Their Reluctant Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 6) (3 page)

“Hurry back, wife. We have plans for you.” I couldn’t miss Simon’s murmur as we walked away and it confirmed my suspicions.

***

“Emily!” Olivia knocked on the door to the ranch house thirty minutes later. She shifted impatiently for her friend to answer the door.

Was she elderly and slow? Hard of hearing?

When Mrs. Woodhouse opened the door, I could definitively say no. She was close to Olivia’s age, much too young to be a widow. She was petite and curvy and her modest dress did nothing to hide her very delightful curves. Her hair was the blackest I’d ever seen, yet her skin was as pale as cream. It was a striking contrast and I was mesmerized. While she offered Olivia a small smile, it was her eyes that showed pain and hurt. Her full mouth was pinched and dark smudges beneath her eyes made her look tired and worn down. Clear signs of her grief.

I removed my hat. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” I replied.

Xander, who’d removed his hat before she’d even opened the door, offered a slight nod of his head.

“Thank you,” she replied softly. Her voice was deep for a woman, smooth and silky.

Olivia stepped forward, wrapped an arm about her waist, and led her back inside. “We are here to take you to the picnic. Drag you if we have to.”

Mrs. Woodhouse looked over her slim shoulder at us, wondering perhaps if we’d do just that.

I glanced at Xander. He just arched a dark brow, but said nothing.

Olivia laughed. “The fair-haired one is my cousin, Tyler, and the other one, the brooder—” she spun around and grinned impishly, “—is Xander.”

We followed the women into the parlor. The room was clean, the fire unlit. Based on the size of the house and the quality of the furnishings, it would seem Mr. Woodhouse had been successful in his affairs.

“Gentlemen,” she murmured as way of greeting, flicking her gaze up to us. “Olivia, I don’t think I feel like going today. Perhaps another time.”

Olivia shook her head. “We won’t take no for an answer, will we?” She turned to glance our way and gave us a pointed look.

“No, we won’t,” I added. “It would be an honor if you’d let us escort you.” She’d only said a few words, but I was intrigued. So was my cock. She was quiet and calm and beautiful and so damn constrained. I wanted to tug at the tight bun at the nape of her neck. I wanted to undo those prim buttons on her dress’s snug collar. I wanted to bring color to her cheeks the only way I knew how, by making her come.

My cock swelled at the idea of mussing her up. The way Xander’s gaze was fixed on her led me to believe he was thinking the same thing. It was wrong though, to have such thoughts about a woman who’d just lost her husband.

“Then it’s settled. Go get your hat and we’ll be off.” Olivia was as good at pushing others around as she was her men.

Mrs. Woodhouse took a moment to consider, biting her plump lower lip as she did so.

“I do not have an offering for the picnic,” she countered.

Olivia dispelled that worry with a wave of her hand. “There is plenty of food. You will not make anyone go hungry, I assure you.”

Knowing arguing would do nothing when it came to Olivia, Emily finally offered a small nod and went through an open doorway toward the back of the house.

Once she was gone, Olivia spun on her heel and pointed to us as she whispered, “Be nice!”

I held up my hands in front of me in a defensive gesture. “That wasn’t nice?” I whispered back.

“You.” She pointed at Xander. “You have to say something. Talk. Have a conversation with the woman.”

Xander’s mouth fell open slightly, but he said nothing.

I stifled a small smile and went to open the front door when Mrs. Woodhouse returned.

We helped the ladies into the wagon and I wondered why Olivia was so particular about us being nice to the woman. It wasn’t until the ranch disappeared over a hill did I discover why.

“You know about the Bridgewater ways,” Olivia said. She and Mrs. Woodhouse sat beside me on the wagon seat with Xander sitting at the back of the wagon, his lower legs dangling off the edge.

I glanced over at Olivia, surprised by her question. Their unusual customs were not well known and those from the ranch didn’t share the information. Many would find it wrong, illegal even. My parents had been careful as well, especially since they lived in Helena, a large city in comparison to Bridgewater’s open prairie. There was a reason she was speaking of it with Mrs. Woodhouse and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Yes,” Mrs. Woodhouse replied.

“Well, Tyler and Xander are looking for a wife.”

No, I didn’t like the answer at all. I pulled up on the reins and stopped the horse. “Olivia,” I warned.

“Olivia, I’m not looking for—”

My cousin cut off the remainder of Mrs. Woodhouse’s sentence. “Nonsense. Your husband was a brute. A tyrant and a drunk. You aren’t mourning him and you need a husband.”

To my surprise, Mrs. Woodhouse jumped down from the wagon and started to walk back toward her ranch. I gave Olivia a dark look, ready to chase after the woman, but Xander hopped off the back of the wagon instead.

He followed her, then ultimately caught up with her, but they continued to walk away from us.

I sighed. “Are you truly trying to play matchmaker?” I asked.

Olivia didn’t look the least bit contrite and set her chin in an obstinate angle. “Yes. You need a wife and Emily is perfect.”

“She’s just lost her husband. How could she be perfect if she’s clearly not interested?” I angled my head toward the direction she’d gone.

“Her husband gambled and drank to excess. While she never once confessed it, I believe he hit her. He was cruel to her at the very least. She is not the least bit sorry he’s dead. In fact, if she weren’t such a nice person, she’d be dancing on his grave.”

The idea of anyone hurting Mrs. Woodhouse made my hands clench. She was too small, too… dainty—even with her lush curves—to protect herself from the likes of a man Olivia described.

“Then she can find a man she truly likes this time around. She’s young, beautiful. She’s a catch for any man in town.”

Olivia grinned. “So you think she’s beautiful?”

“Any conscious man would think so,” I countered.

“Then you should offer for her.”

I sighed, exasperated. “Why?”

“Because you and Xander need a wife.”

I shook my head. “We do not
need
a wife.”

“I see the way you look at the couples at Bridgewater. Everyone’s happily married. It’s hard, I’m sure, for you to witness since no one else marries like we do. Like your parents. You
want
a marriage with Xander like all of us at Bridgewater. Admit it.”

“Of course I admit it. I won’t marry any other way.” I put my hand up. “That does not mean that our bride should be Mrs. Woodhouse.”

Olivia pursed her lips. “She has to marry.”

My brows went up. “Again, why?”

“The bank is taking the ranch. Debts, most of them I’m sure are because of her husband’s gambling. She has no place to go. No money. She’ll have to get a job and there are none, unless she wants to work on her back.”

“Olivia,” I warned.

“What? It’s true.” Olivia took a deep breath. “She’s going to have to marry. A woman doesn’t have any other options. It might as well be you.”

I frowned. “Is that a compliment?”

“Of course, it is. She deserves someone—or two someones—who will be good to her. I know you and Xander would be. Plus, I know her well and she knows about how we marry. I
like
her. Trust me, you’ll be well suited.”

I turned so I could look at the woman’s retreating figure. Well suited? I had no doubt we’d be very compatible in bed. She would be no hardship to look at. That did not make a marriage, but it certainly helped.

XANDER

It didn’t matter to me that Olivia was matchmaking. I’d known her intention from the moment she asked us to escort her to claim her friend instead of her husbands. They would have done anything for the woman and the excuse of moving tables was a poor one. Laughable. There were enough strong backs at the picnic to complete the task instead of them. I was just pleased they were trusting enough of us to take her to the Woodhouse ranch. It wasn’t as if we’d done anything to make them question our ability to protect their bride, especially with Tyler being family. To the contrary, in fact. They must consider us quite highly, but the Bridgewater men were a possessive and protective bunch.

Perhaps they were trying to take Mrs. Woodhouse under their wing. I’d heard that she’d been to the ranch before, knew of their ways and customs. The fact that she held that secret meant the men placed her in high regard. All this meant that it wasn’t just Olivia that was trying to put Mrs. Woodhouse together with Tyler and me. The men were in on it as well and thought the woman was the one for us. Because of this, I’d been nothing less than curious about the widow.

When she’d opened the door, it had been difficult not to stare. Hell, she was a vision. It was her mouth I’d noticed first. Plump and full, it was a bright cherry pink, as if she’d been kissed all afternoon. It was when I met her gaze that I’d been intrigued. There, I saw a woman who’d seen hard times. She was exceptionally good at hiding it, but the stiffness of her shoulders and the tightness about those dark eyes were obvious indicators. I knew them well, for I saw hints of myself in her.

Not in her soft curves or the way her hips swayed as I walked beside her. Not in the long, slim column of her neck. Not in the pert turn of her nose. She may not have been wrongly convicted of a crime, but she’d been hurt. Had her husband been the sole culprit? Cruel parents? She was too young for much more. Regardless, I felt a kindred spirit with this woman and I hadn’t even said one word to her.

“You do not have to escort me any longer. I assure you, I know the way home.” Her long dress swished against the grass.

Her short legs ate up the distance toward the ranch house and I slowed my gait to match hers.

“I am envious of you,” I said.

Her head whipped around to look up at me, her eyes narrowed. “Envious? Of what, that my husband is dead? That my ranch is to be taken from me? That I have no place to go? That I am penniless?”

No wonder she looked wounded. She had a heavy burden to carry. She bit her lip as she most likely realized she’d revealed too much to a stranger.

“That Olivia is a friend who cares for you enough to play matchmaker.”

She stumbled at my words and I grabbed her elbow to keep her upright. When I didn’t release it, she eyed me suspiciously.

“Olivia is a good friend,” she confirmed, squinting up at me in the bright sunshine.

I turned us so she would not face the glare.

“She and her husbands believe we should marry.”

“You do not mince words,” she countered.

“Bridgewater men know their woman on sight. If they believe we are well matched, then I believe it to be true.”

She tilted her head and studied me. “What do
you
think?” Her deep voice prodded.

She was very perceptive. She was not being matched to any of the Bridgewater men, but to me and Tyler.

“I had not considered marriage—until about twenty minutes ago. I believe the men are all correct, that Olivia is correct.”

“Oh?” she asked. I started to see her cool demeanor slip as I spoke.

“Lightning.”

Her eyebrows went up and her mouth fell open. She knew to what I spoke, for Olivia must have explained it to her. It was how she’d felt when she met her men. It was how Tyler’s mother described it, how he imagined it to be. Did Tyler feel it when he saw Emily? What I felt, it perhaps wasn’t love at first sight, but the connection, the spark was palpable. It scared the hell out of me, for I was not a good match. I had dark places inside me, rough edges, a cool demeanor. I liked to fuck dark and rough. Surely Emily was too soft, too gentle to be handled in such a way.

“The topic is moot, for you have just lost your husband. I would not dare intrude on your grieving for him. To take what you shared with him lightly.”

I would never seek interest in another man’s woman, even a man who was alive only in spirit.

She started laughing then. Turning, she began to walk back toward the house as she continued. I frowned, but fell in step beside her long enough to grab her arm and stop her.

As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she said, “I do not mourn Frank. To the contrary. I am glad that he is dead. Unfortunately, his reach is strong from the grave.”

The tone of her voice confirmed the truth of her words. It seemed they had not had a love match; that her tired and weary features weren’t caused by mourning, but something else.

“He left you with nothing,” I added, confirming her problems. Olivia was right, she had to wed. There was nothing else for her to do here in the Montana Territory. There were no appropriate jobs to be had. Even if she found a position as a laundress or even a house maid, she would have no protection, no man to keep her safe. The idea of her all alone left me cold inside.

She would be forced to leave town, to go to a larger city like Helena or Billings. But how would she make the journey? If the bank was to take the ranch, she would be left with the clothes on her back, no coins for food, let alone the stage. The burden she carried was heavy.

“That is true.” She looked down, perhaps hoping to hide her feelings from me, and smoothed out her pale blue dress. “I do not know you, Mr. Xander, or Mr. Tyler either. I will not go from one bad marriage to another under the guise of
protection
. The protection I needed in my marriage to Frank was from Frank himself.”

I couldn’t argue with her, for she was correct. She didn’t know me from Adam. Why would she want to shackle herself to two husbands when she hadn’t even liked the one she’d had? Neither Tyler nor I were Frank Woodhouse, though. We wouldn’t hurt her. While I would offer her the baser aspects of fucking—and being claimed by two men at once—she would always be given her pleasure. She would be cherished and sheltered, protected and possessed. We were the men for her and she would just have to come to discover that.