Barefoot Bride for Three (12 page)

“Thank you for the velvet. It’s a lovely bride present,” she said. Once more she flexed her back as if she had an itch between her shoulder blades. It caught his eye.

“That’s no present. It’s just for because. I ordered your present. Won’t be in for a while.”

He lifted an eyebrow when he turned to her. She saw the fire in his dark eyes, barely banked though they’d left their bed only a few hours before.

“May I ask what it is?”

“I ordered one of those big copper bathtubs. Ma had one, but I gave it to Gillis MacDougal when he and Pru got hitched. Never thought we’d have a woman to need it.”

“But they’re so dear. I can have sponge baths in front of the stove when your brothers are somewhere else—”

He cleared his throat. She shut her mouth with a snap.

“It’s also for me. Saturday nights I’m going to wash every inch of you. Slowly.” He nodded. “So don’t go thinking it’s anything special.”

She looked out at the scenery, remembering how he’d washed, dried, then kissed her that morning. He’d branded her breasts, belly, and thighs with the tip of himself before plunging deep and filling her with his seed. Seed that one day, God be willing, would bring her children to love.

When the horses started up a long stretch, straining to pull, she decided it was safe to bring up a subject that would not make him happy.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

“You wore drawers under your dress? That’s a spanking offence, Mrs. Elliott.”

She flushed, both at the idea that she’d disobey his direct order on the first day of their marriage and his threat. She had no idea why the thought of a spanking had her hot and bothered and didn’t want to think about it.

“It’s important,” she said. He shrugged. “You spent a lot of money this morning.”

“I bought what my wife needs to do her job.”

“Before I left home I sewed twenty-dollar gold coins into my bodice. Two of them.”

He shot her a look before staring ahead again. She twisted her hands, unsure of his reaction. By law, it was his money now. She waited but he didn’t speak.

“I want to help. The forty dollars is just a down payment. My brother Timothy said when I married, he’d send the money my grandmother left me. I don’t know how much it is, but—”

“Keep it. Elliotts don’t need money from a woman.”

“You’re too proud to accept help from your wife?”

“Damn straight!”

“Well, listen up, mister. I’m an Elliott now. And
this
Elliott wants to become part of your life with more than her body.” Her voice wavered, but she continued. “You can buy a woman at Miss Lily’s Parlor any time. You can hire someone else to cook and clean.”

He hunched his shoulders, staring straight ahead.

“I need to know I’m more than a body to be used for work and your pleasure. The ranch you work on is my life now, and I want to be part of it. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. Maybe we can buy enough boards to add on a bedroom for us, or for our children, if we’re blessed.”

It was too late to change anything. She was married to him until one of them died. But their whole life would be based on his reaction. Did he want her for herself, Elizabeth Katherine James Elliott, for everything she could give him? Or did he want Mrs. Trace Elliott, a wife who met his daily needs?

Her father threw her out of her home, forcing her to care for his parents’ broken-down farm. Then he’d tried to sell her as a virginal wife to advance his business. That life was over. She needed to belong to this one. To know
she
owned a part of her home, however small.

The uneasy silence continued. The horses strained, stretching their necks to pull up the slope. Trace glowered so much she didn’t offer to get out and walk to lighten their burden. Instead she looked at the unfamiliar plants, wondering what uses they could be put to. Which added flavor to food and which would give her stubborn husband the trots if dropped in his stew bowl?

“You’re not just a body to be used,” he finally growled. “You’re my wife.” He didn’t look at her.

“And what does a wife have to offer, other than her body? Men don’t care if a woman has a brain or any learning. They want her for chores, bedding, and heirs.”

“What I want from you, most women would refuse.” He finally looked at her but his hat shaded his face.

“You said you wanted me to think.” He nodded, warily. “I
think
you should let me buy a part of my home.”

She held tight to the buckboard as they crossed a stream, the water high from the spring melt. They crested the hill. He directed the horses under a broad cottonwood tree by the water and slowed the horses to a stop.

She waited, still and unmoving, until he sighed. Heavily.

“We don’t need the gold.” He sighed again. “I’ll talk it over with the boys. When Ben comes, he can write up a paper to give you part ownership of the Rocking E like the rest of us.”

“Ownership?”

“We work darn hard, but the Rocking E belongs to us. No banker or foreman tells us what to do.”

“I wondered how you could buy all the things in the wagon.”

She pressed her hand to her pounding heart. He offered far more than she’d ever expected. A real home. If her name was on the deed and anything happened to him, she could not be kicked off even if his brothers hated her. Despite his comments, perhaps he did care for her, but was afraid to show it. Her body, tingling from his nearness, heated even more. Someday he might learn to care about her as a person. For now, she could enjoy his body.

“Will that suit, Kate?”

The sarcastic way he used the name set fire to her.

“Kate?” Now that the wagon had stopped she stood up to gain the advantage. “You think I’m being a shrew by offering my money? I can do a lot worse, Mr. Trace Elliott.”

His lip twitched, just a bit, but she’d learned to read his body language enough to see he’d relaxed from a few minutes ago.

“‘Why there’s a wench. Come on, and kiss me, Kate,’” he quoted.

She squeaked when he grabbed her waist and hauled her onto his lap. He pulled off her new pink bonnet and tossed it into the wagon. He slid his hands through her hair, pulling out her pins and undoing her careful work. When her hair floated in the breeze, his eyes burned into hers as his nostrils flared. Her nipples pebbled, knowing what he wanted.

“Conclusion of act five, scene two. ‘Come, Kate. We’ll to bed.’” He looked around. “In this case, ‘we’ll to wagon.’”

Chapter Seven

“What if someone sees us?”

Trace’s luscious new wife stood on the grass beside the wagon, staring up at him. She licked her lips, and he held back a moan. That tongue, though untutored, already drove him wild when she sucked him dry. The woman grew on him like a rash, taking over more of his life every minute. He’d almost lost it when she said he couldn’t be real because he treated her as if she mattered.

Imagine him, Trace Elliott, wanting to hug a woman because she was more alone in the world than he was. She said no one cared about her. Worse, she’d stated it as a fact rather than a complaint. He’d almost let her into his heart before he realized the danger.

She was his wife. He’d protect and provide for her. She would serve his needs, in bed and out, as well as those of the twins. Between them they’d raise their children on the Rocking E. They had a partnership with intriguing benefits. And he wanted some right now.

“Mr. Elliott?”

Her golden hair rippled in the light breeze. She stood on Rocking E grass, waiting for him. When she screamed his name on Elliott land, she would belong to them fully. Her joy would echo off the mountains around them. Then he’d take her home.

Soon, every inch of her, inside and out, would be his. Only then would he share her.

She bit her lip and frowned as she stared at him. Was she really nervous about baring her entire body to the sun? Or did she only need his encouragement to give in to her wanton streak.

As soon as they passed the shacks outside Tanner’s Ford, she’d removed her coat. He gave her a few moments to settle before insisting she undo her shirt collar. The curve of creamy flesh drew his eye constantly, jiggling with every step the horses took.

He was a saint for waiting until now to haul her into his arms.

He drew his finger between the swell of her breasts. He licked her sweat off his finger, sucking it as she had his cock that morning. She inhaled, nipples already hard for him.

“Anyone could see us.”

“No one can see you here,” he replied.

Her tight shoulders relaxed.

“Other than Simon or Jack.”

“What?”

“Sy might be scouting a bee tree up there.” Trace pointed to the mountains before them. “The man has a sweet tooth. Jack’s likely hunting the other side of the ridge.” He turned back to Beth. “If Sy’s up there, he’ll have his spyglass out.”

Beth interlaced her fingers across her middle. He’d easily learned how to tell her arousal, but there was something else going on. She’d jumped to her feet, face red, as soon as Luke left their table. Had she heard his comment? She’d been twitchy since they left town.

“Something you want to say?” he asked.

She nibbled her lip, looking down. Her fingers were clenched so tight they were white.

“What did Mr. Frost mean about teaching me to share?”

“Heard that, huh?”

He winced when she nodded, still not looking at him. He gathered her in his arms. She resisted at first but he held her tight until she gave in. Her heart pounded against his chest.

“You know I live with two of my brothers?” He felt her nod against his chest. “Since Ma and Pa died and the MacDougals took the four youngest away to Texas, all we had was each other. We shared everything, work, food and shelter, and managed to stay alive. All along, each of us hoped that some day one of us would marry and keep the Elliott name alive here in Montana Territory.”

He kissed the top of her golden head. She trembled but didn’t pull away.

“I married you. A strong, determined woman full of passion.” He ran his fingers over the outer curve of her breast. A hard nipple rose, pressing against his chest.

“I won’t force you to do anything you really don’t want to do, Beth. But Simon and Jack have needs, just like me.” He waited a few moments for her to think it over. She didn’t move. Her pounding heart didn’t slow down, either. He didn’t think she was ready to bolt, so he relaxed his hold a mite.

“I want you. Here and now. If Sy is watching, he wants you too.” He cupped her swollen breast. He heard the quiet hitch in her throat, the one that meant she wanted more.

“Don’t think about what might happen, Beth. Think about how good you feel when I touch you.” He caught her nipple between his fingers. When he squeezed, she whimpered.

“Maybe Sy saw the wagon dust. He hauls out his spyglass and sees me holding a beautiful woman. He wonders if you’re a mirage or the daydream of a man who’s gone without a woman for six months.
Does it make you hot, thinking my brother watches you, wishing he was the one touching you?” She pressed her face against his shirt making a hot circle from her breath.

“This is the next step to becoming an Elliott wife. Me loving you out in the open on Elliott land. I’m going to strip you naked. Then I’ll lick the sweat off your skin and suck your sweetness until you explode. And when I lay you down and fill you with my seed, Sy will imagine he is the one spreading your thighs and making you scream. Only it’ll be my name that echoes over the land.”

She twitched with the tiny shivers that meant she wanted him. But she was a woman and had been raised with notions as to what was seemly. Notions he would stretch until they broke. He’d made a good start last night and this was the next step.

“But—”

“Kate, if you don’t show me your sweet ass by the time I count to three, I’m going to lift your skirts and paddle it!”

She pushed on his chest and stared up at him, her mouth moving like a fish out of water. She snapped her lips closed and raised her chin. She shoved him away.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Never dare an Elliott, sweetheart.” He couldn’t resist a slow smile of anticipation. “One,” he said. He moved to the back of the wagon where they’d left an open space. He lifted himself and settled in the middle.

“Two.” He reached his arms wide to ensure there was enough room to lay her across his lap. He patted his thighs to show where she’d lie, face down.

“Stop! You win.”

She pursed her lips and glowered like Mrs. Emslow. But her look did things to him the old besom would never understand. He leaned back on his hands with a broad smile, feet swinging, to watch her undress. When she reached for the next button over her chest, he stared at her fingers, anticipating the view. She slowly flicked the button open, then the next. Another one and the curve of her breast appeared. He’d fought hard for her to go with undergarments. This made it worthwhile.