Their Reckless Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 11)

As a Grove, the last place Barton Finch would go hunting for me would be the sheriff’s own home. He’d be stupid to even ride by, let alone knock on the sheriff’s front door and ask after me.

While he hadn’t participated in this morning’s bank robbery—he’d intended instead to have me in his bed, willing or unwilling—he was a fugitive, wanted by the law for other crimes like stage robbery and murder. The only thing standing in the way of the sheriff catching him and putting a noose about his neck was… me. I knew where he lived, but there was no fucking way I’d go back there. I had no intention of getting anywhere near the man again. I felt nauseated just thinking about it.

So I’d spend some time with Hank and Charlie. It would be no hardship, at least on the eyes.

As for the rest of my body… I squirmed in the saddle, the achy feeling Charlie had brought about when he’d touched me so intimately hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had gotten worse.

Hell, was I in trouble.

We’d ridden in an amiable sort of silence, letting our horses have their heads as the sun slowly worked its way toward the peaks of the mountains to the west. I was a little lost in the feel of my pussy as it rubbed against the hard leather of my saddle. It had never affected me like this before, not until these two. Until Charlie had touched me. Now… now I wanted to roll my hips and feel… more.

I cleared my throat. “Didn’t… didn’t you want to arrest the men, take them to town and put them in jail yourself?”

The sheriff, who rode alongside me, turned his head. He tipped his hat back and studied me. “I got what I wanted today.”

I frowned, unsure of his words. Did he mean me? He’d said they planned to claim me, whatever the hell that was. Or did it mean he was content I’d shot the men who’d robbed most of the Montana Territory and they’d be in jail by nightfall regardless who dragged their sorry asses back to town?

He confused me to no end. Especially now when he wasn’t trying to rile me.

The sheriff had spanked me. On my bare ass, nonetheless. And it had hurt like hell, but that sting had turned to fire. To heat. To a surprising and strange need. In that moment, I’d hated the man, but at the same time, I’d wanted to jump in his arms and kiss the hell out of him.

It was the strangest combination of sensations. Then he’d chucked me in the creek. The bastard. That had cooled every hint of interest I’d felt.

It hadn’t been the sheriff who’d warmed me right back up though. It was Charlie who’d stunned me by putting his hand in my pants. Barton Finch had tried the same thing earlier, but he’d gotten a knee to the balls.

Charlie had gotten me to whimper and moan, practically writhe on his hand. Barton hadn’t gotten a finger inside of me, thankfully, but I doubted it would have felt like what Charlie had made me feel. Hot… like liquid fire. Need, fierce and swift, had made me want to ride his finger like a bucking bronco.

I’d lost my mind.

No, when he’d pulled his finger from me and licked it—licked it!—I’d lost it for sure. I wanted him to put it right back! I wanted something that it seemed only he could give me. I didn’t know what it was, exactly, but I knew I wanted more of his touch, more even, of the sheriff’s spanking.

Fuck, I liked their attention, even if I didn’t understand it.

I’d lay low and try to figure out what best to do with Barton Finch at this Bridgewater place with them. I might even let them touch me some more. Because if just the tip of his finger had made me feel like heaven was a place on Earth, then I’d let them do it again. Because the constant shift of the saddle against my pussy wasn’t enough.

Over an hour later, we rode up to a house nestled back in a grove of cottonwoods. Compared to the shanty, this place was a copper king’s mansion. It was two-story, made of wood with a river rock chimney. It was… lovely. Clean, freshly painted a crisp white. There were even shutters on the windows. Compared to where I’d woken up this morning and spent my pas

t nineteen years, this was… a home. A place for children—ones who were truly wanted—to thrive and grow.

If I had to hide out from Barton Finch, this would be a comfortable place to do it. He wouldn’t find me here. There was no connection between me and Hank or Charlie. I’d never even met the men before today. This place, Bridgewater, was far from town, and in the opposite direction of my family’s cabin and also from Barton Finch’s place. I felt safe here. I felt like I could stay forever. But that was a ridiculous notion. I was the woman in pants. The woman who swore like a drunken miner.

“If you’re the sheriff, why don’t you live in town?” I asked, glancing from the large house in front of us to the man who just dismounted his horse.

“Because I wasn’t planning on being a lawman. I’m a rancher.”

I swung down from my animal, patted his sweaty flank.

“But the Groves killed my father.”

I gasped, turned on my heel, my braid whipping against my back. My heart thudded in my ears and I could barely hear what he said next.

“He was the previous sheriff, killed on duty, so I stepped into the role to see them brought to justice.” His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes narrowed and his body was tensely coiled as he adjusted his saddle.

Fuck. Fuck. Last winter, I’d heard Father say they shot a lawman, but I hadn’t known who. I hadn’t even known he’d died.

“Then…” My throat felt like dust and I had to swallow hard. Blinked away the quick rush of tears. “I’m… I’m so sorry to hear about your father. I understand why you left them out there, but… but didn’t you want to ensure they were behind bars? To see them hanged?”

Charlie took my horse’s reins from my numb fingers. “Don’t you?” he asked quietly.