CALEB
I grimaced and tried to bully my mare into good behavior. She spun a few times, nearly unseating me before I got her going in the right direction. Justin had a better hand with our range horses, but even he had trouble with the half-wild stock we’d gathered. We couldn’t afford better, or the time to train them. Not that either of us had the interest in the job.
Between caring for two hundred head of cattle, the fence meant to keep them penned, and running them to market, we barely had time to sleep, much less make our shared house into something acceptable for a bride. I wasn’t sure what I’d been thinking advertising for a wife, but I did it anyway. The desire for a woman of our own knocked the good sense clean out of my head.
Aside from that, it was almost April. I’d nigh on promised Justin our wife would be here before the weather turned.
Maybe Justin was right, and I’d been dropped on my head as a baby, although I couldn’t recall such an incident. I wasn’t sure why, but something told me I was doing the right thing with that silly advertisement for a bride.
I decided to let him think I was crazy. We’d both spent too long watching the men of Bridgewater create families with their chosen women. We wanted what they had, a woman to please and care for. More than that, we needed her. We hadn’t had a woman between us in months, but I wanted more than a soiled dove. We would fuck her into bliss, and she’d wear the same self-satisfied smile all the Bridgewater ladies wore when they looked at their husbands.
Justin was my best friend, and my brother in all but blood. I didn’t give a damn what people thought about his ebony hide, or the wiry curls he kept almost shaved to his scalp. If the woman who answered my ad didn’t accept both of us, she could turn right around and get back on the train.
My advertisement would get us a wife. I was sure of it. I couldn’t explain the itches of premonition I got sometimes, but they’d never steered me astray. The one time I ignored my gut almost got me leg shackled to a woman who wouldn’t accept Justin in my life. Carrie Frye had been my daddy’s choice and was presentable enough, but her personality left much to be desired.
I followed Justin as he headed north out of town, his gelding settling into a lope under his gentle hand. When we reached our homestead, carved out of the space between a snowcapped peak and a sheer escarpment leading down into a verdant pasture, we got back to work on the chores we’d ignored in favor of going to town.
I climbed off my horse and grimaced at a section of broken fence. We’d lost nearly a third of our herd in the last few weeks—too many to be a natural predator—and more disappeared every day. Our cattle were gold on the hoof, and the loss irritated me to no end. Hopefully, we weren’t looking at a situation with a rustler. People in Bridgewater took care of their own and I’d have heard about it if that was the problem. Regardless of the culprit’s identity, we were no closer to finding our missing cows.
I mentally calculated the funds we had left to carry us until our next cattle drive. We’d be able to feed ourselves, but we didn’t have much saved up to support a wife. Instead of chewing on the problem, I finished fixing the fence and trusted my gut. The right woman would come, and she wouldn’t give two pennies about our finances.
As usual, my mare snapped at me when I made to mount her. I blocked her with an elbow, reminding her of her manners. When I finally gained a seat in the saddle, I scratched her withers in a half-hearted attempt to soothe her. “Be still, sweetheart. Your day is almost done.”
She bucked, nearly unseating me. I barked out a laugh and spurred her toward home. The sun was almost below the horizon when I arrived, and my stomach growled. What I wouldn’t give for a good steak supper from the hotel in town, but we’d have to make do with boiled beans and burnt biscuits.
Neither of us had ever learned to cook. With luck, our new wife would be able to make fluffy biscuits and juicy roasts, but it wasn’t a priority. I wanted a woman who would embrace both of us. She would love Justin as much as she loved me, and we would spend the rest of our lives making her too happy to leave. Despite his misgivings, Justin was as anxious as I was to claim a bride in the manner of Bridgewater grooms.
The thought reminded me I still needed to find a chunk of hardwood and some free time to carve a plug for our wife’s backside. She’d need to be well-prepared for taking both of us. I smiled to myself. We hadn’t even seen the woman yet, and I was already thinking of how her lush bottom would squeeze around my cock as we fucked her together.
“What’s for supper?” I asked, kicking my boots off at the door. We were both making a concerted effort to keep the cottage tidy in anticipation of our bride’s arrival. Once she got here, we’d be too busy making her scream our names to bother with cleaning.
“Same thing as always,” Justin replied, handing me a plate. “But I have a surprise for you.” He laid a sealed telegram on the table between us. It had been sent from St. Louis, but I didn’t know anyone out that way.
“What’s this?”
“Ezra Thompson from the mercantile dropped it by while you were taking care of the south fence. I’m hoping it’s an answer to our advertisement.” His cheeks darkened and he spooned beans to his plate. “I thought we’d read it together since it’s addressed to you.”
I broke the seal and almost fell out of my chair. “She’s coming,” I breathed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Lord have mercy, I was almost drooling at the thought of finally getting a wife of our own.
In just a few days, we’d have our woman in our arms. We’d set our every waking moment to ensuring her pleasure, and I couldn’t wait to taste her sweet pussy. I wanted her desperate cries in our ears as we saw to her wanton needs.
Handing the thin paper to Justin, I let him read it, wishing I’d taken the time to carve a plug for our new wife. Our fingers would have to do for now. We’d finally get to feel her squeeze our cocks like a vise as we fucked her. At least the big bed we’d share was finished, including a brand-new goose down mattress.
His eyes narrowed. “Arriving on noon train Wednesday in answer to your advert.” Laying it on the table, he pointed at the initials on the bottom. “Who’s MO?”
“Margaret?”
“Maybe Matilda?”
Laughing, we began our meal. “I suppose we’ll find out next week,” I replied. “We’ll celebrate with these biscuits that aren’t burnt to a crisp.”
He grunted in acknowledgement, then swallowed his food. “Maybe the mercantile has oranges. Think our new wife might like some?”
The minute he mentioned it, my mouth watered for the crisp citrus and I wondered if our future wife would use lemon soap. Her bare skin would smell like sunshine and taste like the lemon ice my father used to buy for Justin and me when we finished our chores. If she didn’t, I’d be sure to buy her some just so I could lick the sweet essence from her delectable pussy.
MADDY
I pocketed the advertisement I’d torn from the paper. Wife needed, aged eighteen to thirty-five. Must be able to cook and clean for two healthy men, aged thirty and twenty-nine, owners of JC cattle ranch north of Bridgewater, Montana Territory. Must be willing to work and have a horse and saddle. No portrait necessary.
I was willing to bet the man I selected, one Caleb Mathis, hadn’t gotten any responses. A smart woman would think the man was addled for what he was asking, and wouldn’t consider traipsing out west to be a glorified servant. None of his requests bothered me though. I liked to cook, and a tidy household was my preference. Aside from that, he’d specifically mentioned wanting a wife with her own horse. That meant he had ideas, and I wanted to hear them.
Mr. Mathis had to be better than the gentleman who hadn’t said anything aside from the desire for his bride to be pretty, along with the words protect and cherish.
Cherished and protected, indeed. All husbands wanted a pretty wife. Mr. Mathis did too, even if he had sufficient wit and manners to resist putting it in a newspaper. Would he not do those things if he didn’t consider his bride attractive? How would he feel if his new bride didn’t find him appealing? I snorted and tucked the rest of the newspaper away, setting aside my curiosity about both men being in the Montana Territory.
I had no interest in spending my days as a pampered pet. Being stuck inside bored me to tears. A man who dared ask his wife for the things in Mr. Mathis’s advertisement was looking for a helpmeet—not an ornament he could trot out to impress his equally dull friends.
Tucked in a small purse sewn into my drawers, I had almost a thousand dollars in savings from Prince’s stud fees and the pin money Daddy had given me over the years. It would be more than enough to get me to Montana Territory and leave a healthy dowry.
Maybe, just maybe, if God saw fit to answer my prayers, Mr. Mathis would be the one to put that secret smile on my face. If he didn’t suit me, his partner might. There was no sense putting all my eggs into one basket, after all. One of them would be the one to show me what it meant to be a woman and a wife.
Dahlia didn’t think much of my idea of becoming a mail order bride, but she helped me anyway. I promised to write her the minute I arrived, and to skedaddle back to Kentucky if Mr. Mathis turned out to be unacceptable.
I knew she worried, but something told me Mr. Mathis was just the man I needed. I was strangely excited by the prospect of leaving Kentucky behind and wondered what my future husband looked like. Being a rancher, he likely had big strong hands with calluses. I shivered, imagining his rough palms stroking my tender skin.
But to get to my soon-to-be husband, I had to escape Lockerbury without Nathan or Celeste finding out.
Dried walnut husks turned Prince’s pale golden coat into liver chestnut, and some of Reggie’s old clothes turned me into a vagabond with an ugly horse. We found an old nosebag to hide Prince’s conspicuous appearance.
Dahlia dropped her paintbrush in the empty dye bucket and scowled. “You look horrible,” she muttered.
“Perfect.” I smoothed Reggie’s trousers over my backside. They didn’t fit very well, but a little discomfort was a small price to pay for getting Prince to safety. “I’ll send Reggie’s clothes back when I get settled.”
“Take as long as you need. Reggie hasn’t worn those in ages and he’ll never miss them. Just send me your new address the first chance you get.”
“Dahlia! Is supper ready yet? I’m as hungry as a bear, and I want to kiss my beautiful wife.”
The sound of Reggie’s voice echoed from behind the house and Dahlia winced. “You better get out of here,” she whispered.
“Not yet. If Reggie recognizes me, we did all this work for nothing.”
Biting her lip, she nodded and turned to wave at her husband. “Reggie, this here fellow says he needs a job. Do you need help with the planting?”
Reggie approached and wrapped his arms around Dahlia, kissing her cheek. He took off his hat, revealing short cropped brown hair turning gray at the temples. “Sure am sorry, but I can’t afford to pay for help. You might try the next town over. I hear they’re looking for folks to mine coal.”
Trying to deepen my voice, I said, “Thank you kindly. I’ll be on my way and leave you good folks to your supper.”
“You’re welcome to break bread with us, stranger. I can’t let a man go without a good meal to tide him over,” Reggie said.
I dredged up a smile, wishing I could have found a man like Dahlia’s husband. Thin and tall like an overgrown beanpole, Reggie wasn’t rich or handsome, but he loved his wife to distraction. I wanted that so badly. To my mind, his dedication to Dahlia trumped everything else. “Thank you, but I’ll be on my way. I can make the next town before dark.”
Dahlia looked like she was about to cry, but nodded and waved as I vaulted up on Prince’s bare back. We’d hidden the sidesaddle deep in Reggie’s barn, where hopefully it would rot. Dahlia even packed me a small canvas satchel filled with food for the train ride and loaned me a second dress so I’d have something clean to wear when I arrived.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about Reggie not recognizing me. He’d known me for years and I didn’t like leaving without saying goodbye. Yet it also meant I’d most likely pass through town unchallenged. Tapping my heels to Prince’s sides, I urged him into a canter toward the train station.
The fare for us both was a goodly chunk of my savings, but it couldn’t be helped. Prince was quiet as the porter loaded him, giving only a soft whicker as he disappeared inside the car.
As the door slid shut behind him, I heard Nathan’s husky voice along with the grating sound of Celeste’s complaints. Stiffening, I ducked out of sight behind a stack of baled tobacco.
“Did you see her get on the train?” Celeste asked. “She has to be here.”
“No,” Nathan replied. “I wouldn’t miss a pretty redhead in a blue dress riding a palomino. Are you sure she didn’t go home? Maybe she’s hiding in the barn with that damned horse.”
“I’m telling you, she isn’t there, and none of her things are gone.”
It was rare to see Celeste so flustered, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the sight of her red face and less than perfect hair. Keeping my head down, I scurried up the metal steps into the train as the conductor called for boarding. Let them figure it out on their own. I’d be in Montana and hopefully married before they found me. I found a seat next to a man with a heavy satchel and pulled my borrowed coat tight around my body to better hide my appearance. As the whistle blew, I sent up a little prayer that I’d find Caleb Mathis in a good humor, and good skill in bed.
Keeping my movements hidden from my seatmate, I stroked my hands up my thighs under my coat, imagining what his touch would feel like. My belly clenched and I bit back a whimper when the man next to me snorted in his sleep.
The long trip gave me time to think. The second my new husband got me in front of a preacher, he’d be the owner of almost a thousand acres of prime Kentucky bluegrass pasture, lock, stock, and the entire damned barrel.
I was absolutely sure Nathan and Celeste had some scheme worked up to steal my home out from under me. My active imagination spun me all sorts of tales that rang with suspicion. It was possible I was wrong, but I didn’t think so. Although the whole story sounded like something out of a Gothic novel, Celeste’s underhanded tactics, along with the short few days Nathan had given me made me almost sure those two were up to something nefarious.
When the train stopped in St. Louis, I sent Mr. Mathis a telegram advising him of my arrival. I also decided not to tell him of my bequest. At least, not right away. It was probably the imaginings of a silly little girl, but I wanted the man I married to want me because of me—not because of money.
And if he could give me a secret smile like the one Dahlia always had, I’d count myself doubly blessed.