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“The picnic won’t happen if we don’t put out tables,” Cross added.
I doubted that the church picnic would be cancelled if Olivia’s husbands didn’t personally put out the tables for the food. Surely there were other men—even other men from Bridgewater—who could complete the task. I did not wish to go to a ranch and drag a reluctant woman, a reluctant widow, to a church picnic.
“Do you really think she will come? She’s just lost her husband, what, two days ago?”
A small boy ran between our little group and grabbed hold of Cross’ legs. If he were a smaller man, he’d have been toppled by the force.
“Unca Cross!”
The big man beamed down at the two-year-old and swung him up into the air, tossing him high enough to make Olivia gasp. Christopher laughed and so Cross did it again.
“When we have children, you are not doing that.” Olivia pursed her lips, but couldn’t help but smile as Christopher called out, “Again!”
“Hurry back from getting Mrs. Woodhouse so we can get right on that,” Rhys commented, giving my cousin a very heated gaze.
I turned my back on them and looked across the open field in front of the town’s church for Xander. If I was going to retrieve a grieving widow, he was going with me. With the church service just ending, the townspeople were milling about, children playing tag or dipping their feet in the creek nearby. Women were organizing the food and sure enough, the Bridgewater men were moving tables in a long line for the food.
“There he is,” Andrew said with a grin and a sigh. I stepped back to let the little boy’s father join our group. “Your mother has your lunch, young man.”
“Lunch!” he cried and reached out for his father, clearly eager to eat.
Watching the group from Bridgewater was inspiring. They embraced the same custom as my parents—two husbands for one wife. Olivia was my father’s niece and she had three husbands. I, too, would take a wife with another. Xander. I saw him walking my way with Simon, who was looking solely at Olivia. I had no doubt Rhys’ intentions upon our return from the widow’s ranch. I knew with what they would occupy their time later: baby making. How she hadn’t become pregnant with three husbands before now was beyond me.
I frowned at the idea of my cousin being fucked by these men—any men—but they loved her and devoted their lives to her. It was a good thing Xander and I were staying elsewhere. Ian and Kane—who I’d sold cattle to the year before—and their wife, Emma, had gone to Billings and so we stayed in their house during our visit.
Bridgewater men needed privacy with their bride.
Olivia had said it had been like lightning when she’d first met her men. I knew of the concept, for my mother said the same thing. In fact, she’d been the one to give my cousin the notion. Love at first sight was fine for some, but I doubted it for me. Finding a woman wasn’t easy, but finding a woman who would want two husbands was even harder. Especially Xander and me. Xander, the ex-convict and me, the… what was I? I loved women in general—there was nothing better than sinking into a hot pussy. Well, perhaps a tight little ass. But married to one? I wasn’t sure if I was the kind of man that would dote on my bride the way Olivia’s men doted on her.
She was the center of their world. I couldn’t imagine ever finding a woman that would make me even consider it, let alone let the parson’s noose slip around my neck. I could, though, be courteous and go with Olivia to escort her friend to the picnic. My cousin was kind to think of the older woman.
“I understand I’ve been summoned,” Xander said to the group at large.
A bell was rung indicating the start of the meal. People made their way from the blankets they’d spread out on the grass to the table laden with food.
“We are going with Olivia to retrieve a widow,” I told Xander.
“Mrs. Woodhouse,” Olivia added for Xander’s benefit.
My friend looked between us, his dark eyes giving away none of his emotions. This was p
erfectly normal for him. I’d known him for five years and even I’d rarely seen him smile. The time in prison had changed him, hardened his emotions. “Are we allowed at least a chicken leg to take for the ride?” he asked, rubbing his stomach.
Olivia went up on her tiptoes and kissed Cross, while giving Rhys and Simon knowing looks. While she was married by Bridgewater standards to all three men, the townspeople only knew of her legal wedding to Cross. Public displays of affection were limited, but I had no doubt Olivia would make it up to the other two once home.
“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.
