The Merry Widow of Tanner's Ford (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

She whipped around and gasped, eyes wide. Her initial shock was followed by a deep blush that rose from below her collar. Her eyes looked red and swollen. Did she miss her sister that much?

  “Anytime you want, honey, I’m raring to go,” he added in case she didn’t catch his meaning.

  Though her nostrils flared and her nipples popped, she raised her chin in a huff. “Excuse me, but I was having a private conversation with my sister.”

  “Ah, yes. A sister named Nikki.” He rubbed his chin, pretending to think. “Now where have I heard that name? Sounds familiar. Could she be the doctor who allowed Brenda to put the wrong cast on my leg? The full leg cast that stopped me from driving and made me need help to get in and out of bed? You were interrupted when you were talking about getting tied to the bed. What was it you want?”

  She tried to be brazen, shoving back her shoulders. It pushed her breasts out proudly, so he took a few seconds to admire them. She had to open her mouth to breathe. Her chest expanded, rising and falling quickly. The pulse in her neck throbbed. Yes, Marci wanted an edge to her sex play, though maybe only now and then.

  “I have some fantasies,” she declared stiffly. “You heard part of one of them.”

  “Any of that involve spanking? Because Lance would be up for it. He’s quiet but if you sass him he won’t take it lightly. He’ll warn you once, but if you push he might get a notion to yank your panties around your ankles and spread you over his lap. He’ll like that heart-shaped butt of yours. “

  It was easy to see her instant jump in arousal. She suddenly turned to the stove. She grabbed his favorite cup, a large one from the local feed store, poured in coffee then added the right amount of cream, just the way he liked. She plunked the cup on the table. Some splashed out, but didn’t touch her hand.

  “Sit!”

  Her headlights were on high beam, those gorgeous nipples pointing right at him. She was up for it, and her anger would add an extra edge. But she had to learn that he didn’t take orders from anyone but Lance. Even if his leg was killing him from standing so long.

  “Make it worth my while, sweetheart,” he drawled, crossing his arms.

  “Kiss my ass!”

  He took his time looking her over. She narrowed her eyes, but the pulse in her throat didn’t lie.

  “Good idea. Bring it over here, drop your pants, and show me your sweet cheeks.” He had to hold the edge of the table to lower himself. Otherwise he’d have dropped like a stone.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “May not be what you meant, sweetheart, but it’s what you want.”

  She didn’t move, so he sipped his coffee, pretending to be calm. The temperature was perfect so he followed it with a mouthful. He nodded his thanks, keeping his face bland. The Doc had pulled a fast one on him with the leg, but getting Marci into his bed made up for pretty much anything.

  “You heard it all?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he replied. “Just your half. Kinda hard not to. You faded out at the end. So, Grant is your married name?”

  “Was,” she replied abruptly. “Now that you know the truth, I don’t want to hear it again. I’m going back to Meshevski.”

  Not for long.

  Coming out of the blue, the thought hit him hard. But as he mulled it over, it made sense. Marci would do very well as his wife and mother of their children. A perfect solution to a number of problems, hers and his.

  She could keep the initial M, but he wanted her name changed to MacDougal. It made even more sense now that he knew the Doc was her only family. He might swear at the doctor, but people in town had said a lot of good things about her. The men weren’t so sure, but the women really wanted her to stay.

  “You don’t want anything to do with your ex?”

  “He’s dead, thank God.”

  Simon’s brain spun as he put the pieces together. “He died in the fire. The one you barely escaped.”

  “Yes.”

  She bit her lip and turned away. When she reached for another cup her hand shook. He thought of her scar. A scar caused by, he was sure, a knife.

  “Did that bastard cut you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Simon gripped the table with both hands, waiting for her answer. She hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He heard a sniff. It couldn’t be, but he had to ask.

  “Was it an accident?”

  She shivered and wiped away tears. He waited, every muscle tight. She shook her head. A rage such as he’d never known erupted inside him. He banked the flames and hauled himself to his feet. Marci needed him. Two steps and he was beside her.

  “Let me hold you, baby. Come sit.” He took her hand and led her back to his chair. He hauled her into his lap. She curled up like a child, shaking. Tears poured down her face. What had that bastard done to her?

  “He…He…”

  “Shh,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “Let all those tears out first. You’ve kept everything in, haven’t you? Tried to be strong to get through the days and nights.”

  He let her cry, but it hurt like hell to see her like that and not be able to help. All he could do was give her his handkerchief, a white cotton one he kept folded in his pocket. He’d carried one for years in hopes a pretty woman would need it. It no longer seemed old-fashioned and foolish to do so.

  She finally wound down to hiccups. He hated to see her upset. But what could he do, other than…tell her about his own past. Damn. He’d never spoken about some of it to anyone, even Lance.

  Especially Lance.

  But it was the only thing he could think of. He wanted her to be his wife. And that meant letting her know she could trust him. The only way he could think of was to let his guard down, trusting her enough to speak about his messed-up family.

  “My older brother, Fergus, died when I was in college. It broke my mother and father. They’d put so much hope for the family’s future into him.” He bit back a sarcastic laugh. “I was the backup plan.”

  He remembered his father pressing a large hand to his shoulder when he was young, but he’d never been good enough for his mother, no matter how hard he tried. As he got older his mother became more strident and his father seemed to shrink. Shortly after he hit high school he gave up all thought of ranching. After all, it was made clear that Fergus, along with his wife and children, would live on the ranch. He and Lance would be told to leave as soon as their labor was no longer needed.

  “I guess you know from Brenda that I got into a lot of trouble until I discovered how much I love history. When neighbors came over to jaw with my dad, I’d find work nearby as they talked about the good old days when life made sense.”

  The trace of a smile flitted over her face. “Back when there were no blizzards or droughts, no hail or fires, and women put lots of food on the table for the men to eat,” she said.

  “You forgot that the price of beef was so high a man never got in debt.” They shared a comfortable smile. “Where’d you hear about that? Brenda?”

  “No, Anne Taylor and Ginny McInnes. I had lunch with them.”

  “Ginny would know, all right. Sammy and Grant love their food. I think Ginny does as well, since she’s swelling up like a balloon.”

  “So would you if you carried twin sons!”

  He pretended to wince at her tone, but the thought of Marci carrying his child had him in a knot. He’d heard about the twins. He’d even managed to congratulate them without too big a shard of jealousy stabbing him in the heart.

  “Did Fergus die in a farm accident?” she asked.

  “Nope. War,” he said succinctly. “He didn’t come back from Vietnam. At least, not alive. By then I’d got myself a history scholarship to the state college and Lance was working about twenty miles away.”

  “So you dropped out of college and come home to help?”

  “Not quite.”

  How much could he tell her? He was not prou
d of the man he’d been. Sometimes he wasn’t that proud of the one he was now. A warm hand rested on his, then squeezed. He’d changed from the bitter son. He could change again.

  “Someone got word to me. I’m ashamed to say I was glad, not for Fergus dying, but for them needing me. I waited a week, but they never asked me to come back.” He didn’t use the word “home.” It hadn’t been, back then. “But I couldn’t let the ranch be destroyed. I quit school, hitched a ride, and showed up at the door. My father barely looked at me. ‘You’re late for supper,’ was all he said. That meant no food until breakfast.”

  “What! They had the nerve to tell you that?”

  Her disgust of his parents on his part warmed a small part of his heart. He opened the door to the past just a little bit more.

  “I pushed past and went upstairs to my room. Dust lay on every surface, as if no one had bothered to come in. I changed into work clothes I’d left in the closet, and came downstairs. Dad looked up when I rummaged in the fridge and made myself a sandwich, but he didn’t dare say a damn thing.

  “Chores took me twice as long because they hadn’t been done well. When I came in, there was a bowl of stew on the table, ready for the microwave. The room was empty, except for the cat.”

  “Was she glad to see you?”

  “Since I had a few pieces of beef gristle for her, yeah.”

  The reminder of gristle summed up his childhood well. If his mother had been able to, she’d have served the beef in the stew to Fergus and his father, made sure he got gristle, and Lance would be lucky to get a few woody root vegetables in thin gravy.

  “Was Fergus drafted?”

  “No, he wanted to go. I overheard him talking to his buddies about getting away for an adventure while Mom and Dad were still young enough to cope. He’d do his duty and return home a hero, marry a good woman, have kids, and live the life he’d always known would be his.”

  “Only it didn’t happen.”

  “Nope. He died, and my parents followed him not too long after.”

  “And your dream of studying history went poof.”

  “Water under the bridge. No one knew except Lance.”

  “Oh, Simon.” She put her arms around his neck and hugged him. “No wonder you want to read those diaries.”

  “That dream was long ago,” he said, sloughing it off. “Now I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.” He gestured around the room. “This is a living museum and I use artifacts every day. Once I skim through those diaries, I’ll know even more.”

  “You could write a book about the history of Tanner’s Ford. No one else has your knowledge or training.” She beamed at him, as if he could wave his hand and make it so.

  “Maybe someday. It would take a lot of work and I doubt anyone other than a few local history buffs would be interested.”

  “It’s just an idea,” she said. “What did you do when they died?”

  “I’m a cowboy. I put on my boots, saddled my horse, and went back to work. Been doing it ever since. I could never do as well as Fergus, but I get by.”

  Her head came up. “Get by? Simon, this is a wonderful ranch!”

  “Spoken by a city gal with rose-colored glasses. No, Marci. All I did was keep doing what my father, his father, and so on, have done. No matter how they treated me and Lance, I loved my brother and my parents, but the pain fades over time. So will yours.”

  “But…I…didn’t…”

  “I realize you didn’t love your husband. I mean the pain of knowing you’d given yourself to someone like that when you could have had a better life. He was a monster, but he’s gone.” He gently kissed her forehead as if she was Sophie. “And you’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you.” He pulled her close again and rocked slightly, just holding her.

  Hopefully, that life would be with him.

  Children needed to know they were safe and protected. But so did adults. Men weren’t supposed to show that need, but they could find ways to receive it. Having Marci accept his comforting made him feel as much a man as if he’d chopped down trees to build this cabin. He savored the feeling. After a while she pushed back his arms. He released her but she still snuggled close. They sat there for a few moments. He felt her tension, from her rapid heartbeat to the way she held herself rigid.

  “There’s more to the story,” she said quietly. “Ted tried to kill me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, unable to not touch.

  “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d take the bastard apart with my own hands.” She patted his chest and relaxed, just a little.

  “I found out later he’d been denied a huge promotion. They realized he was a power-hungry bully who only did what would make him look good. Of course, Ted believed it was my fault he’d never be a vice president. I’d been standing up for myself for a while by then. I guess in his sick mind if I died, he’d get the promotion. He cared so much about what others thought.” She drew a pattern on his skin with a finger.

  He kept silent, waiting for more. He wanted to know, but it was more important for Marci to feel comfortable enough to tell him. So, he waited.

  “I was asleep,” she finally whispered. “I dreamed of smelling gas, and woke. When I opened the bedroom door, he was there. I thought he’d come to get me out. I’ve never seen him show real emotion so I wasn’t surprised he was calm. I told him I smelled gas. He shoved me into the room and slammed the door. I told him we had to get out but he shook his head. I fought to get past him and out the door.”

  She inhaled, her breath shuddering.

  “All those self-defense courses I took came in handy when he pulled a knife. He said he’d slit my throat and there’d be a fire. I’d burn and no one would ever know he had anything to do with it. When he attacked, I grabbed his hand. He was so surprised that he relaxed his grip. The knife grazed my cheek instead of slicing my neck.”

  She pressed her hand against the scar. He gently moved it away and kissed her. He didn’t care what she looked like. She was his woman. It was her heart that he wanted. Her beauty was an extra.

  “And that’s when you escaped?”

  She shook her head. “Ted was compulsive about germs. He never wanted anyone to touch him, in any way. When my blood spattered on him he screamed, dropped the knife, and ran to the bathroom. The door wasn’t hung right and I had a doorstop to keep it open. I slammed it shut and jammed the doorstop under it so he couldn’t get out.”

  “Smart move,” he murmured.

  “I hauled open the bedroom door and ran out the front. I was halfway across the lawn when there was a blast. I was knocked out. When I came to, the whole house was in flames. I lay there and watched my home, and everything in it, burn to the ground.”

  “You were lucky to get out alive.” And he was so lucky that she did. “It wasn’t by chance that something blew up, was it?”

  “The fire department said the propane tank for the outdoor kitchen must have been leaking. The men at the office told the police that Ted had invited them all to a party to celebrate his promotion. I wasn’t allowed to touch his barbeque, so didn’t know anything about using it. They think he must have done something wrong when he did whatever you do after winter.”

  “What did you tell them?

  She drew small circles on his skin with her finger.

  “That I woke up smelling gas. I knew not to turn on a light, and thinking Ted was out celebrating his promotion, I ran out the front door. The next thing I knew, a fireman was wrapping me in a blanket as my house burned.”

  “What about your face? They’d know it was made with a knife.”

  “I said I didn’t know, that everything from running from my bedroom, to seeing the flames, was blank. They decided it could have been a shard of glass from the front window exploding. I had pieces all around me in the grass.” Her fingers tightened on his skin. “Nikki said Ted deserved to die, but even though I only tried to protect myself, if I said anything, I might go to prison for killing him.”

>   “They’d have to prove you had a reason.”

  She looked away. “They said I wanted his money. They found out he didn’t treat me very well, and suggested I wanted to get rid of him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Ted told me what I wanted to hear to get me to marry him, that he loved me and would take care of me. Nikki had finished a psychology course and said he was a manipulative narcissist, but I wanted to believe him. I can’t blame him for being who he was when I refused to see through his lies.”

  “You were what, seventeen when you met?”

  She squared her shoulders. “When I make a vow, I keep it.”

  “Wouldn’t any wife who devoted herself to her husband, and, therefore, had no paycheck, want insurance money to start over? You’d just lost your home.”

  “I didn’t grow up with all this,” she said, waving her hand around the room. “Me, Nikki, and Mom lived in a trailer. Not even a double-wide. We were poor, but proud. I kept that rusty thing as clean as possible. It was my only real home. Ted’s house was big, but it was sterile. No emotion was allowed in those walls. It was never my home, just a place I was responsible for cleaning.”

  A lot of emotion had filled Simon’s home. Little of it was positive, though. His mother’s screaming rages at her twins not doing their assigned chores well enough would be followed by tears of joy as Fergus proudly produced a barely passing report card. Their father’s faint praise for his and Lance’s top marks didn’t make up for their mother’s scorn.

  “My mother refused to have sex with my father until he proposed to her. A ring on her finger meant wedding bells to her. But he disappeared four months later when she told him she was pregnant. Something like that happened with Nikki as well. Neither of our fathers held to their word. So when I make a vow, I stick to it. That’s why I wouldn’t divorce him. Not that I didn’t think of it, often.” She grabbed her braid and played with the tip. “Nikki said the police see so many nasty people, they’d never believe me.”

  Simon knew with every bone in his body that Marci would never harm someone on purpose. That wasn’t proof, however.