Their Rebellious Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 10)

I’d told my father of James Carr, but when I mentioned he was a rancher, he’d paid him no interest. My father had told me he needed a wealthy husband for me and how to go about getting one. I’d flirted and played coy, done as he’d wished obediently. One man after another. Mr. Grimsby was proof of the trouble that he had put me in.

Here, in the saloon, it was of my own making. The woman before me seemed to have plans with my virginity. The only way she would allow me to stay was to sell it. Like my father had done, like James Carr had as well, she expected me to obey her.

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. This is a mistake.”

She looked at me with a mixture of boredom and annoyance. “You aren’t the first woman to fall on hard times to come here. They quickly learned they aren’t as high and mighty as they thought.”

While I knew she was insinuating I was “too big for my britches” as the saying went, I didn’t care. I was desperate, but not that desperate. My sisters were living in relative comfort at the graciousness of a distant cousin—more so than could be said for me.

I shook my head. “I won’t sell myself.” Glancing at the woman at the table who only shrugged at my statement, I knew I couldn’t become as indifferent as she about such things. I shoved the dress at the older woman and walked toward the back door, my stride quick. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

“Where will you go?” she called.

I paused in the open doorway, turned to look over my shoulder at her. I had no answer to her question. I would have to try another saloon—there were plenty of them in Butte—and had to hope I wouldn’t be denied elsewhere. The prospect of going with James Carr now held ample appeal. He was a gentleman and while dominant, wouldn’t force himself upon me. He’d been generous, and I’d tossed that generosity in his face. No, I’d punched him in the face. The big man with the barrel might have done the actual strike, but it had been my doing nonetheless.

I’d destroyed any chance I had with him. With the first man to make me feel… things.

When I remained silent, she continued, “I’ll save the dress for you. You’ll be back.”

“No, she won’t.”

I startled at the deep voice behind me. Spinning on my heel, I bumped into a hard body. A big, tall, broad, hard body. Large hands settled on my shoulders. My heart skipped a beat, and I whipped my chin up to see who it was.

James Carr with a blackened eye. There was no other reason for James to be at the back door of the saloon. He was here for me.

3

JONAH

As we rode our horses north toward the Carr ranch, leaving Butte behind us, I was able to study the infamous, and beautiful, Tennessee Bennett. The landscape was stunning—the late afternoon’s sun dappled on the rolling prairie, snow-capped mountains in the distance—but I only had eyes for her.

I’d heard as much of the conversation with the prostitutes as James had. If he hadn’t pulled her out of the clutches of the woman eager to earn coin from Tennessee’s virginity, then I would have. Once out of the alley behind the saloon, James had made introductions, and while she’d studied me, tipping her head back to meet my gaze because she was so small, her eyes had widened, but she’d remained silent.

She hadn’t said a word, but appeared relieved to have James and I at the saloon to rescue her. From what she’d said, she’d been ready to walk out the back door on her own, but having two large men see to her safety once again must have been reassuring. A woman alone in the Montana Territory. No harm would come to her in Butte as she’d walked between us; remaining vigilant to possible threats to her person would be exhausting otherwise.

Now, the small woman who’d frequently ensnared my neighbor’s focus—and eager cock—currently sat upon his lap, her back ramrod straight. As I rode alongside, I had to imagine she was stiff and quite uncomfortable from holding herself in such a position for over an hour. My lips turned up at the action, for I wasn’t sure if she was afraid to make such close contact with a man if she were to relax, or if she was angry with James and tried to remain aloof. Based on the dark bruising forming around James’ eye, I guessed it was more the latter.

By the look of her, all prim and proper, she was most definitely an innocent. No man had gotten beneath that dress. Hell, I had to wonder if she’d ever sat atop a man’s lap before now. Ah, perhaps she was sitting so primly because she couldn’t miss the hard prod of James’ cock, which no doubt was rock hard due to having her delectable ass sway with the motion of the horse.

It was obvious now why James had been fascinated by her. No, not fascinated. Obsessed.

He’d talked about her like a lovelorn youth. He spoke of her hair… spun gold in the sunshine. He spoke of her femininity… tiny and quite curvaceous. He spoke of her smile… I’d not seen one grace her lips. Yet. He spoke of her fiery nature. While she’d been subdued ever since we pulled her out of that seedy saloon, it was obvious she was keeping herself in check. Perhaps it was because she realized how close she’d come to prostituting herself. Or that she’d been rescued from a mad man, both on the same day.

Just the thought of what she’d done… or almost had done to her, had me gritting my teeth. Grimsby could have put his hands on her, killed her, or even both. And then there was her visit to the

saloon. Fuck. I couldn’t stay sane and think of grubby miners eager to get between her thighs.

When James had grumbled about her needing a keeper, I’d been amused, not thinking him serious. Just looking at her so small and quiet upon his lap, one would not think her so impetuous. But James’ recount of the bastard who’d held her against her will, expecting a ransom in exchange for her life… perhaps she did need guidance. A stern hand to keep her safe. Or two. It couldn’t be just anyone who took care of her. No fucking way.

James had been right. I’d just needed to have a look at her and I wanted her. She was beautiful, to be sure, but she was also a feisty little thing, if James’ black eye was any indication. Yes, I’d marry her with James. She’d be his legally in name, Mrs. James Carr, but I would claim her as well, content in the Bridgewater way. After two decades, I felt it. Wanted it. A connection, a desire to possess. She would be mine.

I hadn’t been searching for a wife. I was a confirmed widower in these parts with a grown son. At twenty, I’d been bound in an honorable, yet loveless, marriage. I’d walked out with Victoria twice, only to have her announce she was with child. I had yet to kiss her, let alone fuck her. I could have said it wasn’t mine, which had been the truth, but no one would have believed me. They’d have seen me as shirking my responsibility, leaving an unmarried woman sullied after slaking my lust. I’d been truly trapped.

And so we’d wed. I hadn’t loved her, and after the vows were said, we never shared a bed. It had been in name only. While I hadn’t wished her demise in childbirth, I’d been set free of my obligation, but with a newborn. A son I’d raised as my own.

I wasn’t old or near my deathbed, only forty, but in all that time, no woman had caught my interest enough to ensnare me. I hadn’t been a monk either, but a quick tumble beneath the sheets did not warrant a preacher and a ring. Yet James’ insistence I also marry Tennessee had altered my perspective. The woman would not be my sole responsibility. James would be able to offer her what I could not, perhaps a depth of love I didn’t have within. I would not be an absent husband. I would be attentive, protective, and looking at her now, quite possessive.

The doctor had told James he was ill, that his heart was defective. One would never know by looking at him, full of life and vigor. I had to wonder if the old doctor had made an error. Was his demise imminent? Was mine? The Montana Territory offered no certainties of safety. What I did know was we’d protect Tennessee, perhaps even from herself.