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

by Natalie Acres

  “Don’t do this, Victoria,” Lane said, gently pushing her arms downward. “We’ll go with him.”

  The marshal narrowed his gaze. “Wait a minute. I know you.”

  He stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper folded in fours. As he opened up the document, he walked toward the only other lantern in the barn, located right next to the very spot where Victoria lost her innocence.

  She squeezed her legs together and stared at Art, who must’ve known what she was thinking. He winked, but that didn’t ease the fluttering sensation in her gut. She knew what images were on that wanted poster. Lane warned her.

  The marshal most definitely would think of him as an outlaw. Wanted men were no count according to those who pursued them.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” the marshal said, pacing in front of Art and Lane. “The two of you are wanted for a gold heist.” He shook his head. “You must be the doggone dumbest robbers I ever heard tell of.”

  He shook the crinkled paper in front of their faces. “What happened to the gold, boys? Did you buy whores and drink it up, and now you’ve come back to my town to see if you can’t find another miner who strikes it rich?”

  “That’s not why we’re here,” Lane assured him, staring straight ahead.

  The marshal rubbed his chin. “What brings you back to these parts then, men?”

  He wasn’t buying a word Lane said because Victoria knew the marshal to be a very sarcastic man when he met up with strangers. Some said when the marshal was the friendliest, he was the deadliest. If his demeanor were any indication, he sure enough thought her guests were guilty outlaws.

  “What do you mean…back?” Art asked. “We’ve never been in these parts, and we can prove it.”

  Lane shot him a quick glance. Apparently they couldn’t prove much of anything if Lane’s eyes told a truthful tale.

  The marshal glared at the blood on the blanket again. He took a few deep breaths and then looked away. “Did the two of you take turns pokin’ Victoria or not?”

  “They did not!” Victoria said, justifying her lie by thinking it was none of the marshal’s business. Plus, she reasoned, she’d only been penetrated by Lane, so in one sense, she told the truth.

  “I didn’t ask you, Victoria,” the marshal pointed out.

  “I didn’t get between her legs,” Art said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, and I’ll leave it at that,” the marshal said.

  Victoria frowned. “Marshal, these men haven’t hurt me.”

  “So that’s fine then, I should just let them go, I reckon.”

  “You should indeed!” Victoria exclaimed. “They haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “The law says they have, and that’s good enough for me, Victoria. They’re wanted for robbing a stagecoach loaded down with the gold Max Carpenter pulled out of that mine near UtePass last year.”

  “There’s no way these two could’ve pulled off a robbery like that, and you know it.”

  “Well, they did, and I know nothin’ of the such.”

  “The hell we did,” Art said. “We were in Tombstone this time last year.”

  “Ah,” the marshal said. “Tombstone this time last year, he says. And who told you that robbery took place this time last summer? Hmm? Only the true robber would know information like that.”

  Lane snatched the wanted poster from the marshal’s hand. He jabbed the paper and read the inscription underneath. “Wanted for the stagecoach robbery dated June 7, 1898.”

  The marshal grabbed the paper and stomped toward the door. “I’ll wait for the three of you on Victoria’s porch. You’d best be ready to ride into town, boys. I think a lot of Victoria, so I’ll take her at her word. Maybe you didn’t bring her any harm, but Max Carpenter is convinced you stole his gold.”

  Turning to Victoria, the marshal added, “He wants ’em to hang for their crimes. It’s my job to take ’em into town where they can face their accusers.”

  * * * *

  “Did you do it?” Victoria asked, her gaze working between Art and Lane.

  “Doesn’t matter if we did or didn’t, we’re still gonna hang for that robbery. You heard the marshal.”

  Victoria placed her hands on her hips and stared at Lane. “But did you do it?”

  “Would our hanging be easier on you if we told you we did?” Lane asked.

  “No, it would only be easier if I knew the truth.”

  “So you could what?” Lane asked, realizing this was the very reason he’d been attracted to Victoria from the start. She reminded him of Sarah Ann. She had guts, and probably wasn’t afraid of much.

  That was part of the reason Sarah Ann was in the grave today. She believed in the law, and when that crooked Tombstone marshal came for her that cold December day, she’d gone with him. She even told Lane she’d be home before he could miss her, and God love her soul, the woman believed that right up until the time the marshal put a rope around her neck.

  Lane knew the truth about the law now. He saw his future and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop the marshal outside unless he killed him, and he wasn’t gonna draw his gun and take the life of another. There’d be more marshals coming for them.

  “I’m waiting on an answer, Lane.”

  Lane took a deep breath and studied Art. Bringing her against him, he gave her a hearty hug and whispered in her ear, “Yes, Victoria. We robbed that stagecoach.”

  She stilled against him.

  Lane released her. He was unable to look at her after his confession. Quietly, he gathered his things and went for his horse. Art grabbed his saddle and bridle. He didn’t acknowledge Lane or Victoria as he tossed the gear on his horse’s back.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “I don’t care whether you believe me or not,” Lane said. “I told you the truth.”

  “You didn’t tell me the truth, damn you!” she screamed, stamping her foot. “You told me what you thought it would take to make it easier on me.”

  “Go on back to the cabin, Victoria,” Art rasped. He tightened the girth on his horse, and kept his back to her.

  Victoria rushed them then with her fists drawn. She struck Lane’s back and wailed like a baby. “I don’t want to believe you, because it’s not the cotton-pickin’ truth!”

  Lane wheeled around and caught her arms. Tears gushed down her cheeks, and in that moment, Lane cursed himself for his prior actions. And he cussed himself for the words he was about to speak. “What do you care, woman? Huh?” His voice was as icy as a Colorado winter storm.

  She shook her head. Tears continued to flood her face. “I can help you.”

  He released an evil chuckle, one wrought with the pain he was about to cause her, but deliberate all the same. He wanted her to take the night they’d shared together and put it behind her. There was only one way to ensure she didn’t get mixed up in the mess they were in, and that was to protect her the only way he knew how.

  “Why would you want to help us?” Art asked, glaring at Lane.

  He probably knew what Lane was about to do, and greatly disapproved. It didn’t matter. Art was a pouter, but he wouldn’t have to trouble himself with worrying over his friend’s displeasure for long. The marshal would probably hang them high before dusk tomorrow.

  “I want to help you because…because…”

  “Because why, Victoria?” Art asked, taking a step toward her.

  “I…I don’t know why, all right!”

  “Yes you do,” Art said, closing the distance between them. Standing inches away from her, he looked her in the eye and said, “You gave Lane here something you’ve never given another man before. He made you into a woman, and now you think he belongs to you somehow. Well, he doesn’t and I don’t. You were just a poke, woman. That’s all you were. That’s all you’d ever be, whether we hang or not.”

  The blood left her face and Lane turned away, unwilling to witness the
pain Art caused her. Art apparently read his mind and saved him the trouble of breaking her heart. Now, he owed him.

  With the marshal waiting outside, Lane didn’t think he’d ever have a chance to repay such a large favor.

  Chapter Nine

  Victoria barely slept. She’d cried herself to sleep right before sunrise, but awoke a few hours later when she heard some riders in the distance.

  The whooping and hollering alerted her to the obvious. There was a big celebration in town, and since the Saturday didn’t mark the date of a holiday, that could only mean one thing.

  The town was preparing for a hanging.

  Dragging herself out of bed, Victoria moped around the cabin. She stared at the dishes stacked on the edge of her chopping block and came undone. As she wept, she sat down in the chair Lane had occupied the night before, and cried all that much harder when she could’ve sworn she caught a whiff of that raw, masculine scent of his.

  Convincing herself she was losing her mind, she ducked her head in the nook of her arm and sobbed. Why had she given herself to strangers? How come she’d never had those urges before? And why, out of all the travelers on the prairie, had she chosen two men doomed for death by hanging?

  She rose from the chair and went to the porch, desperate to get some fresh air. As she sat down on the stoop, she caught a glimpse of the grey wolf in her peripheral vision and jumped, alarmed by the animal with its predatory gaze.

  Victoria glared at the beast. She didn’t move, and the animal hurried away. Darting between spruce tress, the wolf returned to the ridge overlooking the cabin. Within seconds, he paced the ground he’d apparently marked as his territory.

  Watching him, Victoria thought of Lane’s words. They hummed in her ears like a tormented song. That’s a bad trait for any man to own. Lane didn’t kill for sport, he’d told her. I’m a quiet man, Victoria. I like the simple things in life.

  Would a man who liked the simple things in life rob a stagecoach guarded by five riders and two hired guns? She remembered the story about that heist. The buzz in town had been gruesome.

  The men who took that gold were bandits. They wore bandanas over their mouths, and shot up that stagecoach before the men protecting the gold even knew what hit them. No one died, but they were all injured. Would a man who refused to kill a wild animal fire upon humans?

  There had to be something Victoria could do. She marched inside and grabbed her mother’s rifle, the only gun her ma had ever owned. Slamming the cabin door behind her, she marched to the barn and grabbed a saddle and bridle in passing.

  She couldn’t let Lane and Art die for something they didn’t do. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if they hung for a crime they didn’t commit.

  Victoria came to a stop then, considering Art’s parting words the night before. They’d used her. Art made the fact clear. Still, she didn’t want them to hang. She didn’t believe they were guilty. Then again, her ma never entertained anyone other than innocent travelers. Maybe she was as delusional as her mother.

  Glaring at the stall where she lost her innocence, she cursed under her breath. “No,” she muttered. “It’s not possible.”

  She hurriedly affixed the girth on the saddle and then bridled her mare, shoving the bit in the horse’s mouth. Glancing at the stall where she’d spent the early part of the evening before, she shook her head once more. She might have lost her virginity, but she wasn’t about to lose her heart. Nope. She didn’t have time for such nonsense.

  Swinging her leg over the saddle, she mounted her horse and rode like hell out of that barn. As dust churned behind her, Victoria thought about the future she was about to lose. She considered all the ways she might be able to protect the men she now believed she was destined to love. No, hell no, she didn’t have time for such nonsense, but it didn’t hurt to daydream all the same.

  That’s when her past caught up with her and her history became clearer. A few gallops down a broken path and her mind continued replaying past events. Reining in her horse, she came to a sudden halt, contemplating the direction her memory was taking her. Dear God, had she always ignored the truth that was right in front of her?

  After her ma died, the marshal started riding out to check on her. He’d stop in every now and again to see if she was doing all right, particularly if Mrs. Dodson told him she hadn’t been in the General Store in a few days. It never occurred to her until right then why the marshal expressed an interest in her.

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, kicking her horse with both heels. “We’ve got to hurry, Strawberry. Run faster, girl! Run faster! The marshal will help us. I just know he will!”

  She hoped her arrival in Cripple Creek wouldn’t put her in town too late.

  * * * *

  “Art, look,” Lane said, tilting his head toward the barred window in their cell.

  “Is that Victoria?” Art asked.

  Waving her arm over her head as she rode closer, they could hear her. “Marshal! Marshal! You’re hanging the wrong men, and you know it!”

  “Oh dear God,” the marshal said, rubbing his temples and rising from his old wooden desk.

  “What is she up to?” Art asked.

  Lane wondered as he watched Victoria leap off her horse, trip over her feet, and hurry toward the marshal’s office. As the only representative of law and order in town swung open the door, Victoria burst inside. Her face was flushed and stained with all sorts of debris.

  “Victoria,” the marshal began, placing his hands in front of his body. “I don’t want you here. A hanging is no place for a woman.”

  She narrowed her gaze and took a step backward. She slammed the door to the marshal’s office and locked it. “Sit down please, Marshal.”

  “Look, Victoria. I did everything I could as a lawmaker. The facts will show these boys here robbed that stagecoach.”

  “Facts, hell!”

  “Victoria!” the marshal shouted. “I ain’t gonna listen to a lady talk like a whore.”

  “Why? Because my mother was a whore?”

  “That ain’t got a thing to do with it.”

  “Yes it does.”

  The marshal went pale and Lane paid closer attention. He jabbed Art in the ribs, and under his breath, he said, “This ought to be good.”

  Victoria smirked. She turned away from the marshal and addressed them. “The two of you didn’t rob that stagecoach. Want to know why I know?”

  “Why, Victoria?” Art asked, probably just to appease her.

  “Because of you, Lane,” she said pointing at him. “You know that wolf that followed you to my house?”

  “Yeah. What about him?”

  “He paid me a visit today.”

  “Are you all right?” Lane asked, gripping the iron cell bars.

  “I’m fine, Lane,” she replied. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Oh boy,” he muttered. “She’s still pissed at us.”

  “Pissed isn’t the word for it but I’ll deal with you later,” she said, turning back to the marshal. “And I will deal with them later because you’re gonna let them go.”

  “Nope,” the marshal said, shaking his head. “They’ve been found guilty. Judge was in town working on some mining cases. He ruled on it this morning before he left for Stockton.”

  “Then call him back,” she deadpanned. “Send a telegraph to the next town over.”

  “Victoria, I can’t save your friends.”

  Victoria sat on the edge of his desk. She pushed her golden locks over her shoulders. “It sure is hot in here.”

  “Then go on home where it’s cooler. Those shade trees should keep that cabin of yours cool this time of year. Let me worry about these two.”

  Victoria smiled as sweetly as she could probably manage.

  “Remind me never to piss her off if I live to see another day,” Art said.

  “Same here,” Lane muttered.

  “You know a lot about those shade trees, don’t you, Marshal?” Victoria asked, studyi
ng her fingernails.

  “Of course I do. I’ve been by your place a-plenty through the years.”

  “Yes indeed you have,” Victoria said, crossing her left leg over her right. “I used to wonder how come you stopped coming out. When I turned about eight, I think it was. You just stopped coming. I wonder if your wife knows about me.”

  The marshal went pale. “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Are you my father?”

  He gulped.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, pointing toward the cell. “Let them go, clear their name, tell everyone in town it was a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “Victoria,” he snapped. “I can’t do that!”

  She shrugged. “You married Caroline Sweeny, didn’t you?”

  The marshal’s left eye twitched. “You know damn well who I married.”

  “She’s a very nice lady,” Victoria drawled. “I’ve met her a few times myself. Lovely person. Just lovely.”

  “Get to your point, Victoria.”

  Victoria slid away from the desk and stalked him. “You were no father to me. After ma died, you came around just enough to make sure you could lie down at night and convince yourself you were a good man, a man who occasionally stopped in to say hello to his only daughter.” A beat later she added, “Doesn’t the Sweeny family work with neglected kids back east?”

  The marshal rubbed his forehead. He didn’t say either way, but Victoria knew they did. They were always placing kids with families there in Cripple Creek.

  “You’re not a kid anymore. Caroline would understand why I’m not active in your life.”

  “Would she?” Victoria asked. “I don’t think so. My mother was a whore. She took countless men to her bed—outlaws, farmers, Indians, and even marshals. Wonder if a fine, upstanding lady like Caroline would have the stomach for a man who took a whore to bed quite frequently?”

  “Why would you hurt Caroline? She’s an innocent woman.”

  “And you’re about to hang two innocent men. It’s called an eye for an eye. Considering the rumors in town about Caroline’s stability, I’d say that kind of rumor would be just enough to push sweet Caroline over the edge. What do you think?”