by Cheri Chaise
But I hadn’t even finished one entire seam before ripping out my pitiful efforts to try again. This was nothing like needlepoint or tapestry weaving. At this rate, I’d be lucky to present my intended with something resembling a loincloth instead of proper attire. And neither free from blood specks.
Tears welled in my eyes as I considered the enormity of the task I’d undertaken. For the first time, I almost regretted my decision to leave home – until the bitterness of my leaving brought a rush of new tears to wet my cheeks as I stared out the window.
I should’ve known the expedition would be fraught with discomfort and peril from the very beginning, when only my sister and Mrs. Barker saw me off from the train station. My own father couldn’t be bothered to see his eldest daughter one last time as I embarked on a treacherous journey that would likely separate us forever.
When I’d taken my seat aboard the train car, I strained to see beneath the clusters of towering hats, yearning to catch one more glimpse of a father who had once treated me as if I was the jewel in his crown.
As the train gave a final whistle and lurched away from the platform, I thought I saw him for just a moment. A familiar mustache and strong chin among the pressing crowd. My heart leapt. He hadn’t forgotten me in his haste to scurry off to yet another meeting to escape my presence and the reminder of my misdeeds.
But alas, the vision dissipated like a puff of smoke behind the veil of tears I’d fought against all that morning. With a last wave to Abby and Mrs. Barker, they’d quickly faded from my sight.
Now I was alone among a sea of strangers as we journeyed farther west. Into the unknown.
I dried my tears as surreptitiously as possible before glancing around at my fellow travelers. When I’d begun the journey, there were plenty of bonnets and bows sprinkled between hats along the rows of seats.
But with each passing mile and stop at increasingly less gentrified destinations, males quickly replaced the females until I was counted among the few remaining. From what I could see, I was now the only unaccompanied lady. By the time we reached St. Louis, I feared what might befall me.
I shook my head. Such silly thoughts plagued me, exacerbated likely by discomfort and the need for uninterrupted rest. That’s what I would find in St. Louis.
Cole’s letter mentioned a reputable hotel not far from the station where I might stay until the steamboat was ready to disembark. A comfortable bed and bath were mere days away. For now, I’d make do with what was available to refresh my mood.
I carefully stacked and folded the fabric pieces before tucking them into the sewing basket. Then I rose and made my way toward the rear of the train car to rinse out the hanky in the communal washbasin.
Even the tepid water helped to soothe my overwrought nerves. In a moment of daring, I drew the curtain and removed the bodice of my dress, hanging it over the bustle of the skirt and reveling in the comforting water as I traced the cloth over my bare arms. If only to free myself from the corset’s confines. But I wasn’t that audacious with only the thin curtain to separate me from the coach’s other passengers.
Still, I rinsed the cloth and dipped it between my swells and over the tops of my breasts with a sigh of the only relief I could find in such a setting. Rinse. Squeeze. Stroke. Rinse. Squeeze. Stroke.
The repetitive motions lulled me into a blissful state as heated skin cooled. Rivulets chased one another over my shoulders, down my back, and between my breasts like the touch of a lover.
The image I’d conjured of Cole sprung into my mind as I lightly traced the cloth over my skin. I chanced loosening the ribbons of the specially-made corset I’d commissioned from a rather notorious seamstress who serviced those of less reputable women. Without a maid accompanying me, I’d never have managed the task of dressing and undressing myself otherwise.
The moment my breasts were freed, I breathed a bit more deeply for the first time in four days. Long, languid strokes of the hanky over my nipples nearly sent me into a swoon as I pictured Cole’s hands touching me. Stroking. Pinching until I mewled with pleasure.
My heart leapt into my throat when a thump nearby startled me out of my imaginings and stilled my hand. My pulse hammered as I held my breath and quickly covered myself and turned toward the outside wall.
A chill swept over me. A glance over my bare shoulder ensured I remained alone, though I couldn’t be certain if the movement of the curtain was merely from the sway of the train.
I allowed only a moment longer for my skin to dry before carefully putting myself back to rights.
Just as I’d secured the final buttons, the train lurched, sending me tumbling sideways before thrusting me into a tangle of curtain.
And an unfamiliar pair of arms.
A dark pair of eyes greeted me. “Are you alright, miss?”
The man wrapped his hands around my waist and set my upright. Even after regaining my feet, the warmth of his hands remained.
“I am well, thank you.”
The swarthy gentleman’s eyes traced me from my feet to my bit of millinery as I steadied myself against the nearby seatback. Though he was smartly dressed in the latest fashions, his continued study of my form left a disconcerting twinge in my stomach. As did his lingering hand as he bent to stare out the window.
“It appears we are stopping to take on some water for the boiler.”
The accent was foreign. British with a hint of something else I couldn’t identify underlying the tongue. Not so uncommon in the coastal cities, what with merchantmen and businessmen coming into port from all corners of the civilized world. But out here?
“Thank you for your assistance, sir, but if you will excuse me.” I attempted to extricate myself from his grip around my waist until it tightened further.
His face moved in close, smelling of tobacco and sweat. With the remaining passengers facing forward, no one noticed my distress.
But instead of molesting my mouth with his, the lips moved to whisper across my ear. “An unaccompanied woman should take care when among men.”
My eyes widened when he pulled away and released my person. But before I could get away, the slowing train lurched to a stop and sent his grip to my arm to stop my descent.
“I can help you,” he continued as a lecherous grin slowly oozed across his face. “For a price.”
Warmth flooded my face. I had no doubt what his price was – and what he’d seen by my stupid actions at the washbasin.
With surprising strength, I jerked my arm from his grasp and hurried up the aisle to find my seat.
And with the trembling in my hands and the sinking sun, Cole’s new shirt would just have to wait.
Chapter Six
Cole
The sun beat down on us, its beams giving off enough heat that it finally felt like summer had arrived. Bret and I long ago had shed our shirts and let the warming rays soak into our sweat-drenched skin.
I glanced over at my brother as he propelled a wood post into the new hole I’d dug for the pasture fence line and swiped the sweat from my brow – and sighed. There was nothing for it. At this rate, my brother was going to look every bit the shade of his native blood.
I tossed aside the hammer and took a long swig from the canteen before passing it to Bret, breathing deep of the Montana air as we surveyed our work.
“It’s coming along,” I observed.
A nice, neat row of new posts stood at attention. Bret’s suggestion of expanding the pasture instead of just fixing the existing fencing was proving to be a wise investment of time and energy. Anything to get our minds off of thinking about what might – or might not – be happening with Estella.
The weeks of questioning turmoil were taking their toll. Did Estella get on the train or not? If so, did she successfully make the transfer to the riverboat, or had she changed her mind at St. Louis and returned home?
Was she safe? Protected? It grated on me that I couldn’t do anything about that. I was used to being the one in charge around here.
/>
Was she as anxious as I felt for our first meeting? Prepared for life on the prairie? For taking care of four lonely and ready men?
None of us were handling the agonized waiting very well. We’d done nothing but bury ourselves in work. Any work. Hell, at this point, I think we were all ready to build a new house for her – just as long as she arrived.
And soon.
Bret tugged the bandana from around his neck and poured a bit of water on it before smearing the cool wetness across the angles and planes of his face and neck.
He viewed our handiwork. “It’s gonna be big.”
I followed his line of sight. “You think we’ve made it too big?”
“It’s Montana. Everything is supposed to be bigger around here.” A grab of his crotch only emphasized his meaning.
“Keep it in your pants.” But it reminded me of the tough conversation we needed to have. Now was as good a time as any.
I strolled closer and propped a booted foot on the lower rail between a couple of new posts. The breeze quickly cooled my bare arms and chest, and my nipples tightened, sending my mind deeper into the mire.
And into thoughts of how best to broach this subject.
Bret sidled up beside me and leaned against the new fence railing. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“You’re stewing on something. Just spit it out, brother.”
My vision narrowed. This was the main reason Bret and I got along so well – he always saw right through me. There was no hiding the churn of my gut from him.
My Adam’s apple bobbed as I swallowed my pride. Better to face the issue head-on.
Instead of tugging my hat down to shield my eyes, I pushed it back so he could see the seriousness in my eyes. “I want you to take first rights with Estella.”
Dark eyes widened as he whipped his head around to face me. “Well fuck that.”
“That’s right. I want you to fuck her good and hard for me.”
He ripped his hat from his head and threw it into the dirt. “You can’t offer her up to me like that.”
“I’m not offering,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m telling.”
Bret pressed up nose-to-nose with me. “You can’t do that.”
I could almost feel the spark from the glint in his eyes as I leaned in ever closer to drive my point home. “I just did.”
A growl. “Are you just trying to torment me?”
“I thought I was relieving it.”
“Not when…” Bret backed up and grabbed fistfuls of his long hair. “All I can do anymore is think of her. Imagine the silk of her skin beneath my fingers. The scent of her hair. The taste of her lips.”
“I’m right there with you, brother,” I admitted. “But all I think of is burying my cock between her thighs.”
“You think I don’t?”
“Of the four of us, I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee you’ll be the most gentle with her. You’ll treat Estella just like one of your skittish colts, which is better than how the rest of us might approach her.”
“That’s a crock of shit.”
“But true. I’ve watched you with your horses for years.”
My brother stalked off a short distance with a huff like a bull about to charge and kicked at the freshly turned earth just waiting for a post to slide into the hole – which only served to emphasize why I was doing this.
“You’re the oldest, Cole. It’ll be your name beside hers on the register.”
“Only to make the marriage official.”
More dirt went flying. “It’s only right for you to have her first.”
I left him to fume in silence, picking up the hammer and setting back to work securing additional rails to the posts, pounding out both of our frustration on more nails than necessary to fix each board in place.
It wasn’t like I was happy about denying myself the woman who was going to be my wife. On paper at least. Even for a little while. I was more than pent up and ready to plunge my cock into Estella’s heat and pump her pussy until we were both too sore to move.
As hard as I always was of late, my cock would probably pound these nails through the wood better than any hammer.
But there was more than just my needs at stake in this transaction – and more than one reason why I was giving up what I wanted more than anything.
The fuming and fumbling of dirt clods had stopped from behind as my hammering quieted. I spat the nails held between my lips into my hand and turned around. My brother’s dark gaze had softened with more than acceptance.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”
I only offered a grunt before returning to the work. That was definitely not a conversation I was ready to have – no matter how many years had passed. The pounding of nails was nothing to the pounding in my head on that subject.
And in my heart.
Dusty boots came into view. “There’s no guarantee Estella will be accepting of the rest of us anyway.”
The hammer slipped off the nail head and caught my thumb. “Son of a…”
No blood. No broken bones. But it throbbed like a bitch as I shook out the initial pain. Bret picked up the hammer I’d dropped and finished securing the railing before handing over the tool with a smirk.
“Nothing in life ever goes according to plan.”
This I knew well. We all did. My throbbing hand was present proof.
“It needs to be you to take her first,” I ground out.
Bret bent to pick up his hat and dusted it off against his pant leg. “Answer me one question first.”
I ripped the broken fingernail off with my teeth and spat it on the ground. “Shoot.”
“Why?”
“I already told you why.”
“And I’m calling bullshit on that answer.”
The firm set of his jaw said he wasn’t going to let me skirt the issue. As I considered my response, our youngest brother exited the far end of the barn and headed our way across the pasture. I couldn’t put this off any longer.
“I need to know she’ll accept our differences.”
He scoffed. “It’s only skin and hair.”
I inspected my injury with a sigh. Numbness set it on more than my thumb. “If only everyone saw it that way.”
Bret leaned against a firm post and watched me before a grin slowly tipped the edges of his mouth. “Okay. I’ll do my best to fuck your wife for you.”
“Our wife.”
“I just hope she comes around to seeing it that way.”
I shook his outstretched hand. “You and me both, brother.”
“Hey, Cole!” Drew jogged the last few yards, tromping down the wildflowers now in full bloom. “Are we taking one or two wagons to Fort Union?”
My brows raised of their own accord. “We’re still a month out. I haven’t given it much thought yet.”
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Drew responded with a grin as he draped himself over the brand new railing.
Wood shavings and bits covered his sinewy muscles in a thin layer from top to tail and stuck to his sweaty face like an unnatural beard. The stench of turpentine wafted heavy in the breeze. It was a wonder my brother stayed conscious when working in his element.
“Well…,” I started, taking a few steps upwind. “How many pieces will you have for shipment?”
“Uh,” my fume-addled brother began. “There’s a table and chairs.”
“How many chairs are we talking?”
Drew screwed up his brows. “It was ordered to seat…six?”
“Okay, so seven pieces.”
Drew thought about it a moment and nodded. “And I should have the detail work on the china cabinet finished for oiling and varnishing by next week.”
“Seven plus one makes eight then,” Bret interjected.
The youngest slowly counted on his fingers. “Yup, that sounds about right.”
I glanced over at Bret for confirmation. “That’ll fill one entire wagon.”
“There’s Evan’s furs and hides he’ll want to ship.”
“Don’t forget something to eat,” Drew reminded us.
I snatched his hat from his head and wrapped a meaty arm across his shoulders. “Can’t forget to feed ol’ hollow leg here.”
“Course not,” Bret joined in on Drew’s other side and ruffled his sticky hair.
“So that settles it then,” I finished. “Do you think two wagons will be enough to keep you satisfied?”
Drew’s grin widened further. “As long as Estella is on board when we come back, I’ll be plenty satisfied.”
I glanced over his head at Bret with a cocked brow. “Me too, brother. Me too.”
I breathed a sigh as we got back to work, glad to have the necessary conversation with Bret done and over with. Thrilled he’d given in so easily to my demand.
If only I had the courage to tell him the real reason behind it.
Chapter Seven
Estella
I was ready to jump off this God-forsaken steamboat and drown myself in the rapidly flowing and, at times, madly churning waters of the Missouri River. Already I’d lost count how many weeks the trip had taken.
A week on that hot, stinking train. What was the point of having so many windows when you had to leave them up? There was no choice when the opportunity for letting in a cooling breeze threatened to fill one’s lungs with enough soot to choke every last soul aboard.
And now this – this never-ending boat ride against a current that threatened daily to sweep us into so much flotsam that there couldn’t possibly be a single tree left standing up north. Nearly every day we lived with the threat of having the bottom of the steamboat torn from beneath our feet.
My nerves grew raw with each passing day. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since leaving St. Louis. Or more than a sponge bath since the accommodating hotel Cole had arranged for me while I waited to come aboard. Now I could only but dream of languishing in a warm, scented bath by an inviting fire.
Plenty of water surrounded this boat. But it was neither warm nor inviting. And the scent of fish, mud, and rot was enough to keep my stomach nearly empty all the way to Fort Union – if ever we arrived.
