Barefoot Bride for Three (26 page)

“Heads,” said Jack.

“Tails,” replied Simon.

Jack rose to his knees. He leaned over her and, with an enormous sigh, settled his lips over her left nipple. Simon bent her knees and pressed them apart. He encouraged her to lift her bottom and pushed a pillow under. He lay on his stomach between her thighs. He gently kissed the inside of her thigh, then slid his tongue between her pussy lips.

Beth arched her back. She thrust her breasts toward Jack and tilted herself toward Simon.

“Heads and tails,” whispered Trace. “Either way, you win.”

* * * *

Trace shifted to the side not occupied by Jack and lay down, resting his head on his fist. Eyes closed and mouth wide, Beth gasped as Jack and Simon tried to outdo each other in driving her wild. With room to spread out, they could finally treat her right. While he’d enjoyed having Beth to himself, a part of him knew it wasn’t right. They’d never say anything, but his brothers needed to hold Beth tight in the night just as much as he.

Before he’d given up on finding a wife, he’d thought one would be a convenience. He’d get meals, a clean house and clothes, and sex. In return he’d have to put up with a female clinging to him. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, since Ma clung to no one. Maybe it was the married women he saw in town, Bannack City, or Dillon. They’d swish past him in their fancy dresses, making sure a big, dirty brute like him never came close.

The first time he saw Beth, going nose to nose with Charlie, he’d realized she was not like the town women. Good thing, too. She inhaled a gasp, trembled and moaned. Simon and Jack looked up, grinned at each other and went back to pleasuring her.

Their woman.

Did his seed grow within her already? She had never turned him away for her woman time and there’d not been one night when they slept apart. A tight band shot around his chest. He sat up, fighting to breathe.

A father? Him?

He rubbed his front, knuckles pressing against the bone between his chest muscles. The pain eased, melting like snow in a winter chinook.

Maybe.

Trace, the oldest and ugliest of the Elliott brothers, might have a wife swelling with his babe. Did she know? He looked down at her, writhing under the fingers, tongues, and mouths of his twin little brothers.

“Oh, yes!”

She bucked and trembled, her skin glowing with sweat. When her storm began to ease, Jack rolled onto his back, full mast high. Sy lifted Beth, gently guiding her to settle around Jack. He caressed her breasts, rasping her nipples and making her moan. Simon brought over the sweet lard they’d prepared earlier and settled behind her. Jack encouraged her to shift forward, kissing her deep.

Trace moved to the side to watch Simon, making sure he was careful with Beth. As Jack was thick, it was best that Sy, more narrow and long, enter her ass. He watched her tight little asshole clench around Sy’s fingers as he greased her up. The minx pushed back against him, demanding more. Trace joined in, playing with her sopping clit. Her need and moans grew. Simon slathered his cock well and rose to his knees. He splayed his hands and pressed her cheeks apart. Her little brown anus grew an inside pink ring as she relaxed for him.

Trace double-fingered her clit, twitching his fingers between her belly and Jack’s. Sy guided his cock to her ass and pressed. She pushed back and he slid an inch, just inside her ring. He nodded to Jack, who encouraged Beth to slide down his cock and take him deep. Trace moved aside to watch Jack’s thick cock disappear inside her. She then rose as Simon pumped slow and deep.

Cocks moved in and out as Beth slid forward on Jack and back on Sy. They sped up, Simon going deeper, faster. Beth, belly to Jack, scraped her clit on him with each stroke. Sy’s balls slapped against her lips with every forward stroke.

Trace’s cock tried to stiffen enough to join the fun, but he’d damn near killed himself earlier at the waterfall so he relaxed and watched the twins drive Beth wild. She tossed her head and her hair flew, striking Jack’s face and chest when Simon slammed into her.

None of them noticed him watching. Sy’s eyes were fixed on Beth’s ass. Jack, hands guiding Beth’s hips, stared at her face and breasts. Beth’s eyes were jammed shut as she took whatever she wanted from his brothers.

Something triggered the explosion. Beth gasped and ground herself onto Jack with all her weight. Simon yelled something and slammed once more into her before his rhythm broke down and he quaked like he was having a fit. Just as Simon finished, Jack erupted, lifting and dropping Beth onto him, Sy attached, until he, too groaned. Beth collapsed over him, Simon lying over her like a sopping blanket.

Sy held Beth and rolled sideway, taking her, and Jack with him.

Instead of being excluded, Trace felt he was part of the action. After tonight, Beth would need some time to recover. He’d never thought that one naked woman falling asleep on his chest would do more for him than a bed full of lively whores. Not that he’d ever had such a thing, nor did he want to anymore.

He slipped down to the kitchen to get the kettle, still warm from the stove. He brought an old towel with him, tossing it to an exhausted Simon when he pulled out. He filled the ewer and wet the soft cloth the boys put out earlier. Gently, he bathed the sweat off Beth’s back and bottom. She murmured when he lifted her off Jack and laid her on her back. More warm water tidied up her top side.

She had a silly little girl smile, one that he cherished. It meant she was so far beyond caring about things, that all she knew was pleasure.

He set her in the center of the bed and covered her with a soft quilt. She curled on her side, still smiling. Jack quirked an eyebrow at him but he shook his head. The boys had earned it. They’d sleep on either side of Beth tonight.

Sy curled up behind her, cupping her upper breast in his hand. He shuddered a sigh and relaxed. How long had it been since his middle brother had felt so content?

Jack, still the ladies’ man, faced toward Beth. He settled farther down in the bed, his lips almost touching her breasts.

Though they were warm now, it would soon get cooler. Trace covered each man with a quilt. He looked at them for a moment and then trod down the stairs, shaking his head. Huh! Imagine him, tucking up his little brothers after they drove his hot wife wild.

He threw on a pair of boots and headed out to the barn. He felt like his skin was too tight or something. He absently rubbed his chest. The pull to return to their bed was too strong. He couldn’t let a physical need dominate his decisions. Beth was a good wife, and she’d make a good mother. She’d changed their lives for the better, but he didn’t need her more than life.

Not like his father needed his mother. Never like that.

Beth was a damned fine convenience, one he’d cherish. But that was all.

The dogs greeted him with joyous tail wags. Sailor raised a sleepy head as if to ask what the hell he was doing in the barn at this hour.

Hell if he knew. But he couldn’t go back into that bed and still be who he was, strong and alone, needing no one.

Chapter Eighteen

They came, as Beth expected, when Trace, Simon, and Jack were in the mountains chasing cattle.

She’d had a few weeks to practice her aim. With luck and a light wind she could hit the target with her rifle if it was braced on something. The pistol was another matter. Trace said she’d only be good at close quarters so she might as well hide it in her pocket.

He was joking but she listened. She sewed strong pockets in each dress, just the right size to hold the pistol and her hand. If anyone tried to take her, he’d get a bullet in his gut. After that, all the piece of iron was good for was whacking someone on the head. If she had to, she would.

Whenever the men went far, she kept her pistol in her pocket and rifle near. She’d just returned to the garden from the privy when Tony and Cleo alerted her with sharp yips that someone was coming up from the river. Three hard, dirty men approached riding tired, dusty horses they’d likely stolen.

She got in the house before they got too close, calling the dogs in with her. She set her pistol on the table, grabbed the freshly loaded rifle and knelt to watch through the open kitchen window as they approached. Tony shoved at her arm, making space for his front paws on the window ledge to watch. Cleo whined low in her throat as she paced back and forth between the window and the door.

Tony turned his head to Beth, licked her chin, and went back on guard duty. Beth’s stomach roiled with acid, a reminder of what had happened the last few mornings. They’d headed out early, leaving her still asleep. She hadn’t eaten anything different from the men, who showed no signs of sickness.

Perhaps it was the heat this last week. It made her so drowsy she rested on the downstairs bed for an hour during the worst of the afternoon heat. How would she cope in July and August if she was this weak now? She’d just have to toughen up. After she got rid of these ruffians.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot,” she yelled when their horses had approached close enough to the house that she had a decent chance of hitting one. Tony, as if adding his two cents, growled and snarled beside her. They pulled up about fifteen feet from where she knelt at the kitchen window.

“There’s three of us, Miz Elliott, and your men folk are far away.”

The pot-bellied man in a sweat-stained vest leered at her, revealing brown teeth. The one to her right, barely old enough to have a beard shadow, hung back. The other resembled the leader’s features, though he was muscular rather than running to fat. He stared at her with cold, hungry eyes. She cocked the rifle. The leader lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Now, don’t get riled. We just wanna little visit.”

Trace had instructed Beth to shoot first and ask questions later. She braced herself and slid the rifle out the kitchen window, resting it on the ledge. The man on the left snickered while the young one backed his horse up a few steps. She shoved Tony away with her elbow. He ran to the door with Cleo, both of them barking.

Bracing for the recoil, she aimed, closed her eyes, and fired.

The blast knocked her shoulder back, and she almost fell over. Her ears rang, the noise being far greater inside the house than out behind the barn. She heard screams over the sound of her dogs. When she got back in position the man on the left lay on the ground, clutching his left chest.
His horse had bolted. The boss and young man fought to settle their horses as bright red b
lood pumped into her yard. It seemed only a moment before the body stopped moving.

Beth gulped and turned to the leader. The man had no idea she’d aimed for him and hitting the other was a lucky shot. She trembled and fought her heaving stomach.

“Dayam! You kilt Dan’l!” The leader lifted his pistol at her. “You’ll pay for that, Miz Elliott. To hell with Big Joe. I’m gonna take you for myself.”

Though she shivered at his words, she glared at him, the rifle giving her strength.

“Yep,” he continued, “you’ll bring a heap of gold when we’re finished with ya.” He spit in her direction but spoke to his side-kick. “Bet she takes two men regular.”

Beth aimed at the leader again and fired. This time she kept her eyes open and managed to nick his horse. It screamed and reared in the air. The rider fought to hold and settle the horse but it bucked him off. The man landed heavily, grunting as he hit. The horse followed its herd mate past the barn.

The young man, face pale, shook his head at Beth. “You said we was just to scare her. I ain’t a part of this no more,” he said. He reined his horse around and took off at a fast trot for the river.

Eyes fixed on Beth, the leader hauled himself to his feet. When he straightened he looked almost as tall as Trace. The wind blew toward her, bringing his acrid stench. She gulped to keep her stomach contents where they were. He took a step forward. The dogs, knowing someone was outside, scratched madly at the door, howling. The bandit cocked his gun at her.

“Your bullets are gone, Miz Elliott. Get your ass out here or I’ll shoot your dogs right through that door.”

“No, please don’t hurt my puppies!” She cried, pretending to be hysterical. It wasn’t difficult. She prayed that Trace and the twins weren’t far. But if she had to do this by herself, then she would. Somehow, she would survive with body and soul intact.

“Git out here. Now!”

She rose to her feet with the help of a quaking hand braced on the window sill. She placed her hot rifle on the table and set her pistol in the deep right pocket she’d sewn in her skirt. She pulled out hairpins to let her long blonde hair down to catch his attention.

She pulled the door open, fighting to get through and keep the dogs inside. They weaseled around her and raced outside, barking madly. Blonde hair gleaming in the sun, she stood in the doorway. She put her right hand in her pocket with her pistol and cried for him not to hurt her precious dogs as she checked his height. If she aimed the pistol up just a bit, she’d hit him in the belly.

“Git down here!” he roared. “Now!”

She nodded, blinking as if to hold back tears and gripped her weapon. She fluttered her other hand over her chest. She stepped out her front door and approached him with baby steps, down the few stairs and past her flower garden. She kept her shoulders back, shaking as if crying. He held his gun in his right hand and watched her approach. She held skirt with her left hand, her right still clutching the gun in her pocket.
She stopped just far enough away so he couldn’t reach her. She shook her head so her hair floated around her shoulders.