Their Captivated Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 3)

If anyone could track Olivia, it was Simon. Not only did he have vast skill at the task, but he had motivation as well. He struggled to communicate, offering more scowls and brash action than tenderness; he was never known for kindness, but he was different with Olivia. He didn't open up to her more than anyone else, but he watched her in a way I hadn't seen before. Reverence, tenacity and a gentleness he may not have known he had. The two of them fucked with wild abandon, their connection deeper than anything I ever had with Olivia. We talked and joked and found a common friendship between us along with being lovers, but it was different with Simon. Because of that, I worried. I knew how he blamed himself in part for the murders in Mohamir; he hadn't known about the intended crime nor took part in it in any way, but he took his role as defender and protector seriously and he'd let his young charge down. She'd died under his supervision, even if it had been during a time when he was not on duty.

It had been over ten years ago and he still had nightmares; I often saw him at the breakfast table with dark circles and misery etched on his face. With Olivia, he took his concern for her safety to an extreme, even going to the greatest length of marrying her to protect her without having known her for more than a few minutes beforehand. He'd do anything for her, and I had to only hope she had come to no harm, for this would be something from wh

ich Simon would not recover.

"I'll go back to the house to see if she left a note or some other clue as to her whereabouts." Rhys grabbed the reins of one of the horses, mounted and turned toward the house.

Simon was tense and most likely ready to beat the face in of the mystery man, for he must know as readily as I, he was the basis for Olivia's disappearance.

"I'll confirm she's not at any of the houses. If I find her, I'll fire two shots," Kane said, mounting his horse, which most likely wanted a rubdown and some hay.

That left me alone with Simon.

"Let's start at the stall."

Simon strode off with single mindedness, his steps long. He stopped about ten feet from the door, and assessed the empty stall for a moment before entering. The hay was fresh on the ground, which meant the animal hadn't been in the stall the entire day. Turning on his heel, he went to the back sliding doors and pushed it open, letting the sun stream into the dim interior.

He glanced down at the dirt directly outside, the squatted down. "See this." He pointed to tracks in the dirt. "The horse was led this way."

I came down beside him, met his dark gaze. "You can tell just by looking at the horseshoes?"

He gave a simple nod. "Peters' horse only had them on the front. We put them on all four feet of ours, just havena done them yet for the stud horse. See, these here have no horseshoes."

Standing abruptly, he followed the tracks to the back pasture. "They continue out the gate." This direction wasn't the corral or even the near pasture but the western graze land for the cattle.

"We haven't had that horse this way before, have we?" I asked.

Simon shook his head. "We've kept him separate for now, so he hadna been out this way."

"This means—"

"Olivia came this way."

OLIVIA

The men should have returned to the ranch by now, but I was woefully lost. I'd fled, afraid Mr. Peters would follow, so I'd quickly put only a bridle on the new horse and rode it off in the direction I thought the men would be working. I'd been wrong in my direction. Very wrong, for the sun had just set and I had yet to find them.

I fought tears that I'd held at bay but when I knew I would not find my men before darkness fell, they slipped down my sweaty cheeks unbidden. Mr. Peters' appearance had scared me, for I'd been alone and he'd surprised me. I'd remembered the painful feel of his grip upon my wrist, the dark and sinister look in his eyes when I'd spurned him in Helena. The throbbing in my cheek prompted me continually to his danger. All I wanted was to find my men and accept the shelter they continually offered.

While Simon was the least communicative of the three, he was the most demonstrative. I felt a bond with Rhys and Cross as well, for they were able to share and show their connection through debates or humor, but with Simon, who was so staid and reserved, what we shared was...elemental. It couldn't be faked, it couldn't be bought as Mr. Peters had said; it couldn't be anything but real. So when Mr. Peters insinuated the worst, all I wanted to do was to get to my men, to have them hold me, reassure me. Love me. My hastiness was costly though. I didn't know where I was and none of the men did either. How could they find me if I didn't even know my own whereabouts?

Once I realized I had misjudged their location, I assumed it would be easy to find my way back, but I must have followed the wrong creek downstream and then became turned around. My dress had been fine for daytime, but the air was quickly cooling and the wind was picking up, whipping my hair into my face. Clouds had moved in, thick and heavy with the promise of rain, just as we’d seen the previous night. I had to find some kind of shelter. Unfortunately, the open prairie was not a safe place in bad weather and the few cottonwood trees that dotted the creek were a definite danger. Based on the severity of the mudslide the previous night, I knew that being near the water was not a choice so I spurred the horse up and away from the creek bed in case it swelled.

Large boulders dotted the landscape and I stopped and dismounted beside one of the larger ones. My first thought when I saw it was that it was the perfect height for my men to bend me over and fuck. While it couldn't shield me from rain, if I sat curled up on one side of it, the wind would be blocked. I shifted to sit sideways so I could lean against it, bent my legs up, wrapped my dress over my legs and put my head on my knees, holding onto the horse's lead with one hand.

I began to think of Rhys, Simon and Cross, their varied smiles, their varied kisses, their varied techniques with their cocks. I thought of their hands on my body, how they felt and the way I was beginning to recognize the differences between them, how they warmed my skin.

At first I thought I heard thunder, but it was actually the heavy beat of horse hooves that shook the ground. "Olivia!"

I didn't believe my ears, but when I heard my name a second time, I lifted my head. A group of men on horseback approached and I stood quickly. Elation flooded me, making me almost weak with relief. When Simon dismounted with the animal still moving, heading directly for me, I started to cry once again. I could tell by the fierce gaze, his clenched jaw and quick step that I'd been right in my thoughts and Mr. Peters was dead wrong.

He pulled me into him, his big hand cupping the back of my head against his chest. "Are ye hurt?" he asked, his voice rough.

The other men circled around me, their bodies blocking the wind. I glanced up at Rhys and Cross and I could easily read their relieved expressions.

Simon kissed the top of my head before pushing me back enough so that he could lean down and look me in the eye, and when he saw the tears on my cheeks, wiped them away with his thumbs. When he glanced at my cheek, his face hardened, the dark eyes of a warrior appeared. "Who hurt you?" A bruise must have formed on my cheek.

I tensed at the question. "Mr. Peters."