to find her?” She fired out the questions so rapidly that it didn’t dawn on her what Lane had actually meant until both men stared at her with blank expressions on their faces.

  Finally, Lane cleared his throat and said, “She died. That’s what I meant when I said ‘I lost her.’ I should’ve been plainspoken.”

  “Oh yes, but of course you did. I mean, she did,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “When did your husband pass?” Art asked, obviously changing the subject.

  She felt so foolish and insecure. How could she have been so thoughtless? What had she been thinking? She should’ve assumed Lane’s wife died. Naturally he didn’t leave her in some booming town and forget to pick her up at the General Store. Good Lord. She didn’t have a brain left in her head.

  “Ma’am?” Art pressed. “Your husband?”

  “Oh, um, no, I, uh, haven’t had a husband. I’ve never had a man.”

  “You what?” Art’s jaw dropped, and the attentive stare she earned from Lane let her know she’d made an admission guaranteed to stir the angst in the air.

  “I mean, well like what you’re suggesting anyway. I’ve never uh…had a husband.”

  She grabbed a plate of small chocolate cakes and set them on the table. Lane helped himself, stuffing half a treat between his lips. He apparently had a little trouble choking down the first bite. Washing the dessert down with water, he finally managed, “You don’t have to explain.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sure folks assume I have a husband. I’ve seen a lot of travelers in these parts lately and have to be careful about letting just anybody inside. Men try and take advantage of a woman without a man around.

  “Back when my momma was alive, she dealt with trappers and hunters. The area was rife with folks looking to make nice with the Indians. Folks in Poverty Gulch, which is what the valley folk used to call Cripple Creek before the first gold strike, used to send visitors out this way to talk with my mother. She had a way with the Indians.”

  “If she looked like you, I imagine she did,” Lane said, his expression remaining solemn. “But, Victoria, if you don’t mind my saying so, the way you flaunt around here without your clothes leads a person to believe all sorts of things about what you’re willing to do for the right price.”
>
  She shrugged. “Reckon that’s your opinion. I asked you to turn your head. Both of you refused.”

  “Who could blame us?” Lane asked, taking another bite of dessert.

  “He’s right,” Art agreed, grinning. “But back to what we were talking about. You’ve surely been with a man at some point in your life though, right?” Art was apparently ready and able to pry into her business.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t answer him,” Lane said, leaving the table. “Thank you for dinner tonight, Victoria. I enjoyed the food and the company. That cake was delicious.”

  “Mrs. Dodson down at the General Store makes the best cakes around.”

  “I’ll look for her while we’re visiting there,” Lane assured her, making his way out of the cabin. “We’ll ride out in the morning and try not to bother you until then.”

  Victoria caught a whiff of his masculine scent as he brushed by her. The mix of sweat and horses stained his clothing and settled in his skin. As he walked past her with an air of confidence, he said, “Do you mind if I sit on your porch until my supper settles?”

  “No, not at all,” she replied, somewhat relieved. She had hoped Lane and Art would hang around and talk for a bit.

  Lane studied her like she was sex in a saddle. “I’ll have a sit and then retire for the night then.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  Lane’s body went rigid.

  “I meant I’ll join you on the porch,” she reassured him. “I respect the fact you want to honor your wife’s memory.”

  He and Art shared a silent look of male understanding. Apparently, Art didn’t have a wife in the grave, or any other woman, for that matter.

  “I’ll join you, too, Lane,” Art said.

  “Oh no you won’t. The lady fixed a hearty meal, and one of us should clean up after dinner. I’ve been cooking and cleaning up after your ass all week. It’s your turn. See what you can do to straighten up this mess while I tell Victoria here a few stories about our traveling companion.”

  “I imagine you’ve got more on your mind than that wolf,” Art grumbled.

  “Not yet, but considering we’ll soon be every man’s prey, maybe one of us should take advantage of our last night living in the wild.”

  * * * *

  Lane held the door wide, and Victoria led the way to the small porch where she took a seat on the rickety stoop. Lane took three strides beyond where Victoria stopped.

  He reached in his pocket as if he were searching for something mighty important, and then gave up his pursuit. He looked up at the stars. “Sure is a pretty night, clear and such.”

  She pointed toward the ridge. “I’ve been eyeing that wolf up yonder. Seems he’s real interested in what’s going on down here.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lane began. “He’s been following us around for the last few weeks. Seems we can’t figure him out, and he can’t decide what he thinks about us. We’re not sure if we’re friends or enemies, and to tell ya the truth, I dread the day when we find out.”

  Victoria stared at the creature standing in the moonlight. There was something truly remarkable about the way the animal’s steps were mimicked by his silhouette. His every movement was captured and embedded into the deep shadows of the night.

  “Why don’t you shoot him?” she asked, thinking if the wolf posed a threat, then Lane ought to get rid of him. “Then again, the animal sure looks pretty, nearly statuesque, standing there under the moon.”

  Lane kept watching the wolf. He didn’t answer.

  Victoria shifted her weight. “I mean he’s a beautiful animal, but if you’re scared of him, you could get rid of him.”

  “I’m not afraid of him. Right now, he represents a possible danger, and that’s about it.”

  “Yes, but if you don’t take care of him while you still can, what will happen when he suddenly attacks you?”

  “And what if he doesn’t? Then I’ve killed something for the sport of it. That’s a bad trait for any man to own.”

  “But you said he represents a possible danger.”

  “You do, too. I won’t pull out my gun and shoot you, so why should I treat him any differently?”

  “Me?” Victoria didn’t know what to make of Lane’s comparison. After some thought, she added, “I’m nothing like that wild animal up there.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Lane assured her.

  “How?” she asked, frowning. “I’m no threat to you.”

  “You’re a bigger threat than I’ve ever faced. That’s for sure.”

  Victoria read in between the lines and decided not to press. Lane was interested in her, and she was satisfied by the way he expressed his attraction. As he paced in front of where she sat, Victoria thought she sure was attracted to him. She wondered if he’d been with many women, and found herself imagining what it might be like to enjoy a man like Lane on a regular basis.

  As soon as she let her thoughts get the best of her, she found herself fully aroused. Her breasts ached. They were heavier than only a few minutes before, and the warmth between her thighs became somewhat alarming. She wasn’t just hot down there. She was wet.

  “You could tell me about your travels,” she suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe if she kept the conversation flowing, she wouldn’t think about the way her mother used to entertain and enjoy men like Lane and Art.

  She caught a glimpse of Art through the tiny window. He was drying off a plate, and appeared to be singing or talking to himself. It was then when Victoria realized why her mother clung to the men who used her. She was lonely, and as she’d mentioned, the prairie offered too few opportunities. Her ma was a woman with needs, and she’d certainly come to understand those as she’d gotten older, even more so now that she’d met Lane and Art.

  Victoria smiled to herself as she looked up at the heavens above her. Lane was right. The clear skies and twinkling stars made for one beautiful night.

  Victoria could get used to enjoying her evenings with male companions. Realizing Lane hadn’t volunteered to tell her anything about himself, she said, “I’d really love to hear your story.”

  “Why don’t we just sit here and enjoy one another’s company? If you’ll listen to the sounds around us, you’ll hear the crickets talking to one another. They seem to have a lot to say. I can’t compete with that. I’m a quiet man, Victoria. I like the simple things in life. Being here with you, as an example, is nice. I’m having a right pleasurable moment. It’s the first time I’ve really relaxed. Let’s enjoy one another.”

  Victoria gulped. Enjoy one another? She started to ask him if that meant he planned to take her to bed a little later in the evening. Feeling her skin heat, she chose to give Lane what he wanted while she considered all the possibilities for later.

  She was a patient woman. She’d wait, watch, and listen. Besides, Lane was a widower. He might have been trying to talk himself out of pursuing her, but he was interested all the same. She could tell, and he’d admitted as much.

  Maybe Lane needed a little time, but he’d expressed interest. He’d flirted with her in his own way. Now, she just had to sit back and let him come to terms with what he was about to do. It probably wouldn’t take a man like Lane very long.

  Soon, he’d start to seduce her. She was certain of what he held in store. And quite positive she wouldn’t object.

  Chapter Four

  A little time, hell! Lane didn’t speak to her again for nearly an hour.

  While he whittled away at a small piece of wood, he stared up at the endless heavens and hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. After a bit, he tossed aside the stick and said, “I haven’t been with a woman since my wife died.”

  “You haven’t?” she screeched, aware of how shocked she sounded. “Why not?”

  He frowned, stuffed the knife he’d been using in his pocket, and refused her an answer.

  “Never mind. It’s none of my business. That wasn’t an appropriate question to
ask a stranger.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned the fact,” Lane admitted. “Victoria, I have a question for you. How often do you take off your clothes for strangers?”

  She stared down at her clasped hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Tell me anyhow,” Lane encouraged her. “Why’d you take your dress off today? Why’d you show us your body?”

  “You and Art made me mad. You hurt my feelings and I guess I wanted to show off.”

  “You showed off aplenty,” Lane assured her. “Remind me to piss you off as much as I can while we’re staying here.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, thinking about his dead wife, and then shifting her attention to something else he’d said. Were they planning to stay for more than one night?

  “We didn’t mind. Trust me.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  He raised his eyebrows. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t have anything else to add.

  Finally, she said, “I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I couldn’t tell ya,” he said, taking a seat beside her and leaning back. He stared up at the stars again. There must’ve been something up in that sky that held his attention. After a few minutes, he asked, “Do you believe in heaven?”

  “I believe in hell,” she retorted.

  “Then you gotta believe in heaven, too.”

  She shrugged.

  “Let me tell you why I believe in both,” he said, rolling to his side and placing his hand behind his head. “My wife, Sarah Ann, she was an angel. She was as pretty as a picture, and just as sweet as milk and honey.

  “A marshal accused her of killing some kids on a neighboring farm. There wasn’t a trial. There wasn’t anything to suggest she’d done it, but because she used to go and help the kids with their school work, that marshal and his posse drug her out of my home and took her to into town and hung her there.

  “They said justice was served, but it took another five years for that to happen. Justice came after another ten boys were murdered. The man they caught with blood on his hands talked about the kids he’d killed outside of Tombstone. He even had some of their belongings to prove he’d been to their home.