How the West Was Done 2
Disorder in the House
The first train hurtles into Laramie City. Liberty Hudson is so full of exhilaration to be independent that when rowdy passengers thrust her into a stranger’s arms, she freely necks with him, but flees in a panic when the train reaches Laramie.
The stranger is Levi Colter, the new Indian Agent at the nearby fort. His predecessor Shady has left him in the lurch, having sold all the supplies meant for Indians to settlers. The fort’s cook, Private Garrett O’Rourke, seems to know too much—that Shady has killed an Indian chief.
Garrett realizes Liberty is the one Levi seeks—unfortunately, not before he kisses her and has fallen irretrievably in love with her, too. The men unite when a “talking board” warns them to protect Liberty from cold waters. Their love is cemented by prophecies and their practice of daily lessons from an Oriental love manual they discover.
Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Length: 53,369 words
DISORDER IN THE HOUSE
How the West Was Done 2
Karen Mercury
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
DISORDER IN THE HOUSE
Copyright © 2012 by Karen Mercury
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61926-795-4
First E-book Publication: June 2012
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
For KH
Would that thy knife were as sharp as thy final no.
DISORDER IN THE HOUSE
How the West Was Done 2
KAREN MERCURY
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
May, 1868
Laramie City, Dakota Territory
The day the first train came into Laramie City was the day Liberty Hudson nearly had sex with Levi Colter.
To start with, the train was a monumental enough event. Fireworks streaming past the train windows and a rickety band blaring “The Yellow Rose of Texas” heralded the arrival of the Union Pacific train at the end of the track. This freight brought crossties, plows, and tents, mostly for the warehouses of Liberty’s father, Simon Hudson, allegedly the wealthiest man in Laramie City. The second- and third-class cars were jammed with gamblers waving little flags and bawdy prairie flowers waving unmentionables, but Liberty had purchased a first-class ticket.
Thrilled to ride on the first train to ever lay track this far west, Liberty had made an uncustomary splurge on this fancy ticket. It was invigorating to chug along in the fancy railcar decorated in burgundy and gold leaf, savoring the sense of freedom the open plains displayed to her.
She first laid eyes on Levi—of course, she didn’t know that was his name back then—when she decided to go to the necessary. She had needed to piss for a while but didn’t feel like walking back there when the train was going over the dizzying new Dale Creek Bridge. The train swayed on the wooden timbers a hundred feet over the enormous chasm, seemingly floating in midair, and Liberty clutched the armrest of her seat. She had never been anywhere this terrifying in her thirty-two years. Engineers slowed the train to a crawl, but even then, passengers leaning out of windows reported that some boxcars looked about to tumble into the gorge.
But she’d come west for adventure, and she really had to find the necessary once the train was shooting downhill safely past the bridge. Panting with excitement, Liberty wended her way down the center of the car, jostled from every angle by arm-waving rowdies reeking like a trash barge. She held her breath, highly annoyed to be shoved directly into the chest of one such shiftless loafer, but she looked up into the most stunning, glittering eyes she’d ever seen.
And breathed.
This fellow’s rich chocolate eyes simply brimmed with emotion. Lust, probably, but suddenly Liberty didn’t particularly care. Son of a gun, this man simply knocked her into the middle of next week. He even tried to reach a hand up to politely tip his Stetson, but he was also being jammed from all angles by the rancid armpits of gamblers waving playing cards, pemmican, and other garbage.
“The whole kit and caboodle’s been getting a bit roostered,” he said in a vivid, seductive voice.
“I know,” Liberty replied breathlessly.
She just stared up at him stupidly, her breasts flattened to his warm chest that emanated the manly scent of hay. She knew this feeling that surged up and down her spine. It was desire, pure and simple. She had felt this upon occasion for a couple of beaus—and was overly familiar with it from her nightly assignations with her secret toy—but she’d never been this suddenly stimulated and overwhelmed by merely looking at a man. His eyes brimmed with many tales to tell, and she instantly knew the reality of his sweet but shattered heart.
“I’m sorry a pretty vision like you has to be subjected to this.”
She was about to
say “I know” again, but a nearby roughneck suddenly bellowed, “Hey, Hiram! You’re so crooked you could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews!”
“Oh, yeah?” Hiram hollered back. “You was the one who marked the card deck back in Omaha!”
The brawl that erupted then caused nearly everyone to surge to that end of the car to get a better view. In the knot of limbs that encased her, Liberty was detached from the fellow with the magical eyes. She was tossed down the aisle by swearing men, and before she knew it, she found herself suddenly in the necessary, taking the place of a frazzled prairie flower who clawed her way to view the fight.
More practical urges took precedence then.
She sat back in her first-class compartment, barely aware of the scenery. Her entire body fairly buzzed with the thrill of her upcoming adventure in Laramie City—and the confrontation with the bewitching man. She was embarking on a new life just full of possibilities! She could possibly even wear trousers as she rode a horse about town—she had already left her only, rarely used corset back in Hyde Park, New York. Her first task would be to find her father’s house, allegedly the largest in the town.
Her younger sister Ivy had already boldly ventured into Laramie City before her, while Liberty had stayed back East to take care of business matters. Their mother had passed on finally after a long struggle with consumption, and now Liberty wanted to shake off her reputation as being the level-headed, businesslike one. The monotonous restriction of her life while caring for her mother had created a fresh new passion for living.
Liberty wanted to become involved in the politics of this brand-new frontier town! She longed to expand her passion for the suffrage of women. She had attended the National Women’s Rights Convention in New York in 1860, one of the last truly thrilling things she’d done in life. The convention had been a whirlwind of activity and stimulation that she sadly missed.
The man she had just literally run into was a good omen. Liberty smiled as the loud merchant next to her talked someone else’s arm off about the price of lumber. The fellow in the Stetson had a very classically handsome face, as though he could scowl or be effectively menacing while orating, so he might even be a fellow politician of sorts. His intense, deep gaze and the cherubic bow of his upper lip had Liberty in a fuzzy daze. She was aware she was pleasantly moist between the thighs, remembering the feel of her nearly bare bosom against his chest. She barely noticed when dilapidated shacks came into view, signaling their arrival at Laramie City and the end of the line.
The shacks seemed composed of logs, canvas, rejected railroad ties, and old wagon boxes—the usual disarray of the Hell on Wheels towns that popped up as the railroad progressed. Liberty strained to catch sight of any women, potential fellow suffragists, but she only saw a glut of men. Tracklayers probably, most of them, wringing out clothing, chewing on pipes, and, of course, imbibing liquor. Liberty snatched up her carpetbag—she could retrieve her trunk later from the baggage car—as the first fireworks trails landed among the ramshackle town outside. A distant tattoo of several drums attempting to play “The Yellow Rose of Texas” told her they would soon near the platform, and she wanted to at least be somewhat near the door when the train stopped.
The remote strains of cornets and saxhorns floated over the hubbub of people crowding the aisle. A meaty hand even groped her ass, but she couldn’t tell who it was attached to. Thugs from the second-class car had apparently flowed into first class, and the corridor was one giant sardine can of body parts. When Liberty’s face was squished against a brass lamp bolted to the wall, a slight feeling of panic began to creep into her innards.
The panic almost overwhelmed her when the train jolted to a stop. All the bodies crammed into the corridor lurched forward as one unit, the brass screw tearing her face. Surely they weren’t at the station yet! Outside, the horns of the band blared away merrily as though nothing was amiss. Men grunted out in pain.
“We’re goners!”
“Shit!”
“Get your foot out of my pocket!”
“You damned jackass!”
“Lunkhead!”
Steam hissed, but the big whistle didn’t scream as it should have if they were in the station. Had they hit something on the tracks? Liberty had no hope of moving the slightest inch—besides, where would she go? She was suffocating with her face between the lamp and the funky shoulder of a man who had apparently bathed in soot.
Then, suddenly, she was free.
She stumbled, falling, but fresh air surrounded her. Twisting in midair, she fell backward, looking up at the ceiling of a first-class compartment. She steeled herself, prepared to land on something extremely pointy, painful, or metal. She was pleasantly shocked when she fell on something warm and comfortable, with only a slight “oomph” of air expressed from her lungs.
Dizzy and panting, she looked up. And found herself clutching the greatcoat lapels of the fellow with the dazzling eyes.
In the midst of this tumult, he looked as calm as an unmuddied lake. The corners of his mouth turned up in a slightly bemused smile, as though he had not pulled her from the corridor. Oh no, she had just fallen into his lap! He still wore his Stetson at a rakish angle, but his necktie was slightly loosened in all the activity, revealing a powerful, full throat.
In that rich orator’s voice, he said, “The train stopped because some pickled residents fell onto the tracks.”
They merely panted at each other, Liberty intensely aware that her looped skirt exposed her petticoat at the ankles. Oddly, it didn’t bother her. Her breasts heaved, her camisole almost displayed in the U-shaped neckline of her walking costume.
Maybe it was because the other inhabitants of the compartment were equally festive and distracted, hanging out the window, all in a mishmash. Suddenly Liberty yanked her torso upright as she clutched his lapels, and she planted a brazen kiss on him.
He responded ardently, his large, soothing hands surrounding her waist. At first the kiss was dry and abrupt, full of the surprise of the moment. But when Liberty released his lapels to twine her hands around his hot, strong neck, their lips parted. She sucked on his deliciously full lower lip with abandon, snorting puffs of air against the side of his face. She inhaled fully his musky scent of dried grass, reveling in the warmth of his chest against the bare shelf of her bosom.
His hands snaked up her back, clutching her to him as though she were his lover. When she heard him sigh, felt the adept skill of his nipping at her lip, she impulsively ran her palms higher, over the slight stubble of his well-formed face. She delighted in the sculpted feel of his cheekbones under her fingers, and she dared to lick the inside of his upper lip, smooth as a wet seashell.
When she suddenly became aware that she was baldly squirming on top of a very insistent and well-hung cock, she had to break away. Her head fell back, and she panted boldly at the ceiling with her eyes squeezed shut in happiness. Just to have this utterly delicious man between her hands—nearly between her thighs—was the apex of rapture. Probably the one thing she’d been futilely dreaming to do, here in the Far West. And here he was. And her train hadn’t even arrived in the Far West yet.
She licked the tip of his pointed nose. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw his dilated with desire, his lower lip slack with surprise. All her memories of being a sensuous woman, powerful with the force of sex, came flooding back to her. Liberty had thought her gift might be dead after years of disuse, but the dazed, wobbly look in this handsome stranger’s eyes told her she still had the skill.
The train lurched and started with a hiss of steam. Steam curled in the open window between the various limbs dangling and waving there, slithering about the wide brim of this glorious man’s hat. Sinking her fingers into his fine, luscious mane of deep brunet hair, Liberty knocked the hat askew and plastered an openmouthed kiss to his lips. Spreading her thighs, when she wiggled her hips she knew the dampness seeping from her pussy was making a wet spot on the back of her skirt, and she didn’t care.
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As their tongues twined, Liberty made a little jump. She now straddled this exquisite stranger, her legs tangled in her skirts, her knee wedged against someone’s portmanteau. She fully felt the glory of his burgeoning cock as she blatantly humped him—this stranger she already knew she was in love with. They kissed with unabashed lust now, the handsome dog gripping her skull in his fingers, her long, curly black hair coming untwined from its bun and covering his stately face like a curtain. His groans reverberated deep in his chest, and she imagined she could even feel his bursting cockhead between the layers of their clothing.
And then the train was truly at Laramie City station. The smokestack puked sparks and wood smoke, stinging Liberty’s eyes when she whipped her head around to look out the window. People waved flags in the window, and a couple of prairie flowers of the town leaned their bulging bosoms in, just inches from Liberty’s face. Some of her fellow passengers were already disembarking out the window, one hitting her in the shoulder with his boot.
The reality of her situation struck her then. Sitting upright with her hands against the stranger’s shoulders, she stared at him, wild eyed. He must have been too stunned to even muster that enigmatic half-smile, and he looked like a man who had just been well-fucked, satisfied and yet thoroughly confused. She vaguely noticed he had a small, unusual tattoo on his collarbone, but she was distracted by the wisps of hair sneaking over his loosened necktie.
“Son of a gun,” Liberty whispered, shocked. What had she just done?
Disorder in the House [How the West Was Done 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 1
