Their Christmas Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 5)

"May we see you home, Miss Travers?" Mr. Porter asked, standing among the congregation outside the town church. Both men held their hats as they looked earnestly at me. I couldn't help but swallow the thrill at having their attentions. It was unnerving; I was quite unused to one man's interest, but now, it seemed, I had two men interested. In me. Me!

I tried not to frown as I considered that. Why would both of them want to walk me home? As chaperones perhaps? I sighed as they watched me. Of course. It made complete sense, for I'd heard that Caroline Pickens had tried to corner—and capture—Mr. Quinn just a few weeks ago after a town meeting. Clearly, he didn't want to be trapped into a hasty marriage because of an overeager woman. He was just being courteous, and cautious,

by having Mr. Porter walk with us.

I liked a courteous man, but that would not keep me warm at night, for Thanksgiving was quickly approaching and the frost was upon the ground in the mornings now. That meant the start of another long Montana winter. I wanted a man who made my body tingle at the thought of being kissed, needed to know what the rasp of calloused fingers felt like upon my skin. I wanted him to want only me.

I shivered thinking about Mr. Matthews. He most certainly wanted me. His attentions had just as much ardor, if not more, than either of the men from Bridgewater, but I did not long for him. I did not ache for him. I did not pleasure myself to thoughts of him.

The men were waiting intently for an answer, so I nodded my head and found my voice, pleased. "Yes, thank you."

They each took an elbow and guided me in the direction of the boarding house. Walking between them as I was, I felt so small and feminine. I also felt protected and sheltered from any kind of danger, perhaps even the likes of Mr. Matthews.

Both men were handsome, virile, and gave me the attention I expected—and longed for—from a suitor. Why were they being equally attentive and if the time ever came, how could I choose just one?

"We have heard the Arnolds have sold the boarding house," Mr. Quinn commented.

"Yes. The new owners will be taking over the business before Christmas."

"What of you?" Mr. Porter asked.

"I am a temptation the new owner's wife does not want near her husband, therefore I will seek employment elsewhere."

One of the men hmphed. "Your family lives in Miles City, I believe," Mr. Porter added. He remembered that small detail from a previous conversation.

I nodded. "Yes, my family is quite large and I would just be one more mouth to feed. Do not worry yourselves, I will be fine." I didn't feel quite that way, but I did not need to share that. The men stopped and Mr. Quinn turned to me. He was so close the buttons of his jacket brushed against my breasts through the fabric of mine. I had to tilt my head up to look at him. Mr. Porter stepped in close so that his front was against my back. I was surrounded. The combined feel of them, their scent, was heady.

"You will come to us if you ever have need," Mr. Quinn said. It had not been spoken as a question, but more a command.

While the needs he had in mind probably leaned toward moving a trunk to the stage, my mind turned to my more carnal needs I'd like him to fulfill. I felt myself flush.

"Both of us," Mr. Porter added with a deep voice and finality over my shoulder. His warm breath fanned over my nape and I shivered once again, this time for an entirely different reason.

***

"Marry?" I asked, my voice high pitched.

"I am a Justice of the Peace," the sheriff countered, as if I were questioning his abilities.

I took a step back, broadening the distance from Mr. Porter. "You want to marry me?" My heart was about to gallop out of my chest.

"I thought my attentions had been clear enough, but perhaps I was wrong."

I swallowed, but it was hard to form my thoughts, let alone a sentence. "But...I mean, that is...oh."

He took a step, then another so he could take my hands. Frowning, he worked the gloves off and tossed them to the floor, clearly frustrated he could not touch my skin directly. When he did, I gasped, the contact like lightning in a summer storm. I flicked a gaze up to his and he grinned.

"You should have come to me, to us—" he angled his head toward Quinn, "—instead of running away."

"I...I wasn't running from you."

"You need not worry about Mr. Matthews and his lies, for we know they are such."

"He told people I...I did things with him and that I stole from him." Tears burned the back of my eyes; the pressure of the man's avarice and mean plans was crumbling my resolve.

A finger beneath my chin tipped my head up. "Oh no. Don't succumb now. You've been so strong, so brave."

His words, not anything Mr. Matthews had done, had a tear slipping down my cheek and Porter wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "We know you are innocent, in every way."