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  BAREFOOT BRIDE FOR THREE

  Bride Train Book 1

  Reece Butler

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  BAREFOOT BRIDE FOR THREE

  Copyright © 2010 by Reece Butler

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-843-4

  First E-book Publication: August 2010

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter from Reece Butler

  Regarding Ebook Piracy

  Dear Readers,

  Thank you for purchasing Barefoot Bride for Three, the first novel in the Bride Train series. And thank you for not sharing this e-book.

  If you are reading this book without having purchased it from my publisher or from an online outlet who signed a distribution contract directly with my publisher, please be aware you have stolen my work.

  Writing takes a lot of hard work. It’s a job, not a hobby, for which I have the right to be paid to earn a living. One advantage of e-books is that our readers don’t have to trudge to the store to see whether anything interests them. Instead, in the comfort and privacy of their home they can download their choice of reading, day or night, inexpensively. The word is “inexpensive,” not “free." Sharing a copyrighted work such as this e-book is illegal.

  For my dear readers who are honest and paid for this copy of Barefoot Bride for Three, I thank you. If you enjoy it please tell your friends—to purchase their own copy.

  With deep gratitude,

  Reece Butler

  DEDICATION

  To my favorite three men: Paul, Andy and David.

  Please note this is a work of fiction. The town of Tanner’s Ford and all but one character appearing in this work were created by me. While Henry Plummer did serve as sheriff of Bannack City, Montana, he did so a few years before the fictional events described in this work took place. Any errors, historical or otherwise, are my own.

  BAREFOOT BRIDE FOR THREE

  Bride Train Book 1

  REECE BUTLER

  Copyright © 2010

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory, 1870

  “Another step and I’ll shoot.”

  Trace Elliott brought his tired horse to an abrupt stop. The beast twitched his right ear, the white one matching the blotches splashed over him like paint. The full moon lit the Colt pointed at Trace’s heart. His tense muscles eased when it also glinted off the six-pointed silver star.

  “Evening, Sheriff.”

  “You got a short memory, son.” Frank Chambers stood braced for battle with legs wide.

  With his attention on the bright lights and action at the far end of town, Trace hadn’t seen the man step out from between the mercantile and bank.

  “You got the draw on me.” Trace shook his head. “Been a long time.”

  “Only a damn fool or an Elliott would ride a spotted horse into my town on a full moon. One of these days someone will shoot you right out of the saddle.”

  “I want grub, a hot bath, whiskey, and a woman. I don’t mean to cause a ruckus.”

  Trace scratched at his days-long beard with his left hand. He kept the right one still and in plain view. He thought they had an understanding but the lawman took his job too seriously as far as Trace was concerned. In his book, enjoying a good fight with land-raping miners was a good thing.

  “You boys never do. But you still end up fist-deep in a swarm of miners.”

  “We paid for the saloon window.”

  “I told you before freeze-up there’d be no Elliotts in my town ’til one of you gets hitched and settles the lot of you down.” The sheriff turned his head and spat in the dirt to the side of Trace’s horse. “Found a wife yet?”

  Trace sighed and resettled his hat. “Gave up looking long ago.” His horse shuffled uneasily, and he settled the gelding. “If a decent woman ever made it to this town, she sure as hell wouldn’t want me.”

  “Just so happens I got a bride for you.”

  Trace narrowed his eyes at the lawman’s slow smile. Pa said when a lawman holding a gun showed his teeth, something bad always happened.

  “I locked her up a couple days ago,” continued Frank. “Mayor Rivers wants her married by midnight. Might as well be you.”

  Trace idly scratched his chest. A long, cold winter and too few dips in the creek made his skin itch like ants at a picnic. He’d counted on soaking in a hot bath with a whiskey first thing.

  Considering the state of things, he could do with a wife. She’d cook, keep the house, clean their clothes, and put up vittles for the winter. Even better, she’d warm his bed during those long, dark nights when wolves and blizzards howled. The good Lord willing, that would lead to children and a future for the Rocking E.

  He shifted in the saddle as his body, already eager for what the town offered, hardened further. No more riding into town a couple times a year when the need for a woman got too strong to ignore. He’d learned how to pleasure one long before he turned eighteen. He hadn’t had much practice in the seven years since, but some things a man just never forgot.

  He’d take the wife. There was no chance a shotgun wedding to an outlaw bride would lead to the foolishness that killed his father. She couldn’t be worse than going without. Unless…

  “Who’d she kill, Frank?”

  “Nobody, yet.” Frank slid his gun into its holster. “Arrived Monday from Dillon on the spring Bride Train. Stubborn woman refused every man who asked.” He chuckled. “She’s your problem now.”

  “Why’d you lock her up?”

  “She’s the first woman to ride the Bride Train this far west. She was fine for the first few days but didn’t take kindly to a few offers for her favors.” He turned toward the jail. Trace followed on his horse. “Big Joe Sheldrake tried to force a kiss on her. She gave him a well-placed knee, then kicked his ass when he bent over, shrieking like a banshee. If I hadn’t been across the st
reet, he’d of killed her right there. Once he could straighten up again, that is. I took her boots away and locked her up for being a public nuisance.”

  “I’d pay gold to see a woman do that to Big Joe.”

  “You and half the town. No one dares to laugh out loud when he’s around, but I’ve heard a lot of snickers behind his back.”

  “How long she been in jail?”

  “Three days. Mayor Rivers set his hat on the bar at Baldy’s Saloon this morning. He’ll pick a name at midnight and that’s who she’ll marry. Big Joe’s making sure his name’s the only one.”

  Trace grunted his disapproval. After Big Joe injured one of her girls, he was banned from Miss Lily’s Parlor. Supposedly lead hand on the mayor’s ranch, Joe spent too little time there for the amount of gold in his pockets. Trace couldn’t let the ham-fisted lowlife have a woman with the spunk to stand up for herself. He’d take her even if she was a broken-down hag. Not that he had a choice if he ever wanted to set foot in town again.

  “Be a waste of a good woman,” continued the sheriff. “I hear she went to one of them Eastern lady’s schools, but she also worked on a farm. And she’s got spirit.”

  Trace snorted. “When a man says that about a horse he means it bites, kicks, and bucks.”

  “She bites and kicks all right. The bucking?” The sheriff winked, man to man. “You’ll find that out when you bed her.”

  “She a looker?”

  “She’s a woman, Elliott. That’s all that matters.”

  They walked for another minute, Trace keeping his horse to the sheriff’s ambling speed.

  “What about Simon and Jack?”

  “Your brothers can find their own wife, or share yours. Long as she settles you boys down, I don’t care who sleeps where.” He chuckled. “She’s enough of a hellcat, it’ll take the three of you to tame her.”

  Long-denied need shot through Trace. In his experience, women were either meek and honest or devious and full of passion, like the girls working for Lily.

  He’d take passion any time. He wanted a wife he didn’t have to pussyfoot around, like he’d seen Gillis MacDougal do with the sickly wife he’d found back East. An Elliott woman should roar and fight back rather than weep. And when she fought him, he’d put her across his lap and spank her bare ass. Then he’d kiss it all better and—a feminine shriek erupted from the open door of the nearby jail.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The sheriff grabbed the startled horse’s halter and grinned up at Trace. “Your bride’s calling. Go in and say howdy, son. I got a few things to do before you get hitched.”

  Trace settled his horse, looped his reins over the rail and stepped into the dimly lit jail. The two people in the barred cell were too busy to notice him slide into a dark corner. Charlie, the beefy deputy, held a fistful of light-colored hair. The woman swung her fists, smashing them against Charlie’s forearm since she couldn’t reach anything else. Trace leaned a shoulder against the wall, ready to move if necessary. He’d see how his wife-to-be handled herself. The parallel scratches across Charlie cheek suggested she wasn’t the type to give up without a fight.

  The hem of her ugly brown dress moved when she shifted, revealing slim ankles and bare feet. Trace winced when a quick knee just missed landing between the deputy’s legs when he shifted at the last moment. Tanner’s Ford had never put a woman in jail before. Watching his bride, he understood why the sheriff locked her up. She had spirit, all right.

  “Yah cain’t fight me, I got a badge!”

  “And I’ve got a brain. That’s worth more than a penny’s worth of tin!”

  Trace smothered his snicker. He stuck his thumbs in his belt, enjoying the action as well as the woman’s wit. Ignoring the deputy’s grip on her hair, Blondie twisted around and kneed Charlie in his big belly. The man released her with an oof and backed off. Long strands of hair trailed from one hand as he covered his gut and fought to breathe. Panting, she grimaced and stood up. She settled her feet shoulder width apart and lifted her fists, waiting for a chance to strike again.

  Her hair, damn near to her ass, looked like a packrat’s nest. The lamp on the sheriff’s desk lit up healthy white teeth bared in a snarl. She was as tall as Charlie, with wide shoulders and hips. The top of her head would reach his nose. Tall for a woman, but just his size.

  Tiny women scared the hell out of him. At six foot four in bare feet, he towered over most females. He was afraid he’d hurt one in bed or they’d die from birthing big-headed Elliott babies. This woman was tough enough to travel on her own from the East for a chance at a new life. She’d survived three days in jail and, instead of weeping, she roared like a mountain cat.

  She’d be able to handle a ranch and three grown men.

  “You hellcat.” Charlie rubbed the dirty shirt straining to cover his belly. “You won’t be doin’ that again. I’m gonna have you right now.” He revealed missing teeth when he leered. He took a step toward her. Trace straightened up, arms loose at his sides.

  “You’ll have to kill me first!”

  Blondie darted forward and hit the oaf in the jaw. Charlie, caught taking a step with one foot in the air, staggered and fell back. His back slammed into the thick bars of the cell door and he slid to the floor. She danced around, squawking “ow, ow, ow” and shaking her hand. Charlie, flat on his ass, shook his head like a bear. He glared up at her. She curled her lip at him. He grabbed the bars. Cursing like a muleskinner, he slowly hauled himself to his feet.

  “Dammit, Deputy!” yelled the sheriff as he strode past Trace into the jail. “What the hell you doing in there?”

  Charlie turned toward the sheriff, still holding on to the bars with one hand. “Showing her how a real man treats a woman!”

  “Real man?” shrieked Blondie. “There isn’t a real man to be found in this town. And I’m not marrying anything less!”

  “Ma’am,” said Frank Chambers, “Mayor Orville Rivers says you’re to be married by midnight.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She said it like a demand rather than a question.

  “You chose to ride the Bride Train to find a husband,” said Sheriff Chambers. Hands on his hips, he spoke calmly, as if they conversed over dinner. “You came all this way without choosing a husband. Tanner’s Ford is the end of the line, and you still refused every man who asked. It’s out of my hands now.” He shrugged. “Mayor says you cause too much trouble.”

  “Trouble? I merely defended myself from disgusting pigs like him!”

  She pointed at Charlie. He growled and lunged toward her. Trace palmed his gun and aimed. The sheriff hauled on the back of Charlie’s shirt through the bars, stopping him from moving forward.

  “Settle down or you’ll stay in this cell until Monday,” ordered Frank. “You had your chance to put your name in the hat and get this woman. She’s not for you.” Charlie shook off the sheriff’s hand but didn’t move forward.

  “What hat?” Trace noted that Blondie’s jaw stuck out worse than Simon when Pa refused to buy him a candy stick.

  “Ma’am, single women who refuse to marry upset the town wives. They complain to their husbands who then go to the mayor. His job is to fix the problem, and that means getting you married. Since you won’t choose a husband, he put his hat on the bar in the saloon this morning. You’ll marry the man whose name he pulls out at midnight.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me, Miss James. You’ll be married tonight come hell or high water.”

  “This is preposterous!” She grimaced so hard Trace thought she might break a tooth. “Mrs. McLeod said there’s hundreds of unmarried men who’d take any kind of wife. Line them up on the street tomorrow and I’ll choose one.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Too late. Joe Sheldrake put his name in the hat first. No one wants to go against him. He’s already celebrating in Baldy’s Saloon.”

  Even in the lantern light with her face covered with dirt, Trace could see the blood drain from Blondie’s
face. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You can’t let that beast touch me. He said he’d kill me.”

  The empty holes in Charlie’s mouth showed when he laughed. “Big Joe says I kin watch him learn you to be a wife.” He leaned forward and stabbed a thick finger at her. “When he’s tired a you, he’ll rent you out for whiskey. You’ll lift your skirts when a man tells you.”

  Both Charlie and Blondie jumped at the screech when the sheriff pulled the cell door open. The deputy was so wide he blocked the sheriff from entering. With them in her way, Blondie didn’t rush to escape but held her fists at her side, head high and jaw clenched. Her eyes did flick to the open door and back again, as if measuring her chances to squeeze through.

  The sheriff turned his head to Trace. He lifted an eyebrow and pointed to Trace and then the woman. He backed out of the cell but only Trace noticed.

  “No one hits me and gets away with it,” said Charlie.

  Trace watched him inhale deep as if enjoying the smell of her fear. Blondie swallowed hard. She didn’t look around or plead for help but her whole body trembled. Someone had beaten this woman. Whoever it was, she knew she’d get no help. Yet she’d stood tall and fought back, the pain worth her pride. Trace understood too well. He absently rubbed the scars around his neck.

  Eyes on his prize, Charlie took a step and raised his beefy hand. She gulped and raised her fists. Without moving out of the shadowed corner, Trace cracked the hammer back on his gun. The unmistakable snap caught Charlie with right hand raised high. He stopped all movement.

  Blondie wasted no time. She hopped on the bed, around the unmoving deputy, and out of the cell. She scurried to the wall behind the sheriff’s desk and braced her back against it. She moved her head between the cell and the dark corner where Trace waited.