Their Rebellious Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 10)

At least twice my age, she was wizened to the ways of the world I couldn’t even imagine. Her dress revealed more cleavage than I did in just my undergarments, the enormous swells above the low bodice plump pillows that any eager man couldn’t miss.

The establishment was a saloon, not a brothel, but that didn’t seem to matter when it came to… to servicing the miners after a hard day digging for copper below ground. Standing in the kitchen, the scent of boiled cabbage soured the air. A Chinese man was stirring a steaming pot on the stove. Either he didn’t understand what was being said or he didn’t care; he paid us no mind.

“It’s true,” added a second woman, perhaps a few years older than me. Sitting at the scarred table, the food on the plate before her was mostly gone. Her red hair was piled high on top of her head haphazardly, and she’d donned a garment similar to what I now held, although hers was blue and had lost some of its luster. So had she. Her bosom, while not as ample as the older woman’s, spilled from above the racy neckline. I had to assume she was taking a late lunch since she’d been busy upstairs. I diverted my gaze from the way a hint of her nipple appeared every time she took a deep breath. “They like a tight pussy. Until you’re opened up as wide as one of the mines in the hillside, you’ll get lots of coin.”

It was clear they were both working girls, but the older woman appeared to be in charge. Both laughed and I winced, knowing while she spoke in jest, she was stating fact. Men didn’t like used goods. I was far from used goods. I’d never even been kissed, let alone… everything else. My intention here had been mistaken, and I had to alter their thinking.

“I’m not here to sell myself.”

“There’s only one role for women who come to the back door.”

I wanted to grit my teeth with frustration. “I didn’t come to the back door. I entered through the saloon, but was sent into the kitchen.” I tipped my head toward the front of the establishment. “I want to participate in the card games, not… not do that.” I held the dress out in front of me with two fingers. I had no idea who had worn the dress previously, but I could guess the activities that had occurred while she’d done so. Selling my body was not part of my plan.

My plan was to collect enough money for the train to North Dakota and to save my sisters, Virginia and Georgia. Mr. Grimsby had become irate when he’d discovered my duplicity, that I wasn’t really a railroad heiress as my father had led him to believe. He’d been so irate, he’d given me a bruised eye and killed Father, and I’d become his prisoner until the money he’d expected from me could be achieved. It seemed everyone had been lying, for while Mr. Grimsby appeared solvent with his large mansion and fancy dress, his mine had gone dry and he’d sought a bride to replenish his coffers. While I’d been kept under his roof, Mr. Grimsby had also sent one of his goons to North Dakota to harm my sisters if I wasn’t successful in providing him with income. Abigail had miraculously—and with a large gun—come to the rescue, and Mr. Grimsby was now behind bars for kidnapping, extortion and murder. But his man headed to Fargo didn’t know that. My sisters were going to die if I didn’t save them.

Georgia and Ginny knew nothing of Father’s deceptive intentions… and death.

“Poker,” I said. “I’m here to play cards.”

“Poker!” The older one laughed as if she’d never had a woman request to join men at the tables. “You’ll not be allowed into a game here.”

The tinny music from a piano made its way through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the main saloon. While not filled to capacity, there were men drinking and a few playing cards at this hour.

I frowned. “Why ever not? I’m skilled. Capable. I’m here to earn money at poker, not… not in other ways.”

Even though, in the end, my father had lost all of the family money gambling it away at cards, he’d taught me the game of poker from a young age, the skill and logic behind winning. It didn’t always mean a good hand, but with the talent to read the other players, the ability to bluff and a good deal of luck, I could win. I did it at finishing school, winning the other girls’ pin money often enough. I would here at the saloon and be able to travel back to Fargo.

A dark brow arched. “Skilled? I care about your skill with an eager cock. If you’re not a virgin, I’ll eat my right shoe.” She looked me over. “The men will be in a frenzy to claim virgin pussy. You don’t need skill to spread those thighs.”

I blushed furiously, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks at her bluntness and the other woman’s nod of agreement. “Skilled at cards,” I clarified.

The only man who piqued my interest in claiming my… virgin pussy was James Carr. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, the day I’d arrived at finishing school when he’d brought his sister, Abigail, he made my heart pound. My nipples harden. And lower, between my thighs… I ached. I would tell none of this to Abigail, for it would have been awkward at best for her to know I’d pined and dreamed of her brother—and we hadn’t even been introduced! No, I’d kept my interest in him a secret. My secret, even as my father pushed me toward advantageous, but empty, matches.

As Abigail had told Mr. Grimsby, the Carrs didn’t have money, they had land. They may have scraped together enough for her to go to finishing school, but they had cows, not cash. A cow couldn’t get me money to rescue my sisters.

Wealthy or not, I wondered now why I’d ever found James Carr attractive. He was bossy and demanding and extremely annoying. The fact that he was tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled and had the loveliest dark eyes made him even more bothersome. I itched to run my fingers through his chocolate colored hair, feel the rasp of his whiskers against my palm. Breathe in his dark scent. My body had reacted to seeing him again, even in my frazzled state. I’d lost my wits at the feel of his corded forearm beneath my palm as he’d led me down the street. At the clean, dark scent of him. He hadn’t even kissed me and I’d been eager for him to… to have his way with me.

I’d just been freed from Mr. Grimsby’s house, dealt with the sheriff, discovered Abigail was married to not one man, but two, then been introduced to the most handsome man I’d ever seen, the man I’d pined for for two years. After all that, I shouldn’t have practically s

wooned on the street because of James Carr, especially since he’d told me… told me in no uncertain terms, I was going home with him. That I would marry him. Marry!

Deep down, I’d initially been relieved at his adamance. He’d offered a safe place to go, and he was Abigail’s brother, my hero, and I was the damsel in distress in all those dime novels we’d read late at night at school. In real life, it wasn’t all that exhilarating because I’d been the worst heroine ever and ruined it all. I should have been patient instead of impetuous, told him my fears, my concerns. I trusted Abigail and should have trusted him. Instead, I’d had him beaten up.

James Carr should return to his ranch and forget I even existed. He was probably halfway there by now.

And that was a good thing, for I couldn’t marry him. I needed money, a job, a rich husband. Something so I could save my sisters.

I had nothing. Less than nothing. I had no room at the school any longer. No money. No name since my father had destroyed it with his gambling and demise. And yet, he wanted me. Me! I was a walking disaster. I had no fortune. While it hadn’t been my fault, my family was obviously led by a schemer who’d gotten himself killed. I had two sisters in North Dakota I had to somehow rescue. I’d put his sister in danger. While I’d completed finishing school, I had been unable to find a husband with my father’s requirements during my tenure, even with my supposed beauty and education.

When James had told me we were to marry… told, it had been irritating, and that was why I’d acted so irrationally. James Carr hadn’t given me a choice. No option whatsoever. Just like my father. Just like Mr. Grimsby.

That, I detested.

Why would I go from one demanding male to another? My father’s actions had all but forced me into pandering. He hadn’t sent me out searching for love; I’d been searching for a bank account. A bank account to save him and his bad decisions. And now, even from the grave, he was dictating my actions. I had to save Ginny and Georgia.

I wanted love desperately, for I had felt none at home. Mother had died when I was six, leaving Father with three daughters, I was the middle child. He’d cared not for us, for we were not boys. He’d been cruel enough to tell Ginny, even though she was the oldest, I was the pretty one, the one he was sending to school to find a husband. Besides being plain mean, his drinking and gambling had grown worse over the years and his coffers had needed to be replenished. His desperation went as far as sending me to the rich city of Butte, using the last of the money to pay for finishing school. The town was famous for its riches in copper and because of it, the wealthiest men in the world I could marry.

Was love so impossible? Was a woman expected to marry a man who offered no fondness, no comfort?