Barefoot Bride for Three (10 page)

“I can’t wear a dress with nothing underneath!”

“Why not?”

“Everyone will be able to see these.” She pointed to her hard nipples. “They stick out when you’re near me.”

“Yep, they do.” They tightened even more as his eyes caressed her. “Is that a problem?” His bland face didn’t fool her.

“I’m not leaving this room with only one layer of cloth between me and the world.” She crossed her arms, hiding his view. His belly rumbled loudly. He rubbed it and finally nodded.

“Wear your blue coat. But once we leave town, it comes off.”

* * * *

Beth stirred her tea, careful the silver spoon didn’t scratch the precious flowered teacup. She was the only woman sitting in the dining room. She felt unsettled from the way air swept past her nakedness as they walked down the stairs. He escorted her to a table and, when they sat, his leg rested against hers under the table as if staking his claim.

All during the meal, anytime she accidently caught a man’s eye, he nodded courteously. She sighed. A few whiskey-laced words over a black book and her status changed from slattern to honorable wife.

“Ah, yes,” said Trace loudly. “That’s what a man needs after a busy night and morning.”

He pushed back his second plate of breakfast with a sigh and patted his stomach. He stretched his legs under the table, jostling her in the process. He winked, eyes smiling in a way she’d already learned meant he wanted her for more than conversation.
 
Her breasts tingled, already swelling to receive his touch.

When they rested in each other’s arms and talked early that morning, she told him about her worries of fitting in. Trace said that in the West, respect had to be earned. Finding gold helped, but he and his brothers had strong fists and a quick draw. Therefore, they had high standing in town. He said he didn’t care what anyone thought, that Elliotts always carried themselves with pride. He winked and said she’d fit in just fine.

She muttered that it would be the first time. He overwhelmed her with kisses at that point. Twelve hours since they married and already he knew how to control her. One touch of his hand—even one look—and she melted.

Trace was nothing like any man she’d ever met. That in itself was a problem. She couldn’t figure him out as he didn’t react as expected. The only thing she was sure he’d do was reach for her as soon as they were alone. Or not, she mentally added, remembering the deep kiss she received just inside the dining room. She swatted him on the chest when she recovered. He grinned like a boy caught sneaking a cookie, proud and eager for more.

Holding back a smile in memory, Beth picked up her teacup and sipped from the delicate china. By this afternoon, she’d have her own kitchen. It might be just a table in a dark, cramped cabin, but it would be hers. She knew nothing about her new home, not that she had any choice. But no matter what, she’d finally have a real home. One where she belonged and could stay forever.

Trace nudged her leg. He winked when she looked up. She pretended to be irritated, but she felt like they belonged together. No one else had ever treated her like this, teasing her, knowing she was secretly proud though pretending embarrassment.

“There’s no need to boast.” She kept her voice low, only for his ears.

“Sweetheart, I’m not boasting,” he croaked at full volume. “I’m stating a fact. What was it, six times? Seven? Dang, I could hardly keep up with you, wife.”

“I am going to kill you for that,” she bit out between tight lips.

He erupted in a harsh croak, what she’d learned was a laugh.

“Slowly. Painfully.” She set her teacup in its matching saucer and continued, her voice rising. “I’m thinking poison. Something that will wither your manhood and make it fall off.”

“You tell him,” called Old Walt from the corner. “I’m the only man with enough balls to put my name in the mayor’s hat.” The grizzled prospector gave a gap-toothed grin. “Figured if Big Joe kilt me, least I’d die happy.”

Old Walt cackled as roars of approval erupted from the men in the dining room. Beth played along, groaning theatrically and dropping her head in her hands. The old man was kind to her. He brought a checkers board and they played through her cell bars while he told her stories of the old days.

She looked up when Trace rose to greet an equally huge man. He had an ugly slash mark across one cheek. Tendons rose from their forearms when they shook hands. The man finally gave in with a wince. In return he slapped Trace hard on the back in congratulations. Trace glared but the man laughed.

“Beth,” growled Trace, “this here’s Luke Frost. He and his partners have the Circle C north of town. Luke, this is my wife, Beth Elliott.”

“Pleased to meet you this fine morning, Mrs. Elliott.” Luke took off his hat and bowed to her. She returned his nod. “Dang, but you are a lovely sight. The one time I’m a day late getting to town this curly wolf snaps you up. Is it too late to switch husbands? My ranch partners aren’t as ornery as those Elliotts.” He gave her a woeful grimace, his scar pulling at his skin. Crinkles around his dark eyes proved he was joking.

She laughed, more at Trace’s proprietary glare than Luke’s chagrin.

“Sheriff wants a word with you,” said Luke to Trace. “I’ll entertain your lovely wife while you’re gone.”

“I bet you will.” Trace sighed. He turned to her. “Can you put up with this varmint?” She nodded. “Don’t believe a thing he says.” Trace bent down, a wicked look in his eyes. He pulled her close and gave her a thorough kiss, bringing roars from those nearby. Adjusting his hat, he sauntered out of the room leaving Beth flushed, knees tight together.

“That man never does a thing by halves,” said Luke. He dropped into the empty chair with a sigh, hat on his lap. He shook his head, pouting like a hound dog that just missed out on a juicy bone. “When I tell Gabe and Oscar how we missed marrying the prettiest woman in Tanner’s Ford, they’ll howl in misery.” He sighed as if the weight of the world held him down. “Sure you won’t consider trading husbands, ma’am? A lovely wife like you would make my life complete.”

“Mr. Frost, you put the great tragedy actors to shame with that performance.”

He laughed. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I’m a happily married woman.”

“So I heard.” He raised his eyebrows and winked. “Seven times, was it? I had the room next door.”

Heat flooded her face. She arranged her teaspoon so it rested against her saucer just so. “A gentleman wouldn’t mention such a thing.”

“He might if he was jealous.” Luke leaned forward. “Take it as a compliment, my dear lady. I’ve known Trace a few years now and never seen him act this way. He’s a good man and I wish you well.”

“Thank you.”

She sat quietly for a minute while Luke twitched in his chair.

“If I may be so bold, ma’am…”

“You have something more to say?” Thinking he was still pretending, she acted the part of a high society matron forced to accept a ruffian in her salon.

He leaned forward, both elbows on the table, chin in his hands. “If the Circle C bagged a few turkeys, would you cook ’em? We haven’t had decent roast turkey since we left home.”

“Mr. Frost…”

“Ma’am, we’re just a trio of banged up old soldiers. I got this,” he pointed to his scar, “Oscar’s blind in one eye and Gabe, well, he says so little we’re not sure what happened. Seeing a lovely woman putting food on the table would brighten our miserable life.”

“You really must consider theatricals, Mr. Frost.”

“Grub is serious business to us bachelors, ma’am.”

Beth looked straight at him. While he played a part, his words were true.

“You must discuss your flowery request with Mr. Elliott. Should he agree, I would be pleased to cook a turkey dinner for you.”

Luke sat up and nodded his thanks. He flicked his eyes toward the door, then rose to his feet. Stepping near, he picked up her hand and bent over, slowly bringing it to his lips. He grinned the whole time. She heard Trace roar toward them, huffing like a locomotive. Luke released her just as Trace arrived.

“Keep your hands off my wife, Frost.”

“I merely thanked the lady for her kind offer.”

Trace glared at Beth. “I told him he’d have to ask you first.” Trace glared even harder. She sighed at the two squaring off. “Mr. Frost wants a Sunday dinner invitation. Roast turkey, with him providing the birds.”

“Dinner.”

“Yep. What did you think I meant, Elliott?”

After a tense moment Trace laughed. He slapped Luke so hard on the back the man had to take a step to gain his balance.

“Guess I can’t blame a man for wanting his wife to himself during his honeymoon,” said Luke. He settled his hat back on his head. “What’ll the boys do when you come waltzing home with your lovely bride? You set up an account at Lily’s yet?” He dropped his voice, but not low enough that she couldn’t hear. “Or will you teach her to share? That’s what I’d do if I had a wife.” He nodded to Beth, replaced his hat, and strode toward an empty table at the back of the room, calling out for Nettie to bring him hot food.

Teach her to share?
Did Trace expect her to provide female comfort to his brothers as well as cooking and cleaning for them? She knew the Bride Trains had started because there were hundreds of single men for each available woman in the West, and too many women unable to marry in the East.

Could she do
that
with another man? If Trace made her feel so wonderful, could it be even better with his brother? An odd flutter make her belly quiver. Odd because it should not happen at the thought of someone other than her husband touching her.

Beth pushed back her chair, face burning at the words she was not supposed to overhear, as well as her improper reaction. Trace helped her to stand, saying nothing. He silently held out his arm and escorted her from the dining room. As soon as they cleared town, she had a list of things to ask her new husband. For now, she’d enjoy the sunshine, her freedom, and new clothes.

Once they left Sophie McLeod’s hotel, he tucked her arm under his to keep her close. They strolled along the scarred wood boards as if on the finest street in New York City. He kept to her right, both to protect her from the street and to ensure easy access to the gun resting low on his left hip.

A mild wind followed them down the street. The cool air blew up between the boards under her feet and filled her skirt. She gasped when it billowed out, swirling around her naked belly and nether regions.

“Think of what I’m going to do to those parts of you. It’ll warm you right up,” said Trace.

Her body immediately responded, flooding her with heat. “You are a wicked man,” she murmured.

“Yep. And there’ll be more later. First I’ll lift your—”

“Hush!”

He chuckled but fell silent.

Saturdays the population swelled as scores of men descended on the town, eager for the comforts of beer, warm food, and hot women. Most stopped in the shacks outside the town limits as strangers weren’t allowed firearms in Tanner’s Ford. A few left their gun belts in the jail to get a hot bath and shave. The thought of being served by a pretty girl lured many to Sophie’s dining room. When it grew dark, Miss Lily’s Parlor and Baldy’s Saloon did a good business.

By dark she’d be home, starting her new life with her husband and his two brothers. She prayed the cabin had more than one room. Earlier that morning, Trace said he’d have to corral the horses until they got used to her screams. She couldn’t bear the thought of Trace doing those things to her with their bed screened only by a thin curtain. The loud snores and smells of men kept her awake on the train. How could she sleep with three grown men in the same room?

Later.
She put the future where it belonged and concentrated on their stroll. Trace doffed his hat to the ladies and nodded at the men. She noticed him glaring at a few who grinned too broadly at her.

“You’re enjoying this.” She spoke between teeth clenched in a smile.

“Yep.”

“Why? Everyone’s staring at us.”

“So what? I’ve been stared at ever since I got my neck roped. No,” he continued after a moment’s hesitation, “since the seven of us were orphaned. But it’s a bright sunny morning. Instead of working, I’m showing off my beautiful new wife. For once, every man is damn jealous.”

After the way she’d been ogled in jail, she understood exactly what his quiet words meant. She wanted to show him off as well. She pulled him close, slowing her steps to sway her hips.

“Now you’re teasing,” he whispered.

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But am I teasing you, me, or the rest of the town?”

He stopped and pulled her into his arms. At first he kissed her tenderly. But the chaste kiss soon erupted into the wild abandon they’d shared last night, at sunrise and again, after their bath. When he lifted his head for air, she grabbed on to him to keep herself vertical as the buildings spun around her.

“Best you get your wife home quicksmart, Trace Elliott, afore she does something you’ll be ashamed of. She needs to learn her place!”

Mrs. Emslow ran a very strict boardinghouse for single men. She ruled her boardinghouse with a moral fanaticism. Though the place was clean and the food excellent, few men stayed long as they inevitably broke one of her numerous rules. Maurice Lumley, the officious hotel clerk, was the only regular. The woman had looked down her nose at Beth for riding the Bride Train. Even marrying an upstanding member of the community rather than Trace Elliott wouldn’t make up for Beth’s time in jail.