Claiming Their Mail-Order Bride: A Cowboy Ménage Romance (Montana Ménage Book 2)

by Lily Reynard

  She already knew what she was going to knit first.

  But first things first—she couldn't wait to get rid of her current awful purple hair and the unwelcome attention it drew when she visited town.

  This morning, she had noticed that the dye was beginning to fade a bit, making her wonder how quickly her true hair color would come to light. Her shopping excursion hadn't come a moment too soon.

  After their lunch of reheated stew, accompanied by another batch of freshly baked biscuits and the last of the cherry pie, Larkin left the house to tend to his afternoon chores. After doing the dishes, Sarah lit a candle and climbed the ladder down into the dark, cool earthen cellar to survey the canned goods on the shelf. The late Mrs. Edwards had left behind a bounty of glass jars filled with all manner of fruits and vegetables presumably harvested from the kitchen garden.

  After contemplating the selection and remembering seeing red stalks of rhubarb growing in the kitchen garden, next to the feathery fronds of dill and lacy parsley, Sarah decided to make a strawberry-rhubarb cobbler and serve it with whipped cream.

  Over the past few days, Sarah had gotten more comfortable with the process of milking Rosa, and she had begun skimming cream from the cow's daily bounty.

  When she had finished preparing the cobbler with a streusel topping of flour, butter, and sugar and had put it in the oven to bake, she was finally free to take her precious bottle of hair dye into the laundry room and use the deep tin sink to remedy her earlier mistake.

  When Larkin returned to the house for supper, the cobbler was cooling on the counter, a pot of ham and bean soup livened up with canned tomatoes was simmering away on the stove, and Sarah was sitting in the middle of the kitchen with her freshly dyed hair loose and spread over a towel draped around her shoulders so that the damp tresses could dry in the steady warmth radiating from the big cast-iron stove.

  The skeins of yarn she had found in the general store had indeed been undyed, but not all of them had been the plain white or cream color she had been expecting. She had found several skeins of an extremely soft coffee-colored wool that had appealed to her—and more importantly, had appealed to Emma, who had fingered it wistfully before declaring that she already had too much handiwork piled up and that she needed to sew herself some summer shirtwaists before the weather turned hot.

  Sarah had already completed several inches of her knitting project when Larkin entered the kitchen via the back door to wash his face and hands.

  He came to a halt in the doorway, staring at her. Conscious of the fact that her hair was down and in disarray, she hastily began twisting it into her usual chignon while trying to interpret his expression.

  "I tried to find a color that approximated my own natural shade," she fibbed.

  Actually, the contents of the Sicilian Hair Renewer bottle had smelled almost as bad as the mauve dye had, which had given her a bad moment as she wondered whether she would end up with another outlandish color.

  To her relief, the results had been acceptably close to Liza's tresses, though traces of the mauve color lingered as highlights.

  "I miss seeing you with huckleberry-colored hair," Larkin said finally, as she finished putting up her hair. He paused just inside the doorway to pull off his dirty boots before heading into the laundry room. "It was growing on me."

  All cleaned up, he re-entered the kitchen a few minutes later and pulled up a chair to sit next to her. She had finished doing up her hair and had secured it with the hairpins and the length of ribbon she had tucked into her apron pocket earlier.

  "What are you making?" he asked, eyeing the ball of yarn in her lap and the modest length of completed stitches hanging from her needles.

  "A baby blanket," she replied. "Emma told me that the stork is due to visit her sometime next month, and I wanted to finish it before—well, before I left. She's been so kind to me." A pang shot through her as she realized that she might not ever see Emma again or have the chance to learn whether her new friend bore a daughter or a son.

  He frowned, and she added hastily, "Don't worry, I'll only work on this when I've finished doing everything else."

  "I wasn't worried about you taking a bit of time for yourself," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "You're a real hard worker, Sarah."

  "Thank you." Familiar warmth kindled in her belly, and a wave of shyness rolled over her. She fought the urge to look away.

  He continued, "I was just contemplating how you always seems to be thinking about everyone. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been baking a fresh batch of biscuits with every meal—or that I'm not grateful for all that mighty fine tucker you've been cooking."

  Her cheeks heated at the unexpected compliment. "Oh, it's nothing. I really appreciate being able to stay here until the next train arrives. And I like helping where I can."

  "Well, it's sure appreciated." He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle before giving a long look from his intense gray eyes. "Even with your Da dead-set against it, I'm surprised why some enterprising fella didn't just swoop in and marry you anyway."

  Should I tell him the truth? Sarah looked down at her knitting needles. She wanted so badly to confide in him, to tell him about the dreadful events that had sent her fleeing from her home. Their deepening acquaintance over the past few days—and nights—had shown her that he was trustworthy.

  She decided to confess some of the truth.

  "I never mentioned this in any of my letters," she began, "But it was mostly my brothers who were opposed to the idea that I might marry someone and leave them without someone to take care of our father in his old age. I always wanted to get married and have a family of my own, but then my father got into trouble with a gambling debt. It was more money than he could ever hope to repay, so instead of selling his land, he offered me up to the person to whom he owed that sum, as if I were a prize cow or pig!"

  Larkin sat bolt-upright in his chair. "He did what?"

  "I was already in correspondence with Walt by then, but undecided about leaving the place where I had grown up and had friends," Sarah continued, weaving together her own story and Liza's history. "Then I discovered that the man Father had promised me to was a bad person. Not only was he a notorious card sharp and a rumored criminal, but he was a three-time widower. I had it on good account that his wives had all died in suspicious accidents, or in the case of his third wife, simply disappeared. Everyone presumed that she drowned, but," her voice dropped, as if, irrationally, Clyde Burgess might be able to overhear her, "her body was never recovered."

  She hugged herself, feeling a chill at the memory even though she was seated near the warm stove.

  "After learning that, I knew I had to leave. Luckily, Walt sounded like just the sort of decent, hardworking man who would make any woman a fine husband, so when he asked me to wed him—to wed both of you— I agreed, despite the unconventional arrangement."

  Sarah dared to glance up at Larkin. He was listening to her intently, and she saw only compassion on his features.

  "So, I, ah, ran away from home," she finished. "I felt that coming out to Montana would put a safe distance between me and that man. And Father."

  "So, you're like me." Larkin sighed, leaned over, and to her surprise, took her in a gentle embrace. "You're shaking, Sarah."

  She was, the knitting needles trembling uncontrollably in her grip.

  Because the truth was, Father hadn't insisted that Mr. Burgess marry her. He had just offered her up, with no conditions and no care for her welfare, to the leader of one of Boston's most notorious criminal gangs.

  If Clyde Burgess ever found her, he’d probably kill her. Slowly. Everyone in the city had heard of him. The newspapers reported on him almost daily, and the articles painted a picture of a brutal criminal who owned all of the police officers and politicians in the city, brooked no defiance, and mercilessly punished anyone who cheated or informed on him.

  I wonder what happened to Father after I ran away? I hope
Mr. Burgess hasn't hurt him, she thought with a pang of guilt.

  She leaned her head on Larkin's broad, strong shoulder, and soaked in the comfort he so unexpectedly offered.

  It wasn't my fault. I didn't incur that debt! Father offered me up as a sacrifice without giving the slightest consideration to my well-being or happiness.

  She owed Father nothing. Nothing.

  But she still felt guilty.

  "You don't have to worry about that man anymore," Larkin said. "If he ever comes around here, looking for you, Walt and I will deal with him like we dealt with that bear."

  He cradled her face between his big, work-hardened hands and brushed away the tears from her cheeks before leaning in and touching his lips to hers.

  His mouth was firm, surrounded by the faint prickle of stubble that caressed her tender skin.

  Then he deepened the kiss, devouring her lips with his own, and the fire in her veins coalesced into an incandescent flame of desire.

  Sarah dropped her knitting, and the ball of yarn went rolling across the kitchen's flagstone floor, unwinding as it went. She drew his head down, returning his kiss with frantic desire as Larkin took possession of her lips with a thoroughness that left her knees weak and her entire body pleading for more.

  She lost track of time, forgot where she was. His mouth on hers was harder and more demanding than Walt's had been, and he used his tongue to boldly invade her mouth, where it stroked and caressed her. To her surprise, his kisses aroused the same sweet throbbing ache between her thighs that Walt's kisses had.

  His hands left her face and brushed the sensitive skin of her throat, raising pleasant shivers. He managed to unbutton the top of her shirtwaist before she returned to her senses.

  "Stop!" she gasped, and pushed at him. "Please."

  He looked disappointed—but he released her immediately and sat back on his chair. For all his rough speech and occasional bouts of surliness, he was a decent and honorable man. Someday, he'd make some woman a fine husband. She wished that Walt's outrageous plan had come to fruition—not only because it would allow her to stay on this ranch, which had already offered her a beautiful refuge, but because she was strongly attracted to both men and realized that marrying them might not be the sacrifice she had envisioned when she had taken up Liza's suggestion.

  She noticed that his cheeks were flushed under his tan and beard stubble. It seemed that the kiss that they'd just shared had affected him too.

  "Your lips are every bit as sweet as your cherry pie, Sarah, and I really want to taste the rest of you," he said, giving her one of his wicked smiles.

  His bold words sent a bolt of fresh desire through her.

  He continued, his eyes hot, "What if I told you there are ways of sharing pleasure that would still leave you a virgin for your wedding night?"

  * * *

  Larkin prayed that she would take him up on his offer.

  Kissing her had been sweeter and hotter than even his most fevered imaginings, and the soft skin of her throat had hinted at even softer, more luscious delights awaiting him if he could convince her to let him unbutton her shirtwaist the rest of the way.

  He'd never been with a virgin before, and the thought of showing her all of the exciting and pleasurable things that they could do together was deeply exciting, as was the prospect of bringing her to her first climax.

  I wonder if she's the quiet type, or a screamer? Either one was good by him. If she turned out to be the quiet type, he'd just listen for the soft gasps and the hitches in her breathing to measure how well he was serving her.

  She looked at him, clearly tempted and delightfully flushed from the heat that ran through his veins too. "What do you mean?"

  Good. She's interested.

  "Well, now," he drawled, shifting a little on the hard chair to hide his rapidly stiffening cock. "It's probably easier to show you than explain."

  Her delicious lips formed a silent "Oh," and he could just about hear her thinking…and letting her nerves get the best of her.

  "Look, I promise that I'll take it slow, and that you can tell me to stop at any time," he continued. "And I swear that I won't do anything that could get you with child. We'll just be kissing and touching each other. You liked kissing my lips, didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, then you're really gonna like it when I kiss you in other places, Sarah."

  Her flush deepened. "I shouldn't…"

  She caught her full lower lip between her white teeth, and he had to bite back a groan at the sight.

  "But you want to, don't you?" He reached out to her. "I like you, Sarah. You're the most beautiful woman in Twin Forks, maybe in the entire Montana Territory. And Walt did want us to get to know one another better."

  She chewed on her lip. "You promise to stop if I ask you?"

  He nodded.

  "All right," she breathed. "What should I do?"

  He couldn't believe his luck.

  "Let's go into the living room," he said, rising from his chair. "All those evenings that we've been sitting there together, reading and mending and whatnot, I've been thinking about how much I'd like to pull you down on my lap and kiss you until we're both foozled."

  Larkin extended his hand, and she took it. He kept hold of her all the way to the living room sofa.

  There, he seated himself before pulling her down to straddle his lap, her skirts bunching up in front and covering his knees and lower legs in the back.

  He arranged her so that his hard cock nestled against the damp heat between her legs, then set to work baring her to his hungry gaze.

  As he finished unbuttoning her shirtwaist, beams of afternoon sunlight gilded her smooth skin and the tops of her breasts, cruelly imprisoned in the cloth and steel contraption of her corset. He pushed the shirtwaist off her shoulders and down her arms before tossing it to the rug. Then he deftly began unhooking the front of her corset.

  Over the years, he'd gained a fair amount of practice in getting ladies out of their layers of armor-like undergarments.

  Sarah's were the fanciest ones he'd ever seen—nothing gaudy like the ones favored by the ladies of the line, but well-made with expensive fabric and handmade lace. She didn't resist as he bared her thin chemise, and eagerly raised her arms over her head so that he could pull it off her.

  Then he reached for the heavy bun of hair at the base of her neck, freeing it from its prison of hairpins and ribbon. It tumbled down over her shoulders and cascaded over her back in thick, shining dark waves with just the faintest shimmer of purple.

  "God, you're beautiful," he breathed, pausing to admire her breasts. They were every bit as luscious as he'd fantasized, full and round, with soft pink nipples.

  Then he pulled her to him for another kiss. This time, he wanted her too badly to be gentle.

  Her lips parted beneath his demanding mouth, and he ravished her with his tongue. His cock stirred, stiff and eager for quenching between her soft thighs.

  Not yet, he told it.

  Larkin put his arms around her as he kissed her with all the pent-up hunger of the nights spent burning for her. She arched and squirmed against him, rubbing her soft, full breasts against his chest in a way that made him want to groan with desire.

  "Keep wriggling, Angel. I like it just fine," he whispered, raising his mouth from hers. "But you're not getting away until I'm done with you."

  "I—I don't want to get away," she said shyly.

  With her hair unbound and her cheeks flushed, she looked so damned sweet and innocent that he didn't know whether to leave her alone or show her how much fun a man and a woman could have together in bed.

  "Good. Because I've got a lot left to show you." He bent his head and kissed the long, graceful column of her neck before deliberately nipping at her skin.

  She made a startled "Oh!" but clutched at him and threw her head back, baring her throat.

  So, my innocent angel likes it a little rough, huh? He deliberately pressed his hips up int
o the soft curves on his lap, grinding his cock against the hot, sweet cleft at the top of her thighs in a long, slow thrust.

  "You have no idea how badly I want to go all the way with you," he growled, and returned to nibbling his way down her neck, heading for the delicate, curved collarbones.

  She stiffened and tried to push off his lap. "We can't! Not if you aren't going to marry me!"

  He chuckled and kept her pinned right where she was. "I told you, I'm not the marrying type. And I promised you that we weren't going to go all the way, and I mean to keep that promise."

  Her pale throat was marked with pink blotches where he'd used his teeth, and her nipples had stiffened with excitement, poking into his chest like fingertips.