Their Treasured Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 4)

I'd never seen someone affected by so many emotions at once. I had to keep her calm, but clearly I was terrible at it. How did I keep her from panicking, all the while on the inside I was going to go insane?

"Where the bloody hell is everyone?" I muttered, grabbing for her hand and holding it.

That made Olivia pause. "Did you just swear?"

My eyes widened and nodded. She grinned as she winced in pain.

"I'll keep swearing if you try to breathe through the pains."

Her entire body tightened. "Oh God, here comes another pain! Ah!" she cried.

I looked down between her legs and this time I saw a patch of dark hair emerge. "The baby's head is coming. Do you want to push?"

She nodded frantically as she held her breath and bore down.

Wide eyed, I watched as the more hair became visible.

"The head's coming. I see dark, dark hair, Olivia."

"Olivia!" A man's voice shouted from downstairs.

Someone was here! "Get Mason and Brody. Hurry!" I yelled.

Thundering footsteps got louder as Olivia made a feral sound deep in her throat as she pushed again.

Fortunately, it was Mason and Brody who came through the bedroom door and stood stunned as their wife labored. It did not seem as if their baby was going to wait any longer and I was relieved it was them instead of Quinn or another man.

"Holy hell, woman," Mason muttered, standing stock still in the middle of the room. "I see a head."

I stood and moved out of the way, thankful someone—anyone—was here with us. Fortunately, Olivia had her husbands with her at this perfect moment.

"What do we do?" Brody asked me.

The usually levelheaded man was completely befuddled. "Keep her calm, hold her up as she pushes. Catch the baby." I hoped that was what they were supposed to do, although Olivia and the baby were doing fine without any of our help. "Go to her."

Brody nodded once and dashed to Olivia's side so he could sit and hold her forward as she gripped her knees.

I leaned against the wall and watched as Mason held his new baby's head as it came out, then with words of encouragement, spurred Olivia to push once again. He caught the baby as it came out quickly once the shoulders passed.

"It's a girl," he said, glancing up at his wife with amazed eyes.

I was transfixed by the joy that was shared between them. The baby cried and they all began to laugh. Brody grabbed a clean shirt that hung from a peg on the wall and gave it to Mason, who wrapped the tiny infant. He handed her off to Olivia as Brody unbuttoned the front of her nightgown.

"Put her to your breast, love."

Olivia, sweaty and tired, but smiling from ear to ear, did as Brody instructed.

Voices filled the downstairs. Emma and Ann came into the room, winded and red cheeked. They looked at the baby, Olivia, the men and then at me. Ann put a hand on my arm and I jumped. She smiled at me reassuringly. "Go downstairs. Your men are waiting for you." I glanced at Olivia who was listening to whatever Brody was whispering in her ear. "We can help her from here."

Emma had already gone over to Olivia but I looked at Ann. I felt as if I'd run from town, weary and elated and exhausted and happy. I gave the new family one last look and felt a deep, almost painful longing in my chest. I wanted this. I wanted Connor and Dash to look at me the way Mason and Brody were looking at Olivia, with complete love and adoration mixed with a fair amount of awe. While they were big and brawny men, she'd done something so incredible that neither of them could do.

I took my time going down the stairs. I'd only been at Bridgewater two days but I'd learned so much. Everything I'd been taught about being married had been a complete lie. Not once had Mrs. Dithers or my father—even Cecil—ever mentioned the word love. I saw it in the way all the other couples at Bridgewater looked at each other, touched each other, even interacted. The men truly cared for their wives, doted on them. Needed them. In turn, the women flourished and became bold and brave and confident.

Dash and Connor had shown me all of this in the short time we were married. They'd treasured me in a way I hadn't expected, hadn't thought was even appropriate. What was appropriate? Was it appropriate for my husbands to care about my needs enough to make me come again and again? Was it appropriate for my husbands to care about my safety enough to have me spend the day with others as I learned about the ranch and living in Montana? Was it appropriate for my husbands to show me the closeness, the intimacy that could be found in a marriage? The answer to all of it was yes.

I wanted to do all of the dark, wicked things with them they promised and I put my palm against my hip, feeling the plug in my pocket. I wanted to be cherished and tended to, to be sought out after a long day of work and carried over a shoulder to be fucked. Yes, fucked. I'd been the one to resist, to question. No longer.

I wanted it all. When I came through the doorway and into the kitchen where most of the men were milling and saw Dash and Connor, I knew just what to do. When they came over to me, their gazes heated and alive and solely for me, I did it.