His Golden Touch [Gold Rush 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)

Gold Rush 1

His Golden Touch

Schoolmarm Hannah Brown finds herself with a ranch she has no idea how to run. Town gossips and unwanted advances by a ruthless sheriff make it impossible for her to live unwed and alone. She needs a husband.

Wade Tolliver and Brady Sands, two loyal cowboys, propose marriage, but neither will stay on without her commitment to him. They find a pragmatic solution. She marries the cowboy she has secretly loved for years with the understanding the other adoring ranch hand will share equally in all marriage benefits.

After a period of blissful ménage, Rocco Ponti, another cowboy, joins the marriage. His stories of a cave of gold send the group into the Gold Rush. They mine for gold outside of savage San Francisco. When they realize they need to protect their findings from ruthless crooks, they hire a Frenchman named Andre to guard their mine, and Hannah gains one last husband when she falls for him as well.

Note: This book is written in one point of view.

Genre:
Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

Length:
31,590 words
 

Gold Rush 1

Tish Domenick

MENAGE AND MORE

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage and More

HIS GOLDEN TOUCH

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-643-0

First E-book Publication: March 2013

Cover design by Harris Channing

All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

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His Golden Touch
by Tish Domenick from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy

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The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

This is Tish Domenick’s livelihood.
It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Domenick’s right to earn a living from her work.

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www.SirenPublishing.com

www.BookStrand.com

As always this book is dedicated to my husband. Thanks for cooking the food, playing the music, and for providing inspiration.

HIS GOLDEN TOUCH

Gold Rush 1

TISH DOMENICK

Copyright © 2013

The circle of mourners around her parents’ graves was small. A muddy ditch, a spooked horse and her world had shrunk to a handful of neighbors, their children, the preacher’s family, and two ranch hands.

One by one, people paraded past Hannah Brown with kind words she barely heard. For twenty-one years her parents had paved the way for her, softened the blows of childhood, failed puppy-love crushes, and the insecurities of becoming a woman. All decisions, large and small, were up to her now. Decisions like which field to plow, what bills to pay, what to eat for dinner, and where to live were hers to make—alone.

Could she keep the ranch going with her limited knowledge? Once she’d gone east to school and returned to become Plantsville’s school teacher, she’d had little to do with the day-to-day workings of the small spread. She’d sleepwalked through the days of the wake, stared at the ceiling of her overseer’s house at night, and had come to accept she was now alone in the world.

Wade Tolliver and Brady Sands, her father’s, no,
her
ranch hands, were waiting in the buggy to take her home. Neighbors would be there with food and condolences. For her sensibilities, they’d put this gathering off for a month, but she had to go through with it now. She sank to her knees and let the tears flow. This was the last time she’d give in to her sorrow.
Life had to be got on with
, her father always said after a setback or a tragedy.

She took in a shuddering breath and swiped at her eyes with a hanky. Heavy footsteps pounded the ground behind her. Her body turned rigid with tension. A large hand covered her mouth, and a beefy arm around her waist raised her to her feet. “Not so high and mighty, now, are ya, Miss Prim-and-Proper Brown?”

Hannah struggled but couldn’t loosen his grip or open her mouth to scream or bite. She tried kicking back with her dangling feet, but he pulled her tighter into him.

“If ya don’t want to be grabbed, then why’d ya let yer hair flow down yer back callin’ me with its shiny glow like polished corn silk? Why’d ya wear that dress huggin’ a waist my one hand fits around and pushin’ up those tits I’m dying ta see? Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be a lettin’ ya go today fer the festivities, but rest assured I’ll be back when yer alone so’s we can get to know each other real good.” He palmed her breast before he freed her and disappeared into the brush behind the church cemetery.

He’d been behind her, and she hadn’t seen his face, yet she knew who it was. She’d rebuffed Grant Slyke, the town sheriff, one too many times. He’d sworn his revenge, but fear of her father had kept him at bay—until now.

Wade ran down the hill to her. As always when she saw him, her heart did a little flip. His freshly shaven face was tanned and rugged from working in the sun, but when he smiled, he had dimples cuter than a baby’s. He was not smiling now and neither was she. Grant had given her a moment’s fright, but she’d known he couldn’t really hurt her with Wade and Brady close by.

“Was that Slyke I saw hightailing it into the woods?” Wade was panting a bit from his rush down the hill.

“Yes, he threatened me.”

Wade took several strides toward the trees but came back to her. “Reckon I’d better get you home, Ms. Brown.”

On shaky legs, she made her way to the buggy. Wade helped her inside and left her to go topside with Brady. The ride along dirt roads bumped and jostled her, but Hannah felt the ache in her heart more than in her body. She had been wrapped in swaddling by her parents since the day she was born. They were the people that loved her most in the world, and she had loved them the same unconditional way.

The ranch house should have looked sadder. With waiting neighbors holding covered dishes out on the wraparound porch, a party could have been in progress. Hannah swiped at her eyes with a hanky and let Wade help her out of the buggy and up the stairs. She unlocked the front door and entered a cold, dark living room. Someone immediately pulled up all the shades, someone lit a fire, and someone took charge of the food.

Hannah had little to do the rest of the afternoon save accepting platitudes offered by well-meaning friends. As dusk fell, two ladies cornered her in the kitchen as she was wrapping extra food to go home with the guests.

Mrs. Bielle, a plump busybody, cleared her throat. “Would you like to come stay with us, darlin’, until you decide what to do with the ranch?”

“What do you mean?” Hannah abruptly closed her gaping jaw.

The birdlike Mrs. Alexander stepped in. “You know Mrs. Vance is not a well woman. You can’t stay over there forever, and surely, you don’t intend to stay here alone?”

“By here do you mean Plantsville or the ranch?”

Mrs. Bielle cleared her throat again, louder this time. “You’re old enough to realize you can’t live alone in a house with naught but two men on the property?”

Hannah was a late bloomer because she’d been coddled so by her parents as their only offspring, but she’d had a few beaus and knew at once why the women were scandalized at the thought. “You really don’t have to worry about me. Wade and Brady are true friends and would never let anyone harm me in any way.”

More throat clearing, this time by both women. Mrs. Alexander spoke first. “Perhaps, I should stay the night and we can talk more about this in the morning.”

“Really, that won’t be necessary. As the town’s only teacher, I understand I must maintain my good name. I shall look for a suitable cook or housekeeper with a husband to come live with me. Tonight, however, I beg to be left to mourn on my own, if that is acceptable to everyone.”

The women looked at each other and nodded. “Of course, we understand, my dear. We understand, and everyone else will also. Do lock up carefully, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hannah saw the ladies out with a great sigh of relief. She wandered through the empty house, checking window latches, pulling down shades, and wiping wet spots on tables. She was not quite ready to climb the stairs and catch a glimpse of her parents’ empty bedroom. She jumped when a knock on the door disturbed the silence.

“Miz Brown, it’s me, Wade.”

“And, me, Brady. Can we talk to you, ma’am?”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, ma’am. We’ll be out in the fields early, and you’ll be rushin’ off to school, now it’s started up again after the mournin’. We need time fer this discussion,” Brady said in his deep, rich voice that matched his deep, rich, ebony hair, muscular shoulders, and tremendous biceps. “It’s about a thing what can’t be rushed in the askin’.”

Hannah opened the door and led them into the kitchen. They sat around the circular, wooden table that had been lovingly crafted by her father. “I think there’s some coffee left in the pot and a piece of pie or two I’ll never eat. Can I get you some?”

Wade shook his head and looked up at Brady with a nod. Wade was a few inches shorter than Brady’s six foot two, and his sandy hair fell n a forehead pale under the hat line. “No, we’ve had our fill. I, uh, we, Brady and me, we have a question to put to ya.”