Western Widows

I stiffened my spine when I saw Liam Anderson leaning against the horse rail across the street. He rested one hip against the wood just watching my house. His hat was low on his head, his face shielded by the wide brim. He wore dark pants, a white shirt and jacket, but no tie like a banker should wear. I'd seen him often, whether it was in church on Sunday morning or catching a glimpse of him as I shopped at the Mercantile. The man stood outside my house, just as he did now, every day, the time coinciding with the shift change at the mine. The weary men walked past my house on their way to the saloon, and I'd heard through an open window the men speaking of me on their way by, the words making me blush furiously and keeping the glass closed from then on.

No man had appealed to me. None at all, until Liam.

Liam.

Just peeking at him across the street, taking in his tall stature, his broad shoulders, his confidence, set me at ease when I should be anything but. For the first time in my life, I felt. I wondered what his brown hair would feel like, if the whiskers on his square jaw would be rough. If his full mouth ever smiled, and wondered if he'd ever offer a smile to me. His hands, gripping the rail behind him, were big, fingers long. I licked my lips thinking about what he could do with those fingers on my body.

But he never approached, never did more than tip his hat to me before he left, for he knew I watched him just as he watched me. Reverend Pick approached and Liam shifted from his relaxed stance to speak with the man. They spoke briefly and instead of walking away as he normally did, today Liam came across the street, letting two men on horseback pass on the way. His long legs closed the distance to the house quickly before I even had time to consider his intentions.

Startled at the knock upon the door, I hastily swiped my hand over my hair, making sure it was not loose and wild as it tended to be, and smoothed down my skirt. My mouth was as dry as the dust in the street, my heart beating against my breast.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Randolph." Liam removed his hat as he spoke, his voice deep and dark. Without the shadow, I could see his dark eyes clearly, watched as they moved to my mouth, then met my eyes again.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Anderson."

My palms were damp and I felt my cheeks heat, for once at a loss for words. Why was he here? My stomach plummeted. Of course. He wasn't here out of interest for me as a man did a woman, he was here for the house. I was behind on a payment and had no way to provide it. I would need to sew four more dresses to make the payment from last month and that didn't include the portion for this month. As the president of the bank, he had knowledge of this. Straightening my spine, I spoke clearly, knowing his presence propelled my life forward for me. Sewing would not be sufficient. I'd not only go hungry, but I'd break my back and go blind doing so. It was time to move on, to find a way to earn a solid living. It would not be in Collins. I'd tried to find work, but it was not to be found.

"Your visit has been quite gracious of you," I told him. "I was planning to speak with you about my lack of payment at the bank, but it is not easy for me to make my way there." I cleared my throat. "Alone. I will be out of the house within the week, if that timeline is acceptable."

I bit my lip, hoping he wasn't actually there to have me leave immediately.

"Ma'am, may I come in?" His face was as blank as a slate and I could not assess his thoughts.

At my nod, he entered, looked around the small room, his hat in his hands. With his large size, it felt as if all the air had been removed and my breath stolen. I felt so small beside him, my head coming to only his shoulder. He was so handsome, so virile I could barely think in his presence.

"I'm not here about your payment."

My eyes widened in surprise. Didn't bankers want their money?

"No?"

He shook his head. Instead of his gaze just lowering to my mouth, it dipped down the length of my body and back up, pausing at my breasts. My nipples hardened painfully beneath my dress and I tried not to squirm.

"No. I'm here to marry you."

CHAPTER TWO

LIAM

Charlotte's full mouth fell open and it had me thinking about how those lips would feel around my cock. Her surprise at my words had my mouth quirking up in a small smile. I'd known she'd be stunned by my statement. She could be nothing else. I'd been watching her these past few months since Richard had been killed, ensuring her safety and welfare. The list of men who wanted her for a bride was longer than fingers on my hands, but I'd let it be known around town she was not to be touched. My word held weight in Collins, although some men didn't give a fuck and continued to speak ill of Charlotte. They'd been systematically removed from their jobs and kicked out of town, one by one.

Charlotte belonged to me, ever since the moment the mine walls collapsed on my two friends, Richard and Aaron, as well as three others. Several of us had made a pact the year before, even before either man had married, that our future wives would be seen to in case of death. It had been done half in jest as we'd all felt invincible, and half out of inebriation.

In the time I'd guarded Charlotte from afar, ensuring she was safe walking without an escort, that no man approached her, that the ladies of the church continued to provide her meals, I'd had ample opportunity to watch her. To look at her. She was quite lovely. Her hair was pale with red hints, the color of summer strawberries. It was wavy and untamed, even when she pinned it into submission and wore a hat. Her mouth rarely formed a smile, yet she radiated vitality and life. Her body was small, so petite and at odds to my large size. Dainty. Fragile. Fuckable.

Her waist was narrow, her breasts full and high, her hips flared wide and I couldn't resist as I followed her watching the sway of her ass. She was alluring and made my cock hard, even in her demure and modest dresses. Her wardrobe was small, meager even, and knew by keeping her close that she managed on the remainder of her dead husband's savings by scrimping. Richard hadn't been poor, but money went quickly even in the Montana Territory. And so Richard had ensured her to me.

"M...marry me?" She stumbled back a step. Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a thin line. "You need to leave." She looked to the floor as if the sight of me bothered her. "I've had many an offer, but none such as this. I assure you I will be out of the house and it will be yours."

I paused, listened to her terse, angry words. "You believe I wish to marry you because of the money you owe to the bank?"

She crossed her arms over her breasts in a gesture that was supposed to have her appear guarded and reserved. It did quite the opposite; it pointed out to me the fullness of her bosom and how they'd be more than a handful cupped in my palms.

Instead of responding to me, she just looked at me with chilly disdain.

"I promise you, I do not need payment from my bride."

"I've married once to be taken care of," she replied tersely. "I do not intend to marry again for such a reason."