Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Natalie Acres

  “The marshal in town rode out to tell me what had happened after he heard. He didn’t apologize for taking my wife from me. He just said that was the way the law worked. In order to protect and serve the people of his town, he had to put some innocent men and women in the ground, and even said there were so many folks on this earth now, he doubted she’d be missed.”

  “Oh, Lane,” Victoria said, touching his arm. “I’m so sorry. I know she’s been missed. Surely, you’ve longed to see her again.”

  He nodded. “That I have. That’s why I believe in heaven and hell. And I just pray whichever way she went—and I believe she went to heaven—I hope that’s the way I go, too, when I pass on.”

  “So that marshal never explained himself, and no one held him accountable for what he’d done?”

  Lane shook his head. “He called a meeting after the townspeople caught wind of what he’d done. He said he was gonna run his town as he saw fit, said his form of thinking all along was that if someone else hanged, the outlaw responsible for the crimes would get sloppy. One day the real criminal would make a mistake, and when he did, he’d be there to put him away once and for all. Him or someone else, he’d added, which was a given considering the true outlaw was caught a few towns over.

  “Anyhow, I wanted to kill the marshal that day. I wanted to draw my gun and pull the trigger. My finger itched to do what I should’ve done the day they took Sarah Ann from me.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Lane stared down at her hand which was when she realized she still had her fingers clasped around his forearm. “Victoria, there’s gonna be evil in every territory, particularly now with all these cowboys and outlaws talking this stuff about gold. Shooting one crooked marshal ain’t gonna solve the world’s troubles. It won’t bring Sarah back, and truth told, my Sarah? She’d be terribly ashamed of me if I used my gun to end another life.”

  “You think your wife can still see you?”

  “Sure,” he said, nodding like he believed it. “Don’t you believe your ma can see you now?”

  She balked. “After today? I hope not.”

  He chuckled and then covered her hand with his. “Don’t think anything of it. We enjoyed the show.” A beat later he said, “But I gotta tell ya. It’s hard to believe you haven’t pranced around like that before.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re pretty good at getting a man’s attention.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, hopeful.

  When he didn’t reassure her, the silence separated them again. When it became more than she could bear, she asked, “How come you told me about your wife?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I wanted someone to know about her before I die.”

  “You’re dying?”

  He slowly nodded. “I reckon that’s the plan.”

  “Oh my God, Lane, that’s so upsetting. How long do you have?”

  He shook his head. “It’s hard to say.”

  “Oh good Lord, you must’ve thought I was an awful somebody,” she said, stammering around. “I reckon I pushed myself on you and here you can’t…you can’t…” She gulped. “I’m a terrible, horrible person. I flaunted myself in front of you, and you can’t have a woman anymore, can you?”

  Lane bit his bottom lip, wrinkled his brow, and studied her for a good bit. Finally, he burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I ain’t dying of natural causes,” Lane told her.

  “You’re not?”

  “No,” he said flippantly. “Me and Art? We’re gonna hang.”

  “You’re what?” she asked, her voice raised a few octaves higher. Leaping to her feet, she paced in front of him. “What do you mean, you’re gonna hang? What did you do? Who did you kill? They don’t hang innocent people here in Cripple Creek. We’ve got a right nice marshal, and he abides by the law.”

  “We’re still gonna hang.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s a long story.”

  “Long story or not, I deserve to know what kind of outlaws I’ve got sleeping under my roof tonight.”

  “We’re sleeping in the barn, remember?”

  “I don’t know if I even want you in my barn if you’re some kind of criminals.”

  Lane splayed his legs and dropped his hands between them. “If you want us to leave, we’ll be on our way.”

  “And if I want you to stay?” she asked, thinking about how her mother’s goal was to send a man to his grave well-satisfied. And it wasn’t like Lane was gonna kill her. He’d said a few minutes before he didn’t kill for sport. So if he were expecting to hang, what did that mean? He killed, but he didn’t have any fun doing it?

  Lane stood. He placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Victoria, let me ask you another question. If you thought you were harboring two outlaws with a bounty on their heads, what would you do?”

  “I damn sure wouldn’t try to collect, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Why not? Based on that letter you read down by the stream today, I’m assuming your mother had a lot of opportunities to collect on the bounties around here. How come she didn’t do that? She had a daughter to feed. The law, when they place a bounty on a man, basically wants to pay an average person to kill for them. You’d save that town of yours the trouble if you went ahead and took our lives. Anyway, back to the point, how come your momma didn’t kill the outlaws she housed here?”

  “That’s not the kind of people she was,” Victoria drawled. “She had morals and values.”

  Lane snorted at that. “Really?”

  “Well yes she did,” Victoria insisted, pulling away from him. “Ma wanted the best for me, and she tried every way she could to make a life for us. Her men friends brought her goods. They traded favors and sometimes, when she was short on cash, she’d take their money. She never told me, but I found the gold and coins after she died. We had plenty. I got more here than by appearance. I may look like I don’t have enough to get by, but I reckon I make out okay, and will get along for some years to come thanks to the sacrifices my momma made.”

  “You best keep that to yourself, little lady,” Lane said.

  “Well anyhow, I ain’t hurtin’,” she assured him.

  “You will be,” Lane assured her. “If you sell yourself short and sell out to the life your mother led, then you’ll know pain all right. It’ll be darn hard to look at yourself in the mirror, and even harder to lie down and sleep with yourself at night.”

  “Like I said, my mother made sacrifices. Don’t mean I plan to do the same.”

  “Don’t you?” Lane asked, arching a brow. “A few hours ago, you were ready to walk in your momma’s footsteps.”

  “Just what did you hear when you were down there by that stream?”

  “I heard everything you read aloud, and learned plenty about your momma. Maybe you don’t want to hear this, Victoria, but your momma was a prostitute. Maybe she didn’t say that outright in her letter, but that’s what she was. She was just smarter than those girls who went to work in the saloons. She kept the house’s money here at home so she could support a daughter.”

  “Why you…” Victoria thinned her lips and drew her arm back.

  Before she struck him, Lane added, “You didn’t let me finish. Your momma loved you. Ain’t a doubt in my mind, she loved you a lot. Otherwise, she would’ve hightailed it to Cripple Creek or Poverty Gulch, whatever you wanna call the damn town, and made a decent living for herself there at the saloon. Instead, she lived on hard times out here, depending on the Indians for trade and connections those trappers wouldn’t have made without her.

  “You ought to be proud of her, regardless of how she made her life and her way. She did what she could to take care of you. Now, question is, what are you gonna do for yourself now that she provided another way for you? If you’ve got gold and money to your name, you don’t have to make a way for yourself the same way your momma did, Victoria. If you do, that’s your choic
e of course. But I don’t think you want that.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Let me ask you something,” Lane said. “Between us, have you ever been with a man?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Lane bowed his head. “I’m not a perfect fella, Victoria, but if you ain’t a whore, I may take a notion to come back here for ya if the marshal in Cripple Creek lets me go.

  “I don’t think that will happen, but you wait here for me for a day or two just in case. If that marshal will listen to what I have to say, I’ll come back here and make an honest woman out of ya. That is, if you ain’t been sharing what you have with everyone else in this prairie. If you’re the keepin’ kind, I may be the staying kind.”

  “Like hell you are,” Art said, walking out on the porch. “Besides, I’ve got a better proposition for the both of ya.”

  * * * *

  “You want me to what?” Victoria’s high-pitched voice hit a squeaky note she rarely struck.

  Art towered over her. He squared his broad shoulders and his natural grin took a quite wicked turn. “I’d like to lay down beside a woman tonight. I had time to ponder the notion while I was cleaning up the place there. I thought you might be rightly impressed with the idea.”

  Victoria pushed away from the stoop, her hand quickly finding its resting place in the curve of her waist. “Rightly impressed, did ya?” Oh she was spitfire mad.

  “Yes, I reckon I did,” he said, thoughtfully. “All I said when I walked out here was that I had an idea, a good one I added. You were interested enough to ask me what was on my mind. I tell ya, and this is the thanks I get.” He grunted and paced.

  She had a right mind to grab him by the arm and shake some sense into him. Before she took the opportunity, she considered the possibilities. “I suppose it’s natural for a man to want to poke a woman, but for him to suggest she get it from two men at the same time, well that’s just unheard of.”

  “Is it? Want me to remind you of what you said to us down there by the stream today?”

  “I do not,” she said, wondering then if she were to blame for Art’s sudden revelation. Had she led him to believe she was such a whore she’d take it from two men at the same time?

  She considered her previous actions and the way she’d invited trouble. This notion of Art’s was her fault.

  Maybe she’d stayed in the sun too long. Delirium must’ve set in after she saw her life pass in front of her. That snake didn’t strike her with its poison, but apparently left her affected all the same. Death had her in its clutches earlier that day, and even though she left the stream unharmed, she didn’t leave unchanged.

  If Art and Lane hadn’t come along, she shuddered to think what might have happened. She could’ve died. She could’ve fallen ill and suffered a horrific death if that snake had gotten its venom inside her.

  Maybe that’s what had gotten into her. Gratitude. Why sure. That made sense.

  She’d been flamboyant and tried to get Art and Lane’s attention. Now, she wondered why she’d been determined to earn their favor. She also considered why she offered herself in such a way to perfect strangers.

  “If you’ve got all this experience, and I’m imagining you do, then you might be able to teach me and Lane a thing or two.” A second or so later, he added, “We’ll be real gentle with ya. We’ll make you feel like you’re a woman who is cherished and loved.”

  “How can you do that if you don’t love me?”

  “Truth is,” Art confessed, “I ain’t loved a woman before. I’ve fucked aplenty, but I haven’t been in love, so I’ll pretend for ya. How’s that sound?”

  “I don’t want a man who pretends,” Victoria admitted, turning her attention to Lane. “And I don’t think you want a woman who fakes it, either.”

  Lane shrugged. “Depends on what you’re faking.”

  At a loss, she struggled with her emotions. Her body was on fire from the moment Art walked out on the porch and suggested she accompany them to the barn for the night. Then, he’d even suggested they put aside the notion of sleeping in the stables. He thought it sounded like a fine idea to hole up together right there in her cozy cabin.

  “What are you scared of, Victoria?” Art asked. “Let me put it to you this way. You got naked in front of us. I’ve seen those pretty tits of yours. They’re as full and ripe and as lovely as any I’ve ever seen. I want to play with you. I gotta tell you, I do. But you wanna play with me and Lane here, too. You started all this when you took your clothes off in front of two men who didn’t have anything else better to do than to gawk.”

  “I suppose I did,” she muttered.

  “Then what do you say?” Art pressed. “You don’t have to be afraid of us. You’ve done figured on that for yourself. It ain’t like you’re gonna betray yourself. So we may use you a little bit, but I’ll make it worth your while. Besides, it ain’t like you won’t be getting anything out of it. You’ll be using us, too.”

  Art was right. She’d been in the heart of this prairie for so long, she knew better than to think about a romantic future. She knew better than to hope for a family, wish for a husband.

  Even though Lane mentioned coming back for her, what was the likelihood he’d ever return? He thought he was due to hang. If there was a poster with his face on the paper, he’d probably swing.

  Lane paced. She didn’t look at him, but instead turned her gaze toward the blatant idiot who thought he could rent her out by the hour, or as suggested, the night.

  Then again, the bastard didn’t even mention money. He expected her to lie down next to the both of them for free! He said he’d make it worth her while, but she read into that line. He was sure of himself, all right. He probably thought a woman ought to pay him just to pull down the sheets and look at his naked ass.

  “Well?” Art asked, hopeful.

  Her heart pounded faster and faster. If she were a whore then she might understand, even expect this sort of proposition. But she wasn’t a whore. She was a prairie lady, an untouched woman, a woman waiting for the right man. She balked at that. Maybe she should’ve thought about her virtue and innocence when she’d been showing off her assets.

  She’d never meant to become the kind of person who was taken straight to bed by a few strangers passing through on their way to the next town. Then again, hours earlier, that was precisely the kind of woman who’d intrigued her most.

  Art inched closer. His full lips broke into an outright smile. He was smug, quite certain of himself. “What’d ya say, pretty lady?”

  Victoria should’ve slapped him. Instead, she placed her hands on his broad, solid shoulders and brushed the dirt off the sleeve of his shirt. Her fingers raked over the dusty collar, tracing the contour and shape.

  “Your hands sure feel nice,” Art said, stroking his lips with his tongue.

  She breathed him in and nearly choked on the stench. That’s when she decided to buy herself some extra time and study on the matter for a little while.

  Smiling as sweetly as she knew how, Victoria said, “You know, Art…it is Art, isn’t it?” she drawled, dragging out his name as much as possible considering he had a very short one.

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied, poking Lane in the ribs and twitching something awful. “If you ever have trouble remembering my name, just think of me as an experience, a true work of art.”

  Oh boy, now she would really enjoy this. “Well, Art, I have a suggestion for you. If you’ll take a bath or splash yourself off a good bit, then maybe a woman could stand you long enough to poke you. Then again, you’ll have to take your time and get all your parts real good and clean.” She deliberately looked down, studying the arch in Art’s loose-fitting breeches. “Good heavens, I bet you do charge a woman a right smart amount. If a lady is right interested in looking at that thing or touching it, you could probably catch a pretty price.”

  “Do what?” Art asked.

  Lane cleared his throat.

  She g
ulped. “I didn’t mean to say that. I was thinking about something a little earlier.”

  Art shifted his shoulders and grinned. “Thinking about me charging for my services, were you?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I mean no. Never mind.”

  After seeing the way Art filled his breeches with one hell of a sizeable bulge, she took a tour of his hard body and calloused hands. She quickly revisited the stout member pressing through his pants. Her mouth dried as she noted the size, the way the full imprint of his penis was outlined in the front.

  How did a woman invite a couple of men into her bed when she’d never been intimate with even the first one? How could she pretend to know what to do, how to act, when she wasn’t sure of what to expect?

  She strolled over to Lane and stopped in front of him. “Goes the same for you, too, I reckon.”

  Lane’s left eye twitched. “You act like you don’t have the first problem with extending invitations, but planning for a night sandwiched between two fellas is completely different than finding yourself between them. Here’s a suggestion, Victoria. You study on the act itself. Don’t just think about lying down between two men but you focus on doing the deed with both of them. After a thought on the matter, you may change your mind about all this. I would if I were the gal wearing the skirt.”

  “Why?”

  “Well it ain’t as easy as it all seems,” Lane said. “Positioning is only part of the problem. A woman has to be in shape to handle two men.”

  She knew the skirts made her look like a cow! This wasn’t about whether or not she could handle a couple of fellows. This was about whether or not she was physically able to accommodate them!

  “How would you know anything about what a woman can or can’t do with her body?” She should’ve stripped again.

  Maybe they didn’t take a good look at her. If they gaped a little longer, they’d see she had muscle tone and a good enough figure for loving on a man or two. They weren’t going to wear her out if that’s what they thought.

  She should’ve brought it to Lane’s attention that she was clearly younger than him. Maybe then his issues about who could handle who would quickly be cleared up along with any other concerns he needed to put to rest.