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“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.
CHAPTER THREE
EMILY
As I helped the women collect dishes and plates, bowls and platters from the picnic tables and place them in baskets to be taken home, I tried to be involved in the conversations that swirled around me. While the women from town had always been wary of Frank, they’d never been fearful of me. They often veered away from us when we were together, but I had never been bothered by it, for I understood. With him gone, they had been nothing but kind throughout the picnic and I was glad I’d come. It was hard to keep up with the chatter as I kept an eye on the two men who had come to the house. I’d been coaxed back to the wagon and we rode to town in silence. Once Mr. Xander had lifted me and Olivia down from the seat, the men had tipped their hats and gone off to fill their plates. I hadn’t spoken with them since. But, every time I looked their way, one of them was watching me. They weren’t very subtle about it either. Often, I had both of them plus several of the Bridgewater men eyeing me. My cheeks heated every time and I turned away.
Their suggestion—even Olivia’s matchmaking—was preposterous. They didn’t know what went on in my house, what I’d endured, what I’d done. Surely, neither man would want me when they learned the truth. If the sheriff and the undertaker hadn’t discovered it, then my secret went to the grave with Frank. That didn’t settle my mind though or ease the guilt that I felt. The weight of my actions was heavy on my conscience.
Nor would either of the men want a woman who was penniless. My father had given Frank money to marry me—passed legally from one cruel man to another—and it had been lost at the gambling tables like water through a sieve. I had nothing to give either man except my body. No land, no house, not even any livestock. I wasn’t a nubile eighteen-year-old and I most certainly wasn’t a virgin. Wouldn’t they want some sweet, innocent thing to be their bride? Looking around, I counted at least five eligible possibilities that were much prettier than myself. But, no.
