Their Brazen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 8)

“Yes, she’s quite pretty. Shy,” Ann added. “I’m glad to hear she has a man.”

“She’ll have two soon, enough,” Tucker told her.

Ann placed the glasses on the table in the middle of the room and looked at Tucker. “Oh? Really?” She smiled broadly.

He went back to wiping scraps off the plates into a pail to be taken to the barn for the pigs. “The man is not her fiancé,” Tucker answered, adamant.

“You’re sure of this, how?” Andrew leaned against the counter, watching me scrub.

I handed him the clean pot and a dish towel. If he was going to talk, he could dry as he did so. I grabbed a dirty dish and dunked it in the hot water.

“She told us as much. You should have seen her face. I’ve never seen a less enthused woman when speaking of a beau,” Tucker continued.

“You still have stardust in your eyes when you mention me,” Andrew teased Ann.

I looked between the duo, envious of their obvious love. It was not a look Abigail possessed.

“Ann, what has she told you of him?” I asked, not ashamed of my curiosity.

She pursed her lips, thought for a moment. “I’ve only spoken with her a few times. Christopher rarely stands still at a picnic, and chasing after him often keeps me away from socializing.”

She smiled down at her son who gave her a wicked little grin.

“She spoke more to Laurel. Let me get her.” Walking to the doorway, she called to Laurel, who joined us in the kitchen. She stepped out of the way as Christopher dashed past. We could all hear him squeal with glee and shouting, “More, more,” and knew his other father, Robert, was tossing him up into the air, his newfound delight.

“They want to know about Abigail Carr’s beau.”

The dark-haired woman frowned, thinking. “His name’s Aaron, and he has fair hair and is a bookkeeper.”

I glanced at Tucker. “She did not tell us these facts. She actually diminished the man instead of speaking highly of him.”

He nodded once then continued his plate scraping.

“And so you want to claim her after seeing her just this past week?” Andrew asked.

“You forget, dear husband,” Ann said, walking up to Andrew and putting her hand on his chest. “You offered to marry me after knowing me for ten minutes.”

Andrew leaned down and kissed Ann then gave her a swat on the ass. I tried to hide my smile, but it was impossible. Their story included a transatlantic crossing, a miserable father, and a runaway. Fate had perhaps stepped in for them when Ann ducked into Robert’s cabin to hide. From what they’d said, they were married the very same day.

“We’ve wanted her for a long time. Years. But she was too young. It was good she went away to school, to do whatever it is young women do. Dances and whatnot. But since she’s back, unclaimed, she’s ours.”

“But she’s got Aaron,” Laurel countered.

“A beau doesn’t not mean she’s claimed. He had his chance but let her come home. We will not wait for another to put a ring on her finger.”

We were at the picnic when we first saw her after her return. Tucker caught a glimpse of her and grabbed my arm, angled my head in her direction, and just stared. She was with a small group of other women, chatting. We were too far away to overhear the topic, but the conversation was fairly animated. Laurel had been in the mix and tried to include Abigail, but it was obvious she was reticent to join in. She was pretty as a picture in a pale-blue dress that accented her lush curves. Curves I hadn’t remembered seeing before she left for school.

Even among the other ladies, she stood out. While the others were certainly attractive, Abigail had been the only one to catch our eyes once again, to stop us in our tracks—literally—and ruin us for any other woman, forever.

Mason, Laurel’s husband, had once said finding a bride was like being struck by lightning, but we’d never held much credence

for the concept. We’d known, even when she was younger, Abigail would be ours, but it was nothing like our need for her now. She’d been just a girl. Now, she was a gorgeous woman. It was a perfectly sunny summer day when the lightning hit both Tucker and me after all the waiting. Abigail, with her shy ways and soft smiles, was the one for us. The only one.

But when we heard she had a man in Butte, a fiancé, we didn’t approach with more than casual conversation. We didn’t ask her brother for permission to court her or even offer to fetch her a drink at the reception. Nothing. If she was claimed by another, we wouldn’t interfere. But she’d refuted the story that had spread through the picnic. She might have a man, but they were not engaged to be married, and, by her bland response, she was not keen on him. It gave us a chance. There was no ring involved, so we’d pushed her, speaking of kissing her and what we would do if she were ours. She’d responded as we’d hoped. With eagerness, curiosity, and arousal.

“We wondered why you had no interest in any of the ladies in town. Now, we know,” Andrew commented.

Marriageable women were few and far between in the area. Tucker and I weren’t too concerned about this, for none of the women who were of an age to wed appealed to us. They were certainly nice and attractive enough, but none had turned our heads… or tossed a lightning bolt at us. Until Abigail. I turned around and leaned against the sink, grabbed the dishtowel from Andrew, and wiped my hands.