Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  “Please do not keep me waiting, my princess,” the ad continued, finishing with the name and address of the gentleman placing the ad.

  “Clayton Townsend,” MariAnne read aloud, shaking her head in shock as she immediately recognized the name of the gentleman who had placed the advertisement.

  “And from what I have gathered, he is indeed a gentleman,” she mused, adding as she stroked her chin to thoughtful effect, “A deputy who has established a stellar representation as a law keeper in this area. I have heard that he has a particular soft spot for women and children; truth be told I had been thinking of seeking him out in town, to talk to him about the way that Ellie and I were being treated at home.”

  Although she had no desire to be anyone’s bride, particularly in light of her current experience, she wondered if Clayton would be willing to take her in and at least provide temporary shelter for her and her daughter.

  “I guess there’s only one good way to find out,” she mused, standing from the bench with Ellie in her arms as she collected her luggage and headed for the door.

  Chapter three

  At times in his life, the silence proved deafening.

  Just returned from a long day’s labor as a deputy sheriff in a bustling Texas town, Clayton Townsend rested easy in the comfort of a luxurious cushioned chair; a centerpiece in a sitting room that featured polished wooden hand carved furniture, decorative buckskin wall hangings, and silver polished miniature statues adorning its interior.

  Although always impressed by the simple beauty of his new home, part and parcel of an inheritance he had earned from a wealthy uncle who recently passed, he at this point found it impossible to enjoy its simple masculine beauty.

  “Every day is the same to me. I get up at the crack of dawn to work my land, then head into town to help keep the peace,” he reasoned, adding as he came near close to collapsing in his chair, “Then I come home, complete another few hours of ranch work, and go to sleep.”

  Sometimes. On a night like this, however, he reflected instead on the continuous cycle of work that his life had become.

  “Sometimes I go to visit my brother at the ranch up on the road, just to hear the laughter and be a part of the family dinners and games; to feel just a little less alone,” he mused, adding with a hefty sigh, “As things stand though, my standard work day is too full to even make those visits.”

  He knew that he always could hire a ranch hand to help out around the place; yet he’d far prefer to share his space with someone who could fill his home with the warmth, laughter and love that he experienced at his brother’s house. And while friends assured him that—with his ebony haired, crystal eyed good looks and tall muscular physique—Clayton could attract just about any female, he did not simply want any female.

  “I want a wife,” he said aloud, the lonesome echo of his words resounding all too loud in the emptiness around him. “Someone to share with, not supervise. Someone to build a life and a family with—not just some random helper who will work the fields with me and heed my every command.”

  And indeed, the responses that he’d gotten thus far to his mail order bride advertisement had supplied him with everything that he didn’t want in a wife; these letters coming from women who offered themselves up as submissive helpmates, revealing nothing about their true personalities beyond their abilities to cook, work the fields and look fetching in a frock.

  “And if I happened to lose my money, these pretty, sweet little lasses would be gone with the wind, sweeping away like so many tumbleweeds across the Texas landscape,” he mused with a snort. “I have no need for some oversized doll that will decorate my home and serve me my meals in the role of a well-paid servant. I want a real woman; someone who will be a loving friend and companion, while still being strong enough to handle a life culled from the fat of the frontier.”

  He jumped in his chair as his troubled meditation was disrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door; one that brought him to his feet as it echoed endless throughout his home.

  “I really don’t know of anyone who bears such a forceful knock,” he thought, rolling his eyes heavenward as he approached the door. “I certainly hope that it’s not the sheriff, here to tell me about another compelling case that needs my immediate attention—one that just couldn’t possibly wait until morning.”

  Not eager to find out the answer to this question, he opened the door with a begrudging hand; eyes flying wide and thoughts scattering as he came face to face with an unexpected visitor.

  In place of the stout, bulky six-foot-tall man with the receding hairline, the sheriff whose frequent and inconvenient visits he’d almost come to expect, stood a petite woman with the appearance of a china doll—all the while staring at him with a determined fire eyed expression that betrayed a soul of steel.

  Dressed in a basic mint green dress of clean but worn calico, the woman’s simple unadorned radiance expressed itself in a sleek shoulder length mane of soft ebony hair, wide dark eyes, glowing ivory skin, and a slender but curvaceous form that—while short in stature—betrayed a certain strength reflected in her toned arms and firm, straight posture.

  Clutched in the woman’s delicate but sturdy hands was an adorable little girl who shone as the mirror image of the woman who held her tight and protective in her grasp; a girl who now looked at him with wide blinking eyes that seemed to convey a certain defined question.

  “Who on earth are you and what on earth am I doing here?” the girl asked him with her eyes.

  “Frankly Miss, I have no earthly idea,” he desperately wanted to respond at this point; opting instead to remember the refined gentlemanly manners that his parents had taught him so long ago.

  “Evenin’, Ma’am—that is, Ma’ams,” he greeted the two females, tipping his wide brimmed ivory Stetson in something of a gentlemanly flourish. “May I help ya’?”

  MariAnne nodded.

  “Are you Clayton Townsend?” she barked, inclining her head sharp in Clayton’s direction as she shuffled her slippered feet on his doorstep.

  “At this point I’m sure of nothing,” he really, really wanted to say, opting instead to make one final attempt at gentlemanly cordiality. “Yes Ma’am, I am indeed Deputy Sheriff Clayton Townsend. And who might you be, Ma’am?”

  Gracing him with a short nod as if finally satisfied that he was indeed the man she’d been seeking, the woman before him offered her his gloved hand as she greeted, “Well good evenin’ Deputy Sheriff Clayton Townsend. I am Mail Order Bride MariAnne Parkinson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Clayton gaped outright as he took the lady’s offered hand and raised it to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss.

  “So I take it that you’re answering my published ad for a mail order bride?”

  MariAnne grinned.

  “Well that is what I said, now isn’t it?” she queried in a light tone, adding as she graced him with an affectionate nudge, “My my, Deputy; you catch on quick.”

  Clayton stared at her for a long moment, blinking hard as he considered the boldness of her words.

  Then he started laughing. Hard.

  “Well I’ll say one thing for ya Miss,” he told her, adding as he invited her inward and closed his door behind her, “You certainly do have a way with words.”

  MariAnne shrugged, pursing her pearl pink lips in a firm businesslike fashion; even as she continued to cradle her quiet sleepy daughter in two adoring arms.

  “Well I’ll tell ya something Clayton, I don’t know if I have a way with words, but I certainly don’t mince ‘em,” she revealed, adding as she pointed an authoritative finger in his direction, “So let me tell this to you plain and straight. I spent a precious portion of my meager savings on the carriage ride that brought me out here; and as I approached your plot of land, I saw the makings of a mighty fine ranch--one that, with the able touch of a woman, just might have the makins’ of a five-star ranch in the Lone Star state,” she paused here, adding as she pointed a confide
nt thumb straight in her own direction, “And I just happen to be that woman. So without further ado, show me my room and we can both hit the hay; getting the rest we need for a productive day on the range tomorrow.”

  Clayton froze.

  “Well now Ma’am, I didn’t precisely say that you had the job,” he reminded her, adding as he made a broad gesture between them, “And I should note, for that matter, that this isn’t a job at all. I did not advertise for a cook or a ranch hand, but for a wife.”

  For the first time throughout the course of their brief acquaintance, MariAnne Parkinson fell silent; inspiring a wave of acute concern in the eyes of her current beholder, who questioned her very well-being in the wake of this sudden change.

  “Are you all right there, Miss?” he asked her, arching his eyebrows just as he pondered the probable location of her smelling salts at this point.

  “I’m all right,” MariAnne answered finally, adding as she looked him straight in the eyes, “but, sad to say, I am not a miss. And although I would be pleased to offer you my services as a companion, a ranch hand, a cook and a consultant—providing, of course, that I’m treated in a kind and respectful manner—I cannot be your bride at this present time.” She paused here, adding as she shuffled her feet beneath her, “And this is owing to the fact that I’m already married.”

  Clayton gaped outright, shaking his head from side to side as he considered these most unexpected—not to mention unsettling—words.

  “Well I guess that would explain the youngin’,” he mused, tone vague and voice barely above a whisper.

  MariAnne nodded, setting her little girl down on the ground beside her as she regarded her with an adoring smile.

  “This is my daughter Ellie,” she introduced her daughter, who now graced their host with an adorable smile and a downright precious wave. “This little girl is the light of my life, and the whole reason I need a good home.”

  Clayton smiled, but only briefly.

  “Well that little gal is beautiful Ma’am, just like her ma,” he praised them both, adding with a belabored sigh, “The problem with this proposed arrangement, Miss—that is, Mrs.—is that a man needs certain things in a prospective wife. He needs her to be smart, hardworking, kind, reliable, and—well, I just say have to say it—not married. Or at the very least, not married until he himself ventures to marry her.” He paused here, cringing as he realized that these last words made no earthly semblance of sense. “Oh, you know what I mean! As much as I would like to welcome a bright, tough, funny and absolutely beautiful lady such as yourself into my home, surely you understand why I can’t. I cannot live in sin with another man’s wife.”

  MariAnne thought a moment, then nodded.

  “I understand this,” she released on a sigh, adding as she pinned him with an entreating look, “Yet the whole reason that we came here, Clayton, was with the hopes that you would understand. I didn’t leave my home as much as I escaped it. My daughter and I ran from a man who made our lives a living hell—ordering us about, screaming at us because of mistakes and minor slights, and even hurting us physically.” She paused here, adding as she blinked hard and suppressed a genuine sob, “He hit me, Clayton—and he threatened to do the same to my daughter, should she ever step out of line. And where my husband is concerned, I’m afraid that his line is a tough one to walk. I almost believe that he looks for excuses to hurt me—the very act seems to bring him pleasure.”

  Clayton said nothing, only took a sharp step forward and swept a stunned MariAnne into a warm, all consuming embrace; holding her tired body in nurturing arms as she rested her head on his broad muscled chest.

  “MariAnne,” he whispered her name in a comforting tone. “I’m so sorry to hear this. Just from knowing you a few moments, I cannot believe that any man would do anything but worship you, to give you and your little one the love and care you obviously deserve. No woman deserves to be treated that way, it’s true—but especially not you.”

  MariAnne nodded.

  “I still find it so difficult to believe that my parents, the angels that they are, would hand me over to that madman for the price of a dowry,” she intoned, more to herself than to a listening Clayton. “I guess that Pa never truly knew his old business pardner, the ever smiling, ever charming Leon Campbell.”

  Clayton froze.

  “Oh dear Lord,” he rasped out, clutching her closer still as he continued, “They sent you to marry the beast of this community—a man whose only previous wife died more than 20 years ago, under very mysterious circumstances. And since that time, my boss the sheriff has had to throw him in jail more than once for getting rough with women—whether they’re showgirls, fancy ladies or even proper ladies that he happened to be courtin’.”

  Shivering outright at the sound of this unwelcome news, MariAnne braced her arms around his muscled shoulders and leaned into the hard toned planes of his comforting being.

  “Thank God Ellie and I escaped when we did, and that I never did take his name,” she told him, adding as she stepped back to pierce him with an earnest look, “I understand totally, Clayton, if you don’t want us to stay here with you. I can’t be a proper wife to you until I divorce Leon; and since I don’t ever plan again to share the same room with him throughout the course of my natural lifetime, I am not at all sure about how to accomplish this goal.” She paused here, adding with a deep sigh, “When I saw your advertisement for a mail order bride, I was sitting in a train station lamenting the fact that I didn’t have enough money for passage home. If you could please lend us the money for our train tickets, I can send you some return funds when we make it back to Ma’s and Pa’s….”

  She fell silent then as Clayton shook his head vigorous in response to her words.

  “I’m so sorry Sweetheart, but I don’t think that it would be the best idea for you to go home to your folks right now. He does, after all, know your pa and will likely go there to claim you,” he informed her, adding as he took her hand between his and stared deep into her eyes, “I want you to know MariAnne, that you and your daughter are more than welcome to stay on here at the ranch—as long as you need to stay.”

  MariAnne shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” she asked him, inclining her head in what seemed to be a show of keen curiosity.

  Clayton smiled.

  “I am more than sure, MariAnne,” he assured her, adding as he opened his arms to her once again, “Far beyond my wish for a wife, I was really placing an ad for happiness. I want to live on a productive ranch filled with laughter and love, and with lots of good conversation,” he paused here, adding with a slight chuckle, “I also wanted lots of children in the house; perhaps not this soon, but I know full well that God never gives us more than we can bear.”

  MariAnne smiled, patting the head of a smirking Ellie as she contemplated the favorite fruit of her own divine ‘labors.’

  “Well rest assured that, in the wake of a few days spent with my youngin and me, you’ll likely be begging for the stifling silence that currently consumes your home,” she assured him, adding more seriously, “I also can promise to work your land with the same tenacity and good ol’ work ethic that I do my own. I certainly am not above a good day’s work, providing that I am always treated in a kind and respectful manner.” She paused here, adding with raised eyebrows, “To phrase it another way; providing that you act in every way the opposite of my husband at all times, well then you and I should get along famously.”

  Clayton laughed.

  “You need never worry about that, Ma’am,” he assured her, adding as he squeezed her fingers between his, “I promise that you will be safe and cared for beneath my roof, at any and all times.” He paused here, adding as he struck a courtly bow deep in his direction, “Consider me at your service, MariAnne.”

  Chapter four

  For the first night in what seemed an eternity, MariAnne Parkinson slept.

  During her many nights spent in the home that had quickly become a p
rison, MariAnne had spent many restless nights tossing and turning in a cold, hard bed; trying to dodge the grasping hands of her lecherous husband as she struggled to garner the rest that she needed to face the grueling schedule of hard labor that awaited her on the morrow.

  And even when she did manage to catch a few random winks of fortifying sleep, her dreams were haunted with horrific images that captured and illustrated the hell of her life.

  “Those stories that my ma used to tell me on AllHallows Eve, about headless horsemen and monsters in the bed, had nothing on the nightmares that held me captive, nearly every evening for three years,” she mused. “Perhaps because I knew that the visions I saw in my sleep were cold hard recollections of things that had happened in my recent history; as opposed to darkened flights of fancy that I could dispose of and forget with the coming of the sun. I relived the same nightmare every day, only to see and feel it reflected in my dreams whenever I tried to sleep.”

  Now, by contrast, she found her dreams sweetened by the presence of an angel; a beautiful man whose gentle voice and ethereal presence succored her fears and bathed her senses.

  Clayton escorted her and Ellie to a corner guest room, a room of pleasant elegance adorned with cafe style floral print curtains, soft shag carpeting, and two single beds covered with lace ruffled floral print quilts that shone in their ebullient handcrafted artistry.

  Ellie immediately smiled at the vision of a lovely room that seemed like something out of her favorite dollhouse, the precious toy that—along with the dolly that she had brought with her to the house that night—had supplied the little girl with a hearty dose of comforting fantasy in the face of a troublesome life.