Their Wayward Bride (13 page)

"He gambled and owed me more money than he had in the bank."
He shrugged. "So I claimed his ranch...and you, in exchange."

"I'm not for sale."

"No, you're not for sale, for you were won fair and square."

I took another step back.

"There must be some mistake."

"The only mistake is allowing your bastard father sign all of
his property over to you in his will."

"He...he did what? He doesn't even like me. I haven't seen the
man in over ten years!"

"Doesn't matter. He made you the beneficiary of his estate."

Where were Brody and Mason? How I wished I wasn't alone right now!
There was nothing to do but try to escape this man for he was clearly
irrational, so I tried to run past him but he caught up with me in
the hallway, grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him.

"I'm married to Mason. You can't have me!" I tugged against
his tight hold.

"I can." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a
folded piece of paper. "A marriage license that says we were
married two weeks ago.
You
are Mrs. Palmer."

I shook my head. He
was
crazy.

"No, that's not true. It's not real. We were married in a
church."

"It's real. The circuit judge signed it, therefore your supposed
marriage to the Bridgewater man means nothing."

Means nothing? My marriage to Mason...and Brody meant
everything
.
They were the first people to see me as a person, as a woman, not a
pawn or a tool to someone's advantage. They hadn't married me then
sent me off somewhere. I knew now what it felt like to be cared for,
for someone to care about me. They'd shown me what love was.

"No." I shook my head. "No. You need to talk to my
father. If he signed the ranch over to me, just have him change it. I
want nothing to do with this. As I've said, I barely know the man, so
why would he listen to me?"

His grip tightened on my arm at the mention of my father.

"I know him rather well, actually, and he can't change it if
he's dead."

I stilled in his hold. What did he mean? "Dead? My...my father's
dead?"

Something dark and evil flared in his eyes and he grinned. "He
tried to cross me, to keep me from getting the land that rightfully
was mine. From
you.
He was stupid to think he'd get away with
it. Of course he's dead. I shot him...right...between...the...eyes."
He tapped a finger to his forehead. "Just like I’m going to do
to you."

He'd killed my father and now I was alone in the house with him. The
wild look about him had me panicking, fighting against his hold.

"I can't help you with whatever your plan is if I'm dead, too."
I needed to escape! Being alone in the house with him was not going
to keep me alive. He'd plotted this all along. When they'd come to
the ranch the other day, Palmer had been the one in control. My
father only wanted to find me because he owed Palmer.

"I wanted you, at first. The idea of a meek virgin who'd been
sheltered as if she were a nun held appeal, but you've been a whore
here on Bridgewater. I don't take sloppy seconds." He slowly
shook his head. "No, my plans for you have changed. I don't need
you alive to inherit your land with this marriage license. In fact, I
need you dead."

My eyes widened and blood roared in my ears. "What? Why?"

"Marriage makes the land rightfully mine regardless of whether
I'm your husband...or widower. Since you're used goods and worth
nothing to me, widower is more appropriate. I want the land. It's
more valuable than you."

He carefully put the supposed marriage license back in his jacket
pocket and pulled out a gun. A gun! I didn't think, just reacted. I
grabbed his wrist in both my hands, fighting with him to keep the
weapon from pointing in my direction, but he was stronger and bigger
than I. Twisting and turning, I used all my might and struggled with
him, but a shot fired. Fortunately, it went wide and into a wall. I
gasped at the shock of it, the nearness of the bullet to my head. The
sound was deafening and my ear rang.

I remembered the words of a teacher at school, who mentioned a way to
defend inappropriate advances of an overeager suitor. At the time, I
didn't imagine it would work for I barely had contact with men to
even consider the idea, but I now knew a man's physique. I brought my
knee up as hard as I could, sliding it right up the man's inner thigh
and I connected squarely with his...man parts. I couldn't think of it
as a cock, for that was what Mason and Brody had and theirs were hard
and thick and ready for me. This man...I swallowed back bile at the
very idea. He made a high-pitched squeak and bent at the waist. His
arm went lax and I was able to grab the gun from him.

I was breathing hard, sweat coating my brow. I kneed him one more
time before I dashed out of the room, my long dress tangling around
my legs. All I could think of was getting to Mason and Brody, having
their arms around me, protecting me, sheltering me from everything
bad. With fumbling fingers, I opened the front door and dashed out
onto the porch. I held the gun up into the air and fired a shot, the
kick from it reverberating up my arm.

I remembered what Emma and Ann had said. Three shots meant help was
needed. I fired again, my eyes squeezing shut and my body tensing.

"You!" Mr. Palmer was hunched over, but approaching quickly
down the hall. His eyes were narrowed and an evil gleam showed. It
was as if I'd poked a hibernating bear and not only did he have
intent, he was now very, very angry. "You bitch. You are going
to—"

As he came through the door with his arms out to grab me, I turned
and aimed. It was him or me.
Bang.

MASON

That morning we had given Laurel one of the pretty dresses Emma had
picked out for her. It was a dark green that flattered her hair and
matched her eye color perfectly. Both Brody and I had enjoyed her
walking around in just a corset, then just her corset and stockings
over the past two days, but I also thrilled to know that I could just
toss up her dress and find her bare and ready beneath. I liked
knowing that all of her hot, wet secrets were hidden for Brody and me
alone.

We were both in the stable, mucking out stalls when McPherson came in
leading his horse. "I see you've left yer bride." He
grinned at us as he patted his horse's side, and then worked the
buckle free on the saddle. "Took ye both, what, a week for yer
cock stands to go down?"

I looked to Brody who was shaking his head slowly, but he had a grin
on his face for he was well pleased with his new bride—as was I. We
knew we'd get some grief from the others, especially the unmarried
men, taking so long to tend and fuck our new wife. "No chance in
hell of that happening. I just have to think of her and I get hard."

In fact, I shifted my cock in my pants to ease the growing ache as we
spoke about her. It had only been two hours since we fucked her last,
but my cock didn't care.

"Have ye heard the news?" McPherson asked, lifting the
saddle off the animals back and placing it on a rack. He removed the
blanket next.

"News?" I rested my forearms on the top of the pitchfork I
held.

"Turner's dead."

Brody stilled, glanced at me. "Dead? How?"

"Shot in cold blood."

I shoved the pitchfork into a pile of straw and walked over to
McPherson. "What do you mean cold blood?"

McPherson's eyebrows went up. "Don't know. Saw the sheriff at
the livery and he said that after they left here last week, Mr.
Palmer, the bastard that was in the group, was right pissed at
Turner. They argued, mentioned something about a debt being paid.
Turner replied that it was all taken care of."

"What the hell does that mean?" Brody asked.

McPherson held up his hands in front of him. "From what I heard
at the mercantile—word spreads fast and the sheriff isn't the only
one with news—Turner was a gambler. Bad at cards. Lost everything."

"To Palmer." I gritted my teeth. Something wasn't right. I
had a bad feeling in my gut.

"If Palmer collected his money, why was he so bloody pissed?"
Brody asked.

"Right. Palmer was angry enough to kill him," McPherson
stated. "Why?"

We glanced at each other and the reason became clear. "Laurel."
Brody and I said it at the exact same time.

McPherson's head came up, his eyes sharp. "Where is she?"

"At the house. We need to—"

A shot rang out, coming from a distance, but clear and loud in the
still air.

My heart seized at the sound and we ran to the stable door and threw
it open.

Bang.
A second shot.

"Shit," Brody muttered. "It's coming from the house."
He grabbed the reins on McPherson's horse and led it outside and
mounted deftly.

McPherson grabbed the gun from the pegs above the door. "Brody!"

He tossed the rifle and Brody caught it before he spurred the animal
into motion.

McPherson and I started running in the direction of the house and
Laurel. What the hell was going on? Was it Palmer or something else?
Was Laurel the one firing the shots to call us to help or was she
defending herself? Or worse, had someone shot her? I picked up my
pace, running as fast as I could through the deep snow. I needed to
get to her, but was relieved to know Brody would almost be there by
now.

"The others will come, too," he breathed. He kept pace with
my sprint. "It's only been two shots so that doesn't mean
anything."

Bang.
A third shot, which meant—

"Laurel!"

CHAPTER TEN

BRODY

I barely slowed the horse before I jumped down. Laurel sat on the
porch floor in the cold, her hair wild and half down from the pins, a
gun held tightly in her hands and aimed at a body lying on the
ground. Based on the blood beginning to pool around him, he wasn't
getting up again. I dashed up the stairs, my footsteps loud and
skidded to a stop in front of the man. I aimed my rifle at him as I
nudged him with my foot, and then pushed him over onto his back.

Palmer. His eyes were open and staring fixed at the ceiling of the
porch, a crimson stain of blood spreading across his white shirt. He
was dead.

My heart pounded and my muscles were tense and ready to kill. I
wanted to shoot him myself, to relieve some of this pent-up angst and
fear. Swiveling, I dropped to my knees in front of Laurel, put the
rifle down gently beside us on the floor.

"Laurel," I said, my voice soft. I held my hands out by my
sides not wanting to startle her.

She hadn't moved since I came up, her eyes focused solely on Palmer,
the gun still raised and aimed at the man. The strong tang of blood
filled the crisp air.

I reached out slowly and took her hands in mine. They were so cold,
icy even, and not from the freezing weather. I doubted she even knew
I was there. "Laurel, give me the gun. Laurel," I repeated,
louder this time.

She shook her head slowly. "No. He's dangerous. He'll hurt—"

"He's dead, sweetheart. He can't hurt you now." Her hands
relaxed enough for me to take the gun from her and place it beside
the rifle. "Look at me."

She was in shock, stunned and petrified, but whole. What had the man
done before she'd fired the shots? Clearly one of bullets had killed
him.

"Laurel," I said one more time, my voice deeper and more
commanding.

She blinked and turned her head to mine. I saw the moment her eyes
focused and she
saw
me.

"Brody!" she cried, hurling herself into my arms, burying
her face in my shoulder. "He...it was awful. I remembered to
fire the three shots, but he was coming after me and I only fired
two." Her voice was high and she was on the verge of hysteria. I
didn't blame her one bit, for I was a little unsettled as well. I
couldn't go crazy, though; it was my job to soothe, to make her safe.
I'd done a fuck all job of it, having to defend herself from the
bloody bastard, but she was safe now. I hugged her tightly.

"No. No, sweetheart. You fired all three and we heard you. We
came as fast as we could, but you took care of yourself. I'm so proud
of you." I stroked my hand over her hair, again and again,
hoping my warmth would seep into her.

"I thought...he had a gun and—"

She shuddered once and then began to sob.

I pulled her up onto my lap and tucked her head beneath my chin, my
arm about her waist holding her securely. I did nothing but rock her
and let her cry, all the while staring down at Palmer's lifeless
body.

I could feel her heart beating, savor the sharp grip of her fingers
in my shirt, inhale the floral scent of her hair, and yet I couldn't
get her close enough. The thought of losing her, of how close she'd
come to being killed had me want to shoot the bastard all over again.
She'd literally fallen into our life by the hands of Fate and I
wasn't prepared to lose her now. I
couldn't
lose her.

Mason and McPherson ran up then, the snow crunching beneath their
feet and breathing hard. They took in the situation and I met Mason's
gaze over Laurel's head. I gave a brief nod and his shoulders dropped
in sheer relief. He bent at the waist and lowered his hands to his
knees to take a moment to breathe. He mounted the steps and came down
on his knees in front of me, stroking his hand down Laurel's back.

"Everything's fine now. You're safe. Mason's here with me and
we're going to take care of you," I murmured, although we'd done
fuck all to protect her from Palmer.

McPherson came up the steps. "I'll take care of the bastard,"
he growled, nudging the man's leg even though he was obviously dead.
"You two take care of your woman."

Mason took her from my arms and stood, carrying her into the house. I
followed, slamming the door shut behind us, blocking out Palmer, the
closeness we'd come to losing our wife, to everything.