"He was speaking of Olivia," Rhys shared.
"Olivia?" I asked, my voice loud, even over the tinny piano music. I glanced left and right at the others in the saloon, then leaned forward and lowered my voice. "Who the hell is Olivia?"
"She's the one," Cross said.
"He's right," Rhys added. "She's definitely the one."
I couldna help but look at them in surprise, for having both men agree on a woman had ne'er happened before.
"And Peters talked about her that way?" I asked. "What is the chance he will win her?"
"None," Cross replied.
Rhys looked between us, tilted his chair back on two legs. "Peters touched her," he said.
Cross placed his forearms on the table, too. "What?" he shouted. "How?"
"I don't know the details, but she had bruises on her wrist. Her uncle will keep him away from her now that he knows of what the bloody bastard's capable."
"That fucker's insane. From what I can tell of his character, he could inflict more than bruises." The idea didn't sit well and I hadna even laid eyes on the woman my friends were ready to claim.
Hell, we were more than friends. Rhys was a brother forged by battle, by hardship and life in a corrupt army regiment. We, along with the other men at Bridgewater, persevered and built the ranch on our own. Our safe haven, our land, our family. Together, Rhys, Cross and I would, someday, claim a woman as ours, just as we'd learned from our time spent defending diplomats in the small middle eastern country of Mohamir. Disappointed by the Victorian social values, we adopted the Mohamiran ways where a woman was bound to more than one man, possessing her and cherishing her. Multiple husbands were for the wife's own good, for she, and any children produced in the union, wouldna be without a man's protection.
Rhys and I met Cross when we arrived in America. He'd joined us in a fight to protect a whore against a group of men set on raping her. We'd left Boston together and he'd fled west with us. The journey and the years together since had forged a brotherhood just as readily as had the war. We helped build Bridgewater into the successful ranch it was with the other men and the three of us would claim a bride together.
Kane and Ian had married Emma the year before, Andrew and Robert had claimed Ann prior to that. Over the winter, Mason and Brody had found their bride, Laurel, when they rescued her from a blizzard. We hoped we'd find a woman of our own, but it wasna an easy task. To find a woman that one of us wanted was nae as hard, but finding one woman all three of us longed for was much more difficult.
This arrangement—three men for one bride—wasna something we shared with the world, so it was quite difficult to ken when a woman would want all three of us.
We'd share, we'd claim, we'd possess her together. We just didna ken who she was yet. It seemed, though, that both Rhys and Cross kent this woman Olivia might be the one. It boded well if both of them found her appealing.
"Describe her," I said.
Cross indicated with a tilt of his chin. "Hair as dark as yours."
"Petite," Rhys added, using his hands to indicate her height, then shifted his hands to show off the shape of her curves.
Cross laughed. "It is true, she has very nice curves."
"There are women upstairs with dark hair and curves," I countered, referring to the loose women who worked above the saloon servicing patrons all night long.
Both men's faces hardened and I feared my nose would be broken if I spoke again of this Olivia woman in a disparaging way. "Shit," I muttered, then held up my hands to ward them off. "It's like that."
Both men nodded. "It's like that," Cross repeated.
"I met her uncle," Rhys said. "The name Weston mean anything?"
I thought about where I'd heard the name before, and then it came to me.
"The deal with the cattle?" I asked.
"Didn't Kane say that he...?" Cross asked, but cut off the end of his question, for we all kent the answer.
Both men grinned and I joined them, knowing that Olivia's uncle would approve of our ménage lifestyle, for he lived it himself. Kane had said the man who'd sold us the cattle the previous summer shared a wife with another man, but seemed to have kept that fact a secret from his niece. Kane had only said good things about him, so if he vouched for Allen Weston, then it was good enough for us. It only helped our cause when we wanted to marry her, for her uncle wouldna disparage three men claiming her. He'd see it as a perk.
I poured another round of whiskey. "She's ours."
OLIVIA