Hunt, Sofia - The First Bride [Brides of Bachelor Bay 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Sofia Hunt

  Almost as if feeling the heat of his gaze on her, Lizzie turned her head. Their eyes met. Lizzie didn’t turn away and blush like most ladies. Her determined green eyes sparkled like morning dew on the meadow flanking Bachelor Bay. Her gaze flicked down his long, lean body, as if assessing his strength of body and character.

  He lifted one corner of his mouth in a half smile and nodded, acknowledging her perusal. His boldness seemed to startle her. Her eyes grew bigger, and her directness gave way to a red blush, which colored her neck and freckled face. She snapped her head back to focus on Andrew. Logan suppressed a chuckle. The lady wasn’t as impervious to men as she pretended.

  Shaking off his own desires, Logan chastised himself. His men came first, including his brothers. He could not take a bride from this group of women.

  They were off-limits to him, but his fantasies weren’t.

  * * * *

  Something was amiss. An odd tingle danced through Lizzie’s body, not altogether unpleasant, but certainly unwelcome. Perhaps she’d caught a malady on the long trip to Port Steele. Even as she denied these foreign sensations, she conceded Logan Gallagher might be the cause. She’d heard of men eliciting shameless emotions from a woman, though she’d never experienced such wanton feelings herself. She’d be wise to guard against these wanton sensations.

  Andrew finished speaking. She’d heard nary a word. Some of the men cleared a space for a dance floor, while a few men with various musical instruments began to play out-of-tune music. The mood turned festive, and one by one, the burly, but shy, lumberjacks asked the ladies to dance. Soon the dance floor was packed, the room filled with laughter and conversation.

  At first, the men avoided her, and Lizzie stood alone for several dances. As usual, her height and her haughty manner intimidated them. She’d carefully practiced to do just that. She didn’t want a man, and they picked up on her disinterest. Eventually, a few brave souls ventured forth and asked her to dance. She turned down each one. Any woman would do in this godforsaken wilderness, and she didn’t intend to give them false hope.

  Constance Kendall sidled up to her during a break, fanning herself. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glittered. “Lizzie, you’re not dancing.”

  Beautiful and petite with curly black hair, Constance rivaled Amelia for dance partners. Constance grated on Lizzie, and Lizzie avoided the selfish, manipulative woman who attempted to undermine Lizzie’s leadership of the brides.

  With a syrupy smile, Constance placed a hand on Lizzie’s arm. “Why are you turning them down? I don’t mean to be cruel, but a girl like you can’t afford to be particular.”

  Lizzie ground her teeth together and stared straight ahead. Too bad she was lady, or she’d have wiped the superior smirk from the insufferable woman’s face. Constance exploited every opportunity to get under Lizzie’s skin. Her manipulations and lies caused great consternation and discomfort on the long cruise from San Francisco. Her effort to undermine Lizzie divided the brides into two camps, those who sided with Lizzie and those who chose Constance.

  “Oh, dear, you don’t know how to dance?” Constance held her hands to her heart in a dramatic display of false sympathy.

  Lizzie considered a right hook to the woman’s jaw, but she was, after all, a lady. “Quite the contrary.” Lizzie didn’t elaborate. She’d attended all the best schools and been tutored in all the proper activities for a well-bred young lady. At least, she had been until her parents were murdered and her uncle took control of the money. The greedy ass had cut off his nieces’ expenditures and coerced Lizzie into marrying his good friend, a vulgar, old brute. Her stomach clenched at the memories of the lecherous old man groping her body and rutting like an old pig. Beads of sweat moistened her brow. She swiped a hand across her forehead and banished the nightmare back into hiding.

  Constance shot Lizzie a snide look, obviously assuming Lizzie didn’t know how to dance. In an instance, Constance’s sour expression turned sweet as she suddenly focused her attention elsewhere.

  Oh, here he comes,” she breathed into her palm. Constance’s nasty smirk transformed into a welcoming smile.

  Following Constance’s gaze, Lizzie noted Logan Gallagher weaving his way through the crowd, heading straight for them. Assuming he intended to dance with Constance, Lizzie pasted a content smile on her face and moved away a few steps. Inside, her stomach pitched and rolled, while her heart beat quickened. The darn man unsettled her with his dark, brooding eyes and big body.

  Lizzie sipped her punch and attempted to fade into the background as she’d done all night.

  Constance rushed to greet the tall, handsome lumberman. “Oh, Mr. Gallagher, I’ve been meaning to thank you for your hospitality.” The woman gushed and batted her eyes. Lizzie stifled a groan and held her sharp tongue.

  Logan nodded at the woman and brushed her off like a pesky housefly. He looked directly at Lizzie. Lizzie’s heart caught in her throat. Displeasure was etched on the rugged planes of his tanned face.

  “My men are disappointed. You’ve not danced with a one.” He stopped in front of her. She hadn’t realized how tall he really was until now, as she looked up at him.

  Lizzie steeled herself. “I truly doubt that, Mr. Gallagher. There are more comely women available, and I am quite plain.”

  He blinked, as if her words surprised him. “Any lady of gentle breeding is a welcome sight in these parts.”

  “I choose not to dance.” She set her jaw and feigned interest in the other dancers.

  “Lizzie, you’ll dance with me.” His voice held a fragment of a warning. This man didn’t take no for an answer.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need the charity.”

  He moved closer as if to intimidate. She stood her ground. “I insist.” His irritated tone belied the polite words. He held out a hand.

  She ignored it. “No, thank you.” No man ordered her to do anything. She’d banished those days from her life.

  “I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you.” His brown eyes hardened with determination.

  As if on cue, the band broke into a shaky rendition of a waltz. “It’s a waltz, Mr. Gallagher. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable sitting out such a sophisticated dance.” The devil in her couldn’t help pushing his buttons.

  His eyes narrowed. A muscle worked in his jaw as he sought to control his temper. Obviously, the insult wasn’t lost on him. “You’d be surprised what I know.”

  Constance gasped at his frank statement, but Logan ignored her. His uncompromising expression cooled several degrees. Lizzie backed up a step and stared upward. Rarely did she meet a man so much taller than her. She usually towered over all of them.

  Logan had slicked back his unruly, longish, dark hair, which curled at the back of the collar on his white shirt, which was open at the throat and revealed fine chest hairs. The fabric stretched across broad shoulders and a powerful chest. She forced her eyes to remain north of his belt. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t refute the magnetism of his very male body. He was a rugged man in a rugged land and a man to be reckoned with, a match for her own strong will.

  As if he were tired of waiting for her answer, Logan grabbed her hand. Lizzie held back, but his strong fingers tightened with silent insistence. Obviously, Logan was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Unwilling to make a worse scene, she acquiesced.

  Once in the middle of the floor, he turned to her. The dance floor was only half-full, as most of the men didn’t waltz. The few brave ones shuffled woodenly around the dance floor. Logan placed his arm around her back and grasped her hand. Lizzie kept a distance between their bodies as any proper lady would do. Muscles bulged and flexed in his large arms as he whisked her in wide circles.

  “You should be dancing with my men.” Logan stared down at her. His eyes darkened as his bold gaze travelled past her face and neck and settled on her bodice. Her nipples hardened in a most alarming manner. She squeezed her legs together in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the ti
ngling.

  Vexed by his rude inspection of her body and her own body’s traitorous response, Lizzie pinched his arm.

  His gaze jerked back to her face. “What the hell?”

  “A gentleman doesn’t ogle a lady in such an uncouth manner.”

  “I am not a gentleman. Soft men don’t survive in this country.”

  “You’re as primitive as this land.” She didn’t mean it as a compliment, yet he didn’t seem to pick up on her insult.

  “So I am.” He studied her for moment, as if dissecting her every thought. “Why did you come here?” His eyes narrowed as he waited for her answer.

  “To find a husband.” She’d never been accomplished at deception. He raised a cynical eyebrow, proving she’d not fooled him for a minute.

  “Every woman in this room is on the market and sizing up the offerings.” His gaze swept around the room, settling on her. “But you.”

  “I take a while to warm-up.”

  “Now that I believe. You signed an agreement to be engaged within the year. I paid your passage, and I’m paying your expenses. I expect you to honor your end of the contract.”

  “I didn’t sign into servitude.” She stiffened in his arms and stumbled, stomping her heel down hard on his toes.

  He grunted. His mouth turned down. “So you consider marriage to a man servitude?”

  “Perhaps.” She lifted a shoulder.

  “We have a bargain, and I’m holding you to it.”

  Lizzie didn’t respond. She stared at his mouth rather than his eyes. Big mistake. The man’s mouth brought unbidden, inappropriate thoughts. He gazed down at her, his expression amused and somewhat smug. He guided her around the floor with ease and a certain male grace, much to her surprise. She followed his strong lead without a misstep.

  “You can dance.” She looked over her shoulder, and avoided his gaze. Those brown eyes of his unnerved her.

  “My mother taught all of us to dance. She tried to instill social niceties in her sons.” His wry humor caught her attention.

  “Tried?” She chanced a glance at his face.

  “Yes, tried. And failed. Quite a bit. But the initial groundwork is still there.”

  “I pity your mother.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Lizzie fell silent, as did he. Guilt nagged at her. She wasn’t here for a man. She was soiled, damaged goods. Once any man knew the truth about her, he’d never ask her to marry.

  The dance ended, and Logan bowed low and escorted her back to the perimeter of the dance floor.

  “You’ll dance with any of my men who ask, or I’ll put you on the next ship.”

  Lizzie bristled, but he had her where he wanted her. She wouldn’t desert her sisters. Without another word, he sauntered off, and she stared at his fine backside. An uncharacteristic moisture between her legs shamed her.

  “Lizzie, are you okay?” Olivia stood beside her.

  “I’m fine.” She gave a guilty start, fearing she’d been caught doing her own ogling.

  “Logan Gallagher dances like a dream. Constance was incensed. She’s laid claim on him, but you’re the only woman he danced with.”

  “She can have him. They deserve each other. He’s the rudest, most insufferable man.”

  Olivia giggled. “Remember my words—you’ll be the first of the brides to marry. Not the last.”

  Lizzie endured the remainder of the evening with one inept dancer after another. One man stomped on her feet with his heavy boots several times. Another, shorter man behaved as if her eyes were on her chest. Another belched in her ear and didn’t have the decency to apologize. Through it all, Logan Gallagher stood nearby, hands on hips, a satisfied curl to his lips. He caught Lizzie’s eye and winked as yet another man lurched around the dance floor with her.

  She glared back at him and imagined satisfying ways to wipe the smirk from his arrogant face.

  Chapter 2

  Lizzie’s Journal, Saturday, June 4, 1864

  Port Steele, Washington Territory

  The rain has been incessant since we landed in this godforsaken land. The beauty I noted on arrival washed away in the first night’s torrential downpours. The streets are knee-deep in mud. The slugs are of monstrous proportions. Our accommodations are less than adequate and bordering uncivilized.

  We attempt to keep our spirits up, but doing so is difficult while surrounded by such oppressive gloom. Everything is gray. I’ve never seen a place so devoid of color.

  * * * *

  Lizzie Prescott stepped onto the front porch and squinted into the sheet of rain.

  The two elder Gallagher brothers slogged through the deep mud toward her. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her body and waited. Even from a distance, the sight of Logan Gallagher caused a scandalous wetness between her legs and a weakness in her knees. She grasped the porch railing and gathered her wits about her.

  A week had passed since the ship carrying the brides had docked at Port Steele. After her disturbing dance with Logan Gallagher, she’d avoided him and his brothers. An easy feat, considering the men worked in the woods or at their sawmill from morning until night.

  Last evening, the brides met and discussed their concerns and disappointments. The group voted for a spokeswoman, quickly narrowing the choice to Lizzie and Constance. Tied eleven votes to eleven, Lizzie broke the tie and voted for herself, which infuriated Constance. After a dramatic tantrum, the biddy stalked from the room, not pleased with the selection. But then, nothing pleased Constance.

  Lizzie summoned the Gallagher brothers to the dormitory the very next day to discuss the ladies’ situation in Port Steele.

  So far, things weren’t as advertised. Their first clue should have been the rag-tag batch of buckboards and carriages that carried their female cargo to a two-story building at one end of Main Street. Known as Cedar Plank Inn, the dubious structure would serve as a home for the brides until they married. A worn red carpet covered the ever-present mud and led to the inn door. The innkeeper, Hattie Red, scandalized the fair maidens from the East Coast with her indecent dresses and even more outrageous mannerisms. Whispers abounded regarding Hattie’s previous position as a madam in a San Francisco brothel.

  From there it got worse.

  Since their arrival, the brides had heard plenty of promises but seen very little action.

  Lizzie had compiled a list of their complaints and demands for improved accommodations to present to the Gallagher brothers. She was beginning to suspect the brothers had exhausted their finances after funding the brides’ passage and room and board. Most likely, nothing was left for improvements. Regardless, their finances weren’t her concern. The comfort and well-being of the brides were.

  The two oldest Gallagher brothers reached the protection of the porch. The ever-disagreeable Logan Gallagher took off his hat and inclined his head. He swatted the hat against his coat to shake off the drops of rain. Two sizable puddles grew underneath both men’s feet.

  “Ah, Miss Prescott. We meet again. This is my brother, Gage.”

  Gage removed his dripping hat, bowed, and smiled. “At your service, ma’am.” Good, she hoped he meant it. The Gallagher brothers may not be so agreeable after they read the brides’ grievances against Gallagher Logging, starting with misrepresentation.

  Gage was about Logan’s size but not as bulky. He had the same wavy dark hair, but his eyes were a friendly, deep blue. Obviously shy, when his eyes locked with hers, he glanced away, and his face flushed. He shifted his stance and clutched his hat in his hands, his expression respectful.

  Logan removed his mud-caked boots and dripping oilskin coat. One large toe poked out from a hole in his wool socks, she noted with wry amusement. His brother removed his boots and coat as well. His socks were equally in need of darning. The two men followed her into the warmth of the parlor. They placed their boots near the blazing fire and laid their coats and hats over a chair. Another puddle formed instantly on the cedar-planked floor.

  Li
zzie grimaced at the mess but held her tongue. She added one more item to her mental why-I’ll-never-marry-again list.

  “I trust you had a safe and memorable trip.” Gage spoke, quietly and respectfully.

  She gave a very unladylike snort. “You may call it safe, since I am here, and memorable would be one way to describe it.”

  He didn’t pursue that line of questioning any further but folded his hands in his lap and waited for Logan to speak.

  “Well, then, what can we do for you?” Logan’s voice seemed polite enough, yet she sensed impatience in his underlying tone.

  “It’s about this.” She took out a faded newspaper article, opened it up, and spread it out on the battered fir table.

  Come to a verdant paradise, where good men are plentiful and good women are few. We seek young, healthy women of strong moral character to hold honorable positions in our growing city, and most importantly, as wives to the men of their choosing.

  Logan glanced at the article, obviously recognizing it.

  “What about it?” Logan poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot on the parlor table. He brought it to his mouth and sipped. His large hand was an odd contrast with the delicate bone china cup.

  “You misrepresented this—” Lizzie searched for the words. “This place.”

  “Is it not a growing city? Are there not plentiful men?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. We’re agreed.” Logan stood to leave.

  “The accommodations are unacceptable.”

  Logan made a show of looking around the room then back at her. “They’re the best Port Steele has to offer.

  “They’re the only ones Port Steele has to offer.” She bristled at his curt tone.

  “Well, then, that settles that.” He made a move to grab his coat.

  Lizzie glared at him. Irritating, overbearing man. “It settles nothing.”

  “They’re clean and free. What more do you want?” Logan stared out the window, as if driving home the fact that he considered this meeting unnecessary and a waste of his precious time.