Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (27 page)

Max poured, again giving liberal portions. He leaned back and steepled his hands. “I want to buy time with Queenie. I’ll pay well.”

“Why Queenie?” demanded Josh. He waved his hand around the room. “There’s lots of whores in here.”

Max curled his lip. He brushed an ash off his sleeve. This wasn’t an act. It was Josh’s oldest brother being himself.

“I don’t touch whores,” said Max crisply. “I hear Queenie is a widow who’s only been with one man. Other than you,” he added with a nod of acknowledgement. “I want a woman for a few hours, but I don’t want the pox.” He raised his glass.

Josh knew Max had a plan—he did nothing without one—and was here carrying it out. Josh looked at the bottle, licking his lips as if he struggled to think. “Queenie won’t like another man pawing at her. She damn near broke my nose when she punched me.” He touched his nose, though his tone suggested his protest was wavering.

“I hear tell you want to make her learn. I’ll pay well for the privilege.”

Max met him head-on. He gave the silent blink and mouthed a word that looked like “Isaac.” It confirmed why Max was setting Sophie up. He blinked back.

“How well?” demanded Josh.

“Enough to buy enough whiskey to keep you drunk for a few days.” Max leaned forward. “And nights.”

Josh put on a drunken grin. He shoved himself to his feet. He teetered for a moment, clutching the table as if waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Queenie!” he bellowed. “Get that sweet ass of yours over here.” She jerked her head toward him, then turned away in purposeful dismissal. He swayed some more. “Now!”

She glared over his shoulder, face screwed up in anger. She slammed the bottle she held on the table and stomped over. Grinning men pushed back chairs to make room for her. Many admiring eyes followed her path. Too many for Josh’s liking. The dress was loose except for around her waist. She’d tied her apron tight, and that made her ass stand out.

“What do you want?” she demanded, standing toe-to-toe with him.

He looked down and burped in her face. The violence of the explosion pushed him backward. He swayed. She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand to clear the air in front of her face.

“You’re drunk as well as mannerless! Good! I hope you drink the day away.” She set her fists on her hips. “I could use a good night’s sleep.”

She turned away, but Josh grabbed her arm. She yanked, but he held. He leaned forward, leering.

“I might be too drunk tonight to do much, but my friend here ain’t.”

Her furious expression faded. A touch of fear appeared. “But, I’m yours for the week. Just yours. You said so.”

“Yep, y’er mine all right.” He leered at his property. “And if I tell you to spread your legs for my friend, you’ll do it!”

She fought to get away. “No! I’m not a whore!”

“I paid damn good money fer yer body.” He shook her just enough to make it look real. “That makes ye whatever I say ye are.”

“No! I won’t do it!”

She yanked even harder. This time he let her go. She hurried back to where she’d been working. Loud catcalls followed. She glared at him, her face red. That, he was sure, was no act. But he’d seen her eager eyes flash before she stormed away. It looked like having him fight her made her hot. The thought of having Sophie fight him, and be overpowered, did the same to him.

“I need a drink!” He fell into the chair and picked up his glass with both hands. After loudly slurping, he set it down.

“That woman needs a lesson in manners,” said Max loudly. His eyes barely flickered. Josh took the hint. A quick look out the corner of his eye showed Abby heading their way.

“I spanked her ass until it was as red as Abby’s dress last night,” grumbled Josh. “Queenie don’t listen good.”

A hand grabbed his arm. The cloying scent of stale perfume over an unwashed body flooded his nose.

“I know someone who’ll make her listen. He’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget.”

Josh squinted at her. “Who?”

“Someone who can beat some sense into her. He’ll make her want to please you.” Abby slid her eyes over to Max. “And you. As long as you don’t mind if she has a few bruises?” She gave what she must think was a winsome smile. “She’ll be willing to do anything for you.” She pressed her large breasts against Max’s cheek and trailed an experienced finger down his arm. “An-y-thing. Mr. Isaac will make her eager for you, throat, pussy, and ass.”

Max’s eyes lit up. He turned to Josh. “You used her there yet?” Josh shook his head, almost toppling in the process. “Good. That’s mine.”

“She won’t like it,” warned Josh. “Told me last night to keep my fingers out of her ass.”

“She won’t have a choice,” said Abby. Her eyes gleamed. “You want me to call my friend? No extra charge.”

Josh wavered for a moment, making her wait, then nodded.

“Good.” She winked at Max. “She’ll be ready for you a couple hours after supper.” She flounced toward the bouncer.

“How much gold you want for her?” demanded Max. He leaned forward on his arms. Josh did the same, as money talk was kept quiet.

“Someone following Abby’s messenger?”

“No,” replied Max, equally softly. “We can’t give any hint we’re on to him.” Max suddenly shoved back and snarled. “I won’t pay that much, no matter how clean the whore!”

“I’ll drop it by half,” said Josh. He waited for Max to lean forward again. “If Sophie gets hurt I’ll beat the stuffing out of you.”

“You think I like putting her at risk?” demanded Max under his breath. “If she hadn’t come waltzing in here—”

“Pay up!” Josh slammed his hand flat on the table. He didn’t want to hear another word.

“Don’t you get drunk,” warned Max as he dug in his pocket. “You’ve got to stay here, nice and visible, when Sophie’s taken upstairs to Isaac tonight. Sam will be hidden in her room by then. Most of the ranchers will be watching Smythe down the street. Ross said he’d be in and out. That Wright boy, Willy, came with them. Trace says he can track a snake over dry rock.”

Max handed over enough coins to keep Josh well lubricated for some time. “I’ll be back after supper,” he said loudly. “Don’t you be touching her.”

“Leave the bottle,” demanded Josh. Max gave him a look of scorn and walked away.

Josh poured himself another drink. He’d sip at it for the rest of the day even though he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk. It would be a waste of good whiskey, but he’d have to let most of the bottle dribble onto the floor.

It was an hour later, halfway through his glass, when he suddenly cursed. Sam would hide in Sophie’s room, but what if Abby had her taken somewhere else?

He slumped forward as if passed out. Thumping his head on the table didn’t help. How could he protect his woman if no one knew where she was?

Harrison Baird steepled his fingers over his belly. The position was a comfortable one. His seat had spread with the years like his belly, but his eyes and mind were as sharp as ever. Some might judge his shape and think less of him, but that worked to his advantage. Good food and fine drink helped make up for the lack of intellectual challenge.

Today would be different. No petty squabbles between males who’d never grown into men. His research suggested the ranchers of Tanner’s Ford were not only fine men, they were unusual in other ways. He hadn’t gotten to this position of power by judging others on how they dressed or spoke. These men might not have a formal education, but they were damn smart in the ways that counted. They found practical solutions to the problems that faced them. They dealt with them, and moved on.

He stood up when his assistant knocked and opened the door. Four, no, five big men came in. Of course, the eldest MacDougal would join them, though Harrison hadn’t expected the kilt. Gillis was head of the clan and, though Ross could damn near kill a man with his stare, he deferred to his Chieftain. Harrison had put out six chairs just in case. He was a man who was always prepared for surprises. Few of them were as pleasant as an extra foe to wrangle with.

“Gentlemen,” he said, inviting them in.

Trace Elliott walked in first. He had the loose-limbed gait of a man who spent many hours on horseback. His clothing was dark except for the red bandana neatly folded and tied around his neck. Nothing unusual in that, except Harrison knew what it covered, and why. Trace would not give up without a fight.

He nodded at Benjamin Elliott, the well-schooled lawyer. They’d met previously to set up this meeting and got along well. Both had concerns about water rights and what the mines were doing to the land.

The blond who ducked his head to get through the door would be Charles “Sin” Statham. Quiet, intense and, it was said, able to control wild Jessie Elliott Langford with one look. He’d enjoy hearing about that over a brandy and cigar. He liked women with fire.

Ross MacDougal, dark of skin, hair, eye, and attitude, waited for his much hairier and redder older half brother to enter. Harrison heard the slight click of the lock when Ross shut the door, but only because he was listening for it.

If he was the type to rub his hands in anticipation, he’d be doing it now. This meeting might even meet his expectations. The five men looked around the room with prying eyes. Ben stood in front of the fire for a moment, then turned his back and lifted his coat.

“Went out for a ride and the dang saddle was cold,” he said by way of explanation. But Harrison noted he’d taken a good look at the painting over the mantle. As it was the usual place to put a safe, Harrison had one installed there. All it contained were useless papers and an old pistol that always misfired. Anyone who tried to use it on him would get a damn good flash burn in the face.

Statham, face grim, looked around the room as if to find alternate exits. He strolled to the side of the desk and boldly pushed the curtains aside.

“Yes, there is a window, and a balcony,” said Harrison. “The window is locked, but feel free to check it yourself.” Statham reached a long arm over and yanked. The window stayed shut. He nodded abruptly and moved on, his long legs taking him across the room in only a few steps. “Look all you like. You won’t find my good safe.”

“’Tis not the safe the lad’s seekin’, Bains,” said Gillis.

The Scottish accent was far broader than his sources had suggested. Likely it was put on for his benefit, as was the kilt. It was late September, when cold winds and rain blew almost daily. How the hell did the man keep his balls from freezing? But then, Gillis was a Highland Scot, and they were said to ignore anything but mortal blows. Wives, however, could knock them down with a feather. Amelia was said to be petite and quiet. She let Gillis bluster until he ran down and agreed with her.

“The name is Baird,” he said in a purposely mild tone. “Harrison Baird.”

Gillis grunted in reply. His raised eyebrow wriggled like a bushy red caterpillar. Harrison found it as fascinating as the handle that protruded above his left shoulder. Gillis saw his glance and bared his teeth, perhaps in what he considered a smile.

“Dinna fash yerself aboot me wee dirk, Bains. ’Twill nae be landin’ in yer gut.” His blue eyes widened, and he showed more teeth. “Mind, if ye dinna sign yon papers, I might find a need to run ye through.”

The predator in Harrison sat up eagerly at the gauntlet thrown in his path. While others had misused his name before, no one had threatened him with disembowelment. It was the eagerness by which Gillis did it that made the situation more interesting.

“I would rather enjoy seeing you use that thing,” he replied. Gillis’s eyes lit up. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ben punched him in the chest.

“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” warned Ben. “At least until we’re finished. Then you and Mr. Baird can have your fun.”

The fury Gillis flashed Ben reminded Harrison of the ancient word “berserker.” Likely the MacDougal ancestors had had a few of those in their past. Perhaps not so distant a past.

Harrison had been warned Ross was the most dangerous of the group. Quick to take offence and even quicker to strike, he had intelligence along with years of training as a Bannock warrior. He stood by the door like a statue, nothing moving but his eyes. They swept around the room, taking in the polished walnut paneling, lead crystal lamps, well-stocked library, and equally fine bar. They lingered on the table where a rolled map was held open by four glasses of whiskey, then landed on him.

“Railroads pay well.”

Harrison nodded at Ross’s bald statement. “They do, indeed.” He waited a beat. “If you know the true value of what you hold.” A flicker of challenge passed between them.

It was Harrison who broke away first. He knew a predator when he saw one and, ever the strategist, retreated to fight stronger the next time. He’d planned how to approach the meeting, but having seen the men with his own eyes, he changed tactics. These ranchers wouldn’t toy with their prey. They wanted blunt and to the point.

“You want land the railroad is prepared to sell,” he said. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Before we begin, Mr. Baird, shall we introduce ourselves?” asked Ben mildly.

“Why? I expect your sources are as good as mine.”

Ben nodded as if thinking it over. “Yes, but you may not know why each of us are here.”