Their Brazen Bride (Bridgewater Menage Book 8)

by Vanessa Vale

  I loved my brother and liked being on the ranch. It was my home and almost all I remembered. But I agreed with him. I didn’t belong there anymore, keeping house. I longed for a place of my own, children, a man with whom to share it all. As the Landrys stopped before us, I realized I wanted to share that dream with not one man, but two.

  They tipped their hats at me before shaking James’ hand.

  As Gabe and James spoke of a foaling mare, Tucker winked at me—again!

  “You are friends with Theresa, then?” he asked. Most people studied the scar on my right cheek, but he didn’t. His pale eyes held my gaze and kept it. While his question was idle chitchat, I was thankful for his starting the conversation. Most men avoided me altogether, perhaps afraid my old injury was contagious.

  “Yes,” I replied, so nervous my knees all but knocked.

  “I believe you also know some of the women at Bridgewater?” He cocked his head ever so slightly. With his strong jaw and full lips, it was hard to look him in the eyes as I spoke.

  I knew I couldn’t just say yes again as he’d think me completely addlebrained for not forming full sentences. “Laurel and Olivia helped with the decorations for the picnic.”

  “Are you glad you are back with your brother?” Focused on the sun picking up glints of gold in his fair hair, I almost forgot his question. I was done with school and home. Except to return to save Tennessee. Once I gave Mr. Grimsby his money, I’d be gone from Butte for good.

  James and Gabe ended their conversation and were listening for my answer. I offered a quick peek through my lowered lashes at Gabe, whose dark gaze focused squarely on me. It took all my effort not to look at his mouth and wonder if his beard would be scratchy when—no, if—he kissed me.

  “Oh, um…” I realized they were waiting for an answer. “Oh, yes. I missed it here.”

  “And yet I heard you might return to Butte,” Gabe said, his deep voice slow and steady. “To marry and settle.”

  Where had he heard that? I hadn’t told anyone I would go back to Butte in the next few days, but then I considered the last of Gabe’s words.

  “Marry and settle?” I repeated. I had no interest in Butte. I would go back long enough to help Tennessee, but certainly not to settle there permanently. I hoped never to set foot in the town again.

  James laughed and held up his hand. “These plans to marry the man in Butte are new. I haven’t even met him yet.”

  We all turned when we heard James’ name called. Mr. Bjorn, the man whose property abutted ours on the south side, waved him over. James excused himself.

  I watched him walk away and, when I turned back to the Gabe and Tucker, they seemed closer. Had they stepped nearer? I tipped my chin back to look up at them and realized they could see my scar straight on. With much practice, I turned my face slightly to the right to hide it. Their pale and dark eyes were so intense I had to swallow again and glance away. Did they know I was affected by them? Could they see my nipples were hard beneath my corset? Could they discern the frantic pulse at my neck?

  “Is there something wrong with your fiancé you are not sharing with James?” Gabe asked.

  “Fiancé?” I squeaked, looking at them full-on. When I first told the ladies the tale, I’d said Aaron had come calling. Nothing more. Just enough to make it seem real. But, now, a fiancé? “I’m not… I mean, it’s not true.”

  Tucker cocked his head again. “He’s not your fiancé?”

  No, all of it. But I couldn’t say that. “We’re not engaged.”

  Both men eyed me closely.

  “Has he hurt you? Are you afraid of him?” Gabe asked.

  He looked ready to go to Butte and beat Aaron’s face in. If he even existed. A warm feeling washed over me at his concern. Besides James, no one had defended me before.

  “What? No,” I replied. “He’s… perfectly fine.”

  Tucker grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Does your friend Theresa think her new husband is perfectly fine?”

  No, of course not. She practically worshipped the man.

  “It is not the same.” Theresa loved Emmett, where I… had made someone up. How could I have feelings for someone who didn’t exist?

  Gabe raised one dark brow. “Oh? What does your man feel for you?”

  I felt exposed, and their questions poked, as if they were prodding at a wound with a stick. Instead of facing the truth, I used defense to deflect. I straightened my spine. “Quite a personal question.”

  Gabe leaned in slightly. “A man should be desperate for his woman. Mindless being with her. In her. Over her.”

  I stifled a whimper with a fake cough. Over her? Oh dear lord, the man’s words had me all but melting. They were crude and forward. Bold for one of just familiar acquaintance. And, yet, I wasn’t offended. I was aroused.

  “Yes, my brother is correct,” Tucker added. “Our woman would know, with absolute certainty, she was the center of our world, and we would make her every desire come true.”

  Our woman. Yes, it confirmed they’d claim a woman together. Ah, how I wished it might be me.

  They could do it, too. I had no doubt they could fulfill my every need, even if I didn’t know what they were. I just wanted to… feel. Feel their hands on me, their lips. I wanted to be surrounded, overwhelmed. Taken.

  “You speak out of turn,” I replied, trying to sound prim when I was, instead, eager to hear more.

  “Really? And where is Aaron?” Gabe asked, looking around for the man as if he were hiding behind a tree. “Has he come to visit you once since you returned?”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s been busy. Besides, I’ve only been home for a few days.”

  I had five more days to return with money for Mr. Grimsby.

  “If you were ours, we would not allow you to venture so far. We would want you near,” Tucker said. “Very near.”

  My mouth fell open, but no words escaped.

  “You learned of the Bridgewater way from Laurel,” Gabe said. It wasn’t a question.

  I blinked. They waited.

  “Yes, you claim a woman together,” I replied, my voice soft. While those from Bridgewater didn’t go around telling everyone the men shared a bride, if it was discovered, they didn’t lie about it. Laurel had Mason and Brody as her husbands, and I knew Olivia had three. The way their men looked at them had me eager for the same from husbands of my own. And ever since I was fourteen, I’d known I wanted them to be Gabe and Tucker.

  “That’s right. Tucker and I will share a bride. Think what it would be like.”

  My eyes fell closed then, thinking of being married to Tucker and Gabe Landry. Stepbrothers, as different as their appearance. Having them come in the back door to wash up for supper, waking between them in the morning.

  “But you are claimed by another,” Tucker said, his tone disappointed.

  Another. Oh, yes, they were speaking of Aaron.

  Gabe grunted, looked left and right then murmured. “Imagine what it would be like, between us. I want to kiss you, Abigail.”

  “You only want to kiss her?” Tucker asked, his eyes raking my body in a dark and carnal way. My nipples tightened beneath his blatant inspection.

  “I didn’t say where I’d kiss,” he countered.

  Oh dear lord. I could only imagine where.

  The men put their hats back on. “Too bad, precious,” Tucker said.

  “Too bad?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “We don’t take what doesn’t belong to us. If you’re claimed by Aaron, then”—he shrugged his shoulders— “we’ll respect the match.”

  My exhilaration turned to dust, and I worried I would throw up. They wanted me. I wanted them. And my lie was keeping us apart. The stupid lie! Tennessee was ruining everything!

  “Not claimed,” I countered, trying to make them understand I was not spoken for. “The stories being spread are highly exaggerated.”

  Tucker didn’t say anything else, just winked once more
and walked away. Gabe looked at me for another moment, tipped his hat then turned to follow in his brother’s wake. I should have said something, admitted the truth, but they wouldn’t want me then. I was a liar, like a five-year-old. Once they knew the truth, they’d think me childish and not worthy of their time. Even worse, once they learned that I was going to steal from my own brother, they’d hate me. I couldn’t have them if I lied, couldn’t have them if I told the truth.

  The open field in front of the church was filled with townspeople, lingering and chatting, waiting for the small wedding reception to begin. I was surrounded, but completely alone, and it wasn’t because of my stupid scar. I feared I’d be alone the rest of my life. A lie would not keep me warm in bed at night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gabe

  “She will be ours,” I said.

  “Without question,” Tucker replied.

  After the wedding reception, Tucker and I returned to Bridgewater. We worked for two days, riding the fence lines, fixing downed sections, herding stray cows, all the while stewing on the conversation with Abigail. Talked through every word she said, every tilt of her chin, the way she angled her head to hide her scar, the emotions I could see in her eyes.

  “Who?” Andrew asked, carrying a stack of dirty plates in from the dining room.

  He was one of many men who lived at Bridgewater and shared the communal dinner with everyone who wasn’t working. These days, a large group met for the meals so the chores for it were shared and rotated. Tucker and I were on dishwashing duty, and I had my hands in a sink full of hot water as I scrubbed a pot.

  “Abigail Carr,” I replied. “We’re going to claim her.”

  I pictured her in my mind. Petite—she only came up to my shoulder—with lots of dark-brown hair tucked back into a neat twist. It was hard to tell how long it was, but if I pulled the pins free, I imagined it fell all the way down her back. And I would do it, too. Soon, if Tucker and I had our way. She had equally dark eyes and a surprising spray of freckles across her pert nose. She was beautiful—she’d caught my eye the first time I saw her. It hadn’t been lust as it was now. No, she just… caught my heart.

  She’d been just a girl when we met—a shy and tentative little sister of our friend James—and a young woman when she went away to school. But, after two years, she’d turned into a woman. We’d wanted her when she was seventeen, knew she’d be ours someday since she was much too young for us at the time, but now… now it was time to make Abigail Carr ours. We were done waiting.

  “The woman with the scar on her face?” Andrew asked, placing the dirty dishes on the washboard beside me.

  I gave him a hard stare. Tucker stopped scraping plates and turned a hard eye at Andrew.

  “Yes, she has a scar, but she also has brown hair,” I clarified.

  She did have a scar. A mottled, puckered area of flesh on her left cheek that appeared to be from a burn. It wasn’t even like a jagged slice indicating a cut. The damaged area was a mixture of her pale skin and pink scarring. It was an old wound, fully healed, yet her skin would never be blemish free. Whatever the cause of the wound, she would carry the mark as a badge of honor for surviving.

  But the scar was small and inconsequential. Yes, it was noticeable. Yes, it looked bad because of the pain and discomfort it had caused. What scar didn’t? I had plenty on my body, but no one judged me for them or used one as a way to describe me.

  Andrew’s eyes widened at my sharp tone, but he took my meaning readily enough. The scar shouldn’t be used to define her. It bothered me, but Tucker hated it. I was impressed he held his temper and hadn’t punched Andrew in the eye. I was protective of her, but Tucker…

  “Yes, and pretty blue eyes, too,” Andrew added, redeeming himself.

  “Who has pretty blue eyes besides me?” Andrew’s wife, Ann, came in from the dining room carrying a few glasses, an impish smile curling her lips. Christopher, their small son, ran in after her with a handful of napkins. Tucker squatted down and took them, flicking his nose. The boy grinned.

  “Abigail Carr,” I repeated.

  “Yes, she’s quite pretty. Shy,” Ann added. “I’m glad to hear she has a man.”

  “She’ll have two soon, enough,” Tucker told her.

  Ann placed the glasses on the table in the middle of the room and looked at Tucker. “Oh? Really?” She smiled broadly.

  He went back to wiping scraps off the plates into a pail to be taken to the barn for the pigs. “The man is not her fiancé,” Tucker answered, adamant.

  “You’re sure of this, how?” Andrew leaned against the counter, watching me scrub.

  I handed him the clean pot and a dish towel. If he was going to talk, he could dry as he did so. I grabbed a dirty dish and dunked it in the hot water.

  “She told us as much. You should have seen her face. I’ve never seen a less enthused woman when speaking of a beau,” Tucker continued.

  “You still have stardust in your eyes when you mention me,” Andrew teased Ann.

  I looked between the duo, envious of their obvious love. It was not a look Abigail possessed.

  “Ann, what has she told you of him?” I asked, not ashamed of my curiosity.

  She pursed her lips, thought for a moment. “I’ve only spoken with her a few times. Christopher rarely stands still at a picnic, and chasing after him often keeps me away from socializing.”

  She smiled down at her son who gave her a wicked little grin.

  “She spoke more to Laurel. Let me get her.” Walking to the doorway, she called to Laurel, who joined us in the kitchen. She stepped out of the way as Christopher dashed past. We could all hear him squeal with glee and shouting, “More, more,” and knew his other father, Robert, was tossing him up into the air, his newfound delight.

  “They want to know about Abigail Carr’s beau.”

  The dark-haired woman frowned, thinking. “His name’s Aaron, and he has fair hair and is a bookkeeper.”

  I glanced at Tucker. “She did not tell us these facts. She actually diminished the man instead of speaking highly of him.”

  He nodded once then continued his plate scraping.

  “And so you want to claim her after seeing her just this past week?” Andrew asked.

  “You forget, dear husband,” Ann said, walking up to Andrew and putting her hand on his chest. “You offered to marry me after knowing me for ten minutes.”

  Andrew leaned down and kissed Ann then gave her a swat on the ass. I tried to hide my smile, but it was impossible. Their story included a transatlantic crossing, a miserable father, and a runaway. Fate had perhaps stepped in for them when Ann ducked into Robert’s cabin to hide. From what they’d said, they were married the very same day.

  “We’ve wanted her for a long time. Years. But she was too young. It was good she went away to school, to do whatever it is young women do. Dances and whatnot. But since she’s back, unclaimed, she’s ours.”

  “But she’s got Aaron,” Laurel countered.

  “A beau doesn’t not mean she’s claimed. He had his chance but let her come home. We will not wait for another to put a ring on her finger.”

  We were at the picnic when we first saw her after her return. Tucker caught a glimpse of her and grabbed my arm, angled my head in her direction, and just stared. She was with a small group of other women, chatting. We were too far away to overhear the topic, but the conversation was fairly animated. Laurel had been in the mix and tried to include Abigail, but it was obvious she was reticent to join in. She was pretty as a picture in a pale-blue dress that accented her lush curves. Curves I hadn’t remembered seeing before she left for school.

  Even among the other ladies, she stood out. While the others were certainly attractive, Abigail had been the only one to catch our eyes once again, to stop us in our tracks—literally—and ruin us for any other woman, forever.

  Mason, Laurel’s husband, had once said finding a bride was like being struck by lightning, but we’d never held much credence
for the concept. We’d known, even when she was younger, Abigail would be ours, but it was nothing like our need for her now. She’d been just a girl. Now, she was a gorgeous woman. It was a perfectly sunny summer day when the lightning hit both Tucker and me after all the waiting. Abigail, with her shy ways and soft smiles, was the one for us. The only one.

  But when we heard she had a man in Butte, a fiancé, we didn’t approach with more than casual conversation. We didn’t ask her brother for permission to court her or even offer to fetch her a drink at the reception. Nothing. If she was claimed by another, we wouldn’t interfere. But she’d refuted the story that had spread through the picnic. She might have a man, but they were not engaged to be married, and, by her bland response, she was not keen on him. It gave us a chance. There was no ring involved, so we’d pushed her, speaking of kissing her and what we would do if she were ours. She’d responded as we’d hoped. With eagerness, curiosity, and arousal.

  “We wondered why you had no interest in any of the ladies in town. Now, we know,” Andrew commented.

  Marriageable women were few and far between in the area. Tucker and I weren’t too concerned about this, for none of the women who were of an age to wed appealed to us. They were certainly nice and attractive enough, but none had turned our heads… or tossed a lightning bolt at us. Until Abigail. I turned around and leaned against the sink, grabbed the dishtowel from Andrew, and wiped my hands.

  “It’s nice she speaks so readily with you. She’s quite shy,” Laurel added. “Sent to Butte and returns after two years. People have moved on with their lives, gotten married, and had a child, like I did while she’s been in school. It must be hard to return and be on the fringes of conversation.” She shrugged, picked up a leftover green bean from a serving bowl, and nibbled on it. “It’s obvious she’s bothered by her appearance. It makes her not only shy, but wary. What if she was made fun of at school? You’ve heard the talk about her, how men aren’t interested in her because of her scar.”

  We all jumped when a glass shattered against the wall. Tucker stood there, hands on hips, face red, breathing hard. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about the damn scar. From the townspeople, from you. Even from Abigail herself. She is more than a fucking scar.”