Robby Riverton Mail Order Bride

by Eli Easton

  His mouth watered.

  “The way you look at me, I could almost peak from your gaze alone,” Robby said shakily.

  “Don’t. Not before I get to taste ya.”

  Trace took his time, kissing Robby’s thighs and pulling his tender balls into his mouth one at a time to test their spongy weight, tugging on them with gentle suction. He moved one of Robby’s legs over his shoulder, so he could give a nibble to the slight curve of his ass. The floor was tough on Trace’s knees, but it was easy to push away the discomfort with Robby spread out for him like this. At first, he ignored Robby’s increasingly desperate moans and the way he sank his fingers into Trace’s hair and tried to tug him where he wanted him most. But finally, he licked his way up Robby’s cock and took him in deep.

  Robby’s spine arched, his head thrown back, and he shouted Trace’s name. The dewy moisture at his head tasted like the memory of a faraway sea as it coated the top of Trace’s mouth and hit the back of his throat. He had to swallow away the desire to gag. It had been awhile since he’d done this, had a man in his mouth this way. He closed his eyes, finding the rhythm, drawing on Robby as he pulled out, slackening to allow him back in.

  Trace wrapped his arms under Robby’s thighs, cupped his hips. He could measure the effect he was having by the way those thighs began to twitch and then tremble on his biceps. Robby was loud in his pleasure, moaning and cursing, gasping Trace’s name. The sound of sex in that rich voice made Trace feel every sensation Robby felt, until he was sure he would explode himself, untouched.

  Then Robby grasped his head with both hands and raised stuttering hips. Bitter-sweet flooded Trace’s mouth. He groaned around Robby’s cock and held him tight, not letting him withdraw. He wanted to give him every bit of pleasure. He didn’t let Robby go until he started to soften on his tongue.

  He looked up to see a red flush on Robby’s chest, throat, and cheeks, and a sheen of bliss in those green eyes. “Lord, I . . . That was the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

  Trace grinned, feeling very cocksure of himself. “Yeah? It compares all right with those New York men?”

  Robby managed a slight glare. “I didn’t spend my days rolling around in bed, you know. But the few lovers I had, yes, you put them to shame. Now get up here and lay down. I’m going to start slowly because my heart is nearly done for. But I promise, I will give it my all.”

  He was true to his word. Trace was already so close that he welcomed the tease, even pushing Robby off a few times. But once Robby started milking him in earnest with that large, wide mouth, it didn’t take long for the intense delight to overflow and shatter. And Robby’s own hand, working between his legs, gave him a second peak moments later, just as he’d predicted. It was enough to make Trace want to do it all over again.

  They slumped on the bed together. Trace was too relaxed to move until Robby pushed and prodded him to fully lay down. Robby reclined next to him, under Trace’s arm, his head resting on Trace’s sweaty chest. Trace felt his heart gallop against Robby’s cheek. He might have dozed for a moment. When he woke again, Robby was tracing light patterns on his ribs, and the light through the window had turned golden.

  The moment felt like a heavy thing, a step out of time, one that couldn’t last and was all the more precious for it. He raised a hand to cup Robby’s head and nuzzled his thick, dark hair. He smelled of pomade and of sex and of excitement—of things beyond the reach of Trace’s plain, ordinary life. He felt a stab of longing and pushed it away sternly.

  He wasn’t going to pine over things he had no right to have. He was going to be with Robby right now and help him through the mess he’d gotten himself into. See him safely off to build a new, glamorous life somewhere else. And that was all.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Robby traced nonsense patterns on Trace’s taut ribs, feeling the peaks and valleys of flesh and bone. He felt at peace for the first time in days, and he refused to think about putting Rowena’s dress back on and returning to the ranch.

  The sex was great, but this sense of peace and the soft, warm feeling soothed his tired soul.

  “How did you do it?” Trace asked.

  “Huh? Do what?”

  “Well . . .” Trace trailed lazy fingertips up Robby’s back. “Today at breakfast I felt like I was in a different family. Marcy and Emmie sittin’ at the table, Clovis saying please and thank you, napkins, for God’s sake, and nobody threw crap all over the floor. How’d ya pull that one off?”

  He sounded amused and Robby smiled against his chest. “I made it a game with the kids. Whoever had the least crumbs around their seat got a nickel. I ended up giving away three nickels. Worth it.”

  Trace grunted. “How’d you get Roy and Wayne to play along?”

  Robby looked up and waggled his eyebrows. “I might have suggested that Marcy and Emmie could offer a more suitable reward if they won.”

  Trace barked a laugh. “Christ on a crutch. You’re somethin’. Ya know that?”

  “Rowena is on a mission.” Robby settled back down again happily. “It keeps my mind occupied, I suppose.”

  “I thought you’d want nothin’ to do with us after one meal in that house.” There was tension in Trace’s voice.

  “You’re embarrassed by your family,” Robby said.

  Trace snorted. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Robby thought about it. “I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. My family was humble.” Though not, Robby thought, anything as wild as the Crabtrees. “Anyway, I like Marcy and Emmie. Clovis. The kids. Even Pa-Pa.”

  “Pa? He’s the most pig-headed son of a gun that ever lived. He’s always gotta have things his way, and he won’t listen to a soul, no matter how wrong he is.”

  Robby considered that. “There was a stage manager at the Burton. He’d fight you tooth and nail about anything you suggested to his face. So you had to go around about it. For example, if you stood there looking at a big castle wall they’d built, glowing with admiration, like this”—Robby put on a look of childlike wonder—“and mused to yourself like so: ‘Oh that wall is stunning! I can almost picture a real castle, as if there was an archway just there with morning light spilling through.’ Why—” He snapped his fingers. “—the next day there’d be an archway with lanterns strategically placed behind it. You could bet money on it.”

  “Dear Lord. No wonder you’ve got poor Pa wrapped around your little finger.”

  “He’s not that bad. He just hates to be criticized or told what to do. But if you give him a logical argument and let it go, he comes around.”

  Trace squeezed Robby gently around the waist. “Guess I ain’t all that much better myself. I was such a rube when I first left home. Had a commander take a shine to me, General Armstrong. He’d invite a few of us to dine with he and his wife once a week. Everythin’ was just like a picture book in his home. I learned a lot. I even got to speakin’ better around them, not saying ‘ain’t’ and whatnot. But bein’ back home, it became a habit again.”

  “I understand. My brain is obsessed with picking up accents and mimicking them.” Robby switched voices, impersonating Pa-Pa. “Why, iffen I was to hang out around Flat Bottom for long, gol dern it, I’d be sayin’ ain’t till the cows come home.”

  Trace’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “Oh, Lord. That’s funny. But please don’t talk like Pa, or I may never touch ya again.”

  Robby grinned. “Sorry.”

  Trace smoked for a while and Robby lay there smiling. But then he had to ask, “Why didn’t you do something when you came home? About Marcy and Emmie?”

  Trace sighed. “I tried. I told Pa if he treated the gals that-a-way, they’d up and leave one day, like Ma did. He got so angry he nearly punched me. We never talked about it again.”

  Trace’s mother. That was such a sad story. “What did happen to her? Your ma?”

  Trace was quiet for a moment. “She went to visit her mother in Texas, and she never came back.”


  “I thought she ran away?”

  “That’s the way Pa likes to tell it. But Wayne says he remembers she got a letter that her ma was sick. She told Wayne she’d be back soon, but she never came home.”

  Trace’s voice was flat, as if it were ancient history. But Robby had a feeling the damage done to Pa-Pa and those little boys had been deep and long lasting.

  “What if she meant to come home?” he asked. “What if something happened to her?”

  “I dunno, Robby. I can’t fault anyone for wantin’ to get away from Pa. Guess we’ll never know for sure. I wish she’d at least sent us a letter. Somethin’.”

  “You don’t think . . . . I mean . . . . I still don’t get why your family is so prone to bruises,” Robby hedged.

  Trace froze up for a moment, then took another drag on his cigarette. “I told ya no one hits those gals. And no one hit my mother either. I’m sure of that, at least.”

  Robby shrugged. The few times he’d hinted around about it to Marcy and Emmie, they hadn’t had a clue what he was getting at. But there was a closed-off edge to Trace’s voice that said he didn’t want to talk about it. Which of course made Robby more curious. There was something there, something no one was admitting to. He just didn’t have a clue what it was.

  Trace sat up and gave Robby a once-over, as if checking to see if he was still there, still okay. “I had a wire from the U.S. Marshals. They should be here by middle of August.”

  “But that’s still three weeks away. And I’m supposed to marry Clovis on August first!”

  “That weddin’ ain’t ever gonna happen,” Trace said with calm conviction. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. The main thing is to keep you safe till they get here. After you talk to them, I reckon you can get on with your life.”

  Trace smoked his cigarette while Robby lay on the bed, arms over his head, thinking. Not touching felt like a wasted opportunity, though, so his feet found their way into Trace’s naked lap. Trace held them with one hand while he smoked with the other.

  Robby thought about what a strange period in his life this had been. Someday, he’d look back on it and laugh. If he was still alive, anyway. As crazy, and sometimes frightening, as it had been, he couldn’t regret it. He’d experienced the West by wagon train, saw Santa Fe, and met Trace Crabtree.

  Robby had a feeling that even when he was old and gray, these moments with Trace would be the highlights of his romantic life. And it wasn’t just because Trace was handsome as the devil. He could be so gentle and protective. He acted lazy at times, but when push came to shove, he’d been there for Robby every time, from saving him, a stranger, from the Bowery Boys on the streets of Santa Fe, to moving back in at the ranch to watch over him. He was so confident and steely, intimidating even gangsters. But there was a thread of needful vulnerability in him. He touched Robby like he was a precious thing, looked at him like he was made of gold.

  Yes, Robby could love Trace Crabtree. Maybe he already did.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Robby said.

  “About what?”

  “About what I want in life.”

  “Now, that’s a dangerous thing.”

  “What is?”

  “Wantin’ things in life.” Trace’s tone was playful, but Robby thought he meant it.

  Robby studied him. “Why, Trace Crabtree, you old cynic. This is the age when you should be dreaming those dreams and making them come true.”

  Trace gave him a wry look. “I’ll bear that in mind. So, what are your dreams?”

  “Oh, you know. Become a huge star in San Francisco. And . . .”

  “And?”

  Robby shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “A family. I’ve realized my career isn’t everything. I want someone to come home to. Maybe poor Clovis is rubbing off on me.”

  Trace’s expression grew tight. “You want a wife?”

  Robby gaped. “No. I want someone I can love completely, body and soul. Do you want women that way?”

  “No,” Trace admitted, looking at the floor. “Just men.”

  “Me too.”

  “Ya want to . . . to live with a man?” Trace’s voice was tense, doubtful.

  Robby shrugged. “Why not? There were men who did it in New York. One of the most famous actors in town lived with another ‘bachelor’. Everyone knew they were lovers, but no one really cared.”

  “That may be in the theater, but it sure ain’t the case in real life,” Trace said with iron in his voice.

  Another test of Trace’s feelings on the subject and another sound rejection. And, oh, but the stab of pain Robby felt was hot and fierce. “You’ll stay in Flat Bottom, then, and marry a woman someday?”

  But he thought: Don’t you know I could love you? Doesn’t that matter at all?

  “No,” Trace said. Then, more hesitantly. “Haven’t really thought about it, Robby.”

  Robby doubted that. What man didn’t think about it? But he didn’t press, and he didn’t miss the way Trace’s hands grasped the arch of his foot more tightly and with a touch of desperation.

  Trace was right. It hurt to want things.

  “For God’s sake, Robby Riverton, you have enough trouble!” Rowena’s voice scolded in his head. “How about you get clear of the Bowery Boys once and for all before you waste time mooning over romance? For all you know, you’ll be dead in a week and none of this will matter.”

  Rowena was right, confound her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Robby walked back from the cabin in a bit of a daze. His body felt relaxed and sated, but his mind tumbled with worries. The Bowery Boys. The U.S. Marshals. Disappointing Clovis. Trace’s flat insistence that there was no possibility of them having a future, ever.

  That sure ain’t the way in real life.

  Robby needed to put the hurt those words caused from his mind. This thing with Trace was a dalliance, that was all. God knew he was beholden enough to the man without acting like a spoiled child over what he couldn’t have. But then, it was in Robby’s nature to cling stubbornly to his dreams beyond all rhyme or reason. That trait had gotten him on the New York stage.

  He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t register the sounds at first. The path to the river was behind the Crabtree’s barn, so Robby had to pass it to get to the house. But as he drew close to the large, brown plank building, he heard voices. Men’s shouts, kids’ excited jabbering. A loud laugh. And squealing. Lots and lots of piggy squealing.

  Robby stopped in his tracks and listened. What the hell was going on? It was probably around four in the afternoon. The sun was low but not yet close to sundown. It was Sunday, the one day the Crabtrees seemed to take off work, so what were they—

  There was a loud scream and a crash. Robby held up his skirts and raced around the side of the barn. He stared at what was going on at the paddock, unable to get the picture to make sense.

  He saw Emmie, in a mud-covered old dress, standing just inside the corral fence watching something avidly and clapping.

  Missy and Paul were outside the fence but had stuck their heads through to watch.

  Baby George was crawling in the grass, contentedly playing by himself.

  Wayne, Roy, Marcy, Emmie, Billy, and Clovis were in the middle of the corral, running around and they were . . .

  Were . . .

  Were?

  Robby walked slowly toward the corral, blinking.

  Squee-squee-squee. “Ha ha ha!” “Watch out, don’t—” “You almost had ’em. Go that-a-way!” Squee!

  They were . . . playing with the pigs. Robby watched, stunned, as Roy dove and the huge patriarch pig, Killboar, slipped out of his grasp. Killboar was covered with mud, as was everything in the corral. He gave a triumphant glare over his shoulder at Roy just as Wayne and Marcy tackled him from two different sides. Killboar squealed and flung himself around with powerful lunges, but Wayne and Marcy hung on.

  “Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” Wayne shouted.

  And Marcy was lau
ghing so hard.

  Robby, still not trusting his eyes, walked slowly toward the fence. Billy, likewise mud-covered, spotted him and waved, grinning.

  Another pig must have stepped on Wayne’s leg as he was being drug around by Killboar, because he let go. Then Killboar dragged a screaming-laughing Marcy a few feet and banged her into a fence post. When she let go, Killboar pranced away, nose in the air like he was the English king.

  Robby rushed the rest of the way to the fence and knelt. “Marcy, are you all right?”

  She smiled. “Oh, yeah, I’m—” She realized it was Rowena and she froze. A horrified look came over her face.

  “Gol dern it! I told y’all not to wrassle before the weddin’! I told ya and told ya! Now you’ve gone and ruined everythin’!”

  Robby turned to see Pa-Pa striding angrily toward them from his horse.

  An hour later, they sat around the dining table drinking coffee. The ones who had been in on the fun in the corral had washed up and put on different clothes. Pa-Pa was tight-lipped and red-faced and Clovis . . . Clovis sat at the end like usual, elbows on the table, his big, shaggy head in his hands despairingly.

  Trace had wandered back from the cabin too, arriving after all the fuss, and he sat beside Clovis, a spot of red high on each cheek proclaiming his embarrassment. He couldn’t meet Robby’s gaze.

  “Y’all couldn’t wait just a few more days,” Pa-Pa said, disgusted. He shook his head and gave Wayne a wounded look. Wayne looked shamefaced.

  “Sorry Pa. The gals said Rowena took long walks, so we figured . . .”