by Cheri Chaise
The moment my body was sufficiently healed to don a corset again, I dressed and ventured from the bedroom to take in my new home.
The main floor consisted of a roomy living area with a long dining table taking up the far end nearest the corner rounding to a narrow kitchen. My stomach cramped to see the well-used stove, still warm from a breakfast they’d made for themselves. All of the gleaming pots and pans were stacked neatly in the cabinets just waiting for me to prepare a meal.
And I was determined to do something spectacular tonight to make up for all of the time I’d wasted lying in bed.
A nook along the opposite wall in the living room held a rather crude desk that had seen better days. The quality of the bookshelves bracketing the window on either side were a vast improvement in construction.
One of which held an empty void. A smile tugged at my lips as I traced a finger along the spine of a neighboring tome. Bret had stayed true to his word and cleared space for some of my collection. My heart swelled at his considerate gesture to a fellow bibliophile.
The only bedroom on this level was the one I’d occupied since my arrival. A trip up the stairs revealed four much smaller ones, though surprisingly neat and tidy for rough and tumble men. That meant Cole had given up the marriage bed to me to sleep in.
All alone.
It was in the cramped attic where I discovered what I sought in my excursion. My trunks left little room for maneuvering beneath the squat eaves of the pitched roofline, and it made things difficult sorting through until I found the one I sought.
I smoothed a hand over the top and welcomed the familiar scent as I raised the lid to welcome my books to their new home.
Tears clouded my vision as I lovingly pulled first one novel from the protective nest. Then another. Most had been given to me by my father, who’d been more than happy to encourage the expansion of my mind – at one time. My books had been my haven throughout my life, but especially during the dark days of these last years of confinement.
Never again.
I straightened my shoulders and firmed my spine before picking up the chosen stack. It was only when I stood that I remembered the low ceiling. Books tumbled from my arms as I rubbed the growing knot on the back of my smarting skull. Cole had said I needed to stay aware of my surroundings out here in the Montana Territory.
I just hadn’t considered the admonition included his attic as well.
I stooped this time as I more cautiously scooped up my books from where they’d scattered and glanced around to see where my loom had ended up. Then stopped. A knot in my throat impeded my ability to swallow as I pulled aside the tousled canvas tossed haphazardly over the tiny piece of furniture crafted so obviously with love.
A cradle.
It mocked me as I considered the tiny child it was made to hold. The yellowed bedding signified its creation wasn’t recent but made in expectation of a baby some time ago. Had it been a boy or a girl that had occupied this precious bed?
In all of his letters, Cole had never once mentioned losing a child. My heart ached a little for my husband. No wonder he was short. Rather distant. Cold. I couldn’t begin to imagine what losing a baby would do to someone.
Then I worried anew what he’d do once we finally came together and months passed with no signs of a swollen belly.
“There you are.”
I nearly hit my head again as I spun around to see Bret’s head sticking up from the stairwell opening. At least I managed to hold onto my books this time.
I smiled guiltily, clutching the stack to my belly and speaking a little too loud as I navigated around the trunks. “I noticed you cleared a shelf for me and came looking for some of my books to fill it.”
If he noticed I’d uncovered the cradle, he didn’t say anything. “Let me help you with those.” He reached to accept the ones I passed over. “I stoked the fire in the kitchen so it’s good and hot, and I’ll help you get dinner started.”
“Dinner?”
“You know, that thing we do where we sit around the table at the end of the day?” His lips flattened momentarily into a serious line. “The shearing will be done soon, and my brothers will be ready to inhale everything in the cellar once they clean up.” A humorous gleam then sprang into his dark eyes.
I tossed him a smile I hoped appeared confident. “Well then I best get started then, shouldn’t I?”
“Just show me what you need me to do,” he said, following me down the stairs.
I handed over the rest of my books when we reached the main floor. “You can shelve these for me while I prepare dinner.”
He cocked his head to the side on that long, graceful neck. “I’ll be happy to help you in the kitchen.”
I shook my head. “It’s better if I learn my way around on my own.” And that he didn’t see me bumbling about in complete incompetence.
“Okay. Just tell me what I can bring up from the cellar once I get these put away.”
During the last few days of recuperation, I’d planned out a first meal intended to amaze my new husband and his brothers. Something simple that wouldn’t challenge my meager abilities too far. With a satisfied stomach full of delicious delicacies, I’d hoped it might spur Cole to finally acknowledge and take me as a husband should.
Unfortunately my carefully laid plans took a disastrous instead of delicious turn. The stove was too hot for the ham and the glaze shriveled around it to a hard, blackened crisp that stunk up the kitchen. I got so flustered when smoke began seeping from the grate that the mashed potatoes overcooked into a mushy, bitter soup.
Then the biscuits – heaven help me, the biscuits! Rocks carved from the hillside would’ve been easier to chew.
Instead of sitting around watching the Carston men try to swallow the swill I’d prepared, I rushed to follow the trail of smoke billowing out the open door and escaped to cry my eyes out in solitude.
The nicker of a horse in the nearby stall and the rustle of sweet hay pointed out the fallacy of my expectations. I wasn’t even capable enough to find a corner of Montana to myself, much less prepare a palatable meal.
After all of the struggles and strain to arrive at my new home and please my husband, I’d failed miserably. What made me think I could start over in a new life? At this rate, I’d never gain the love I so desperately craved from a man. Any man.
I didn’t even hear the approach until he spoke. “Would you like to see the foal?”
I started at the soft, kind voice, the one I’d come to appreciate after all of the time Bret had taken to heal my body. Without a proper handkerchief, I used the edge of my silk sleeve to dab at my eyes before I faced him. But I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“That…I’d like that.”
“Come with me then.”
He extended his hand as if inviting me onto the dance floor at a ball. My fingers itched to settle into his palm, but I resisted the urge and walked beside him instead. When his hand settled lightly on my back to lead me, I nearly jumped from my skin. Warmth seeped all the way through my corset by the time we reached the applicable stall, and I sorely missed it when he pulled away to open the enclosure.
“Stay behind me and watch over my shoulder until they get used to you,” he instructed. “She won’t let you see the foal until she’s comfortable with your presence.”
Misery transformed into excitement, along with a slight nervousness as I followed Bret into the stall to see a lovely brown mare. She nickered in greeting as Bret reached into his pocket, pulled out what appeared to be a piece of carrot, then held his hand under her muzzle to eat directly from his hand.
He then glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes twinkling in the dim light of evening. “Give me your hand.”
I slid closer near his side and opened it for him to drop another bit of carrot before he cupped my small hand in both of his large ones and drew me forward.
“Does she bite?” I whispered.
“No,” Bret responded in a smooth tone like
melted butter. “Just stay calm and be sure and keep your fingertips out of the way so she doesn’t mistake them as part of her snack.”
Both of my hands flattened out at the same time as I anchored the other against his strong, sinewy shoulder. Awareness of our close contact heated my face – until a warm tongue startled me from the haze as the horse accepted my offering. I had to fight against the squeal that rose in my throat at the strange sensation of the powerful tongue on my palm.
The mare finished the carrot and bumped her muzzle affectionately into both of our still outstretched hands. I gently stroked my fingers down her wiry mane.
“She’s beautiful,” I cooed. “What’s her name?”
Bret cleared his throat. “Billy.”
That stopped me for a moment. “Billy?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of a name is that for a mare?”
“The kind of name my ornery brother Drew would use.”
I chuckled softly and continued stroking the new mother. “Drew does have quite the sense of humor. He readily demonstrated it in the stories he told on the trail.” I drew away from the mare with a sigh as the tranquil moment was disturbed by thoughts of the difficult journey. “Though if it wasn’t for him, I’d have never made it all the way out here in one piece.”
A grunt. “Let’s give Billy some space.” Tension twitched Bret’s shoulders as he stepped away from the mare and leaned against the stall railing. “Cole can be a bit…driven at times.”
“And stubborn,” I muttered.
“So can you, from what I heard.” He raised a brow and the tinge of a smile tipped one side of his lips. “Nineteen trunks?”
I dipped my head but couldn’t contain the smile. “Don’t forget the loom.”
“Is that what that thing is called?”
“Where did he put it anyway? It wasn’t upstairs with my trunks.”
Bret shook his head. “I haven’t seen it. Been too busy taking care of my new charges.”
Panic nearly overwhelmed me. “You don’t think he broke it up for firewood, do you? He threatened once to do that on the trail.”
“Shhh, you’ll spook her.”
He leaned forward watching Billy, but it was the press of his hand against my stomach that sent a ribbon of panic through me this time from the shiver of delight that thrummed between my legs.
“I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sure if the apology was so much for frightening the horse as for my body’s reaction to Bret’s touch – and that I desired more of the sensation. It didn’t help when he leaned my way and whispered in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin as his warm breath sent an ache deep into the belly he’d just touched.
“Trust me…if Cole was going to tear apart your loom, he’d have done it at Fort Union instead of packing it up and carting it all the way back here.”
The mention of my husband – his brother – tamped down the spark that sought to burst into a flame. At just the right time too, as Billy stepped aside and allowed us to peer into the corner of the stall.
Rays from the setting sun cast deep shadows on this side of the stable. A rustle of hay and a nudge from its mother brought the foal into the light and surging toward Bret’s outstretched hand. He bent to stroke the knobby-kneed newborn.
I bent as far as my dress and the damnable corset allowed. A pinch kept me hunched above Bret’s side, and I again laid a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I observed the tiny, beautiful creature.
“He’s so small,” I whispered.
“Born a little early,” Bret said with a scruff behind its ears. “But he’s a fighter, aren’t you boy?”
The impossibly small muzzle glistened with moisture, as if he’d just finished nursing moments before our arrival. “What’s his name?”
“We don’t usually name them right away…just in case.”
My heart pinched just like the corset I’d managed on my own. “That’s sad.”
“As Cole would say, that’s realistic.” He stood and sent the foal back to nuzzle his mother’s udder. “Unfortunately, out here there are plenty of predators eager for an easy meal.”
I was beginning to pick up on the theme where my husband was concerned. “But he’s safe in here, right?”
“Usually.” Stormy eyes raked across my face before they connected with mine. “But accidents happen.”
I shivered again. “I suppose.”
“It’s getting late.” Bret opened the stall and splayed his hand against my spine again to lead me out. “We should probably get you to bed before you catch a cold.”
A cold wasn’t what I was worried about. “I am rather tired after…well.”
He secured the stall then circled my waist with both of his hands. “You’re wearing a corset again, aren’t you?”
Heat bloomed in more than my belly this time. “My dresses won’t fit otherwise.”
“You better not let Cole catch you with one on again.”
“As if he cared,” I murmured.
“Actually he does,” Bret said as we exited the stables, closing the door after me. “When he found out what the other one had done to you, he had Evan take it out and burn it.”
“What?” I sputtered. I’d wondered why I hadn’t found the specially made item among my things. “Why?”
“Believe it or not, he does care about what happens to you, which is why he was horrified by what that contraption had done to your body when he cut it off.”
Warmth seeped into my cheeks. I could only imagine how my bruised and battered body had disgusted him, especially after the way he’d reacted to it fully clothed.
Bret stopped abruptly in the dust of the yard, sending the chickens scattering in a flurry of startled clucks. Then he adjusted his hat to get a better look at me in the deepening twilight. I felt every inch of his inspection, though his expression was impossible to read.
“After all,” he continued with a gravelly edge in his voice, “you’re family now.”
But he wasn’t staring at me like I imagined a typical brother-in-law should – and yet I almost welcomed the growl in his tone. That mark of appreciation was more than my husband had shown me in the weeks since we’d met.
What might it feel like for those long fingertips to caress my skin? Those lips to press against mine? His firm chest sliding against my softness? His hard…
I wrapped my arms around my waist and hurried toward the house. Regardless of how Cole ignored my presence, I was determined to be a faithful wife.
No matter how enticing his brother.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cole
From the moment I knew Stella was going to be okay, I’d kept myself busy. Distractions weren’t too hard to find on the ranch, since there was always something to do. Summer was always brief on the Montana prairie, and we had a lot of work to accomplish before the arrival of winter.
The larger chicken coop was coming together nicely as piece-by-piece Drew’s design came to life before my eyes. The chickens didn’t seem bothered by all the racket I made with hammer and nails either, clucking and pecking like curious children near my feet.
Children. I sighed and wiped my brow then stared off through the trees at Drew and Evan as they joined the hands in harvesting the bit of farmland we planted every spring. The moment the ground softened after the long winter, we popped in a bit of carrots and tomatoes, peas and onions, corn and cabbage, and plenty of potatoes to store throughout the cold months. Every year I looked forward to tasting that first red, ripe tomato.
However, this year I could only think of tasting one thing – my sweet, succulent wife. Those silk skirts glimmered in the hot sun as she finished up offering a drink to my brothers and then made her way back toward the house.
The one quality I’d quickly come to admire about her was that she never complained. Not about the hardships she’d suffered coming out here, or about the work she’d obviously been unprepared for. I just never imagined a woman who coul
dn’t make a decent biscuit.
Oh, there’d been plenty of tears, and not just the ones Bret had had the honor of witnessing. Many a night, I’d stumbled by her bedroom to hear sniffles as she dampened her pillows behind closed doors.
But she had that bit of fighting spirit necessary in these parts – and not just when haggling over her possessions. I could tell from the way she stumbled over the rocky terrain and the way she hefted that water bucket and spilled half the contents down her stupid dress that she was tired and her hands hurt. She could’ve dropped the heavy thing in frustration and run into the house crying like most women were wont to do.
But she didn’t. She switched from one delicate hand to the other or plunked it on the ground to stretch her small back and shake out her shoulders. Then she picked it up again and continued to trudge forward. Closer and closer.
Instead of heading straight to the house she angled my way on the far side of the dusty yard. Tendrils of dark hair that had come lose from her coil whisked about in the breeze then clung to her glistening cheeks. I quickly swiped my brow and returned to pounding away my frustrations on wood and nails instead of doing what I wanted to do – take my wife inside and pound her pussy with my cock.
“Cole?”
Just the sound of that sultry voice sliding over me made me immediately hard. “Yeah?”
“Would you like a drink of water?”
I wanted a drink alright. But it wasn’t of water. Still, with the sun beating down and my thoughts twisting toward the heat beneath imagined lifted skirts, I dropped the hammer and accepted the tin cup, keeping my eyes on the chickens with a gruff acknowledgment.
She set the bucket down with a sigh and inspected my work with her hands propped firmly on rounded hips just begging for me to clutch and anchor myself to. Hips that were perfect for holding on during a good fucking.
For bearing children.
“So…what is this going to be when you’re done?”
“A chicken coop,” I grunted.
Her pert little nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head. “A chicken coop?”
I wanted to do nothing more than kiss the wrinkles out of that adorable button on her face while I played with the button between her thighs.
