Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (34 page)

“Umm, just wanna sleep,” she murmured.

Byron pulled out and tidied them up, washing carefully before he climbed back into bed. This time he lay on his back with Casey half on top of him. Marshall cuddled up to her other side. Within minutes her soft snores drifted past his ears. Marshall’s deep ones provided a counterpoint.

“I never thought I could love like this,” Byron whispered into her hair.

Casey woke to soft kisses on her breasts. Both breasts, at the same time. She slowly opened her eyes. Two heads, one blond head and one dark, bobbed below her chin. The dark-haired one looked up.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” said Marshall. He suckled her, pulling on her nipple. Her pussy twinged in agreement. Though his mouth was busy, she could see he laughed by the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Byron gave her a last nibble and shifted. She jiggled when he rolled off the bed. He winked at Casey and then smacked his cousin’s ass with his hand. Marshall yelped and hauled himself off the bed, fists clenched.

“What the hell was that for?” he bellowed.

“Got work to do.” Byron pointed to Marshall’s erect cock. “Better put that away. It’ll be a hard ride otherwise.”

He glowered, making promises of returned pain with his eyes before giving in. “I’d like to use it to ride Casey hard first.”

He leered at her, making her laugh. She rolled out of bed to start breakfast. A twinge in her backside made her wince.

“I’ve had enough of that type of riding for a while,” she replied. Marshall stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated sulk. Byron smacked him again, this time on the head. Casey looked at the two of them. “Out!” she yelled and pointed to the door.

They wrestled their way to the door. Just as they passed through one of them got the other in a headlock. Zeus followed them, barking at the fun. She chuckled to herself as she dressed. Grunts and other battle noises came in through the door. She used to get frightened when there was a fight, never knowing if one of her brothers, or her father, would be knifed, shot, or beaten into the ground. It wasn’t bad enough that there was a killing feud. No, they had to go after their own family as well. No wonder none of her three fiancés had lived long enough to marry her!

“And thank God for that,” she murmured.

She tied her apron behind her back and opened the stove. It had a stepped top with two separate fireboxes. The front one heated the flat surface where she placed the cast-iron skillet. The back part of this level was good for simmering or keeping things warm. The end firebox heated the oven and the water reservoir. She lit both.

She could see her breath in the chilly morning air when she stepped out but didn’t bother with a coat. The henhouse was warm, though smelly. She was used to that. She let the chickens out, gathered the eggs in her apron without letting the rooster peck her this time, and returned to the cabin. She was greeted by the cheerful crackle of a hot fire. The men were in the barn, but one of them had put the coffee on. Smiling at their thoughtfulness, she began slicing salt pork.

They quickly ate and rode out, needing to make up for time lost searching for her. She sat at the table, finishing her coffee. The wooden crate in the far corner called to her. That area of the cabin was dim so she couldn’t see it well, but she knew it was there. She bit her lip. Should she take something out now, or wait until she had someone to share it with? Should Willy be here? The crate also held his past. She shoved back her bench.

The loud scraping sound woke Zeus. He rolled to his feet, hopped out of his basket and padded over. She lifted him to her chest. “You’re already heavier, and bigger.” She giggled when he licked her nose and chin with his little pink tongue. She could pretend the crate wasn’t important. But it was. It held her past, and her future.

When she and Willy escaped all they brought was the gold they’d gathered over the years and hidden from Pappy, and the clothes they stood up in. The gold was gone, the clothes were worn to rags, but they still lived. At first, that was all that mattered. But not now.

She was a wife and, God willing, would be a mother by this time next year. Until that crate arrived, she’d had nothing of her own. She could have told her children stories, whatever she could remember from her own mama, but there was nothing to hold or see. In that box might be things that Mama loved. She wished for a teacup that had belonged to her mother and her grandmother before that. It would help her remember Mama’s stories of life as a wealthy young girl in a city of wonderful things.

Someday, she might have a daughter or two to pass those stories onto.

Zeus wiggled so she set him down. He tumbled over her feet as she approached the crate. Could she stand not to lift something out? She stopped. Someone had put the lid back on. She tried to pry it up, but the nails had been hammered in as well. She laughed, glad that the decision was taken out of her hands. Tonight, when they were all together, they would open it again.

She turned away from temptation and began cleaning up after breakfast. After a few days cooped up in the hotel she was eager to cook in her own kitchen. But there was more. She needed her freedom. She’d take a look at the Bannack City road to see if anyone was coming. On the way back she’d hunt something up for dinner. After, that is, she got her sourdough bread started.

By the time Casey finished all her chores the sun was well up. She decided she didn’t need a coat but brought it anyway, rolled up behind her saddle. It was September in the mountains. Anything could happen and a false sense of security with the weather would kill almost as fast as a rattlesnake bite. Zeus wanted to come, of course, but the last thing she needed while hunting was an eager puppy “helping.”

She rode around bare rock outcrops and bushes of silver gray sagebrush. Frost had touched the aspen leaves with a gold wand. They fluttered in the light breeze, waving as she passed. Dark spires of pine pointed to the sun. Much of the ground was barren. September rains would bring water, but it was too late for the plants that had died back in August’s heat. Round brown hills, bare of trees, crouched at the bottom of sharp-sided mountains. White spots marked rock outcrops, but in a few weeks they’d be joined by patches of snow.

This would be her first real winter. There’d be snow up to the eaves and cold like she’d never known. She shuddered. How could it be so cold that your spit froze before it even reached the ground?

She reined in before reaching the rocky outcrop that pointed east. It overlooked the Bannack City Road and was the perfect place to watch for trouble. She hobbled her horse and crept to the ledge. There was no use for a spyglass in the mountains back home. There were so many trees that you couldn’t see very far no matter what you stuck onto your eye.

Far below a cloud of dust headed toward her. She pulled the spyglass open. Byron gave it to her, saying Cole had bought it as an apology for trying to smother her. He said he trusted her to use it wisely. She took it to mean he wanted to make sure she didn’t get too close to spy on anyone in person and get caught again. She fiddled with it until she could see.

“Now don’t that beat all?”

A group of horses trotted toward her. She half closed her eyes to see better. Was that…?

“Willy!”

She let out a whoop, scaring her horse. The beast tried to run but couldn’t move far. She caught him, hauled herself into the saddle and raced for home. She’d leave a note to say she’d gone to town to see her brother. The men could find their own dinner!

She slowed her horse as she entered Tanner’s Ford. She’d raced so fast they both had to work to get enough breath. She entered on the far side of Dieter Arnott’s butcher shop, where the boardwalk ended. Though it was daytime, she hurried past Baldy’s Saloon, remembering her last encounter. She crossed the street and looked west. Tears prickled her eyes at the sight of her brother, home safe.

Willy stood beside four dusty horses as they slurped water out of the trough. She noticed Daniel MacDougal and Billy O’Keefe’s obvious glances at Sarah’s Bakery across the street. She pulled her horse to a halt in front of the jail and quickly dismounted. Gillis MacDougal nodded a welcome to her. Willy had his back turned so hadn’t seen her yet.

“Ye’ve been good lads,” said Gillis to Daniel and Billy. “Here’s two bits to share.”

The boys raced across the street. Willy watched them go, licking his lips as if tasting a fresh-baked treat. His eyes shifted and he saw Casey. He whooped, grabbed her in a bear hug, and lifted her off the boardwalk. She pounded his shoulders as usual to make him set her down, but it was only halfhearted. She’d missed him, worrying like an older sister.

“You must’ve grown three inches,” said Casey when he released her. “They feed you well?”

“Cole got the better end of the deal,” growled Gillis. “He only had to feed a little thing like you while I got this one. I swear the lad’s got a tapeworm.” His huge bushy eyebrows met in the middle in a red frown. Willy laughed, so Casey figured this was a long-standing complaint.

“It’s the boots that make me tall,” said Willy, answering her first question. He stuck out his foot to show Casey he was no longer barefoot. The boots were used, of course, but they covered his feet. While they gave him height, it was the way Willy carried himself that Casey noticed. He’d done the work of a man for long days, moving cattle up and over dangerous terrain. He’d eaten well and filled out. Her little brother was a man now.

“You look good,” she said, quietly proud of him.

“Wish I could say the same for you,” he said, taking in her dusty clothes and scraggly hair. “Didn’t those husbands of yours buy you anything decent?”

“Yes, but I was out hunting and looked down the road for you. When I saw you were coming, I raced so fast I lost my hat,” she explained. She bit her lips, wondering how to tell Willy. She decided to do it fast and simple.

“I got more news for you about Mama’s family. Good news,” she added.

Willy rubbed at his upper lip. Enough hair had grown in while he was away that she could almost call it a moustache. He also had the beginnings of a beard around the edge of his jaw. If he could grow a beard, it would keep his face warmer when the winter wind blasted from the north.

“What news?”

“You remember Mama saying she came from money?”

“Nope. You said it a time or two.” He frowned. “You sayin’ it’s true?”

“Well, ah…” Casey’s throat tightened up. All of a sudden she could barely swallow.

A set of warm hands rested on her shoulders. She turned to discover Cole had approached. Since Mama died, she’d never leaned on anyone. Could never trust them. Tension seeped from her shoulders into Cole’s strong hands. She leaned against his chest, just enough to feel his heat but not be off-balance.

“Your grandmother, Cassandra Fenton Barkley, sent money for you,” said Cole.

“Money?” Willy tilted his head toward his new brother-in-law. “Don’t remember no granny. How’d she find out about me?”

“Agent Gibson of the Pinkerton Agency tracked down your mother’s people,” explained Cole. “Ben Elliott is holding the bank draft for you.”

Willy looked at Casey. She nodded, smiling.

“Half of it goes to Casey.” Willy hardened his jaw and glared at Cole. “Not to her husband.”

“It’s all right, Willy, I got my own.” Casey looked up at Cole. Though he could make her scream with frustration sometimes, he was a good man. Nothing like Pappy or the rest of the Clan. “Cole said right off it was mine to keep or use on whatever I wanted.”

Willy gave Cole a slight nod of respect. “How much?”

“Enough to buy into your own outfit with a couple of partners, if you want.”

Willy choked. He stared, blinking at Cole for a moment before shaking his head. “I hear your words, Mr. Cole, but my belly’s growling too loud to listen.” He rolled back his shoulders as if they ached.

Casey looked closely at her little brother. He was tall, strong, covered with dust, and plumb worn out. She’d been sleeping in a warm bed while he’d been riding the trail. No wonder he couldn’t think straight.

Sheriff Barstow came around the far side of the jail. He nodded howdy at them.

“Got news for ye, lawman.” Gillis bared his teeth in what might be a smile. “Sheldrake won’t be vistin’ town again. He found himself at the hot end of a bullet.”

“What happened?” asked Cole before Barstow stepped up.

“The fool was spreading rumors against the railroad in Virginia City, saying Rivers told him secrets before he died. He said Rivers knew about shady business dealings between the railroad and politicians.”

“Hell, everybody knows that,” said Barstow.

“Yeah, but are ye flappin’ yer jaw in a rough bar filled with drunks who’ll shoot their mother for an ounce of dust to buy rotgut and whores?” Gillis’s white teeth shone from between his red moustache and beard. “When he wouldn’t shut his mouth a wee bit of lead right between the eyes took care of it.”

“He’s dead?” whispered Casey. Gillis nodded. “Thank God!”

The blood drained from her head at knowing Sheldrake would not come after her. She knew if he caught her again, he’d treat her far worse. She swayed, then crumpled. Cole’s arm snaked around her waist.

“You’re safe,” whispered Cole over her shoulder. “He’s gone, Casey, and you smashed that shackle to bits. No one’s ever going to do that again, to anyone. Because of you.”

She rolled her lips over her teeth, pressing them together to stop herself from crying out. She shook as if freezing. Her breath shuddered as she fought to breathe. She turned into Cole’s arms. He groaned and pulled her close. His heart thumped against her ear as fast as a drum roll. His body heat touched her from face to knees.

She felt safe. Wanted. His arms warmed her back, pressing tightly until she pushed back a bit. She looked up at him, blinking through a few silly tears.

“I didn’t know how scared I was,” she whispered, her throat too tight to speak out loud. “I couldn’t let myself think of it.” She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t cry, but—”