Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 7)

His English accent clipped his words. He, along with Ian, was the first to marry. Emma was their wife and they had a baby girl, Ellie.

Kane and Ian, along with a few others in the British military, started Bridgewater. A commanding officer of theirs had murdered a woman and framed Ian with the terrible deed. Instead of facing the social and political injustices of an English trial—it was a Scot’s word against a titled Brit—they fled to America for a simple life.

That was exactly what I wanted. A simple life, but then I married Mary.

“If you’re dead, he can marry her and join his mine with her father’s,” Kane continued. “Or whatever the hell their plan is.”

“Money. It’s the basis for it, definitely.” Parker crossed his arms. “He doesn’t know about me, or at least he doesn’t know she’s mine, too.”

I leaned against the wall and stared at the other men. “That means that if I die, Parker will legally make her his,” I said.

“Reggie Benson’s a mean son of a bitch,” Robert said. He was leaning on the edge of the desk and his fingers stroked over his beard. “I haven’t met him, but his name precedes him.”

Andrew shook his head. “That mine accident last year, it was preventable, but he didn’t give a shit.”

There’d been a collapse, for Benson didn’t provide enough lumber to shore up the walls. There’d been a cave-in and four miners had died. Within a day, he had five replacements. Those were just like the men who’d been on the train with us, eager for a new start. To Benson, they were expendable.

“You have what he wants,” Andrew added. “He’s going to come after you on principle alone.”

Kane shook his head, steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his desk chair. “He won’t come himself. He’ll send men. A man like him wouldn’t get his hands dirty.”

I pushed off the wall. “He’s coming after Mary’s husband, not me specifically. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”

Parker laughed. “That’s right. He has no idea he’s up against Shooter Sullivan.”

I shook my head at the moniker. “I just want a quiet life.”

It was my mantra and I just kept saying it.

Brody laughed. “You picked Mary Millard for a bride. An heiress like that comes with… complications.”

“And she’s anything but quiet,” Parker added, adjusting his cock. He was probably thinking about how she was a screamer. The knowing smile from Miss Rose this morning as we’d said our farewells was indication enough our actions hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“And Laurel was any less complicated?” Andrew asked Brody. While neither Parker nor I had lived at Bridgewater when Laurel, Brody’s wife with Mason, was discovered in a blizzard, we knew her story. She had a rich father like Mary—not as rich as Mary’s though—and he’d planned to marry her off to a miserable man. It had been a dangerous time for her, but that was behind the three of them.

Brody grinned and shook his head. “Even with that mess resolved, she’s still a handful.”

“It wasn’t simple for Emily or Elizabeth either,” Kane added, referring to two of the other brides on the ranch.

Parker came over and slapped me on the shoulder. “We all picked… tempestuous brides.”

The men nodded and shared a conspiratorial look. While Bridgewater men cherished their brides, we were also very dominant lovers and gave our wives what they needed, not always what they wanted. Just like the ass plug this morning. Mary had resisted it at first, then, remarkably, came as I slowly worked it in and out of her, training that tight ring of muscle to relax and open.

“This isn’t about you, remember,” Kane surmised. “It’s about Benson besting you. As you said, he doesn’t know you’re Shooter Sullivan, only the man who stole his bride.”

“That’s Mary,” I said. “Our stolen bride. We have our plan against his expected retribution?” I asked.

The men nodded, having spent over thirty minutes working through some options and coming to a group decision on how to end Benson.

“The plan is a good one,” Andrew said. “The question is, will your bride understand?”

MARY

“Sully and Parker,” Laurel said, looking at me with a mixture of awe and admiration. “They are quite the pair. Handsome, too.”

“Laurel,” Mason warned.

When we arrived at Bridgewater, I hadn’t known what to expect. Sully and Parker had told me on the ride that it was a ranch run as a community—slowly turning into a small town of its own—where everyone helped its success and growth. With additional friends joining frequently, additional land was purchased, new houses built. Families made. The last included Sully and Parker since they returned with me. If they kept fucking me as they had, we’d be making our own family in about nine months.