by Reece Butler
Climax, Montana 4
No Strings Attached
Tough rancher Lila Frost is determined to prove to her parents that she can manage the Circle C Ranch while they're away for a month. She's desperate for hired hands, so eagerly signs up Jet Quartermain and "Houston". Having just left the Army, Jet wants to ease into civilian life while Houston needs to recover from his injuries.
Lila's experience with men has been limited and boring, though her fantasy life is rich. Jet's insistence he be her master at night both arouses and annoys her. Naturally dominant men, they find her independence an enjoyable challenge. She enjoys their attention, and the jealousy shown by spiteful rivals from her past.
The stakes are raised with the possibility of pregnancy as Jet, born a bastard, insists a baby means a husband while Lila refuses to consider it. When Lila's life is threatened all three must reconsider their pasts, the present, and future plans.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Length: 131,489 words
NO STRINGS ATTACHED
Climax, Montana 4
Reece Butler
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
NO STRINGS ATTACHED
Copyright © 2014 by Reece Butler
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-865-2
First E-book Publication: June 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of No Strings Attached by Reece Butler from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
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This is Reece Butler’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Butler’s right to earn a living from her work.
Amanda Hilton, Publisher
www.SirenPublishing.com
www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
With this book, I’ve had fifteen erotic cowboy romance novels published. It has been an amazing journey, in so many ways.
I’d like to thank all those who helped me along the way. Some provided encouragement, while others provided lessons.
Most of all, I want to thank my readers. Hearing how my work has affected you—whether it’s making you laugh or cry, reach out to love someone, or take a step in a new direction—makes it all worthwhile.
I hope you continue to enjoy the ranchers of Tanner’s Ford Valley as another generation finds love.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
About the Author
NO STRINGS ATTACHED
Climax, Montana 4
REECE BUTLER
Copyright © 2014
Prologue
Simon MacDougal swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He’d survived another cold, dark Montana winter. Barney, as usual, kept his lap warm and provided purring company. Jane’s wedding to Riley and Travis Adams the other week reminded him of his age and that his twin sons were in no hurry to provide him with grandchildren.
Simon’s legacy to his family would be a history of Tanner’s Ford. His main source of reference materials were the journals from the women who’d arrived on the Bride Trains in the early 1870s. The first to arrive, Beth Elliott, had left a treasure trove of detailed journals that had, on occasion, left Simon blushing.
Barney suddenly leaped onto the desk and began washing briskly. Simon rubbed his thigh where the cat’s back claws had dug in. Barney froze in mid-lick, his tiny pink tongue sticking out. He stared across the room at nothing, something he’d been doing a lot in the last few months. Simon shook his head fondly and returned to reading aloud.
“May, 1870. Following the orders of the town council, Sheriff Frank Chambers placed Beth in jail. She’d refused every suitor so the council ruled she’d be married at midnight. Big Joe Sheldrake boasted he’d marry Beth and put her in her place. With a good idea what the brute would do to Beth, the sheriff found Trace Elliott to marry her instead. Joe took the opportunity to sneak into the jail and attack—”
“That wasn’t Joe.”
S
imon looked around the room. He and Barney were alone, yet he swore he’d heard a vibrant female voice.
“Either I need another drink, or I’ve had one too many.”
“You’ll not banish me with your whiskey, though I wish I could have a snort. It smells a lot better than the rotgut at Baldy’s Saloon.”
A beautiful, scowling woman appeared in front of his desk. She wore a black velvet floor-length dress that clung to her ample curves. Golden hair piled high was topped by a tiny hat. She looked half his age, about her mid-thirties. She also looked familiar, as if from a photograph he’d seen long ago. He blinked, but she didn’t disappear.
“Who are you?”
“Beth Elliott, at your service.” She curtsied with a smile. “It was that damned deputy, Charlie Newton, who attacked me. So I punched him, right in the jaw. It stung like a rattler, but he backed off.”
Simon attached the face to the photograph preserved in his archives.
“Elizabeth Katherine James Elliott died in 1949.”
She stuck her fists on her hips and looked down her nose at him. “Good lord, you sound like Trace lecturing me before a spanking.” Her expression cleared to a saucy simper. “And afterward…oh, Lord, those men could make me scream.” She winked.
Okay, his subconscious could have filled in that detail. He’d read every one of Beth Elliott’s X-rated journals more than once.
“Are you a ghost?”
Beth held out her right hand and inspected her nails, as if bored. “I much prefer the term ‘spirit.’”
He’d learned enough from his twin to know not everything could be explained. Lance knew things, and could sometimes heal with his touch. So, he had a ghost visiting him.
“Why are you here?”
“Since the last person to have met me has passed, I can show myself and help you.” She patted her hair in a way that reminded him of old Mae West movies.
“Help me? But, you’re dead.”
She arched a haughty eyebrow. “There’s no reason to be rude about it, young man.”
She brushed a speck of dust off her bosom. He wasn’t young, he was damn near sixty-five. His leather chair squeaked when he leaned back. Barney glanced up at the noise, then went back to washing his chest.
“How do I know you’re Beth Elliott?”
“You’ve read the journals. Ask me something that’s not in them.”
“Did Grace, the woman who had her tongue cut out to keep her silent, marry Billy O’Keefe’s father?”
Beth’s smile raised the light level in the room. “Yes, Grace married Paddy. They lived with Judge Ambrose Thatcher and Miss Lily. Paddy spent a lot of time in the city doing his specialized carpentry, and Grace took over Rosa’s job as cook and housekeeper. Grace had two daughters. They inherited Miss Lily’s Parlor after Ambrose and Lily passed with a winter fever. Emma Elliott married Billy and Daniel MacDougal that spring, and they shared the home.”
Simon looked away to hide the rush of relief. He’d read so much about the people of that time that they were real to him. He’d add the details to his notes. He cleared his throat and took a better look at Beth. Unlike Lance, he was not used to unusual things happening.
“So, you’re here to help me get a full account of our valley’s history?”
“I’ll answer your questions, but I’m here for the future, not the past. It’s time this generation marries and has children. I am not going to wait as long as I did with you!”
“With me?”
“Do you remember when you stood on that rock, then fell and broke your leg?”
He nodded. “I still don’t know why I tripped.”
She gave him a haughty look. “You didn’t trip, dear boy. I jabbed my hatpin into your leg.” She blew on her knuckles and rubbed them against her breast. “I’m rather proud of that one. Worked like a charm.”
“I thought spirits couldn’t lift things.”
“You were balanced on the apex of two probabilities,” said Beth. “If you fell, you would break your leg, meet and marry the love of your life, have three sons, and live happily. If not, you’d grow into a miserable old man who everyone avoided, and this ranch would pass to the Texan MacDougals.” She peered at him like Queen Victoria on a bad day. “I worked damn hard to jab that hatpin in you.”
Did he dare to ask…
“Have you seen my son Danny? They said he was killed by a roadside bomb, saving his men. Did he really pass without pain?” Simon couldn’t keep the trembling out of his voice.
Beth nodded, her face full of the agony he felt in his heart.
“Yes, he passed in an instant, giving his life to spare his men,” said Beth softly. “He’s now helping fallen soldiers find the light and move on. He didn’t suffer. And because of him, only two men were injured.”
His wife had been devastated by Danny’s death. If the ghost of Beth Elliott could get his twin sons married, and their wife in the family way, it would go a long way toward helping Marci heal.
“You’re here to help Ross and Brody find a wife?”
“Those two? Fat chance!” Beth snorted. “Those boys of yours aren’t near ready to settle down.”
“If not my boys, then who?”
“Your niece, Lila Frost.”
“And you think Lila’s ready to settle down?” He shook his head. “She’s far too busy. Her parents will be gone for at least a month, and she hasn’t been able to find any hired hands. She’s insisting she’ll do it all herself but no one, male or female, can manage on their own.”
“Then it’s a good thing a pair of ranch hands will be arriving.” Beth winked like a saucy courtesan. “Lila needs to discover the joys of hot sex with a couple of steaming cowboys.”
Simon choked.
“Hot sex? Lila? She stomps around like an Amazon, daring anyone to treat her as a woman.” He shook his head. “I love her like a daughter, and don’t want her hurt.”
“I want her happily married and pregnant, not hurt, you fool!”
“So do I, but—”
“Lila needs men who are rougher and tougher than she is. Men so strongly masculine that they make her feel feminine. She’ll learn being a woman is not something to be ashamed of.”
Beth snapped her fingers, and was gone.
Chapter 1
Jet Quartermain feathered the brakes as they entered Climax, Montana. The place was so small he could see the far side of town before the road curved and rose into the next set of mountains. They’d left Dillon ninety minutes earlier after another night sleeping in the truck. He could handle it but, though Houston didn’t complain, he knew his buddy often lay awake in pain. Jet had sprung him from the hospital only a few days ago. Houston needed good food and a warm bed so he could heal. And for that, at least one of them had to get a job. Jet saw the sign announcing the Climax Roadhouse and Diner and his stomach growled.
Someone stepped from behind a pickup to cross the road ahead, and he slowed. At first he thought it was a guy because of the height and confident stride. She was built, with a good-size rack and a well-rounded ass, and legs that went on forever. She also had a thick blonde braid that hung down the middle of her back. Her hat shaded her face, but he liked what he saw. At six inches over six feet, he was afraid of hurting small women. Not a problem with this one. His cock sat up and took notice, not that it would do him any good. He had nothing to offer a woman other than a night’s pleasure, and that was only if they provided the bed.
He and Houston had two bucks and change on them. If they were lucky they could get a couple cups of coffee at the diner. If not, Houston would get coffee and Jet might get a glass of water. His stomach complained louder. A cup of water, or coffee, was not going to make up for going without lunch and supper yesterday.
A quiet moan of pain from the back seat clinched his decision. He needed the job, and no warning from a two-bit punk was going to stop him.
Putting the woman out of his mind, he parked nose-in by the diner’s window. He quietly
opened his door and stepped onto the pavement. He didn’t quite shut it again, so as not to wake Houston. His ride looked old and rusted, but thanks to his buddy’s mechanical genius she ran like a dream. He glanced in the passenger window of the back seat. Houston’s eyes were closed. The morning light was harsh on his scars.
Jet didn’t swear, ever, but at times like this he was temped. He’d heard far too much cursing growing up, a lot of it directed at him. Houston had served his country, had been injured in the service of that country, yet he was hungry and in pain, sleeping in the back of his army buddy’s truck. It wasn’t right, but so many things weren’t. He clenched his fists, took deep breaths, and let the anger flow into the ground.
An old-fashioned bell rang beside his head when he opened the door. He scanned the room before stepping in and pulling off his hat. His mouth watered at the scent of bacon, onions, and coffee. The man across from him wore a crisp white shirt, buttoned to the neck. The only time Jet had seen a man wear a bowtie was in a James Bond movie. It suited the old guy. Jet could almost see him pulling a secret agent gadget out of his pocket. He pulled his last two bills out of his shirt pocket and set them on the bar.
“Morning, sir. Will two bucks buy a couple cups of coffee?”
“Your money’s no good here, soldier. Tell your buddy to come in for breakfast.” The man reached for a thick white mug and began pouring.
They’d been sleeping rough in his truck since leaving San Antonio a couple days ago. He hadn’t cut his hair for weeks, or shaved in days. He set his hat on the barstool beside him.
“How’d you know?”
The owner set the full mug down and reached for another. Jet’s stomach grumbled at the smell of decent coffee. He nodded his thanks. The guy pointed to the front window after he set Houston’s coffee on the counter.
