Their Outlaw Bride (Bridgewater Brides) Read online

  Their Outlaw Bride

  A Bridgewater Brides Novel

  Delta James

  Copyright © 2020 by Delta James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Cover design: Bridger Media

  Cover graphic: Hot Damn Stock; DepositPhotos: johnanderson

  Welcome to Bridgewater, where one cowboy is never enough! Their Outlaw Bride is published as part of the Bridgewater Brides World, which includes books by numerous authors inspired by Vanessa Vale’s USA Today bestselling series. This is a steamy standalone read. Enjoy!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Bridgewater Brides World

  About Delta James

  1

  ELIZABETH

  * * *

  “The defendant, Elizabeth Morgan, is found guilty of the charges of cattle rustling, aiding and abetting cattle rustlers, and leading the outlaw gang known as Morgan’s Marauders. She is hereby sentenced to death by hanging…” Judge Warren Abernathy droned on.

  His voice became a mere buzzing in her head as she heard him pronounce the judgment of the court. Elizabeth had expected to go to prison if caught, not die. Her lawyer stood next to her, with his hand around her waist as if he expected her knees to buckle. Elizabeth took a deep breath and steeled herself. She’d become an outlaw to escape the fate of someone forcing her to her knees as a prostitute. She wouldn’t go to her knees now.

  “… And may God have mercy upon your soul. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  In a clear, calm, and cool voice she replied, “Fuck you.”

  There was an audible gasp from the crowd. They, and the judge, hadn’t expected that.

  Elizabeth smiled, although it was a struggle for, inside, she was quaking in fear. Still, she had a front that was expected, and she would not see it falter.

  “Miss Morgan, a little decorum, please,” said the green-behind-the ears lawyer who had defended her.

  “Why? What are they going to do, hang me twice?” she asked, pushing past the bailiff and onlookers to saunter past the standing-room only crowd as the sheriff caught up with her to escort her back to jail. Again. She’d been behind bars for three days; the trial rushed because the judge was leaving town to travel his summer circuit around the territory.

  “You might try showing a little remorse,” said the sheriff as he shoved her through the door to her cell. She was the only female—in fact, currently, the only occupant. The place was dank, bare, and smelled of stale urine and sweat.

  “Unlike the hypocrites in this town, I try to keep my lying to a minimum.”

  “No, you’re just a thief,” he spat.

  The older man had no liking for Elizabeth. The feeling was mutual.

  “As opposed to the whore you wanted to make me?” she taunted.

  He’d given her the option of sucking his cock instead of going to jail. Elizabeth had gagged at the idea of getting on her knees before the fat, tobacco-chewing asshole and told him she’d rather be behind bars. She began thieving out of honor, and she wore it about her like a mantle. She wouldn’t succumb to the sheriff, or any other man. She’d rather die. And it seemed she was destined to do so.

  Her mind drifted back to the two men she seen in the crowd earlier during the trial. She’d paid them no mind at that point, but when she’d caught a peek of the duo, one fair, the other dark as night, she’d frozen in place. The bailiff had been forced to nudge her forward to her seat. That one quick peek had been all she needed to set her heart aflutter, just one quick peek. Now, they were men. Big, brawny, well-kept. Their eyes had been squarely on her and, in that split second, it felt as if they’d seen past all the false bravado, past every wall she’d raised to shield her true feelings. She felt as if they’d seen the real her.

  “I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.” The sheriff’s words stirred her from her thoughts of the handsome men.

  “You’d better pray I go to heaven because, if I don’t, I’m coming back to haunt you, the judge, and every old man on that jury. Maybe I’ll even whisper in your wife’s ear about all the nasty things you wanted to do to me or, rather, have me do to you. Tell me, Sheriff Gutherie, does your wife let you stick your cock in her mouth, or up her asshole?”

  He turned a volatile shade of pink.

  Elizabeth laughed as the sheriff sputtered and retreated behind the door into his office. She took a deep, cleansing breath. She’d put him in his place, but she was caught in hers. Behind bars and, tomorrow, with a noose around her neck. Now, how the hell was she going to get herself out of this?

  GAVAN

  * * *

  Gavan MacLean watched as the sheriff led Lizzie, as he’d begun to think of her, away. His first glimpse of Elizabeth Morgan, the day the trial started, had knocked the wind out of him. Fuck, she was a stunningly beautiful woman; taller than average with a voluptuous figure, green eyes, and long, curly, auburn hair. The pants she wore allowed every male to see her form, which made him want to gouge their eyes out. He knew their thoughts, for they were the same as his own. Those men all wanted to fuck her, get her on her knees, make her beg. Gavan wanted all of that, and more, but he wanted his name on her lips as she came.

  Fuck. He shifted on the hard bench seat. Just to be in the same room with her was to feel her pull. One second, he was free; the next, he was shackled to her. The vixen who’d not only stolen cattle across the territory, but whom he feared had stolen his heart as well. And she was the owner of his cock. No other woman would do.

  Her mouth spoke of a deeply sensual nature. A man’s hands could span her waist, her hips flared wide to aide in both getting her with child and having it safely delivered into the world. Looking at her tits, you knew no child would ever go hungry at her breast.

  Ach, Lizzie, take heart. Caelan’s here, we’ll set things right. I’ll nay see you swing,

  No fucking way would the only woman who’d ensnared him see another night in jail, let alone worse.

  When the judge had pronounced the sentence, Gavan had felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. He worried how it might affect her. She might seem to be stalwart and strong, but he knew it had to be an act and was relieved when she told off the judge. Hell, he’d even laughed.

  She exhibited, what he was coming to learn was her normal, defiant attitude, toward the entire proceeding. She was a spitfire of the first order, and everything about her made his loins burn. It was when her mask slipped to reveal the lost little girl behind the façade that his heart broke. It had only occurred a few times, and he’d only observed it because he’d watched her closely. She was brave. Too brave. All he wanted was for her to take refuge within the safety of either he, or Caelan’s, arms, preferably both. She wouldn’t have to pretend with them. They wouldn’t let her, neither in bed, nor out.

  Lizzie smelled of heather and sunshine. Each time he saw her, or caught her scent, his cock stirred, something it h
adn’t done since he’d been cashiered out of the Her Majesty’s Army along with his best friend, Caelan MacAllister. The two men had been found en flagrante delicto or, conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. That had been a disaster, and he’d been wary since. Until now. Now, he was sure.

  Lizzie reminded him little of the women of the MacLean Clan in Scotland. Those ladies might be brash and tempestuous but they didn’t make a living rustling cattle and horses with an occasional bank robbery on the side. They might give their husbands a good tongue lashing a time or two, but Gavan had found them dull in the extreme. His Lizzie, their Lizzie, he reminded himself, presented herself to the world as wild and free, mean as a snake with a mouth that would make a sailor blush, a woman who needed the protection and love that only he and Caelan could provide. Some might call it fucking insane, but that was the way of it with his cock, and his heart.

  Untamed she might be but, when he’d climbed into bed the night before and closed his eyes, he’d easily pictured her across his knee with her bottom being spanked from ivory to red. A more fitting punishment for her actions, and one he was sure would make her quite contrite.

  From there, his visions had shifted to her standing in the corner, her bottom pushed out, cunny and dark rosebud on display before both he and Caelan took turns plowing one or the other together, or one-on-one. Fuck, yes. Thoughts of spanking her, fucking her, watching Caelan fuck her, fucking her together and watching her belly swell with their child, made him hard as a rock. He smiled as he thought that the days of having to provide his own relief would soon be over. And hers for, if there was a woman in need of a few orgasms, it was Lizzie Morgan.

  The first day of the trial had revealed that most of the witnesses against Lizzie had no first-hand knowledge, and some kind of ax to grind. Her lawyer had been a pathetic wimp and never challenged any of their statements. Gavan was disgusted.

  With every minute that passed, he could almost feel her sucking him every time the pink tip of her tongue flicked out to lick her dry lips. All he could see was that mouth around his shaft as Caelan drove into her. The difference between all the satisfied women in their past and Lizzie was that he wanted to keep her. For a lifetime. He had a feeling he’d never be slaked by her body, or her wild temperament.

  Feisty as she was, he was certain their Lizzie was a virgin. Even though his thoughts ran wild, they’d have to take it slow and easy and give her plenty of time to rest between bouts of their lovemaking. If they showed her gentle, then she’d give them gentle in return. He was sure of it.

  When he and Caelan had first agreed to share a bride years ago, they had tossed a coin to see who would relieve her of her maidenhead. Caelan had won the toss but offered to let Gavan breach her cunny first if Caelan could be the first to take her arse.

  He’d left the trial at the end of the first day and quickly cabled Caelan.

  * * *

  Have found the last item on our list.

  Come quickly. Time is of the essence.

  Don’t forget the silver.

  * * *

  Caelan rode through the night and joined Gavan in the courtroom during the scheduled afternoon session of the trial the next day. He slid onto the long bench beside his best friend just before the start of what appeared to be a trial.

  “I’m here,” he leaned in and whispered. “There’s still a section of fence to be done. Let’s get out of here. Why don’t ye show me this girl so I can get back to the ranch? And why are ye suddenly in such a hurry?”

  “We didna need to leave for ye to see our bride,” Gavan assured him.

  Caelan had looked around. “Who? The lady in the stand over there? She’s got to be fifty, if she’s a day.”

  Gavan chuckled. “Didna be daft. Lizzie is our bride.” He pointed to the woman who he was convinced was theirs.

  “Lizzie?” he whispered back.

  “Aye.”

  “Wait, ye didna mean the lass they have on trial?” His eyes widened, and his mouth actually hung open. “Are you insane?”

  “Aye, one and the same,” he’d said. “She’s perfect.”

  “She’s a cattle rustler and a bank robber…”

  “With a glorious figure, red hair, green eyes, and a fiery spirit. Ye’ve got to watch her.” Gavan had lowered his voice. “Good God, Caelan. Think of the sons we’ll breed on her.”

  Caelan might have argued further, but Lizzie had turned to swear at a man who was heckling her from the audience.

  Watching his friend, it was all Gavan could do to keep from laughing.

  Caelan, who had a gift for gab and was often teased that he should have been Irish, appeared dumbstruck. He couldn’t speak, it seemed; he couldn’t utter a single word, much less put together a coherent sentence.

  Fuck, yes! He’d been right. He was as surprised and fascinated by the female outlaw as Caelan seemed to be.

  “As I said, she’s perfect, is she not?” asked Gavan.

  Caelan nodded. “Fuck, yeah. When ye pick ‘em...” Shaking his head, he continued, “Steer rustler, bank robber? What other crimes is she charged with? How are we to make her ours with shackles on her wrists?”

  “Then, ye agree?” Gavan asked, ensuring Caelan was on the same page as him, a page on which they would start the new chapter of their lives, all three of them.

  His gaze never left Lizzie. “She’s a wild one but, there, do ye see it? She’s scared as fuck.”

  Caelan made a funny sound in his throat. “Brave.”

  Gavan knew Caelan saw it, too. “I figure, when they sentence her, we go the judge and offer to buy out her sentence, like they did with indentured servants. Only one of us will marry her.”

  His eyes lit up. “Prison or marriage? Yer the best prospect, son of the laird, and all that.”

  Gavan rolled his eyes at the laird term, for they were thousands of miles, and a lifetime, away from where he’d ever be called that. “Yer sure?”

  Caelan had nodded. “I’ll not see her behind bars.”

  After that, the two men had sat silently as they focused and watched the trial.

  On the last day, when the sentence was pronounced, both Caelan and Gavan found it difficult to breathe.

  “Do something,” Caelan hissed at Gavan, who nodded before shouldering his way thought the crowd. “Jail time, maybe, but hung? No fucking way.”

  “Didna worry,” Gavan said, although he was just as fucking furious as Caelan. “I’ll handle it. Did ye bring the rings with ye?”

  The silver Gavan had referred to in his cable had been a set of matching wedding bands, all with an intricate design they’d had made in Mohamir when they’d first decided to share a wife. They had a diamond and two rubies channel set into their bride’s ring.

  “Aye, just as ye asked,” he said, patting the pocket of his vest. “I’ll go to the livery and make sure our horses are ready.”

  Caelan was as eager and focused as Gavan. Lizzie would be theirs. She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did the judge.

  “Yer Honor! Yer Honor!” Gavan called in his thick Scottish brogue. “Gavan MacLean.”

  “Not from around here,” the judge muttered before turning to face him. “Now, you’ve seen American justice at its best, swift and decisive.”

  It was all Gavan could do not to punch him. He balled his fists and focused on his goal, getting Lizzie wedded to them and her neck safe from a noose. Then, they’d get her in their bed. His balls ached from the wanting of her.

  He considers this justice? Gavin thought but held his tongue.

  A beautiful young woman was scheduled to die in less than twenty-four hours, unless he could convince the judge to go along with their plan.

  He and Caelan belonged to a communal ranching organization known as Bridgewater. They believed a woman was inherently safer if she was married to more than one man. Life in the Montana Territory was uncertain, at best, and calamity could strike at any time. Having two husbands to guide, pamper, shelter, protect, and cheris
h her, and any children that might be born of the union, was a concept the men and women of Bridgewater had adopted.

  But, if he was to get the judge to approve his plan, he would need to present him with a more conventional proposal than his intention of both he and Caelan being her husbands.

  “Actually, no. Surely, ye canna mean to hang her? She’s a thief, yes, but not a killer. In fact, she and her gang have never even fired a shot.”

  “The law is crystal clear; if you steal horses, or cattle, in the western territories of these United States, you forfeit your life, by hanging. The law makes no allowance for the gender of the outlaw,” said the judge.

  There had to be a way to get the judge to reconsider and commute her sentence. Lizzie was meant to be with he and Caelan. He was sure of it. When Gavan had learned that the leader of Morgan’s Marauders was a woman, he’d been as stunned as the rest of the town and went to watch the trial. What had unfolded had been disconcerting, and arousing.

  “Elizabeth Morgan wasn’t convicted of just stealing. She’s been rustling in this area for years. Look, son, I know you’re new to our country. But, out here, a man’s horse, or his cattle, can be the difference between life and death. There are no exceptions. Well, except for one, and I don’t think that applies.”

  The judge wasn’t unkind or, even, Gavan suspected, unsympathetic, he was merely a man who saw the law as absolute but, maybe, just maybe, he was opposed to killing a woman. If so, Gavan could capitalize on this and convince the judge to let him take Lizzie away from there. He and Caelan could provide for her and give her the proper structure and support she needed—the kind that only two husbands could provide.