The Bartered Bride [Climax, Montana 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “She’s not Zarah.”

  Riley, scowling, continued to dig a hole in the dirt with his boot.

  “That accent and those twenty-dollar words made me so frigging mad!”

  Travis had kept one eye on the woman as she stomped toward the road. He’d automatically reached out when she tripped even though he was thirty feet away. He nudged his brother to look. They both watched her wipe her eyes with the back of her wrist as she stared at the road. She was hurting, had given up on their help, but her back was straight.

  “She’s a beautiful, well-dressed, intelligent woman,” said Travis quietly. “To the good ol’ boys in this joint she’s like crack cocaine. She’s so far above them that they’ll rip her to pieces, just to destroy what they can’t have.”

  He didn’t mean it as a figure of speech. Riley still scowled, but he was thinking.

  “If she’s still here after we get out, I’ll think about it,” he said grudgingly.

  “I’ll take her with me,” said Travis. “You’ve got Buster for company. She’ll help keep me awake. Maybe I’ll have her drive for a while so I can sleep.”

  Riley’s grin proved his quick temper had already cooled. “No way, bro. We’ll trade. You take Buster to keep you awake, and I’ll take Blondie. She looks better than Buster, and I bet she smells better, too.”

  Travis eyed her slender silhouette. She could do with a few pounds, but she had the makings of a few curves. He opened the door of the honky-tonk. The stench of stale air, spilled beer, smoke, blood, and desolation hit him in the face.

  “Shit, this place is worse than I figured,” muttered Riley, behind him.

  Heads turned as they walked in, checking them out. Travis looked back just as steadily with a “try me and you’ll lose” expression. Being six foot five plus boots and hat, with shoulders honed from ranch work and steer wrestling, he met very few who wanted to take him on. Sure enough, the cowards turned away to mutter into their beers.

  The tall, beefy bartender had what looked like prison tats on his knuckles and bare arms. He wiped a glass with a towel Trav wouldn’t use on his front bumper.

  “Need a pit stop and food,” said Riley. “What you got that’s hot and fast?”

  “Bean and beef burritos good enough for ya?”

  “We’ll take seven,” said Travis. “And a couple of hamburger patties for the dog.”

  “They’ll be ready when yer done yer bizniss.” The bartender jerked his head to the side.

  Riley and Travis followed where he motioned. The toilet facility was as bad as the bar. Rust, or something worse, stained the cracked urinal. He covered his hand with his shirt to turn the tap on. Nothing happened.

  “We’re not leaving her here,” said Riley as he zipped up.

  “Damn straight.”

  They collected the food, paid, and left. He looked around, but no blonde woman waited to demand a ride. All they heard over the faint rumble from the bar was insect noise. Buster didn’t come running up, so he must have hopped through Travis’s open window.

  “Well, too bad,” said Riley. “She’s not here, I’m hungry, and I’m not waiting. She’s gone. Not our problem.” He headed for his truck.

  Travis’s stomach rumbled. He’d come back and look for the woman after they ate. He jerked open his door. Buster’s wide, border collie grin greeted him.

  “You fed up with Riley?” He smiled to himself. Buster would help find the woman when they returned.

  “Hey, Rye!” he yelled. “Buster’s with me.”

  His brother waved acknowledgment as he drove off. Travis pulled the door shut before ruffling Buster’s fur.

  “A couple more hours and we’ll be there.” He got a quiet whine in reply. “You keep your nose out of that bag,” he warned. “We’ll stop in a couple of miles to eat.”

  To reduce temptation he leaned a long arm over the seat and set their supper in the back before following Riley again.

  Why hadn’t the woman come after them? And how had such a fine-looking, intelligent, smart-mouthed East Coast lady end up hiding in the dark bushes around a seedy South Texas honky-tonk?

  He drummed his fingers on the wheel. She was in big trouble, the kind that led to permanent consequences. No matter what her fancy clothes and accent suggested, she’d had a tough time. They didn’t tolerate abusers back home, but he knew the signs. When Riley stepped forward, she’d flinched, lifting her hands in a defensive gesture. Those reactions didn’t happen from one blow. No wonder she was hiding in the dark.

  He’d send Riley on ahead to the condo after they ate. There was no way Travis could live with himself if he didn’t get her to a safe place. It was too late to leave her anywhere, so they’d haul her along.

  Buster whined and gave him that sad puppy dog look.

  “Won’t be long now, boy. There’s the sign for the picnic area.”

  Buster sighed and rested his nose on the back of the seat. Another soft whine tugged at Travis. Buster was the type of dog who could say a lot without speaking, and he was talking loud. The dog wanted something in the backseat. Since he was not licking his chops, it wasn’t supper that had his attention. Nothing else had changed since he’d jumped in through the open window.

  Jumped in…

  The penny dropped. His tight shoulders eased. Of course!

  Buster must have brought her to the truck, where she’d have found the open window. Travis should have realized she was so desperate she’d try to stow away, but he was too tired and hungry to think straight.

  The last time he’d had a gorgeous woman in the back seat of his truck had been in college. Tight jeans constricting an eager cock reminded him how long it had been since he’d pleasured a woman. He slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. The pain in his hand didn’t reduce the one in his pants, but it caused a high-pitch squeak to erupt from the backseat. Buster whipped his head around, ears perked.

  Oh, yeah. There was a stowaway all right.

  A rare wide grin, of relief and anticipation, stretched his mouth. They couldn’t let the women mess up their plans, but they could help her out.

  Travis followed Riley’s truck to the last picnic table. He climbed out, stomped around the front bumper and let Buster out the passenger side. Instead of taking off as usual, the dog waited expectantly at his feet. Riley needed to eat before Travis let his stowaway out. Big brother liked to laugh and joke, but when he was hungry, he turned into an ornery cuss. They’d both been hungry when they met Blondie. Riley was already past the ornery stage, verging on cantankerous, so Travis would stall for a bit.

  He climbed over the side of the truck, landing hard to shake up his stowaway. He checked that the ropes lashing his equipment in place were tight while keeping one eye on his brother. When he saw Riley unwrap the second burrito, he climbed out. Buster was still waiting by the passenger door. Travis looked in the window. His coat was draped over something on the floor behind the front passenger seat. His exhaustion from driving two thousand miles in two days faded with anticipation. Blondie was not the type to give up easily, but neither was he.

  He hauled open the door with a loud creak. She might think she was covered, but he could see the edge of her black skirt and the boots beneath. He used one finger to lift the edge of his coat. Her skirt barely covered the curve of her ass. He lifted his coat off her, tossing it into the front seat. She trembled, but didn’t shift position.

  She knelt, facing away from him, hands clasped around her neck. He bet she didn’t know it was a submissive pose, one he’d enjoy seeing her in while naked at his feet. Whoa! He shook out his jeans, trying to find space for the biggest boner he’d had in years.

  He was pretty sure she didn’t know what she’d agreed to by climbing into his truck. According to tradition, the woman was now under his protection until he decided she was safe. He would care for her whether she wanted his help, or not.

  Travis took his time checking her out, wondering how long she’d wait knowing he was there,
watching. He had patience when he knew what he wanted. Her refusal to give in intrigued him. She was a puzzle to be solved, one that heated his blood and gave him all sorts of ideas.

  Her blonde hair was all over the place except where her fingers held it down. The perfect nails were now scratched and bitten. Her jacket was ripped at the elbows, which likely meant she’d fallen, or been pushed, backward. That meant her butt, back, and head could be hurt as well. Maybe her soft skin was scratched. His cock jumped. It would be a tough job, but he was man enough for it. Yep, he’d just have to cowboy up and check out that sweet ass for abrasions.

  Since she was under his protection, he cleared his throat instead of touching her to get her attention. The trembling stopped. He waited for her to sit up and beg. She didn’t move, or speak. Her refusal to give in made him grin.

  “You going to get up, or do I have to haul you out?” he asked, as if they were having a pleasant conversation.

  Chapter 3

  Jane had been taught how to conduct herself in difficult social situations. None of her lessons on deportment had prepared her to be discovered by a far-too-attractive man as she crouched on the floor of his truck, a cool breeze blowing under her short skirt.

  Adrenaline raced through her body, but it wasn’t fear. This cowboy had her tingling, and it wasn’t just the pins and needles from holding still in an uncomfortable position. The dark growl of his voice made her tremble. Yet, underneath the demand that she move, there was a thread of humor which struck her hard.

  One look at him and her heart had fluttered. Fluttered! She could feel his eyes staring at her back end. It was a totally ridiculous situation, which demanded an equally ridiculous reply.

  “You can’t see me,” she declared. It was more of a croak as her mouth was jammed against the rubber floor mat, but she was sure he’d hear.

  “Is that so?” he said with far too much amusement. “As it happens, I trust my dog, and Buster says we have us a stowaway. That would be…you.”

  A warm hand rested on her bottom. A large, male hand. She froze, though inside her a volcano’s worth of heat seemed to erupt. He gently squeezed, patted her, then released. She lifted her head just enough to haul air into her suddenly empty lungs. She opened her mouth to demand how he dared touch her posterior, but an unfamiliar tension suddenly centered high between her legs.

  Oh, my. Was that her pussy purring?

  No! She would not allow it. She wanted nothing to do with a man. Though she faced away from him, she was basically kneeling at his feet. Such a position was undignified and subservient. Then why did the thought of him standing in front of her while she knelt, naked, make her nipples tingle and pussy ache?

  She released her hands and raised her head a couple of inches. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her squirm. Her present predicament arose from men’s ridiculous need to control, and abuse, those they believed weaker. Therefore, she would be strong.

  “I am not harming you,” she said primly, “merely temporarily delaying your journey. Surely you can understand I had to get away from that horrid place. Unless you’re a cretin, you would have noticed the lack of positive feminine ambience when you entered the establishment.”

  * * * *

  Travis grinned down at the tempting bundle. He hadn’t heard anyone use so many syllables in one sentence since college. She sounded as prissy as a sexually repressed English professor or librarian. He took a moment to imagine her with all that blonde hair tucked neatly on top of her head. She’d wear a crisp white blouse and black skirt, dark hose and black heels with a tight white bra and cotton panties.

  After he’d taught her to relax and enjoy her body, she’d throw out the cotton. Instead, she’d wear a silk and lace camisole with a matching garter belt, stockings, and thong. Her breasts would move freely, nipples scraping against the lace to keep them erect.

  Ooh, yeah. He could handle some of that.

  But he was her protector, dammit, and that meant hands off. This woman was trouble with a capital T. But he was a bulldogging Montana rancher. He could handle an educated city gal way out of her comfort zone. Her vocabulary would wind Riley even tighter, but he’d get over it.

  His stowaway sighed. The tense muscles at her shoulders and back eased. Not in relaxation, but in resignation to her fate. He wasn’t going to abandon her, far from it, but she didn’t know that.

  “At least take me across a county line. I don’t trust the police here. Some of the men in the bar are no doubt related to the local law.”

  She didn’t beg, cry, or ask for pity. Instead, she spoke calmly, accepting responsibility for herself. He liked her gumption, and would give her respect for it. But he was the one in charge.

  “Crossed the county line a mile back.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She slumped. “Thank you for the ride. I’ll get out of your way now.”

  Her back humped as she tried to get up. It didn’t work, so she wiggled her ass. He bent his head to get a better view of the situation. Her skirt was short, and there was a notch cut in the back. As she strained to get loose, she gave him a tantalizing view of the shadows hiding her pussy.

  Oh, hell, yes!

  A closer look showed she’d jammed herself in so tight her jacket had caught on the backseat release lever. Not wanting to put his hand that close to her breast without permission, he waited for her to ask for help. She didn’t, so he took his time admiring the way she squirmed. Would she move like that while riding him?

  “What’s holding you up?” demanded Riley from the picnic bench.

  She choked, then froze. Her rasping breaths filled the silence.

  “We got us a stowaway,” he called out without taking his eye of her. “She’s stuck on the floor of my truck.”

  “What the hell!”

  Riley’s swearing got louder as he stomped over. The woman began to frantically jerk, trying to get loose.

  “Help me, please!”

  Since she’d asked, he placed his left hand on her back to hold her still. He maneuvered his fingers into the tight gap between her right breast and the seat to release her jacket. While the breast had some flesh, he could feel the lumps of her spine through the thin jacket with his other hand.

  “Get out of the way!” demanded Riley from right behind him.

  He ignored his brother while helping her up. He held out his forearm, allowing her to use his strength. She released him as soon as possible and gingerly slid onto the backseat. At no time did she look above his collar.

  He noticed her dizziness and fear, as well as how hard she fought to hide it. She leaned over and grabbed the strap of her backpack. He caught a flash of cleavage as she moved, but this time it was accidental. It still got a rise out of him.

  “If you will kindly move, I will be on my way.”

  A moment ago she’d begged to get loose. Now she sounded so cold an icicle wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Her hair was a mess, her clothes even worse, and she was filthy. Yet she spoke as if she was in a limo giving the driver permission to open the door so she could stroll into the palace and have tea with the Queen of England.

  He added dignity and poise to the list of things he liked about her. He didn’t move, even though Riley jabbed him in the back. Ah, yes, she also ticked off his brother just by existing. Considering how Riley tormented him when they were kids, he appreciated the opportunity for payback.

  “What were you doing at that bar?” he asked calmly.

  “Don’t let it concern you,” she replied, her voice as stiff as her back.

  The stuffy accent, so much like Zarah’s, was back. He felt Riley bristle beside him. She used the hand not clutching her backpack to push her hair behind her ear. The delicate lobe, with a pearl earring, was just the right size to nibble.

  “You’re in my truck, so it concerns me,” he replied, hardening his voice. “Answer my question.”

  “I do not speak with people to whom I have not been introduced.”

  “Well, la-di-d
a!” burst from behind him.

  “Riley, the lady has a point.” He pointed at his brother. “This is Riley Adams of the J Bar C Ranch. I’m his brother, Travis, and the furry one is Buster. We’re on our way to the Texas Gulf Coast, where we have a job remodeling a couple of condos for the next few months.”

  She worried her lip with her top teeth for a moment, and then gave them each a brisk nod. She still kept her eyes low.

  “You may call me Jane. If you will kindly let me pass, I shall leave you to your meal. I do not wish to be any further inconvenience.”

  Buster, who’d been wiggling around at Travis’s feet, finally managed to get past. He scrambled over her pack, making her release the strap, then crawled onto her lap. He licked her face. She laughed, and Travis’s stomach dropped. She’d gone from disheveled brat to poised society matron, and now looked like a delighted child.

  This woman would be fascinating, as well as confusing and confounding. She’d be a challenge since he’d never know who she’d be from one moment to the next. He liked his world orderly, and she would drive him crazy. At least he wouldn’t be bored. Horny as hell and frustrated as all get-out, but not bored.

  Jane ran her fingers over Buster’s ear, giving the dog a sweet smile that Travis wanted shining on him. He stumbled as Riley shoved him sideways. His brother scowled as if he was ready to take her apart. He reached for her with one arm. She flinched and tried to back away, but there was no room. Buster bared his teeth and growled. Riley pulled back, even more furious at Buster’s defection.

  “What the hell have you done to my dog?”

  Her fear disappeared as if she flipped a switch. She stared at Riley calmly but Travis could tell from her slight tremble that it was only on the surface. She gently pushed Buster’s shoulder, urging him off her lap. He turned to her, ears low, and whined.