Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (4 page)

“Good God in heaven above,” Art said, releasing a whistle.

Victoria
felt her skin heat, but she didn’t turn around to give them the full show, even though she craved the attention. She stepped inside and called out over her shoulder, “Put your animals in the barn. That’s where you’ll be sleeping, too, by the way. That is, if you take a notion to stay.”

Art grunted. “After seeing that body of yours, I don’t have the first inclination to leave!”

* * * *

Lane leaned over a broken-down fence waiting for Art to finish bedding down the horses. He watched a wolf studying him in the distance.

Stroking his chin, Lane decided the wolf represented an ever-present danger. In a day or two, maybe tomorrow, he and Art would ride on into
Cripple Creek
and turn themselves in. The local marshal had a bounty on their heads.

Way Lane saw it, he had two choices. He could turn himself in and face a hanging, or stay on the run and take a bullet in the head. There were two options within those choices, too.

With the hanging, he’d see the rope coming. With a bullet, he’d never know what hit him.

Lane didn’t like surprises.

His gaze stayed with the wolf. The animal started following them a few days back. Lane wondered if the four-legged creature was friendly, or maybe waiting for the right time to let them know he was a real hungry creature.

Art and Lane had discussed the animal’s potential dinner—them—and they feared one day soon, they’d come face-to-face with a formidable prairie enemy. Lane constantly worried they might have a proper introduction only after they were under attack. The concern made for some sleepless nights.

At least this fine evening, Lane didn’t fret over the unknown. Did he?

He turned around and watched
Victoria
through the small cabin’s only front window. She was a beautiful young woman. She’d tested them, too, which he appreciated. A telling sign, if he wanted to give her actions a little consideration.

What kind of woman stripped off in front of a man and let him stare at her breasts when she could clearly see he carried around pure, raging need in his breeches? Lane knew how to answer his own question.

His memories drifted back to a woman much like
Victoria
. Time’s hand was a cruel one, and he rarely allowed himself the opportunity to revisit history. Even now, after all these years, he had to fight like mad to stop the tears from falling. The itch to feed the sorrow he would always carry in his heart often hardened a man.

In fact, today was the first time another woman had stirred that familiar angst inside him, the battle between right and wrong. He once belonged to another. Looking at someone new with pure lust driving him didn’t sit well.

Lane’s deceased wife, the one he watched die at the hands of a bitter and cruel marshal, spoke to him in his dreams every now and again. As the years passed, Lane discovered her image in his fantasies had begun to fade.

He could still hear her sweet voice, but he rarely made out her extraordinary features. Right after she died, he often awoke in the middle of the night swearing his fingers had been latched around one of her auburn curls. Now, he couldn’t be certain of her precise hair color. Was it auburn, or more strawberry blonde?

Sometimes he wondered if his urges for another, his growing man-needs, kept him from hanging on to the past he shared with his Sarah Ann. He had a hankering for a woman. There was no way to deny the fact, and for the first time since his wife passed, he had an awful urgency to consider a left-handed wife. In recent months he’d started to ask himself if he would be considered an unfaithful man if he took another woman to his bed as his mistress.

In his mind, he was still a married man. Perhaps he always would be.

What would his wife think if she knew he’d considered having relations with another?

Art slapped his back, interrupting his thoughts about the woman who now tempted him, and the one who kept him bound to her from the grave.

“I see our friend is still there on the hill,” Art said, pointing.

“I reckon so,” Lane drawled.

“I’m gonna say he’ll come on down here tonight and watch over us. He’s a curious creature. He won’t know what to do when we turn in for the night and sleep in a barn.”

“You’re probably right.” A beat later, Lane said, “I’m trying to figure out what he wants with us.”

Art snickered. “No you ain’t. You’re trying to figure out what
Victoria
wants with us.”

“That, too,” Lane admitted. “The way she strutted around here was indecent. She knows how to make a man think.”

“She makes a man hard, too,” Art grumbled, pointing toward the hill again. “If our friend planned on going after the horses, he’s had enough time to pounce on either one of ’em. Maybe we ought to reward him for good behavior. The little woman might let us take him some leftovers out tonight.”

“Maybe. We’ve rarely had them on the open range. That’s for sure.”

“Supper on?”

“Hadn’t made my way over there,” Lane replied.

Art started toward the cabin. “After seeing her strip off her clothes like she was mad at us, I can’t wait to get there.”

Lane laughed, watching his young friend make his way toward dinner and
Victoria
, and he wondered then if
Victoria
didn’t represent both. If so, she might bite off a little more than she meant to chew.

Art always had all sorts of ideas for the opposite sex. Most gals cursed him like crazy when they found their way into his bed. There were whores in
Tombstone
that refused to service him.

Lane understood. In the early years of his marriage, his wife used to say his penis was worthy of a cussing. Art had one about the same size, maybe a little longer and wider, not that he was paying attention when they bathed in front of one another, but Sarah Ann had made the mention. Art had visited Lane’s wife’s bed a few times in the past.

Lane felt it was his duty to share his woman. The first time nearly killed him, but he became accustomed to their arrangement. Fact was, Lane really didn’t have a choice in the matter if he and Art were to remain on friendly terms. When Art lived with them, there wasn’t a woman around to service him, and Sarah Ann liked Art well enough to let him use her body to find some relief.

Anyhow, based on what he overheard for himself, Sarah Ann and even some of those prostitutes Art later frequented yelped and cried. He sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of something like what Art had between his legs. Poor
Victoria
would run like hell if she realized what Art most likely held in store for her.

The wolf paced in the distance, rushing back and forth across the slanted ridge a stone’s throw from where Lane stood. He felt the four-legged creature’s anxiety. He wanted to hang out in one place for a little bit, too.

He turned his focus back to the small cabin, now aglow with candles in the back windows. Without a doubt, he was in some real trouble. He recognized the coming hardship.

If he were a smart fellow, he’d march back in that barn, throw his saddle over his tired gelding’s back, and ride the hell on out of there. Instead, he was like the lone alpha watching him. He knew he was going in for the kill from the moment he spotted his prey.

The only question was when.

Chapter Three

Victoria
stacked the hoecakes high in the center of the table. “Dig in,” she told them as Art started piling up his plate with several helpings of beans, bread, and potatoes.

“Mighty obliged for your hospitality,” Art said gruffly. Art had a certain rasp to his voice. Deep and throaty, the sound of him sent shivers down her spine.

“Enjoy,” she stated proudly, glad to have company at her table.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said without looking away from his plate. Since he’d entered her cabin, he’d been in a surly mood. She wondered if he and Lane had gotten into a men’s disagreement.

Excitedly, she also wondered if their discussion—assuming they in fact had a disagreement—had anything to do with her.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” she remarked casually, aware of the fact she’d already extended the invitation.

Picking up his fork, Lane said, “We were hoping you wouldn’t mind. The horses are bedded down for the night. We appreciate the offer.”

By Lane’s reply, she wondered what they’d planned to do if she hadn’t invited them to stay. Remembering the men there were strangers, she hurriedly added, “I have plenty of blankets. I’ll be happy to share them, but you’ll have to stay out in the barn with your animals.”

Art shoved a slice of cornbread in between his lips and swallowed, washing it down with a sloppy slurp from his water glass. “You already know we ain’t gonna harm ya.”

“If the lady wants us in the barn, she’ll have us in the barn,” Lane said, gripping his fork and looking at her dead-on.

Immediately, her mind replayed the past. She remembered her ma instructing her guests. “I said wait for me in the barn. I’ll meet you out there after the kid goes to bed.”

If the wood in that barn could talk, the planks would tell one hell of a story.
Victoria
would like to hear them. Then again, she’d witnessed all she needed to hear way back when the doors would rattle the hinges and the coyotes would howl loud enough to cover up the animalistic happenings out there in that barn.

“That’s what you want, right,
Victoria
?” Lane asked. There was a dark edge to his guttural voice. When she didn’t reply, a masculine grunt fell from his lips, leading the way into all sorts of improper thoughts.

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted exactly,”
Victoria
said, rising. She went back to the chopping block and grabbed a full pitcher of recently pumped water. Her free hand settled against her camel-colored apron, and she noticed how Lane followed her hand as her nails raked across the center pocket.

Why did he watch her with such interest? Did he find her attractive? Did he use a sexy voice and say the types of things guaranteed to make a woman take notice?

Lane twirled his fork between two fingers, stirring his beans. “Are you all right, ma’am?” As he spoke, he watched her. There was no doubt. They would come to some kind of sensual understanding.

“I’m fine,” she choked out.

“Are you sure?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass.

Art kept shoveling in the food. He looked at Lane and then shot her a glance.

Considering the fact she was thinking about all the ways a woman could take a man to the barn and treat him like a wild animal, she imagined she was doing quite well. Yes, all things considered, she was mighty fine.

Victoria
perused the table again, convincing herself to breathe once more. God help her, sitting down between them was no small task.

“I’m hungry. That’s all,” she finally replied, tossing her napkin across her lap. “I just wanted to see if I could offer you another glass of water.”

“Is that right?” Art asked, curiously.

“Sure,” she replied. “You’re guests in my home. It’s only proper to make you feel welcome.” Her mother taught her some things, though little in matters of men. What she learned there, she gained through an unspoken education, and later the words left behind in a worn and torn letter.

Damn it! She needed to forget about that letter. The very things her mother had written about were the enticing opportunities these two cowboys represented.

Lane took a bite of his food and eyed the pitcher on the chopping block. He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple twitch. He continued staring at the blasted water pitcher and took the final sip from his cup.

Art smirked. “I could’ve sworn somebody offered refills.”

“Oh my goodness,”
Victoria
said, jumping to her feet again. She hurried to the chopping block, snatched the pitcher, and returned to the table with the container in hand. She quickly filled Art’s glass and then reached for Lane’s. “I must’ve been daydreaming. I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid you’ll have to overlook me. I pumped the water and forgot to top off your cups.”

When she started to return Lane’s glass to the table, his fingertips scraped past hers. A bolt of power almost as strong as lightning zipped through her hand, setting her skin on fire and provoking a warning about as strong as the current she battled in the creek earlier.

Then again, she was to blame for that war on the waters. Could they fault her for coming on to them, too?

She watched Art as he ate. He possessed a boyish expression, with dancing eyes and a mischievous smile surrounded by dimples. When he wiped his mouth,
Victoria
found herself imagining how his lips might feel rubbing against hers. She wondered if his lips were as sweet as honey, or if his mouth dripped with beautiful lies.

Lord have mercy, she needed to get them out of there.

She stood up all at once and cleared away the dishes. “I have some work to do outside. I’ll clean out one of the stalls and get a few things ready. If the two of you are staying, you’ll want to have a comfortable place to lay your head.”