Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  He raised an eyebrow. The small movement sent a message of overpowering danger. She automatically dropped her eyes. She flexed her right fingers near the seam of her pants. Yes, her knife was still there. She was safe.

  “Don’t try it, boy.”

  Startled, she looked up at Cole’s low growl. His eyes narrowed, fixing on her like a hawk. She took a half step back at the threat. Pappy beat her lots, but he was nowhere as strong as Cole, whose big hands could break her neck with one snap. She trembled, curling her bare toes under for traction. Willy grabbed her arm to hold her from bolting. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and shook him off. She had to do this or die.

  “Don’t think of running from me. Ever.”

  Cole set his hands on his hips and leaned over her. She’d never been this close, had not fully realized his size and power. He would keep you safe. She dropped her eyes before he could notice she was more aroused at his strength and power than fearful.

  “Do your work and we’ll leave you alone,” Cole continued softly. “Try us and we’ll take you so fast your head will spin. You hear me, boy?”

  She gulped. He wasn’t the type to yell and bluster before pounding her. He’d strike, fast and sure, like a rattlesnake. She had no doubt he’d best her, but he’d only do it if threatened, not because he was drunk or mad at someone else, like Pappy. No, Cole was too controlled to rage. If he ever got really angry he could kill someone. So, unlike the weaklings and bullies she knew from home, he kept it leashed.

  A man like that respected those who stood up to him while knowing their place. She met his eyes, showing her determination as well as the understanding of who was boss.

  “Yessir, Mr. Taylor.”

  He held out his hand. She did the same. But instead of shaking it, he turned her palm up. His traced his fingertips over her calluses. Something shivered up her arm and down her back, landing between her legs. She clenched her jaw to hide her reaction. When he finally did shake she returned the firm grip. He could have crushed her like a bug. Instead he took her measure and released her. Something flickered in his eyes, then was gone.

  “Be ready to leave right after the meeting.”

  “But…” Cole’s eyebrow said he was now her boss and he set the rules. She would do what he told her, immediately, or suffer the consequences. She licked lips dry from panting as she struggled to breathe. “Yes, sir,” she croaked.

  At his nod of dismissal she bolted to the kitchen. She leaned over, palms on the table to hold herself from falling over in dizziness. The hand Cole had touched still burned, as did the spot between her legs.

  But she had work to do. Sophie had worked on the stew and it was time to add the potatoes. Her hands shook so bad she dropped a few chunks on the floor. She bent over to pick them up. The seam of her pants rubbed against her skin. She stood, pressing her thighs together to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. She held back a groan, part worry and part arousal.

  It was going to be a long, hot winter.

  Chapter 2

  Byron automatically removed his hat as he stepped into the hotel. He waited a moment, Marshall at his side, as his eyes adjusted to the light. The murmur of voices drifted out of the dining room. Stomach grumbling, Byron followed the sounds down the wide hall.

  “Look at all the pretty women,” said Marshall with a sigh. “Too bad none of them belong to us.”

  Byron grunted agreement as they stepped into the crowded dining room. Losing Kate to the Running W Ranch had hurt at first, but Cole said the new Mrs. McInnes was too wild for him anyway. Byron, on the other hand, wouldn’t mind a wife full of laughter and mischief to brighten up their lonely homestead. From what Cole said that morning, they were likely to end up with a miner widow from Virginia City. At this point all Byron wanted was to come home to a warm cabin full of light and the aroma of decent food. As long as the woman at least pretended to enjoy sharing their bed, he’d be content.

  It would be a hell of a lot more than what they had now.

  They spotted Cole on the far side of the room and strolled over, nodding at the men and tipping their hats to the women. The room was full of ranchers and their families. Sheriff Barstow talked with Trace Elliott, who’d called the meeting.

  The remains of a slice of pie sat on a plate in front of Cole. Marshall grabbed the spoon and cut off a chunk. When he put it in his mouth, he groaned, mimicking ecstasy. Byron reached out a long arm and picked the rest of it up. He chewed, enjoying his first piece of peach pie in years. Juicy and full of flavor, it made him hungry for more. He finished it in two bites, daring the others to complain. Cole looked amused, but Marshall’s eyes promised retribution when they weren’t surrounded by neighbors. Considering the younger man had hogged most of the salt pork that morning, Byron considered them even.

  “I want a wife who can cook like that,” said Marshall. He kicked a chair into place and dropped into it.

  “No wife yet, but I hired the cook who made that pie,” said Cole.

  Marshall perked up. “I didn’t hear about a new cook in town. Is she pretty? Will she marry us? Can the judge do it today so we can bed her tonight?”

  “You’ll have to wait a few more weeks for a wife,” replied Cole drily. “A boy made that pie. Casey Wright. He’ll hunt, cook, and do chores, inside and out, until spring.”

  Byron leaned back in his chair. He extended his boots far under the table as he considered Cole’s words. He licked peach juice from his fingers, knowing how much bad manners annoyed Cole. Usually he kept a low profile, but he was feeling particularly ornery today. Maybe he was out of sorts from seeing the other ranchers with their wives and children. It rubbed his nose in what he couldn’t have. Yet.

  “That the boy who spies on us?”

  Byron nodded at Marshall’s question. Damn near every time they came to town for supplies the kid would hide across the street and watch them load the wagon. The boy likely figured no one noticed, but Byron had learned early to be aware of everything around him. He looked longingly at the empty pie plate. He wouldn’t mind having food like that to come home to. Now all they needed was a wife with lots of curves and an open mind.

  “Had a long talk with Casey’s older brother,” said Cole. “They’re from high in the hills past where Grandpa was born. A feud killed their older brothers, their mother died a while back, and their pa’s fists got to be too much.” Cole shrugged. “All that matters is if the boy can do the job.”

  Byron grunted. Maybe the fear of big, rough strangers explained Casey’s hiding. After all, they were big, and he and Cole didn’t act too friendly. It didn’t explain the watching, but the boy would be living with them starting tonight. It would work out or the boy would leave.

  Whoops erupted around them as Sophie entered with a pot of coffee. She was followed by others, including Willy and Casey, carrying serving platters with plates of stew, slices of bread, and pickles. While Willy nodded eagerly at them, Casey kept to the far side of the room, head down. Byron pushed thoughts of their new cook aside and dove into the stew. Thick and flavorful, it filled more than his stomach. After a long day in the saddle, coming home to this would make all the difference in the world. He caught Cole’s eye and nodded his satisfaction at hiring a cook.

  Two hours later Byron twitched in his chair, eager to move. Cole’s glare stopped his drumming fingers on the table. So, toes on the floor, he quietly bounced his feet, making sure his heels didn’t tap. He hated to be kept inside. That was what had started everything. A quick look across the room suggested he wasn’t the only one fidgeting from sitting too long. The meal was good. It was the meeting that dragged on. At least they’d done a lot of business, organizing the gather and electing a reluctant Trace Elliott as mayor.

  Sheriff Barstow stood up. “First, I’d like to thank y’all for asking me to this shindig.” He briskly nodded at Trace. “My Mary’s a great cook, but it’s always nice to eat at somebody else’s table. Since pretty near everybody’s here”—he looked around t
he room, catching most of their eyes—“I’ll only have to say this once. We need a strong mayor like Trace, someone with backbone who’ll ride the river with us. Killin’ Rivers solved one problem, but it’ll stir up a hornet’s nest. Rivers had his fingers in a lotta pies. Now they’ll have to be cut up different. Some won’t like their new piece and will fight hard to get more, and new ones will demand a slice.”

  “So you expect trouble.” Jed Adams put his arm around his bride, Victoria, who leaned closer.

  “Expecting trouble is my job,” replied Barstow. He gave Jed a speaking look. “Frederick Smythe is mighty riled with the J Bar C for taking their cattle back.” He turned to Ace. “He has a grudge against the Double Diamond for winning the ranch from him. Since Ross MacDougal and Trace were part of the discussion to suggest he leave town, I expect he’s not too friendly with them either.”

  “You should’ve seen his face when Ross’s pigsticker hit the headboard not an inch above his head,” said Riley Jansen, chuckling. Other chuckles spread through the room along with murmurs as men explained things to their wives.

  “Rivers helped keep Joe Sheldrake in check. With him gone, Sheldrake may try something. We know he’s banged up”—Barstow shared a nod of thanks with Luke Frost of the Circle C—“but stompin’ on some snakes only makes their poison stronger. So I ask that you keep a keen eye on the hills for strangers riding through.” He turned to the Sweetwater table. “You gents have a front-row seat from your ranch. I expect you’ve got some good places to watch the town and the road to Bannack City.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Sheriff,” said Cole. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

  Beth handed her baby daughter to Simon and stood. “Thank you, Sheriff. I have a few words to say as well. I’m the one who’ll have to do without a husband if Trace has to stay in town to do mayor business. But I think it’s a wonderful idea.” She looked at her other men. “Simon? Jack? What do you think? You’d have to take over Trace’s chores.”

  “Ranger said he was thinking of hiring Willy Wright, but didn’t have enough work for him full time,” said Jack without bothering to stand. “Between the Rocking E and Bitterroot ranches, I expect we can keep him out of trouble. If he wants the job.”

  Trace looked at the back of the room. Everyone craned their necks. Willy’s face and ears turned bright red, but he stood straight. Casey, standing at his side, kept his head down as usual.

  “That all right with you, Willy?” asked Trace.

  “Yessir,” he replied. No one laughed when his voice broke. His eyes flashed to the two Redmond girls to see if they noticed.

  Trace narrowed his eyes at the seventeen-year-old boy. “Don’t even think of getting sweet on my girls.”

  Willy blanched, gulped, and nodded. “Yessir! I mean, no, sir!”

  Trace gave a last glare and turned to Cole. “Sophie said you hired Casey as cook and chore boy. That means both boys’ll have a home for the winter.”

  “Casey made the pies,” said Cole as if that explained everything.

  “Guess you don’t need a wife, now that you got yourself a good cook,” drawled Oz Cutler.

  Cole sent an icy glare in reply to the barbed comment. Though he’d calmed down a bit since his partner Luke married Sarah, the redhead still enjoyed scrapping.

  “If you think all a wife does is cook, you can sleep in the barn for a while,” replied Sarah Frost tartly.

  “You’ll change your mind after a few of my kisses.” Oz winked his good eye at her.

  “Whoa, there’s bachelors here,” said Marshall loud enough to be heard across the room.

  “Don’t blame me,” said Zach McInnes. He draped his arm around his brand new bride. Since he was facing the other way, he didn’t see Rusty lean in from the other side and quickly kiss Kate. “You weren’t fast enough on the draw when—”

  “Enough!” Trace glared about the room until things settled. “This meeting’s over.”

  Byron shot to his feet. He tugged at his coat. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Marshall rubbed his hands together eagerly. “The sooner we get home, the sooner we get some home cookin’.”

  “You just stuffed yourself.” Cole led the way toward Casey.

  “A man can never get enough of a good thing.”

  Chapter 3

  Marshall woke to the smell of frying ham and coffee. He’d heard quiet rustlings earlier and rolled over for more sleep. But now the welcoming smell called to him so loud he groaned and sat up. He stood and stretched, his morning erection jutting proudly out. A squeak had him turning toward the sound. Casey, hat firmly on his head, hurried back to the stove as fast as his bare feet could take him. He hunched over the stove stirring something, his cheeks as red as a potbellied stove in January.

  The boy was embarrassed by a good-morning cockstand? Surely by now the same thing happened to Casey, though at twelve his cock wouldn’t be as large. The boy had been sleeping next to his older brother so the sight shouldn’t surprise him. Unless he was afraid of men. Marshall cussed under his breath.

  “Better be redeye gravy to go with that ham,” said Byron. He stood and stretched. His cock was in the same shape as Marshall’s.

  Cole blinked, bleary eyed, at them. “Hell, boys, y’all got a contest going?”

  “We ain’t had a morning pecker contest in years,” said Marshall with a grin. Like Cole, his cock stood out proudly from a nest of brown curls. Byron’s nest, like his moustache, was blond.

  “Shorty,” taunted Byron. His cock was still the longest.

  “I’m the biggest,” said Cole. Though the same length as Marshall, his cock was thicker, the head dark.

  They snickered at each other as if they were Casey’s age before parading out the back door to water the bushes. The September-morning chill turned their skin into gooseflesh but did nothing to lessen the size of their cocks. Byron got his stream to go the farthest. Marshall cussed at losing twice before the morning even started. He was still doing up his shirt when he followed the others into the kitchen part of the cabin. Three plates waited on the table, along with three cups and spoons. Casey held another plate, which he used to dish out the grub. The boy still wore his hat, brim pulled low. His hands looked clean, but he hadn’t washed his face.

  “What’s for breakfast?” asked Cole. He moved closer to peek into the pan. Casey stuck out his elbows as if to keep him back.

  “Ham, eggs, corn pone, redeye gravy and biscuits, and coffee. That good enough for you?”

  Cole gave him a quelling look, but the boy had his head down and didn’t see it.

  “Mm, smells good,” said Marshall. He sat in his usual spot and reached for a biscuit. Cole filled his plate and sat across from Marshall. After that no one spoke until every plate was clean.

  “That was a fine start to the day,” said Cole. He patted his belly after he rose from the table.

  Marshall held back until the others headed for the barn. “Did you eat?” he asked Casey. He got a shoulder shrug in return. He sighed loudly, set his fists on his hips, and walked closer. “We expect you to do a man’s job. To do that, you gotta eat.”

  “I ain’t used to eatin’ much.”

  “Well, you’d better get used to it fast. The more fat you have covering your bones come winter, the better off you’ll be. You ever been so cold your spit froze before it hit the ground?”

  That made Casey raise his eyes. He had long lashes, like a girl. His hazel eyes looked deep, the skin underneath bruised like he’d been crying or hadn’t slept well in far too long. Considering Casey and his brother had been sleeping rough for months, Marshall wasn’t surprised. He held back any reaction. The boy had nothing but pride, and he’d not take that away.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you don’t know cold, boy.” He slowly reached out and rested his hand on Casey’s bony shoulder. The boy twitched, but didn’t pull away. “I expect you to put some weight on. We’ll get extra sugar and lard from town so you can make some cak
es and pies. That’ll help fill you out. We’d appreciate a good feed. Haven’t had cake in a coon’s age.”

  The boy worried his bottom lip with his front teeth. Surprisingly, they were straight and white.

  “You like yer rabbit fried, or stewed?”

  “Stewed,” said Marshall, though he really didn’t care. He’d eat damn near anything if he was hungry. If someone else cooked, so much the better.

  “Dumplings with ’em?”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Marshall with a laugh. “Figure out what we need from the mercantile and we’ll get it.” He squeezed gently and released. “Welcome to Sweetwater Ranch and the Flying X brand. You’ll be safe here.”

  Knowing the boy was jumpy, he closed the door quietly behind him rather than hauling it shut as usual. He had to hustle to get his horse tacked up before the others finished.

  “What was that?” asked Cole, frowning.

  “Boy didn’t have breakfast. I told him he’d have to put some fat on to get through the winter. He asked if I liked my rabbit fried or stewed.”

  “Stewed,” said Byron.

  “Fried,” said Cole.

  “I said stewed, and yes to dumplings.” Marshall mounted. “He’s going to make a list of what’s needed in town.”

  “A list? I didn’t think a boy from back in the hollers could write,” said Cole, frowning.

  “I expect he’s learned to remember,” spat Byron. He dug his heels into his horse and trotted out of the yard, leaving the others behind.

  “Huh. He’s still touchy,” said Marshall, watching him ride off. He shook his head. Leather creaked as he climbed into the saddle. “Don’t know why. He’s smart, and lots of men can’t read or write.”