Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (22 page)

The look she gave him was worth whatever Cole had spent. She had stars in her eyes, like a princess who’d woken from a hundred years of nothing to find a whole new world there for the taking.

He’d do damn near anything for her to look at him like that. He smirked. And Cole had missed it. Too bad for him.

“Won’t you ladies sit?”

“I’ve got work to do,” said Sophie sharply. She picked up Gibson’s empty plate and harrumphed. “The way you eat, it’s a good thing the judge and Miss Lily are paying for you.”

Gibson watched her stomp across the floor, a faint hint of smile on his face. Sophie looked back at the last minute. Seeing them watching, she flushed even more and stomped into the kitchen.

“She likes me,” said Gibson with satisfaction. He waited a moment, but she didn’t come out again. He shook out his shoulders and turned to them. Suddenly, his face was sharp and focused.

“Mrs. Taylor, I have some news for you. If you would like to sit?”

Instead of falling into the chair, Casey gently placed her bottom on the edge. She took a moment to settle the folds of her skirt before looking up.

“Please, call me Casey. If that’s all right with Byron.”

“That’s your name. You might as well keep using it,” he replied.

“After you shot that Rivers fella, I figured I owed you,” said Gibson. “When I found myself in North Carolina, I did some checking. I’ve got news about your pappy.”

Casey’s pink face turned white. She swayed. “Is he here?” she whispered.

Byron put his arm around her in support, both physical and personal.

“No, ma’am. He’s dead,” said Gibson. “He owed a sum of money to a curly wolf named Bart. Don’t think the feller had a last name. There was a bit of, ah, difficulty between them, and they ended up dead.”

“Thank God,” whispered Casey.

She pressed her eyes shut for a moment. Her gloved hand squeezed Byron’s arm, then released. He felt both relieved and mad that he hadn’t had the privilege of killing both of them. Casey opened her eyes, inhaled, and smiled.

“Thank you for the news, Mr. Gibson.” She pinked up again. “Do you know why he owed Bart money?”

Gibson’s hooded eyes gave nothing away. “Yes, ma’am, I do. But that’s nobody’s business but your own. May I congratulate you on your marriage to Cole Taylor and his upstanding partners?”

“Thank you,” she replied. Her breathing was ragged, but her color had returned.

“Sophie’s holding a crate to give you,” Gibson continued. “A gift from your grandmother.”

Casey stared at Gibson. She didn’t move. Byron finally tapped her shoulders. “Breathe, Casey.”

She choked, then inhaled. Her fancy dress was snug, needing a corset, so she couldn’t get much air, but at least now she was trying.

“My grandmother?” she whispered.

“You were named after Cassandra Fenton, who married George Barkley. Both families are well known.”

Byron sharpened his gaze on Gibson. “
Those
Fentons and Barkleys?”

Gibson nodded blandly. “Mr. Barkley, the one who made Casey’s mother marry that no good son of a gun, has passed. When I told Mrs. Barkley what happened, and that you and Willy were doing well in the West, she insisted on sending a few things.”

“Things?” Casey’s face was blotched white and red. She clenched Byron’s arm as if she was drowning.

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t know what all’s inside the box, but she said something about teacups and suchlike. She also sent bank drafts for you and for Willy.” He winked. “Your granny was left a very wealthy widow. Since your older brothers were killed in that feud, she divided your mother’s portion between you and Willy. She asked that you write and let her know how you are. Her address is on the box. She wanted you to know she tried to stop her husband marrying off your mother like that.”

“This is good news for Casey,” said Byron under his breath. “But I thought you had information about what’s going on here.”

“I do,” replied the agent coolly. “But it can wait. I suggest you take Mrs. Taylor upstairs and help her settle herself.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a paper. He smoothed it flat. “This is a bank draft made out to Cassandra Wright. Since you’re married, it belongs to your husband now.”

Byron accepted the paper from Gibson. He glanced at the amount, then choked. He swallowed and held it out to Casey.

“Just because Casey married Cole before she found out she had money, doesn’t mean she should lose it.” He wrapped her stiff fingers around the paper. “It’s all yours. You can use it for whatever you want.”

“Except an annulment,” said Gibson.

He raised an eyebrow to make the point. Byron felt his ears burn. Gibson returned his glare with a bland smile. Byron cursed under his breath. Cole and the rest of them thought Casey would be safer if she was married, no longer an innocent virgin. But not if she was worth more than the Sweetwater Ranch could make in five years. That meant they had to worry about her being held for ransom as well as sold!

He couldn’t let her know about that. Not until she had a chance to take all this in. And what would Cole think about his mountain-bred wife being the daughter of such high-falutin’ folks? He bet their grandmothers went to the same school for wealthy ladies. That explained why Casey talked like an unschooled nobody yet could move and act like a lady. Her mother must have passed on whatever she could to her only daughter.

“I don’t want an annulment or a divorce,” said Casey quietly. She folded the paper without looking at it and rose to her feet. Both men scrambled to follow. “Byron, would you escort me to our room please. I feel faint and wish to lie down.”

She held herself regally, shoulders back and head high. She was a long way from the scared waif who’d spied on him. He held out his arm to escort her. They strolled through the room, which had filled up as they spoke with Gibson. Silent stares, quickly followed by hoarse whispers, followed when the beautiful woman was identified as that scraggly boy, Casey Wright.

Byron’s back was ramrod straight as he brought his woman upstairs. Casey kept her jaw high, eyes straight forward, until he closed the door behind the rest of the world. Then she collapsed into his arms.

“What can I buy for the ranch?” asked Casey twenty minutes later.

She lay peacefully in Byron’s arms wearing only her shift and stockings. He was fully dressed except his coat and boots, but Casey didn’t want her beautiful new dress to get creased. Byron had helped her remove it without trying to touch her more than needed. Both had gotten aroused anyway but she wasn’t relaxed enough to want to do anything about it. Not yet.

For now she was content, warm, and wanted. Someone had made the bed while they were talking to Gibson, so they lay on the quilt. Byron spooned her from behind, his front keeping her back warm, his upper hand curved around her breast.

“That money is yours, Casey. Enough to buy your own business if you hadn’t married.”

Her stomach tightened. Would people expect her to act different now? Mama had been wealthy, a fine lady until she was disgraced. She brought money into her marriage, but Pappy gambled it all away. With nothing left he took her into the mountains, and she became the hardscrabble wife of a lazy drunk.

Cole and his partners didn’t drink or gamble. They worked hard and had pride in their work. Even better, they respected her. She’d never end up like Mama, in any way. She’d have babies that would grow up healthy and give her grandbabies. No feud, no desperation to find enough food to fill crying children’s bellies. No being the only woman in miles, without a friendly face or help when birthing a child.

Casey let out a deep breath at that thought. There were seven other wives in the valley, as well as other women in town. Surely she could find a friend or two. She had three good men who would help her care for their children. Men who would cherish her, even if they could be a bit overprotective.

She hadn’t had a chance to speak with anyone for more than a few minutes at her wedding, but she’d felt accepted. It brought a warm feeling to her heart. She wanted to belong, to the ranch and the town. She’d brought nothing into their marriage but herself and her skills. Thanks to her grandmother, she could now prove she wasn’t beholden to them. Then she could hold her head up whether she was pouring tea with fancy-dressed ladies or wearing pants and shirt while hunting rock-chucks for supper.

“But I did marry, and that’s why I want to buy something the ranch needs.”

Byron’s hand twitched on her breast. “Don’t know what Cole thinks about our wife buying things for us,” he said, grumbling.

“It’s not for you, it’s for the Sweetwater Ranch. And it would make me happy.”

Byron hesitated. She held herself still, waiting as patiently as she could. Never in her life had she given a bought-and-paid-for gift. She had to do something to thank them for the lace dress. Even if she only wore it once a year, carefully hanging it on the wall as decoration the rest of the time, it was still a wonderful thing to own. Something pretty, and extravagant, to prove that she wasn’t a dirt-poor, clan-feuding mountain woman.

Her heart thudded at the thought of opening the wooden box from her grandmother. She couldn’t wait to take it home and discover what was inside. She bit her lip and blinked hard. Her breath shuddered out. If what Gibson said was true, someday she could invite someone over and give them tea. Real tea, in real cups. Maybe by then they’d have furniture in the parlor. She’d seen a horsehair sofa once, with what they called a camel back. She’d never seen a camel, of course, but it was supposed to be like a sand-colored horse with a hump on its back.

The bank draft saying she had money was just a piece of paper to her. Byron’s strong, warm arms around her, raising her desire, was real. Going home to Cole and Marshall, was real. The possibility of friends to laugh with and children to love, was real.

“Well,” said Byron reluctantly, “there’s that bull Cole’s had his eye on. Ranger wants a good price for it. The bull’s worth it, but Cole decided not to buy it this year.”

“Because he married me?”

“That’s not it.”

Casey heard the tones in Byron’s voice. She tilted her head to look up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. Something was definitely different about him, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

“Well, that was some of it, yes,” he admitted. “We could use that bull in our breeding program. It’s shorter and stubbier than most longhorns, better for the colder climate up here.”

His hand finally moved, caressing her breast. She held still so that he wouldn’t think she was complaining and stop touching her.

“Then the Sweetwater Ranch will buy that bull with my money,” she said.

She knew what poked her in the lower back. It was something she wanted to get very familiar with, very soon. It made her think of the bull, and she giggled.

“What’s so darn funny?”

She pressed her lips together and looked up. A trace of a smile hovered around Byron’s lips. His blue eyes darkened as her breast got firmer under his hand.

“Buying a bull when I’ve got three of my own.”

He burst into a laugh, rolled her onto her back, and leaned over her. His palm caressed her cheek.

“We’ve got proof that Ranger’s bull can perform. You just had a night with Cole, but maybe you need to learn my cock works just as well. Maybe even better.”

He nudged his groin against her. She touched him through his pants. He hissed.

“I need more action and less talk,” she murmured.

His eyes widened at her demand. He growled and attacked, nibbling and tickling her. She shrieked, laughing and fighting to escape. After a moment he released her and rolled onto his back.

“Have your wicked way with me, woman. I’ve been working since before sunup while you snored.”

Casey attacked his clothes. It wasn’t long before she was the only one dressed. Wanting to prove she was in charge, she put one foot on the mattress. While Byron watched with wide eyes, she slowly drew her shift up until the top of her stocking appeared. His rough breathing filled the room as she rolled it down her leg at the same slow pace. He watched with his hands folded behind his head. He pretended to be relaxed but his chest moved up and down far too quickly for that. She switched feet. This time she lifted her shift even higher. As if by chance, she angled herself so he could see between her thighs.

“I swear,” he said, almost gasping, “I don’t know if you look better naked or in that pretty dress.”

Impatient, she pulled her shift off and carefully laid it on her dress. When she turned back to face him, he groaned. His cock, narrower but longer than the others, angled toward his chest.

“You up for a ride, cowboy?” she drawled.

Byron’s cock nodded his answer. She laughed and climbed on the bed, kneeling astride his thighs. He reached for her arms. He held her until she was poised above him on her knees. She stared at him as she lowered herself until his cock barely touched her pussy lips. Sweat broke out on his brow and temples. He bared his teeth, jaw tight.

He was waiting for her, she realized. No matter how much he wanted to fill her with his need, she was the one in control. Instead of the slow torture she’d decided on, she sank slowly down his cock. He was much narrower than Cole, so her tissues easily expanded to take him. But he was far longer

“Mmm,” she murmured when she was fully seated. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. He took the hint, filling his hands with them. He tugged and she leaned forward, her hands by his ears, so that he could taste her. He watched her intensely as he scraped her nipples between his teeth. She hissed at the intense jolt. He winked, and did it again. She contracted her pussy muscles. This time he had the jolt.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned.

She laughed and did it again. He pinched her nipples, daring her with his eyes to complain. She lifted her pelvis, making sure her breasts stayed in his hands. A long, slow slide up, then even slower on the way down. She did it again, watching him. He stared at her breasts, his teeth locked in a snarl. A vein at his temple throbbed. She squirmed against his groin, rubbing her clit on his pubic bone.