Propositioned by Outlaws

Outlaws 2 Propositioned by Outlaws They’re not ruthless outlaws, but they’re due to hang for a crime they didn’t commi...

Author: Acres Natalie

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Outlaws 2

Propositioned by Outlaws They’re not ruthless outlaws, but they’re due to hang for a crime they didn’t commit, and only one woman can save them. Fearing innocent men may swing from high ropes, Victoria uses her connections and issues a plea to the marshal, but she has ulterior motives and a personal agenda. Lane and Art are on their way to Cripple Creek to clear their names. They encounter a woman in danger and lend a hand, but their protection costs her more than an average barter. A prostitute’s daughter, Victoria discovers her mother once serviced men who were doomed to die. She reads explicit details regarding her ma’s past. Curious about womanhood, Victoria decides to have her way with the sexy bandits. After a passionate night, Victoria realizes she’s unable to fathom the cowboys’ fates. She will protect the men who saved her and effectively keep them from a hangman’s noose. Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys Length: 36,963 words

PROPOSITIONED BY OUTLAWS Outlaws 2

Natalie Acres

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

PROPOSITIONED BY OUTLAWS Copyright © 2011 by Natalie Acres E-book ISBN: 1-61034-848-6 First E-book Publication: September 2011 Cover design by Les Byerley All art and logo copyright © 2011 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 to Readers Dear Readers, If you have purchased this copy of Propositioned by Outlaws by Natalie Acres from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book. The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment. This is Natalie Acres’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Acres’s right to earn a living from her work. Amanda Hilton, Publisher www.SirenPublishing.com www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION For the cowboys back home

PROPOSITIONED BY OUTLAWS Outlaws 2 NATALIE ACRES Copyright © 2011

Chapter One “A woman can sort of tell when a man gives her more than a look or two. If he’s someone she finds right handsome, then the way he studies her can make her wobble around on unsteady legs, particularly if he’s among the willows, maybe dodging the law for some practical reason. Those men, rebels that they are, know how to sweep a woman plumb off her feet. “I call ’em bad boys, and I sure had a weakness for ’em. I’ve seen many a man hang because of his wrongdoin’. Sometimes I knew he was gonna swing before I let him poke me. Still, I figured it was my duty as a woman to bring a man—outlaw or not—some pleasure before someone tied a rope around his neck and he was forced to carry out a sentence maybe he didn’t deserve. “See, my men were all innocent anyhow. No one ever convinced me of their guilt. There again, I reckon I always brought out the best in men, in one way or another. When you’re providing a service such as mine, you only see the face a man shows you, and generally, he keeps a wide smile if you’re treatin’ him all right. “I ain’t got no excuses for my behavior, but it sounds like I’m makin’ a few. Fact is, I’d show a fellow a nice time, make him feel

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special, and send him on his way. Sometimes I felt pretty good about myself for spreadin’ my legs. Well, truth told, I came to that decision based on how well the fellow poked me the night before. Sometimes, I couldn’t wait for a few of these cowboys to get on up outta here. “Believe it or not, those men were few and far between. I had more good times on my back than I ever had standin’ on my feet, so I feel pretty good about the way I’ve lived. “Very often I was the last thing a man held before he went on and met his maker. There ain’t no shame in helpin’ someone find his selfworth again, if only for a minute. Ah now, I know what you’re thinkin’. Some of ’em don’t last that long. They’re lucky if they make it five or ten seconds, but that’s not what’s important. Buildin’ up a man down on his luck, that’s what matters. Allowin’ another human being a tad bit of happiness, that’s what counts.” Victoria Page pondered her ma’s words as she said them aloud and tried to mimic the tone she might have taken if she were actually telling her story. Temporarily, she slid into her ma’s shoes, and Victoria longed to understand the woman who’d raised her, the mother she barely knew. As she skimmed the pages of what must’ve been pieces from her mother’s journal, she realized her momma held compassion for outlaws, these fellows who were nothing more than dead men walking. Victoria became greatly disturbed as she read one line after another, but at the same time, she felt closer to her ma. They’d never been much for conversation when her mother had been among the living. Sure enough, her ma attracted rotten men. There was no debating that fact. She was prone to the worst of the lot. She had an appetite for harboring those running from the law. Best Victoria recalled, her momma didn’t care what the man had done. If he paid her a bit of attention, looked good enough to tolerate, she’d spread her legs, and let him go at her until the sun came up.

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In a peculiar way, the past was beginning to make sense. Her mother thought it was her obligation to please as many men as she could before they hung for their crimes, paid for their sins. Victoria wondered then. Was her father an outlaw? Had he stopped in to pay her mother a visit before he made his way on up toward Poverty Gulch, where he later died for a crime he’d previously committed? Or, God forbid, was he still out there somewhere? Did he know he had a daughter? Would he even care? Victoria pieced together the ripped, faded yellow paper. Holding up the stationery to what was left of the sunlight, she studied the chicken scratches and finally made out the rest so she could continue. “My ma and pa used to call these fellows and riders, passerby travelers who were no count, but never ye mind what they really were. “They might have been useless to some, but they mattered a lot to a woman without a man to keep her company. I sure found plenty of joy in the outlaws without a purpose in life. Oh yes indeed. They had plenty to offer somebody like me. “I reckon sometimes the right man can give a gal those little butterflies in her gut just by shooting the right sort of look in her direction. Myself, I took kindly to those rare occasions. A strong feeling of need would rise up from out of nowhere. Thanks to a dozen or so wanderers, I earned myself a name in these parts, and I reckon I deserved the ill will behind some of the slang associated with me. I suppose a good many of these men came lookin’ for me after they figured I’d give up for free what the gals over in Poverty Gulch made their livin’ doin’. “I ain’t gonna deny what I am, or if you’re reading this now…was. I liked havin’ a man inside me. Didn’t matter to me what he did for a livin’.” Victoria cringed. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could. The images of one man after another ran through her head. Her mind’s eye recaptured their faces as her ears thrummed with their voices, their


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masculine laughter. The wind kicked up a little, and with the breeze came the stench of liquor, too. She must’ve been tossed way back in time as she relived the past and everything she recalled about her mother’s history. The haphazard way the men tried to seduce her mother made Victoria’s stomach churn. She remembered how some of the men snarled at her, viewing her perhaps as an obstacle. Some of her mother’s friends had been kind to her, though there were very few who acknowledged her. She recalled a man from town who used to pass through looking to join a posse. He might have been a marshal. She couldn’t say for certain. The fellow used to bring her rock candy. She’d sit on his lap and listen to grand stories. He’d tell about riding the train to California and swore he’d take her on a journey someday. They’d go on a trip together, just her and him, following the tracks that went on forever. The kind stranger came and went a few times and then disappeared for good. Either he wasn’t a marshal after all and he was hanged, too, for a crime he didn’t commit—according to her momma’s beliefs—or he just got tired of her mother’s ways. She sure hoped it was the latter. Snapping the paper between her hands, Victoria returned to her reading. “If you find this letter and you’re a woman, then maybe you ought to take a little notice, and every night before you go to bed, why don’t ya read what I chose to share? Out here, men come and go. When a man catches your eye, it can be a dangerous kind of meeting. Wild emotions can lead a woman to do things she wouldn’t ordinarily do. Loneliness will sure do that to ya, too. “I’ve lifted up my skirts several times, right here in this wide-open prairie. Rarely cared who was out there watchin’. See, I’d often do things to please a man, and never mind that he was nothin’ more than a stranger and only stayin’ put here for a minute. I just wanted a little company, and most of my visitors provided some. That is, if the fellow wasn’t pumped full of bug juice.

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“I’ve seen a lot of them characters, I have. They’d get drunk off fresh-squeezed lemonade if a woman convinced ’em there was liquor in the bottom of the glass. “Anyhow, I reckon the only one who’ll ever see this letter will probably be my daughter. I hope, since I wasn’t much of a mother, she’ll forgive me of my sins. “I suppose this note was written for her and other daughters of the prairie. Reckon the main purpose is to share the truth about these wanderers some women meet in the dead of winter, or on the hottest day of summer. I met my share everywhere in between. “These men can be animals, but if you treat ’em as such, then you learn to accept what they are. Most of ’em are turned out in search of prey. They’re on the loose and wanted by the law. They’ll take what they want, but they ain’t gonna stay. No matter what you do or how hard you beg ’em. “They’ll hop on their horses in the mornin’ and ride for them hills just as fast as their mount will carry ’em. They won’t look back. That’s a fact and a promise. I never met one of ’em who did. “I reckon I liked it just as well anyway. See, me? I got used to the outlaws and accustomed to their games. Once I settled for what I had, I discovered somethin’ about myself. I wasn’t the keepin’ type, neither. I wasn’t gonna turn down any future proposition, particularly from a man with sweet lips and beautiful lies.” Victoria read that last passage aloud once more. She didn’t know such men, at least not on a personal level. So as she sat on the mushy shores, enjoying one of the many Colorado streams, she drew her legs tightly against her chest, daydreaming. She wondered when, if ever, she’d have the opportunity to encounter such a fellow. That’s when she decided she sure was lonely. She missed her ma, which made it even harder to read the tortured words she’d written out and left behind. Her momma used to sit right there on many late afternoons. She’d watch as Victoria skipped rocks,


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or maybe collected a few buttercups, a favorite pastime she’d yet to outgrow. As Victoria had read the advice written by a woman shunned, the mother she’d often felt quite ashamed of, she wondered if she were destined to become like her ma. Then again, her momma knew more adventurers than outlaws, regardless of what she called them. Nowadays, there were more outlaws than ever before, but back in the mid-1800s, trappers came to the Rocky Mountains in attempt to cash in on the fur trade. In those days, the hunters would follow the South Platte River to their cabin near the Ute territory. Some fellas used to say their cabin was “just” on the way. Victoria imagined they wouldn’t have stopped if they’d been off the beaten path. Since their place was convenient and all, Victoria’s momma would see a different group of trappers every few days. She even became a businesswoman of sorts, often arranging trade meetings between the Utes and trappers interested in swapping goods for buffalo robes. Yes, her momma entertained a handful or two of wayward men. Most of them always carried loaded guns. While she often referred to them as outlaws, a great number of the men her mother met were hardly criminals, unless these fellows could be charged for stealing away with her mother’s virtue. Then again, Victoria suspected her ma of losing what was left of that long before she was ever born. Victoria’s stomach rumbled once more as she thought of the regulars who often stopped by for a glass of whiskey. How her ma let some of those men touch her would forever remain as one of life’s greatest mysteries. In any case, she’d always remember what went on in that barn out behind the house. Whenever her momma took a spell to toddle out of sight, it was hard telling when she might take a notion to reappear. Victoria swallowed once. She glanced over her shoulder a few times, studying the rapids rushing over the large rocks before

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splashing against the splintered logs lying close to where her legs were positioned. She asked herself the question she often did when loneliness set in—why did she choose to stay there in the middle of a forgotten prairie all by herself? Victoria came up empty-handed. Down deep, she realized she had a purpose in life. What it was, well, she’d pay to find out. One of these days, she might get an answer, but by then she’d probably be so old she’d forget about the question. Dusk approached and Victoria leaned back. She wasn’t in any particular hurry to rush home. The sky was clear and she anticipated a beautiful sunset. That’s when she sensed someone else’s presence. After hearing the whisper of limbs and leaves, she decided it was as good a time as any to head back to the cabin. Releasing a nervous sigh, she placed her palms on the ground and hoisted herself right on up, briskly clapping her palms together in order to shake off a little grit and grime. A crunch-crunch sound alerted her to the accuracy found in her fears. Someone was right upon her. She wasn’t alone. She had a bit of company. “You over there,” a gruff voice called out about the time she heard the single cracking sound of a gun cocked. “Stop where you are.” Victoria’s lungs felt heavier than usual as she gulped. With the last gasp of air she nabbed a conscious effort to hold perfectly still. She closed her eyes and started to pray, wishing she hadn’t stayed down by the water this late. Back when her ma was living, she often warned Victoria about hanging around the creeks and rivers for long periods of time. That’s where she was bound to meet up with strangers. There was a clearing there, and considering Cripple Creek was well-populated now with the Gold Rush in California leading folks to Colorado, many wanderers stopped to view the open area with its numerous springs, rivers, and brooks.


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Travelers riding through typically took a notion to rest right around those parts, if only to admire the scenery of snowcapped mountains in the winter and a multitude of colors in the fall. In the summertime, the countryside was a favored picnic spot. Yes indeed. God once smiled on that very place. Some said the Colorado valley was the prettiest stretch of land ever found this side of heaven. As the footsteps moved closer, Victoria trembled from the insideout. Even spots of beauty appealed to the ugly. Victoria concentrated on the sounds behind her. There were at least two lily livers, maybe three. Victoria couldn’t stand a coward, much less a group of them determined to stick together. “Well shit howdy, this ain’t good, is it, Lane?” a man’s voice drawled. “No, it sure doesn’t look too promising,” someone else replied, presumably Lane. Not much for keeping her back to a man, or two of them if that be the case, Victoria shifted and planned on turning around. “Don’t move!” the first fellow shouted. “We ain’t got time for proper introductions, but my name is Art, and this here is Lane. That’s all you need to know other than the fact that you’d better listen to me. Put your arms straight forward and hold real still.” Great, just what she needed—some sort of chance meeting with an outlaw who didn’t even know how to threaten the innocent. Since when did a man rob a woman and introduce himself in the process? She gasped. Oh God, he was gonna kill her. He was probably some young gun looking to make a name. He wanted her to know who shot her in the back before he put the first bullet there. “Go on now. Listen to what I tell ya. Put them arms straight out,” Art told her again.

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“I reckon you mean you want ’em in the air,” she corrected him, figuring if she’d already been bushwhacked, it didn’t matter what happened after the cowards secured her. “No,” both men chimed together. “I want them there arms straight in front of you,” Art said. His voice was unmistakable with the thick drawl from back East, probably around Virginia. Victoria squeezed her eyelids tightly together and tried to steady her breathing. She started to follow the stranger’s request. Then, defiance made her change her mind. “I’m turning around,” she advised them. She opened her eyes and lowered her arms. Today must’ve been her day to die, but she wasn’t going out of this world with her eyes closed when there was so much natural beauty surrounding her. Oh no. If someone planned on shooting her, she wanted to look at nature then walk into heaven with her eyes wide open. “Gutless outlaws,” she mumbled. “Little lady,” Art snapped again. “I advise you not to move. There’s a rattlesnake slitherin’ right behind you. Now, the best you can do is pay attention and listen right well.” Victoria’s mouth dried. A snake? She reluctantly turned her head ever so slowly. She stared down then glanced off to the left. Oh mother and father—whoever he was—in the clouds above, the man wasn’t lying. Why she failed to notice the damn thing or the way that rattler shimmied across the dry dirt heading in her direction was any man’s guess. The fellows behind her probably weren’t interested in her excuses. “Now listen to me. We’re gonna get you out of this,” Art said in a throaty rasp. “When I say go, you’re gonna dive to the right and roll on down that hill without a look over your shoulder. You understand?” “Yes, but…”


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“We’ll talk about butts later,” Art quickly told her, cocking his gun. “You have a right nice one, by the way.” “Well, I’ve never in my life heard such talk,” she said, swallowing hard. Actually, she had, but a woman had to fake some propriety, particularly if she had zilch to her credit. “And you never will again if that snake gets a hold of a pretty little ass like yours,” Lane said. Two guns cocked. Art said, “All right pretty lady. Get ready.” She saw—and heard—the rattler on the end of the varmint and understood that the snake wasted no time in sliding a little closer. Hell and the fires under her, what were these men gonna do, wait until it crawled up her skirt? “Go!” No one had to tell her twice. The snake’s evil head darted up right before she made her escape. She propelled her arms in front of her and dove for the bushes, knowing darn well she’d end up face-down in the stream. And she did. Gunfire resounded into the hills. “We got him!” Art rejoiced. Well, duh. Of course they did. At least ten bullets pelted the ground. She splashed around in the water as the rapids—well, it was more like a few small waves, primarily the ones she made—began taking her, pulling her under and carrying her downstream. “Help! Help! I can’t swim!” she screamed, splashing around. The two men stood there watching her make a cotton-pickin’ show. They didn’t move. They stared at her blankly, and that was about all. “Help! Crying shame! Help me! I said I can’t swim!” “You can stand, can’t cha?” Lane called out. Apparently, he was the one with a little common sense. Floating just a smidgen more, which wasn’t by choice but because of the unstoppable, and probably imagined, current, Victoria regained

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her balance and realized she was only thigh deep in the water. Disgusted, she marched toward the shore, her splayed fingers smacking at the water. “I figured it wasn’t any deeper there than it had been on down yonder where you washed off a little earlier,” Art said, swinging his arm in the direction where she’d bathed. “What are you talking about?” she fired back. “Were you watching me?” The men stammered around all over the place. The sounds leaving their mouths ranged from an “uh-huh” to all sorts of gibberish she translated as denial. Pursing her lips, she struggled a bit, but eventually made her way to ankle-deep waters, never realizing how heavy a woman’s dress was until she tried to raise the wet material in an effort to find the best way to safety. Both men offered a hand, and she flatly refused their assistance. “I got myself into this mess and I’ll see my way out.” “Suit yourself,” Lane said, squatting down. His dark blond hair hung low over his brow as he picked at long strands of grass. Sticking a blade between his teeth, he wiggled the weed back and forth. “You sure fooled the daylights out of me for certain. I could’ve sworn I heard a woman hollering for help a few minutes ago,” Art said, removing his cowboy hat. As he dusted off the brim, Victoria admired his head full of black curls. He was downright cute with the waves of ringlets pushed away from his face. Distracted, Victoria tripped over a rock as she stomped across the grass. Art caught her by the forearm and saved her from an embarrassing fall. She landed against his hard chest and her forehead fit right under his chin. “Now then, this is a lot better, ain’t it?” he drawled, looking down on her with eyes as black as coffee. “I’m Art. This here’s Lane.” “Yes, you introduced yourself already,” she reminded him. “I’m Victoria. You can let me go now.”


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He held her still tighter rather than releasing her, but she didn’t make a fair enough effort to move, either. In fact, when his arm bracketed around her waist, she found it was all she could do to keep from imagining she belonged there. A few more seconds of this and she might get way too comfortable. She backed away in haste, acting as if she were in a great big hurry to get someplace, and that’s when Art informed her, “I was trying to save you from a good blushin’, but if you ain’t got a problem showing ’em, I ain’t opposed to seeing what you got there pressing against your shirt.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. Lane was already gawking. He even managed to stretch his neck and make a show out of the fact. “Me either,” Lane said, still staring. “I was just sitting here thinking about the last time I saw the best part of a woman. Now, I won’t be thinking on that matter anymore.”

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Chapter Two Victoria wrapped her arms around her chest and glared back at them. If she’d been like her ma, she would’ve chosen a man and started groping him with her eyes, too. Instead, she rubbed her arms, trying to knock off the late afternoon chill often found at the close of a Colorado early summer day. “How is it that you snuck up without me hearing you?” she asked, glancing from one man to the next. “We didn’t,” Art informed her, tilting his head toward a blue spruce tree. “We’ve been over there whittling. You never looked up from whatever it was you were a-readin’, so we let you mind your business. We tended to ours.” She peeled the wet locks of hair away from her face and avoided eye contact then. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered, but her words sounded like a strangled cry of pure embarrassment. When she lifted her gaze, she was staring straight at Lane, who looked like a man with something on his mind. She could only imagine what. “I was reading a letter left behind by someone I once knew. I didn’t know I had an audience and if I’d known, I wouldn’t have found cause to read the words out loud. It wasn’t meant to be heard by mixed company. It was private and the two of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves for listening.” “Your momma wrote the letter, did she?” Art asked. “Sounded like some interesting reading from where I sat,” Lane remarked.


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“It was a letter written by someone who wanted to offer advice for young women. That’s all,” she said, kneeling down to snatch the scattered pieces she’d tossed away in the middle of her snake escape. “Whatever it was, it sure made a man stand up and pay attention.” “Every part of a man,” Lane added, arching a brow. He extended his forefinger and waved the digit in front of his body. “You proud of what you got again, or just forgetful of the fact you wanted to hide behind your hands?” She folded her arms over her chest, tucking the letter beneath her breast. “If you’ve already seen me bathe, I don’t know why you’re making a fuss.” Art rubbed his chin. “He likes seeing your pretty skin blush.” A flush of heat washed over her. He liked seeing her blush? “Oh my,” she whispered, trying not to move from side to side as she reveled in the compliment. Now she understood her ma a little better than maybe she had the hour before. A tall, handsome man thought she was pretty, or so his friend said. By studying him then, she halfway believed Art. Lane’s green eyes sparkled like the expensive jewels she’d seen one of the miners’ wives wear right after her husband struck gold. A woman could look in eyes like that and appreciate what she had in a man. Sincerity lived there, and sorrow. One thing was certain—Lane was a good man. She cursed under her breath. How the hell would she know? She was probably buying into her ma’s theory. All her mother’s men were saints. “Why are you in Cripple Creek?” she asked. “Cripple Creek?” Art studied her intently. “Is that what you call this here place?” “Yes. Just right over a couple of hills lays one of the greatest mining towns in the West. Did you come here in search of a fortune?”

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“You might say we came to find out about one we’re accused of stealing,” Lane explained. “What’s that?” she asked, tightening her arms around her chest. “Don’t go and worry your pretty head none,” Art said. “We ain’t bandits on the run.” “Are you wanted?” she asked, thinking about the numerous posters hanging outside the marshal’s office in town. Art flashed a wide grin. “You tell me. Are we?” Victoria gulped. Was this the kind of banter her momma enjoyed? She clutched the letter tighter and pinched the underside of her arm. It was rather peculiar that these two men showed up on the same day she discovered her mother’s letter. Rather odd indeed. She twisted the skin and yelped. “Ouch.” Art frowned. “Somethin’ bite you?” “No,” she replied, convinced the timing of the letter and the arrival of two outlaws was nothing more than a twist of fate. “I asked you a question.” “He asked you one, too,” Lane reminded her. “I don’t go to bed with outlaws.” “Do you go to bed with men?” Art asked. “What difference does it make?” she fired back. “Just askin’ a man’s question,” Art told her. “If you got a price, let me know.” “Well, I’ve never in my life,” she said, stomping up the first of several hills they’d have to climb. Halfway up the incline, she turned and looked down on the men she’d left standing there in all their amused glory. “I’ll have you know right this second…” She shook her finger several times and continued, “I ain’t no whore.” “Let me guess, it’s not for the lack of trying?” Art teased her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You ain’t a whore, and that much is obvious,” Lane said. “I’ve seen one or two of them in my time.”


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“That’s your problem, I reckon. I didn’t ask you to tell me your flaws.” “No you didn’t,” Lane said, chuckling as he shook his head. “And I said I’ve seen one or two of them. I didn’t say I’d put it to one or two of them.” Victoria gulped. There was something about Lane’s frank way of saying things in simple terms. He made her body alert to all sorts of possibilities. Her nerve endings tingled, and her mouth was dry one minute, moist the next. And God help her, she couldn’t help but notice the sizeable bulge in the man’s breeches. “So are you wanted by the marshal or not?” she asked, deciding their answer would more or less let her know whether or not she wanted to entertain strangers. “I reckon we are,” Art said regretfully. “Does that mean you’re gonna judge us?” Lane stroked his two-day growth of beard. “I don’t believe she will.” “How would you know?” “Lucky guess. I heard the way your voice changed as you read that letter there in your hand. There was something about the way your body went rigid. Your hands shook, and I believe if you hadn’t been in the open daylight, you might have let your fingers wander, maybe you would’ve pleasured yourself, slid your hands down the front of your pantaloons and done the kind of things you ain’t yet to experience with a man.” “That’s not so,” she said, holding her head higher. She swallowed a few times. Why was this fellow talking to her in such a manner? And why, pray tell, was she excited by what he said? Her body tingled as he spoke, and she found herself wanting to hear more rather than hoping he’d speak less. “Really?” he asked, arching a brow. “Got as much experience as the woman who wrote that letter, do you?” “No, but—”

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“You ain’t got any experience at all, doll,” Lane told her, walking toward the horses tied to the tree she could clearly see behind after taking an elevated position. “And what if I do?” she asked, dropping her arms to her sides and sticking her chest out. Art’s jaw dropped. “Good God.” Apparently, the white dress showed everything a man wanted to see. “You don’t,” Lane called out over his shoulder. All at once, he turned around. “How old are you anyhow?” “I just turned twenty-one on my birthday.” “And when was that?” Art asked, his brow furrowed. “Awhile ago,” she replied. “How long is ‘awhile ago’ in these parts?” Lane asked, grabbing the reins of his horse and swinging a leg over the saddle. “Three weeks ago on Sunday,” she informed them proudly. Art laughed. “Well shit howdy, Lane. She ain’t nothin’ but a baby.” “That’s for damn sure,” Lane grumbled. Feeling as if she were the butt of a cruel joke, Victoria marched back down the hill and stood nose to nose with Art. “I might be a little younger than the women you like to poke, but that don’t mean I can’t do it.” “You offering?” Art asked, his tongue holding in the corner of his mouth. “No but if I decided to, you know, offer…” She paused and gave some thought to the way she wanted to say what she needed to express. Opting to borrow Lane’s phrase, she finally stammered and said, “If I decided to let you put it to me, then you should know this. I can because…I know how.” Lane rolled his eyes and pulled the brim of his hat over his brow. “Like hell you do.”


25

Art shook his head and started for his horse, too. “Psht. You wouldn’t know which hole it went in.” Lane snorted at that. When both men were mounted, she grabbed hold of her skirts and traipsed over to them. The swish-swish sound of crinoline and lace resounded, but nary a sound fell from either of their lips as she made her way over to their horses. “I reckon if there are two of you, I can easily figure out what to do. One of you can fit in the front and the other one can squeeze in the back. If that ain’t what you like, then I got a mouth and I’ll figure out how to use it.” Lane stared at her lips. Art stretched his neck and said, “Turn around.” Taking the challenge, she faced the other way. She looked up at the sky and started to say a little prayer, hoping they wouldn’t take her up on her offer. She was only feisty because her ma’s damn letter gave her courage. “Hmm,” Art drawled. “She’s got an ass on her all right.” She looked over her shoulder and tried to see her sitter-downer. Had she put on some weight? The men shared a laugh. Realizing this time she was certainly the butt of their jokes, she stormed off and headed home. **** She marched up one hill and down the other. She swung her arms out to the side as she pranced through weeds and jumped over horse manure. Fresh stacks indicated the men behind her had already been this way, and that alone irritated her. She wondered if they’d stopped off at her place to snoop around. Cursing herself and her motives every minute or two, she clutched her momma’s letter in her closed fist. The edge of the crumpled paper

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bit into her fingers, but she didn’t check for a cut or blood. She could bleed out for all she cared. She’d read her ma’s words and tried her hand at seduction. She failed miserably. In fact, she’d been rejected. The two strangers obviously didn’t think she was capable of pleasing a man. She’d show them. Humph, she’d prove it to herself if no one else. She was born for this kind of life. She was supposed to follow in her momma’s footsteps. That was her sole purpose. Pleasuring men had to be the reason she was put on this earth. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have stayed in that prairie. Victoria looked down at her heaving chest as she approached the cabin. She had a decent body. She was curvy. Men liked women with a little meat on their bones, or so she recalled men telling her momma such a tale. She was untouched, so what? She could change that, and she would. Starting tonight. Maybe. With damp hair and clothes, Victoria dripped all the way across her front planked porch. She stomped rather than taking an easy stroll, aware of the fact the two men she’d just met had followed her all the way home. Their horses had kept some distance but trailed behind her all the same. Reaching her front door, she turned the knob and started inside. Instead of traipsing ahead and making a muddy mess of her dirt floor, she wheeled around and faced her uninvited guests. “Seeing as you claimed to have seen the best parts of a woman, it shouldn’t be too much to ask a favor.” “You mean since you granted us that opportunity and we didn’t look away, we owe ya?” Art asked. She held her head higher. “I’d like for you to turn your head. Let me strip off here so I don’t track up my floor. If you don’t mind to look the other way, I’d be much obliged.”


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Art leaned over his saddle horn. “I’ll cover my eyes, but I can’t promise I won’t peek.” Her nostrils flared, and she glared back at the handsomest men she’d ever seen riding on horseback. “A gentleman would turn around so a lady doesn’t have to go inside with wet skirts and make the floors into a muddy mess.” “A lady wouldn’t have been frolicking in the waters like what we saw earlier. We’ve done seen you aplenty,” Art advised. “Go on now, get those wet clothes off, and you can start supper. We’ll pay you for a hot meal. We’re hungry, and you must’ve known we had eatin’ on our minds when we saw you home.” “Then turn your blasted head.” Lane chewed the inside of his jaw like he had a spit of tobacco rolling around in his cheek. “Miss, after the kind remarks you made down there by the stream, I’m not inclined to turn around. If you want to change, you might as well get on in there and do it. Otherwise, strip right here. I’ll watch. I think you might like that, but it’s your call.” “I’m not inclined to mess up my cabin,” she bit out, already twirling the buttons at her sleeve. They’d seen her once. They could see her again. Besides, there was only one way to lure a man—show him the goods and sell him on the fact he couldn’t live without ’em. Now, she was starting to act like her mother. She couldn’t help it. Whore blood ran deep. Either that or these two fellows pissed her off. Considering she’d never been with a man in the past, she sort of thought the latter made more sense. She locked gazes with Art and then shifted her focus toward Lane. By the look on his face, he was betting on a taste of defiance. Victoria didn’t know a lot about men, but she understood one thing. Her momma’s company often looked at her ma in much the same way Lane was studying her then. He liked what he saw. He was playing hard to get. “Well, then. So be it,” she said, hurriedly working to free the buttons on her skirts.

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Lane bowed his head but lifted his gaze, studying her with the hottest eyes she’d ever seen. Maybe he was waiting to see if she had the guts to do the unexpected. Regardless of what he thought, lust and hunger spilled from those pretty green eyes of his. And God help her, she had plenty of guts to take this as far as he wanted to go. She dug in her pocket and pulled out her mother’s letter. Placing the crumpled paper on a nearby ledge, she loosened the buttons on her white blouse and let the collar fall completely open. Art rolled his tongue over his lower lip, and scratched the back of his neck. Lane’s right eye twitched. The corner stamped with wrinkles showcased his age and highlighted the fact he was getting on in years. Then again, Victoria figured anyone beyond the age of thirty was advancing toward old age quicker than they might have liked. Maybe that’s why he had the wrinkles in the first place. He worried himself to where he looked a year or two older than what he was. Not one to undress in front of strangers, she thought of her ma’s letter one final time. Her mother must’ve known she’d understand what to do with that note when she finally came of age. She was twenty-one, untouched and pure, but regardless of the facts, she was pissed. They’d shown her plenty of interest until they found out how old she was, and now they were about to find out why age didn’t matter. Besides, she wasn’t about to track up her recently swept dirt floor for the likes of stubborn strangers. If these men were true criminals, hell-bent on showing off their unlawful acts, they would’ve acted like outlaws long before they shot the likes of that snake. They would’ve shown their true faces back when she was bathing earlier in the day, which made her wonder all the same. A bald eagle flew overhead, shrilling as it descended in the distance. Sometimes she felt like that damn bird, a free spirit enabled by her surroundings, and the lack of disturbances often caused by other humans.


29

Her present company had disrupted her nest. They took away her privacy but she wasn’t about to let them change her behavior. If she’d been out there all alone, she would’ve stripped off in a hurry, leaving heaps of clothing which she’d tend to the next day. If they couldn’t behave like gentlemen, it was their problem, not hers. Victoria slid the skirt away from her hips then removed her blouse. “Say you saw everything you wanted to see back there in the water, spying on me, did ya?” she asked, slapping the wet material over the front porch railing. The bishop-style sleeves fell over the top split log, landing in a perfect position for a good drying. “No, ma’am,” Art replied. “I don’t recall saying I saw everything.” She discarded her crinoline and stood there in her pantaloons. “Well?” she asked, studying Lane with her hands on her hips. His lips curved in a wicked smile. When his tongue darted in and out of his moist mouth, Victoria knew she was in trouble. Lane was the epitome of a dangerous man, the kind a woman typically avoided. He was like the fellas described in her mother’s letters. Only her ma forgot to mention one crucial fact. Men like Lane came and went, but the memories they left behind didn’t easily fade. She’d watched her mother damn near mourn fellows like these two. They were the kind of cowboys who ruined a woman for good loving unless the loving came from them. “Seen enough yet?” she asked, shifting her position, changing her pose. Lane glanced at his sidekick. “I’ve seen a right smart. Art, how about you?” Art placed some distance between the bulge in his breeches and the saddle horn. “I still don’t have a right mind to look away.” “Then you ain’t got a mind to speak of,” Lane informed him. “Seeing those full tits without anything to hold ’em back will get us both in trouble.”

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“So that’s what it’ll take, huh?” Victoria asked, slipping her arms out of the camisole. She held the material against her chest. In one fluid motion, she turned her back to them, dropped her pantaloons, wiggled away from her camisole, and left both garments on the porch to dry. “Good God in heaven above,” Art said, releasing a whistle. Victoria felt her skin heat, but she didn’t turn around to give them the full show, even though she craved the attention. She stepped inside and called out over her shoulder, “Put your animals in the barn. That’s where you’ll be sleeping, too, by the way. That is, if you take a notion to stay.” Art grunted. “After seeing that body of yours, I don’t have the first inclination to leave!” **** Lane leaned over a broken-down fence waiting for Art to finish bedding down the horses. He watched a wolf studying him in the distance. Stroking his chin, Lane decided the wolf represented an everpresent danger. In a day or two, maybe tomorrow, he and Art would ride on into Cripple Creek and turn themselves in. The local marshal had a bounty on their heads. Way Lane saw it, he had two choices. He could turn himself in and face a hanging, or stay on the run and take a bullet in the head. There were two options within those choices, too. With the hanging, he’d see the rope coming. With a bullet, he’d never know what hit him. Lane didn’t like surprises. His gaze stayed with the wolf. The animal started following them a few days back. Lane wondered if the four-legged creature was friendly, or maybe waiting for the right time to let them know he was a real hungry creature.


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Art and Lane had discussed the animal’s potential dinner— them—and they feared one day soon, they’d come face-to-face with a formidable prairie enemy. Lane constantly worried they might have a proper introduction only after they were under attack. The concern made for some sleepless nights. At least this fine evening, Lane didn’t fret over the unknown. Did he? He turned around and watched Victoria through the small cabin’s only front window. She was a beautiful young woman. She’d tested them, too, which he appreciated. A telling sign, if he wanted to give her actions a little consideration. What kind of woman stripped off in front of a man and let him stare at her breasts when she could clearly see he carried around pure, raging need in his breeches? Lane knew how to answer his own question. His memories drifted back to a woman much like Victoria. Time’s hand was a cruel one, and he rarely allowed himself the opportunity to revisit history. Even now, after all these years, he had to fight like mad to stop the tears from falling. The itch to feed the sorrow he would always carry in his heart often hardened a man. In fact, today was the first time another woman had stirred that familiar angst inside him, the battle between right and wrong. He once belonged to another. Looking at someone new with pure lust driving him didn’t sit well. Lane’s deceased wife, the one he watched die at the hands of a bitter and cruel marshal, spoke to him in his dreams every now and again. As the years passed, Lane discovered her image in his fantasies had begun to fade. He could still hear her sweet voice, but he rarely made out her extraordinary features. Right after she died, he often awoke in the middle of the night swearing his fingers had been latched around one of her auburn curls. Now, he couldn’t be certain of her precise hair color. Was it auburn, or more strawberry blonde?

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Sometimes he wondered if his urges for another, his growing man-needs, kept him from hanging on to the past he shared with his Sarah Ann. He had a hankering for a woman. There was no way to deny the fact, and for the first time since his wife passed, he had an awful urgency to consider a left-handed wife. In recent months he’d started to ask himself if he would be considered an unfaithful man if he took another woman to his bed as his mistress. In his mind, he was still a married man. Perhaps he always would be. What would his wife think if she knew he’d considered having relations with another? Art slapped his back, interrupting his thoughts about the woman who now tempted him, and the one who kept him bound to her from the grave. “I see our friend is still there on the hill,” Art said, pointing. “I reckon so,” Lane drawled. “I’m gonna say he’ll come on down here tonight and watch over us. He’s a curious creature. He won’t know what to do when we turn in for the night and sleep in a barn.” “You’re probably right.” A beat later, Lane said, “I’m trying to figure out what he wants with us.” Art snickered. “No you ain’t. You’re trying to figure out what Victoria wants with us.” “That, too,” Lane admitted. “The way she strutted around here was indecent. She knows how to make a man think.” “She makes a man hard, too,” Art grumbled, pointing toward the hill again. “If our friend planned on going after the horses, he’s had enough time to pounce on either one of ’em. Maybe we ought to reward him for good behavior. The little woman might let us take him some leftovers out tonight.” “Maybe. We’ve rarely had them on the open range. That’s for sure.” “Supper on?”


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“Hadn’t made my way over there,” Lane replied. Art started toward the cabin. “After seeing her strip off her clothes like she was mad at us, I can’t wait to get there.” Lane laughed, watching his young friend make his way toward dinner and Victoria, and he wondered then if Victoria didn’t represent both. If so, she might bite off a little more than she meant to chew. Art always had all sorts of ideas for the opposite sex. Most gals cursed him like crazy when they found their way into his bed. There were whores in Tombstone that refused to service him. Lane understood. In the early years of his marriage, his wife used to say his penis was worthy of a cussing. Art had one about the same size, maybe a little longer and wider, not that he was paying attention when they bathed in front of one another, but Sarah Ann had made the mention. Art had visited Lane’s wife’s bed a few times in the past. Lane felt it was his duty to share his woman. The first time nearly killed him, but he became accustomed to their arrangement. Fact was, Lane really didn’t have a choice in the matter if he and Art were to remain on friendly terms. When Art lived with them, there wasn’t a woman around to service him, and Sarah Ann liked Art well enough to let him use her body to find some relief. Anyhow, based on what he overheard for himself, Sarah Ann and even some of those prostitutes Art later frequented yelped and cried. He sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of something like what Art had between his legs. Poor Victoria would run like hell if she realized what Art most likely held in store for her. The wolf paced in the distance, rushing back and forth across the slanted ridge a stone’s throw from where Lane stood. He felt the fourlegged creature’s anxiety. He wanted to hang out in one place for a little bit, too. He turned his focus back to the small cabin, now aglow with candles in the back windows. Without a doubt, he was in some real trouble. He recognized the coming hardship.

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If he were a smart fellow, he’d march back in that barn, throw his saddle over his tired gelding’s back, and ride the hell on out of there. Instead, he was like the lone alpha watching him. He knew he was going in for the kill from the moment he spotted his prey. The only question was when.


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Chapter Three Victoria stacked the hoecakes high in the center of the table. “Dig in,” she told them as Art started piling up his plate with several helpings of beans, bread, and potatoes. “Mighty obliged for your hospitality,” Art said gruffly. Art had a certain rasp to his voice. Deep and throaty, the sound of him sent shivers down her spine. “Enjoy,” she stated proudly, glad to have company at her table. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said without looking away from his plate. Since he’d entered her cabin, he’d been in a surly mood. She wondered if he and Lane had gotten into a men’s disagreement. Excitedly, she also wondered if their discussion—assuming they in fact had a disagreement—had anything to do with her. “You’re welcome to stay the night,” she remarked casually, aware of the fact she’d already extended the invitation. Picking up his fork, Lane said, “We were hoping you wouldn’t mind. The horses are bedded down for the night. We appreciate the offer.” By Lane’s reply, she wondered what they’d planned to do if she hadn’t invited them to stay. Remembering the men there were strangers, she hurriedly added, “I have plenty of blankets. I’ll be happy to share them, but you’ll have to stay out in the barn with your animals.” Art shoved a slice of cornbread in between his lips and swallowed, washing it down with a sloppy slurp from his water glass. “You already know we ain’t gonna harm ya.”

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“If the lady wants us in the barn, she’ll have us in the barn,” Lane said, gripping his fork and looking at her dead-on. Immediately, her mind replayed the past. She remembered her ma instructing her guests. “I said wait for me in the barn. I’ll meet you out there after the kid goes to bed.” If the wood in that barn could talk, the planks would tell one hell of a story. Victoria would like to hear them. Then again, she’d witnessed all she needed to hear way back when the doors would rattle the hinges and the coyotes would howl loud enough to cover up the animalistic happenings out there in that barn. “That’s what you want, right, Victoria?” Lane asked. There was a dark edge to his guttural voice. When she didn’t reply, a masculine grunt fell from his lips, leading the way into all sorts of improper thoughts. “I didn’t say that’s what I wanted exactly,” Victoria said, rising. She went back to the chopping block and grabbed a full pitcher of recently pumped water. Her free hand settled against her camelcolored apron, and she noticed how Lane followed her hand as her nails raked across the center pocket. Why did he watch her with such interest? Did he find her attractive? Did he use a sexy voice and say the types of things guaranteed to make a woman take notice? Lane twirled his fork between two fingers, stirring his beans. “Are you all right, ma’am?” As he spoke, he watched her. There was no doubt. They would come to some kind of sensual understanding. “I’m fine,” she choked out. “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass. Art kept shoveling in the food. He looked at Lane and then shot her a glance. Considering the fact she was thinking about all the ways a woman could take a man to the barn and treat him like a wild animal, she imagined she was doing quite well. Yes, all things considered, she was mighty fine.


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Victoria perused the table again, convincing herself to breathe once more. God help her, sitting down between them was no small task. “I’m hungry. That’s all,” she finally replied, tossing her napkin across her lap. “I just wanted to see if I could offer you another glass of water.” “Is that right?” Art asked, curiously. “Sure,” she replied. “You’re guests in my home. It’s only proper to make you feel welcome.” Her mother taught her some things, though little in matters of men. What she learned there, she gained through an unspoken education, and later the words left behind in a worn and torn letter. Damn it! She needed to forget about that letter. The very things her mother had written about were the enticing opportunities these two cowboys represented. Lane took a bite of his food and eyed the pitcher on the chopping block. He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple twitch. He continued staring at the blasted water pitcher and took the final sip from his cup. Art smirked. “I could’ve sworn somebody offered refills.” “Oh my goodness,” Victoria said, jumping to her feet again. She hurried to the chopping block, snatched the pitcher, and returned to the table with the container in hand. She quickly filled Art’s glass and then reached for Lane’s. “I must’ve been daydreaming. I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid you’ll have to overlook me. I pumped the water and forgot to top off your cups.” When she started to return Lane’s glass to the table, his fingertips scraped past hers. A bolt of power almost as strong as lightning zipped through her hand, setting her skin on fire and provoking a warning about as strong as the current she battled in the creek earlier. Then again, she was to blame for that war on the waters. Could they fault her for coming on to them, too? She watched Art as he ate. He possessed a boyish expression, with dancing eyes and a mischievous smile surrounded by dimples. When

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he wiped his mouth, Victoria found herself imagining how his lips might feel rubbing against hers. She wondered if his lips were as sweet as honey, or if his mouth dripped with beautiful lies. Lord have mercy, she needed to get them out of there. She stood up all at once and cleared away the dishes. “I have some work to do outside. I’ll clean out one of the stalls and get a few things ready. If the two of you are staying, you’ll want to have a comfortable place to lay your head.” “We can help out around here, ma’am,” Art said. “It’s no trouble, and the least we can do since you supplied a good meal.” “No,” she replied. “I wouldn’t dream of working my guests.” Lane arched a brow, stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed. Nice and slow. She ran her hands over her day dress, irritated by the numerous petticoats she’d chosen to wear underneath. She wondered if she looked fat, then gave herself a good scolding. Why did she care? They weren’t interested in pursuing her. Were they? Art pointed to her vacated seat. “Why don’t you sit there and take things easy. Tell us about yourself. What do you do to pass the time? Is your husband away a lot?” She flattened her palms against the tabletop. “What makes you think I have a husband?” Oh crying shame. It must’ve been the petticoats. She added too many layers, and now Art apparently thought she looked fat and sassy, maybe even with child. Her hand went to her stomach. Lane rubbernecked and stared at her splayed fingers. He picked up the napkin, dabbed his mouth, and tossed the cloth on the table. “She doesn’t have a husband.” “How would you know?” Art asked. “She wouldn’t have been so eager for a man to look at her if she had a husband. Am I right, Victoria?” Again, her hand fell to her stomach. This time, Lane stared at her belly.


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Sure enough she was convinced. She looked fat. Damn blasted skirts! She was burning the petticoats as soon as they went to bed. As Art and Lane gaped at her body, she became uncomfortable, self-conscious. She’d allowed perfect strangers viewing rights. They’d seen her naked. They’d gawked at her like she was a whorefor-hire working in the saloon. She should’ve been uncomfortable. She should’ve been at a loss for words. She was. “You’re acting as if something is bothering you,” Art said. “You don’t know me well enough to know how I act.” “She has a point,” Lane said, leaning back in his chair. “But you keep shaking your head like something doesn’t suit you.” “Or maybe she’s having an internal debate,” Lane suggested. “What?” she asked, studying her accuser, but he was right on the money. She couldn’t fault him for that. “You’re trying to figure out if we’ve got something in store for you,” Art said, sounding hopeful. “No I wasn’t,” she said. A beat later, she added, “Why? Do you?” “Uh,” Art muttered, unable to manage anything more. “No, Victoria,” Lane said. “I’m speaking only for myself, but I don’t have anything in mind for you. I lost my wife five years ago. I reckon I’m still grieving her, or so folks tell me.” “Oh that’s just awful!” Victoria exclaimed. “Where did you lose her? Do you know? Did you try to find her?” She fired out the questions so rapidly that it didn’t dawn on her what Lane had actually meant until both men stared at her with blank expressions on their faces. Finally, Lane cleared his throat and said, “She died. That’s what I meant when I said ‘I lost her.’ I should’ve been plainspoken.” “Oh yes, but of course you did. I mean, she did,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

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“When did your husband pass?” Art asked, obviously changing the subject. She felt so foolish and insecure. How could she have been so thoughtless? What had she been thinking? She should’ve assumed Lane’s wife died. Naturally he didn’t leave her in some booming town and forget to pick her up at the General Store. Good Lord. She didn’t have a brain left in her head. “Ma’am?” Art pressed. “Your husband?” “Oh, um, no, I, uh, haven’t had a husband. I’ve never had a man.” “You what?” Art’s jaw dropped, and the attentive stare she earned from Lane let her know she’d made an admission guaranteed to stir the angst in the air. “I mean, well like what you’re suggesting anyway. I’ve never uh…had a husband.” She grabbed a plate of small chocolate cakes and set them on the table. Lane helped himself, stuffing half a treat between his lips. He apparently had a little trouble choking down the first bite. Washing the dessert down with water, he finally managed, “You don’t have to explain.” “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sure folks assume I have a husband. I’ve seen a lot of travelers in these parts lately and have to be careful about letting just anybody inside. Men try and take advantage of a woman without a man around. “Back when my momma was alive, she dealt with trappers and hunters. The area was rife with folks looking to make nice with the Indians. Folks in Poverty Gulch, which is what the valley folk used to call Cripple Creek before the first gold strike, used to send visitors out this way to talk with my mother. She had a way with the Indians.” “If she looked like you, I imagine she did,” Lane said, his expression remaining solemn. “But, Victoria, if you don’t mind my saying so, the way you flaunt around here without your clothes leads a person to believe all sorts of things about what you’re willing to do for the right price.”


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She shrugged. “Reckon that’s your opinion. I asked you to turn your head. Both of you refused.” “Who could blame us?” Lane asked, taking another bite of dessert. “He’s right,” Art agreed, grinning. “But back to what we were talking about. You’ve surely been with a man at some point in your life though, right?” Art was apparently ready and able to pry into her business. “I beg your pardon?” “Don’t answer him,” Lane said, leaving the table. “Thank you for dinner tonight, Victoria. I enjoyed the food and the company. That cake was delicious.” “Mrs. Dodson down at the General Store makes the best cakes around.” “I’ll look for her while we’re visiting there,” Lane assured her, making his way out of the cabin. “We’ll ride out in the morning and try not to bother you until then.” Victoria caught a whiff of his masculine scent as he brushed by her. The mix of sweat and horses stained his clothing and settled in his skin. As he walked past her with an air of confidence, he said, “Do you mind if I sit on your porch until my supper settles?” “No, not at all,” she replied, somewhat relieved. She had hoped Lane and Art would hang around and talk for a bit. Lane studied her like she was sex in a saddle. “I’ll have a sit and then retire for the night then.” “I’ll join you.” Lane’s body went rigid. “I meant I’ll join you on the porch,” she reassured him. “I respect the fact you want to honor your wife’s memory.” He and Art shared a silent look of male understanding. Apparently, Art didn’t have a wife in the grave, or any other woman, for that matter. “I’ll join you, too, Lane,” Art said.

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“Oh no you won’t. The lady fixed a hearty meal, and one of us should clean up after dinner. I’ve been cooking and cleaning up after your ass all week. It’s your turn. See what you can do to straighten up this mess while I tell Victoria here a few stories about our traveling companion.” “I imagine you’ve got more on your mind than that wolf,” Art grumbled. “Not yet, but considering we’ll soon be every man’s prey, maybe one of us should take advantage of our last night living in the wild.” **** Lane held the door wide, and Victoria led the way to the small porch where she took a seat on the rickety stoop. Lane took three strides beyond where Victoria stopped. He reached in his pocket as if he were searching for something mighty important, and then gave up his pursuit. He looked up at the stars. “Sure is a pretty night, clear and such.” She pointed toward the ridge. “I’ve been eyeing that wolf up yonder. Seems he’s real interested in what’s going on down here.” “I don’t think so,” Lane began. “He’s been following us around for the last few weeks. Seems we can’t figure him out, and he can’t decide what he thinks about us. We’re not sure if we’re friends or enemies, and to tell ya the truth, I dread the day when we find out.” Victoria stared at the creature standing in the moonlight. There was something truly remarkable about the way the animal’s steps were mimicked by his silhouette. His every movement was captured and embedded into the deep shadows of the night. “Why don’t you shoot him?” she asked, thinking if the wolf posed a threat, then Lane ought to get rid of him. “Then again, the animal sure looks pretty, nearly statuesque, standing there under the moon.” Lane kept watching the wolf. He didn’t answer.


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Victoria shifted her weight. “I mean he’s a beautiful animal, but if you’re scared of him, you could get rid of him.” “I’m not afraid of him. Right now, he represents a possible danger, and that’s about it.” “Yes, but if you don’t take care of him while you still can, what will happen when he suddenly attacks you?” “And what if he doesn’t? Then I’ve killed something for the sport of it. That’s a bad trait for any man to own.” “But you said he represents a possible danger.” “You do, too. I won’t pull out my gun and shoot you, so why should I treat him any differently?” “Me?” Victoria didn’t know what to make of Lane’s comparison. After some thought, she added, “I’m nothing like that wild animal up there.” “That remains to be seen,” Lane assured her. “How?” she asked, frowning. “I’m no threat to you.” “You’re a bigger threat than I’ve ever faced. That’s for sure.” Victoria read in between the lines and decided not to press. Lane was interested in her, and she was satisfied by the way he expressed his attraction. As he paced in front of where she sat, Victoria thought she sure was attracted to him. She wondered if he’d been with many women, and found herself imagining what it might be like to enjoy a man like Lane on a regular basis. As soon as she let her thoughts get the best of her, she found herself fully aroused. Her breasts ached. They were heavier than only a few minutes before, and the warmth between her thighs became somewhat alarming. She wasn’t just hot down there. She was wet. “You could tell me about your travels,” she suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe if she kept the conversation flowing, she wouldn’t think about the way her mother used to entertain and enjoy men like Lane and Art. She caught a glimpse of Art through the tiny window. He was drying off a plate, and appeared to be singing or talking to himself. It

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was then when Victoria realized why her mother clung to the men who used her. She was lonely, and as she’d mentioned, the prairie offered too few opportunities. Her ma was a woman with needs, and she’d certainly come to understand those as she’d gotten older, even more so now that she’d met Lane and Art. Victoria smiled to herself as she looked up at the heavens above her. Lane was right. The clear skies and twinkling stars made for one beautiful night. Victoria could get used to enjoying her evenings with male companions. Realizing Lane hadn’t volunteered to tell her anything about himself, she said, “I’d really love to hear your story.” “Why don’t we just sit here and enjoy one another’s company? If you’ll listen to the sounds around us, you’ll hear the crickets talking to one another. They seem to have a lot to say. I can’t compete with that. I’m a quiet man, Victoria. I like the simple things in life. Being here with you, as an example, is nice. I’m having a right pleasurable moment. It’s the first time I’ve really relaxed. Let’s enjoy one another.” Victoria gulped. Enjoy one another? She started to ask him if that meant he planned to take her to bed a little later in the evening. Feeling her skin heat, she chose to give Lane what he wanted while she considered all the possibilities for later. She was a patient woman. She’d wait, watch, and listen. Besides, Lane was a widower. He might have been trying to talk himself out of pursuing her, but he was interested all the same. She could tell, and he’d admitted as much. Maybe Lane needed a little time, but he’d expressed interest. He’d flirted with her in his own way. Now, she just had to sit back and let him come to terms with what he was about to do. It probably wouldn’t take a man like Lane very long. Soon, he’d start to seduce her. She was certain of what he held in store. And quite positive she wouldn’t object.


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Chapter Four A little time, hell! Lane didn’t speak to her again for nearly an hour. While he whittled away at a small piece of wood, he stared up at the endless heavens and hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. After a bit, he tossed aside the stick and said, “I haven’t been with a woman since my wife died.” “You haven’t?” she screeched, aware of how shocked she sounded. “Why not?” He frowned, stuffed the knife he’d been using in his pocket, and refused her an answer. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. That wasn’t an appropriate question to ask a stranger.” “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned the fact,” Lane admitted. “Victoria, I have a question for you. How often do you take off your clothes for strangers?” She stared down at her clasped hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” “Tell me anyhow,” Lane encouraged her. “Why’d you take your dress off today? Why’d you show us your body?” “You and Art made me mad. You hurt my feelings and I guess I wanted to show off.” “You showed off aplenty,” Lane assured her. “Remind me to piss you off as much as I can while we’re staying here.” “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, thinking about his dead wife, and then shifting her attention to something else he’d said. Were they planning to stay for more than one night?

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“We didn’t mind. Trust me.” “I didn’t either.” He raised his eyebrows. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t have anything else to add. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what got into me.” “I couldn’t tell ya,” he said, taking a seat beside her and leaning back. He stared up at the stars again. There must’ve been something up in that sky that held his attention. After a few minutes, he asked, “Do you believe in heaven?” “I believe in hell,” she retorted. “Then you gotta believe in heaven, too.” She shrugged. “Let me tell you why I believe in both,” he said, rolling to his side and placing his hand behind his head. “My wife, Sarah Ann, she was an angel. She was as pretty as a picture, and just as sweet as milk and honey. “A marshal accused her of killing some kids on a neighboring farm. There wasn’t a trial. There wasn’t anything to suggest she’d done it, but because she used to go and help the kids with their school work, that marshal and his posse drug her out of my home and took her to into town and hung her there. “They said justice was served, but it took another five years for that to happen. Justice came after another ten boys were murdered. The man they caught with blood on his hands talked about the kids he’d killed outside of Tombstone. He even had some of their belongings to prove he’d been to their home. “The marshal in town rode out to tell me what had happened after he heard. He didn’t apologize for taking my wife from me. He just said that was the way the law worked. In order to protect and serve the people of his town, he had to put some innocent men and women in the ground, and even said there were so many folks on this earth now, he doubted she’d be missed.”


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“Oh, Lane,” Victoria said, touching his arm. “I’m so sorry. I know she’s been missed. Surely, you’ve longed to see her again.” He nodded. “That I have. That’s why I believe in heaven and hell. And I just pray whichever way she went—and I believe she went to heaven—I hope that’s the way I go, too, when I pass on.” “So that marshal never explained himself, and no one held him accountable for what he’d done?” Lane shook his head. “He called a meeting after the townspeople caught wind of what he’d done. He said he was gonna run his town as he saw fit, said his form of thinking all along was that if someone else hanged, the outlaw responsible for the crimes would get sloppy. One day the real criminal would make a mistake, and when he did, he’d be there to put him away once and for all. Him or someone else, he’d added, which was a given considering the true outlaw was caught a few towns over. “Anyhow, I wanted to kill the marshal that day. I wanted to draw my gun and pull the trigger. My finger itched to do what I should’ve done the day they took Sarah Ann from me.” “Why didn’t you?” Lane stared down at her hand which was when she realized she still had her fingers clasped around his forearm. “Victoria, there’s gonna be evil in every territory, particularly now with all these cowboys and outlaws talking this stuff about gold. Shooting one crooked marshal ain’t gonna solve the world’s troubles. It won’t bring Sarah back, and truth told, my Sarah? She’d be terribly ashamed of me if I used my gun to end another life.” “You think your wife can still see you?” “Sure,” he said, nodding like he believed it. “Don’t you believe your ma can see you now?” She balked. “After today? I hope not.” He chuckled and then covered her hand with his. “Don’t think anything of it. We enjoyed the show.” A beat later he said, “But I

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gotta tell ya. It’s hard to believe you haven’t pranced around like that before.” “Why?” “You’re pretty good at getting a man’s attention.” “Do you think so?” she asked, hopeful. When he didn’t reassure her, the silence separated them again. When it became more than she could bear, she asked, “How come you told me about your wife?” “I don’t know. I guess I wanted someone to know about her before I die.” “You’re dying?” He slowly nodded. “I reckon that’s the plan.” “Oh my God, Lane, that’s so upsetting. How long do you have?” He shook his head. “It’s hard to say.” “Oh good Lord, you must’ve thought I was an awful somebody,” she said, stammering around. “I reckon I pushed myself on you and here you can’t…you can’t…” She gulped. “I’m a terrible, horrible person. I flaunted myself in front of you, and you can’t have a woman anymore, can you?” Lane bit his bottom lip, wrinkled his brow, and studied her for a good bit. Finally, he burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?” “I ain’t dying of natural causes,” Lane told her. “You’re not?” “No,” he said flippantly. “Me and Art? We’re gonna hang.” “You’re what?” she asked, her voice raised a few octaves higher. Leaping to her feet, she paced in front of him. “What do you mean, you’re gonna hang? What did you do? Who did you kill? They don’t hang innocent people here in Cripple Creek. We’ve got a right nice marshal, and he abides by the law.” “We’re still gonna hang.” “Why?” “Well, it’s a long story.”


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“Long story or not, I deserve to know what kind of outlaws I’ve got sleeping under my roof tonight.” “We’re sleeping in the barn, remember?” “I don’t know if I even want you in my barn if you’re some kind of criminals.” Lane splayed his legs and dropped his hands between them. “If you want us to leave, we’ll be on our way.” “And if I want you to stay?” she asked, thinking about how her mother’s goal was to send a man to his grave well-satisfied. And it wasn’t like Lane was gonna kill her. He’d said a few minutes before he didn’t kill for sport. So if he were expecting to hang, what did that mean? He killed, but he didn’t have any fun doing it? Lane stood. He placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Victoria, let me ask you another question. If you thought you were harboring two outlaws with a bounty on their heads, what would you do?” “I damn sure wouldn’t try to collect, if that’s what you’re implying.” “Why not? Based on that letter you read down by the stream today, I’m assuming your mother had a lot of opportunities to collect on the bounties around here. How come she didn’t do that? She had a daughter to feed. The law, when they place a bounty on a man, basically wants to pay an average person to kill for them. You’d save that town of yours the trouble if you went ahead and took our lives. Anyway, back to the point, how come your momma didn’t kill the outlaws she housed here?” “That’s not the kind of people she was,” Victoria drawled. “She had morals and values.” Lane snorted at that. “Really?” “Well yes she did,” Victoria insisted, pulling away from him. “Ma wanted the best for me, and she tried every way she could to make a life for us. Her men friends brought her goods. They traded favors and sometimes, when she was short on cash, she’d take their money. She

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never told me, but I found the gold and coins after she died. We had plenty. I got more here than by appearance. I may look like I don’t have enough to get by, but I reckon I make out okay, and will get along for some years to come thanks to the sacrifices my momma made.” “You best keep that to yourself, little lady,” Lane said. “Well anyhow, I ain’t hurtin’,” she assured him. “You will be,” Lane assured her. “If you sell yourself short and sell out to the life your mother led, then you’ll know pain all right. It’ll be darn hard to look at yourself in the mirror, and even harder to lie down and sleep with yourself at night.” “Like I said, my mother made sacrifices. Don’t mean I plan to do the same.” “Don’t you?” Lane asked, arching a brow. “A few hours ago, you were ready to walk in your momma’s footsteps.” “Just what did you hear when you were down there by that stream?” “I heard everything you read aloud, and learned plenty about your momma. Maybe you don’t want to hear this, Victoria, but your momma was a prostitute. Maybe she didn’t say that outright in her letter, but that’s what she was. She was just smarter than those girls who went to work in the saloons. She kept the house’s money here at home so she could support a daughter.” “Why you…” Victoria thinned her lips and drew her arm back. Before she struck him, Lane added, “You didn’t let me finish. Your momma loved you. Ain’t a doubt in my mind, she loved you a lot. Otherwise, she would’ve hightailed it to Cripple Creek or Poverty Gulch, whatever you wanna call the damn town, and made a decent living for herself there at the saloon. Instead, she lived on hard times out here, depending on the Indians for trade and connections those trappers wouldn’t have made without her. “You ought to be proud of her, regardless of how she made her life and her way. She did what she could to take care of you. Now,


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question is, what are you gonna do for yourself now that she provided another way for you? If you’ve got gold and money to your name, you don’t have to make a way for yourself the same way your momma did, Victoria. If you do, that’s your choice of course. But I don’t think you want that.” “How can you be so sure?” “Let me ask you something,” Lane said. “Between us, have you ever been with a man?” “What difference does it make?” Lane bowed his head. “I’m not a perfect fella, Victoria, but if you ain’t a whore, I may take a notion to come back here for ya if the marshal in Cripple Creek lets me go. “I don’t think that will happen, but you wait here for me for a day or two just in case. If that marshal will listen to what I have to say, I’ll come back here and make an honest woman out of ya. That is, if you ain’t been sharing what you have with everyone else in this prairie. If you’re the keepin’ kind, I may be the staying kind.” “Like hell you are,” Art said, walking out on the porch. “Besides, I’ve got a better proposition for the both of ya.” **** “You want me to what?” Victoria’s high-pitched voice hit a squeaky note she rarely struck. Art towered over her. He squared his broad shoulders and his natural grin took a quite wicked turn. “I’d like to lay down beside a woman tonight. I had time to ponder the notion while I was cleaning up the place there. I thought you might be rightly impressed with the idea.” Victoria pushed away from the stoop, her hand quickly finding its resting place in the curve of her waist. “Rightly impressed, did ya?” Oh she was spitfire mad.

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“Yes, I reckon I did,” he said, thoughtfully. “All I said when I walked out here was that I had an idea, a good one I added. You were interested enough to ask me what was on my mind. I tell ya, and this is the thanks I get.” He grunted and paced. She had a right mind to grab him by the arm and shake some sense into him. Before she took the opportunity, she considered the possibilities. “I suppose it’s natural for a man to want to poke a woman, but for him to suggest she get it from two men at the same time, well that’s just unheard of.” “Is it? Want me to remind you of what you said to us down there by the stream today?” “I do not,” she said, wondering then if she were to blame for Art’s sudden revelation. Had she led him to believe she was such a whore she’d take it from two men at the same time? She considered her previous actions and the way she’d invited trouble. This notion of Art’s was her fault. Maybe she’d stayed in the sun too long. Delirium must’ve set in after she saw her life pass in front of her. That snake didn’t strike her with its poison, but apparently left her affected all the same. Death had her in its clutches earlier that day, and even though she left the stream unharmed, she didn’t leave unchanged. If Art and Lane hadn’t come along, she shuddered to think what might have happened. She could’ve died. She could’ve fallen ill and suffered a horrific death if that snake had gotten its venom inside her. Maybe that’s what had gotten into her. Gratitude. Why sure. That made sense. She’d been flamboyant and tried to get Art and Lane’s attention. Now, she wondered why she’d been determined to earn their favor. She also considered why she offered herself in such a way to perfect strangers. “If you’ve got all this experience, and I’m imagining you do, then you might be able to teach me and Lane a thing or two.” A second or


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so later, he added, “We’ll be real gentle with ya. We’ll make you feel like you’re a woman who is cherished and loved.” “How can you do that if you don’t love me?” “Truth is,” Art confessed, “I ain’t loved a woman before. I’ve fucked aplenty, but I haven’t been in love, so I’ll pretend for ya. How’s that sound?” “I don’t want a man who pretends,” Victoria admitted, turning her attention to Lane. “And I don’t think you want a woman who fakes it, either.” Lane shrugged. “Depends on what you’re faking.” At a loss, she struggled with her emotions. Her body was on fire from the moment Art walked out on the porch and suggested she accompany them to the barn for the night. Then, he’d even suggested they put aside the notion of sleeping in the stables. He thought it sounded like a fine idea to hole up together right there in her cozy cabin. “What are you scared of, Victoria?” Art asked. “Let me put it to you this way. You got naked in front of us. I’ve seen those pretty tits of yours. They’re as full and ripe and as lovely as any I’ve ever seen. I want to play with you. I gotta tell you, I do. But you wanna play with me and Lane here, too. You started all this when you took your clothes off in front of two men who didn’t have anything else better to do than to gawk.” “I suppose I did,” she muttered. “Then what do you say?” Art pressed. “You don’t have to be afraid of us. You’ve done figured on that for yourself. It ain’t like you’re gonna betray yourself. So we may use you a little bit, but I’ll make it worth your while. Besides, it ain’t like you won’t be getting anything out of it. You’ll be using us, too.” Art was right. She’d been in the heart of this prairie for so long, she knew better than to think about a romantic future. She knew better than to hope for a family, wish for a husband.

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Even though Lane mentioned coming back for her, what was the likelihood he’d ever return? He thought he was due to hang. If there was a poster with his face on the paper, he’d probably swing. Lane paced. She didn’t look at him, but instead turned her gaze toward the blatant idiot who thought he could rent her out by the hour, or as suggested, the night. Then again, the bastard didn’t even mention money. He expected her to lie down next to the both of them for free! He said he’d make it worth her while, but she read into that line. He was sure of himself, all right. He probably thought a woman ought to pay him just to pull down the sheets and look at his naked ass. “Well?” Art asked, hopeful. Her heart pounded faster and faster. If she were a whore then she might understand, even expect this sort of proposition. But she wasn’t a whore. She was a prairie lady, an untouched woman, a woman waiting for the right man. She balked at that. Maybe she should’ve thought about her virtue and innocence when she’d been showing off her assets. She’d never meant to become the kind of person who was taken straight to bed by a few strangers passing through on their way to the next town. Then again, hours earlier, that was precisely the kind of woman who’d intrigued her most. Art inched closer. His full lips broke into an outright smile. He was smug, quite certain of himself. “What’d ya say, pretty lady?” Victoria should’ve slapped him. Instead, she placed her hands on his broad, solid shoulders and brushed the dirt off the sleeve of his shirt. Her fingers raked over the dusty collar, tracing the contour and shape. “Your hands sure feel nice,” Art said, stroking his lips with his tongue. She breathed him in and nearly choked on the stench. That’s when she decided to buy herself some extra time and study on the matter for a little while.


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Smiling as sweetly as she knew how, Victoria said, “You know, Art…it is Art, isn’t it?” she drawled, dragging out his name as much as possible considering he had a very short one. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, poking Lane in the ribs and twitching something awful. “If you ever have trouble remembering my name, just think of me as an experience, a true work of art.” Oh boy, now she would really enjoy this. “Well, Art, I have a suggestion for you. If you’ll take a bath or splash yourself off a good bit, then maybe a woman could stand you long enough to poke you. Then again, you’ll have to take your time and get all your parts real good and clean.” She deliberately looked down, studying the arch in Art’s loose-fitting breeches. “Good heavens, I bet you do charge a woman a right smart amount. If a lady is right interested in looking at that thing or touching it, you could probably catch a pretty price.” “Do what?” Art asked. Lane cleared his throat. She gulped. “I didn’t mean to say that. I was thinking about something a little earlier.” Art shifted his shoulders and grinned. “Thinking about me charging for my services, were you?” “Yes,” she replied. “I mean no. Never mind.” After seeing the way Art filled his breeches with one hell of a sizeable bulge, she took a tour of his hard body and calloused hands. She quickly revisited the stout member pressing through his pants. Her mouth dried as she noted the size, the way the full imprint of his penis was outlined in the front. How did a woman invite a couple of men into her bed when she’d never been intimate with even the first one? How could she pretend to know what to do, how to act, when she wasn’t sure of what to expect? She strolled over to Lane and stopped in front of him. “Goes the same for you, too, I reckon.” Lane’s left eye twitched. “You act like you don’t have the first problem with extending invitations, but planning for a night

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sandwiched between two fellas is completely different than finding yourself between them. Here’s a suggestion, Victoria. You study on the act itself. Don’t just think about lying down between two men but you focus on doing the deed with both of them. After a thought on the matter, you may change your mind about all this. I would if I were the gal wearing the skirt.” “Why?” “Well it ain’t as easy as it all seems,” Lane said. “Positioning is only part of the problem. A woman has to be in shape to handle two men.” She knew the skirts made her look like a cow! This wasn’t about whether or not she could handle a couple of fellows. This was about whether or not she was physically able to accommodate them! “How would you know anything about what a woman can or can’t do with her body?” She should’ve stripped again. Maybe they didn’t take a good look at her. If they gaped a little longer, they’d see she had muscle tone and a good enough figure for loving on a man or two. They weren’t going to wear her out if that’s what they thought. She should’ve brought it to Lane’s attention that she was clearly younger than him. Maybe then his issues about who could handle who would quickly be cleared up along with any other concerns he needed to put to rest. “Well? Are you gonna stare at me or answer me? How do you know about these things?” Lane glanced at Art, and Art said, “We know.” “How?” she persisted. “We’ve shared a woman a few times before,” Lane said. “Thought you weren’t with another woman after your wife died,” Victoria reminded him. “That’s a fact.” She snickered nervously. “Then what are you trying to say? You shared your wife with Art?”


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“That’s a fact, too,” Lane said, his gaze narrowing. His dark eyes pierced through hers, and she wasn’t about to look away first. He made her feel like he was reading her about as well as the great Doc Holiday was rumored to have read the best of poker players. “You shared your wife with him?” “On occasion, I allowed my wife to service him. I ain’t proud of that, Victoria, and we’ll never speak of it again because it’s a private matter. No, I didn’t go to bed with them, but I would have, if Sarah Ann had required it. Now, I vowed after she died, if Art and I ever shared a woman again, I’d be in that bed with ’em. Thing is, I’ve gotta decide if I want to go to bed with another woman at all.” “So you’re saying you aren’t interested,” Victoria snapped, aggravated because Lane seemed to cling as tightly as possible to a dead woman, to a woman who wasn’t alive and wasn’t there to put up a fight for her man’s hand. Hell, if she’d been any kind of woman at all, she would’ve wanted her husband happy when she passed on. “You’re making her uncomfortable, Lane,” Art said. “Maybe so, but Victoria and I understand one another. Don’t we, Victoria?” “I don’t think so,” she said, holding her head high. “Yes we do,” Lane said. “Art, if I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up—or let anything else get out of sorts. Victoria here is an Indian giver. She’s gonna say one thing and do another if she has the chance to think on it.” “You have no idea what I’m willing to do for a man,” she grumbled, thinking she didn’t have any idea, either. How far would she go? Was she willing to please a man at any cost? Was she willing to take two men to bed instead of just one? “Well then, on second thought, you heard the woman, Art. If I were you I’d run on down to that river and get cleaned up.” “The same offer was extended to you,” she reminded him, batting her eyelashes.

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“Maybe so, but I’ll respectfully decline and make my way to the barn. I already told you, I had plans for ya. That wasn’t good enough. Maybe you and Art will have a nice time without me. Don’t worry, he’ll tell me all about it later.” Before she could say anything more, Lane tilted his hat and disappeared into the night.


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Chapter Five “I’m not sharing a bed with your friend unless you’re in it.” He heard her at the barn door as he snuggled into his scratchy blanket. “I never believed you would. Not for a minute.” “I wanted time alone with you, a few more minutes to get to know you.” “And just why would you want to do that?” He heard the crunching sound of prickly straw rubbing back and forth together as she walked toward him. He rolled over, certain if he kept his back to her, Victoria might take the hint and disappear. She didn’t. “I think there’s something kind about you, something you don’t want the world to see, but it exists all the same. All you need is a good woman to understand you. That’s all.” “I had one of those once. Believe me, her memory doesn’t do me a lick of good now.” “But it might,” Victoria suggested. “Don’t think so, Victoria,” Lane said. “Go on out there with Art. He needs a good woman. I hope you have yourself a fine time.” “Are you pouting?” “Me?” He grunted. “Hell no.” “Yes you are,” she insisted. “You’re mad at me and Art.” “I’m not,” he assured her, thinking that might be precisely what was wrong with him. He’d loved Sarah Ann better than he had a right to love, and along came Art. They took him in, gave him a place to stay, offered him good meals and conversation, and it wasn’t enough.

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Soon, Sarah Ann came to him telling him what Art needed most was a woman. Lane stilled with the memory. He’d reluctantly shared Sarah Ann and listened to her cry out in pleasure the first night she spent with his best friend. He’d never been the same afterwards. He’d resented Art and pouted at Sarah Ann, sort of like he was stubbing up now. Only he really didn’t have a right. Thing was, he wouldn’t have been so envious if he’d been allowed to join them. Sarah Ann never mentioned taking the two of them to bed at the same time, and out of respect for her, he didn’t either. But after he’d gotten over the initial shock of his wife in bed with his best friend, he’d had an unexplainable hankering to join them. It later became an obsession which was why he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, if he and Art shared a woman again, they’d enjoy her together. “I’m not having relations with your friend unless you’re with us.” “And why is that, Victoria? I asked you why, damn it!” “I don’t know.” “I do,” Lane said, forcing himself to calm down, realizing he didn’t have a reason for hostility. “You trust me, but Art comes on so strongly that you’re afraid to let him put his one most valuable possession into your most guarded treasure.” “I didn’t say I was scared.” “You are.” “You don’t know me.” “So you’ve said a few times. Victoria, I understand all I need to know about you.” She stopped walking. The barn was as quiet as it had been when he’d first entered. “You find me attractive.” “I find a lot of women appealing, but that doesn’t mean I want to put my dick inside them.” “Well, I never—”


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“Yep. That’s what I’m betting on. You’ve never.” He grunted, cursed himself for what he was about to do, and did it anyway. He sat upright and stared right at her. “Am I right?” She glared back at him. Her eyes held that pretty shimmer of lust, and yet there was no way she could deny the truth. His suspicions were accurate. “I’d let you,” she said, softly. “I mean if you wanted to poke me. I’d let you.” His heart stopped and he took a short breath. He’d never heard such a delicious offer fall from such sensual lips. “Woman, go on back to your cabin. Lock your door up real good and tight. Then, take whatever silly notions you have about being with a man—me, Art, or any other man for that matter—right in there with you. Tomorrow, you’ll thank me for sending you away.” She didn’t budge. He looked over her shoulder, peering through the small cracks between the wooden planks holding the barn together. He wondered then how many times he’d wished for a moment like this. He’d always hoped he’d find another woman like the one he’d buried, but maybe it was too soon. Maybe he’d wished too hard for something he didn’t deserve to have, or perhaps he saw the innocence in Victoria’s eyes and appreciated her purity and beauty far too much to tarnish it. But she was pure. That much was a given and a gift. His eyes defied him, but that wasn’t the worst part. As much as he tried to behave himself, his cock rose in his breeches, hard and responsive. Good God, he couldn’t help but crave her. And innocent or not, when she approached him, he wanted her. Right or wrong, he desired her, but more than the lust he was battling, he was cursing and condemning himself for something else as well. Lane wanted what Art suggested. He longed to lay her down with another man to witness it all. He wanted to share her. He longed to experience the kind of things he missed with Sarah all because he was

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too stubborn ask if he could join his wife when she took his best friend to her bed. “I’d probably enjoy the hell out of body like yours,” he whispered, starting at her ankles and allowing his gaze to drift upward. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He’d get lost in her voluptuous form. Allowing for an indulgent opportunity, Lane gaped at the space between Victoria’s thighs before he shifted his eyes up, holding at those full, ripe breasts. Good God, he knew how to please a woman like Victoria, but it had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself the pleasure. “I’m not the type of man who loves a woman right for one night and then leaves her the next morning. That’s how come I said we ought to wait. Let me get the marshal off my ass, and then I’ll come back here and see what we’ve got between us. If it ain’t a big deal, I’ll ride out of here the same way I rode in, but—” “But—” “There’s nothing else to add,” Lane said, refusing to elaborate. He’d already said enough. “Victoria, there’s no reason for me to take you to my bed when I plan on riding out tomorrow. You don’t want a man who’s due to hang.” “Art seems to think the three of us have a connection.” “Art or you?” he countered. “Art,” she assured him. Lane smacked the side of his face, slapping a gnat that landed on his cheek. Flicking the dead bug away, he said with annoyance, “Art believes in the justice system.” “You might like me, too,” she said, ignoring his comment. Might hell. Before he had a chance to rein in his control, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her atop him. What the heck was he doing? There was no point in trying to explain why he felt the laws there would later fail him. Besides, he was due to hang. Since he figured he’d be


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swinging by sundown, he certainly wouldn’t have a guilty conscience for long. “You’re thinking about it,” she whispered against his lips. “Yes I am. And you know what? I believe you’re right. I like ya, Victoria, and I believe we’ll have us a real fine time.” **** Lane took her lips and made an impression. He shoved his hands through her hair as he kissed her, his mouth working over hers as he drew her to him, bracketing his arm around her waist. Victoria was taken aback by the kiss. A surge of need rushed through her body as he brought her down over him. The way he made her feel was like sitting in the sunshine right after a heavy rain. The heat warmed her while the dampness between her legs made her appreciate the hot sensations stirring inside her. Arousal licked at her lips as her pussy clenched with the desire he instilled inside her. Lane would make her first sexual encounter memorable, even pleasurable. She had waited for the right man, but didn’t have unreasonable expectations of finding a happily-ever-after. Still, she’d always hoped her first time would be with someone who wasn’t in a great big hurry to get in there and get finished. At the moment, Lane seemed to be living on prairie time. He rolled atop her, tucking her under him. His lips trailed across her cheek, down her neck, and came to a stop at her collarbone. His tongue rubbed left to right, up and down. “You’re so pretty, Victoria.” “Thank you,” she said, nervously, arching her neck, wishing for more. He took her hand in his and guided her toward his penis. Leaving her palm against his size, he whispered across her lips. “Stroke, Victoria. That’s all you have to do, sweetheart, just stroke me.” Her fingers stilled against him. She studied his expression as she pressed her palm to his groin, willing her hand to move, but unable to

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gain the courage to pet him the way he perhaps wanted her to caress him. She was inexperienced, and he obviously knew that from the start, but the way she responded to him was so unexpected. Apparently, her thoughts were unreasonable. She’d anticipated being able to do what came naturally. Instead, she found herself limited by her fears, disabled by her lack of previous liaisons. “It’s okay, Victoria. We can stop if you want.” “No,” she said firmly, grabbing hold of his dick. “I want to have relations with you.” He smiled. His hooded eyes looked darker as he watched her. His lips thinned. He bumped against her hand, bucking back and forth as he rolled his hips to and fro. “Relations, huh?” “Yes,” she said shyly. “Then stroke, Victoria. You won’t hurt me. Get a good grip and play with me.” “I’m trying.” “No,” he said, clutching her hand and bringing her fingertips to his lips. “You aren’t, and you shouldn’t have to in the first place. You’re frightened. Why?” She shook her head. “I don’t know.” “Isn’t this what you wanted?” She shook her head again. She’d wanted a man who would do all the work. She’d wanted a fellow who would show her how to love as he taught her how to become a good lover. Taking a deep breath, Lane pushed away from her and stood. “You need to go home.” “I am home,” she said, straightening her skirts. With her legs extended, she placed her arms behind her for support. She tilted her chin up and watched him. What would he do next? Did he really plan to send her away?


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“I mean go to your cabin,” he said, adjusting his sleeves and then cursing under his breath. “Or go find Art and tell him we need to get out of here.” “Why? What did I do wrong?” Lane ran his hand through his hair. “You’re asking me why?” “Yes, Lane, why?” A beat later she said, “I may not know how to please you, but if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll figure it out.” He took a deep breath and stared at her with the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. Then, he said, “No, Victoria. This isn’t right. I’m ten years your senior. I know things about loving a woman that would scare you to death.” “Then show me,” she insisted. “Show me how to be your woman, even if it’s only for a little while.” Lane stomped across the dusty barn and then stormed back. Apparently, she’d enraged him somehow, and she hadn’t meant to do that. “You’re nothing but a tease.” “I’m not.” “You are,” he said, snarling. “You think you want me? Is that what you think?” He jerked his shirt up and tore the material over his head. Jagged scars marked his belly and chest. “Is this the man you think you desire, Victoria?” She gulped. She’d never seen anything so horrible in her life. “What happened to you?” Her trembling voice was quiet and subdued. She didn’t know what to say. Whatever had gotten a hold of Lane had torn him up at one time, ripped him to shreds, and somehow he’d survived. “Is this what you long to experience, Victoria?” he bellowed. “I fought for my wife, and as you can see, it didn’t do me any good. I still have the daily reminder of what I lost when I wasn’t man enough to save her. “I can take you to her grave and prove to you that the effort made was in vain. She’s still buried in a cemetery right outside of Tombstone.” He turned around and showed her his back which was

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marked up a hell of a lot worse than his front. “See this, woman? Is this the kind of man you think you can look at for the rest of your life?” He stomped around for a good little bit and then said, “You don’t seem to understand. If I’m your first, and I reckon I am, you will not want me to leave.” Well, she didn’t know about all that, but he seemed pretty certain. She glanced at his cock. He must’ve had something awful special in his breeches if he believed he possessed the power to make a woman want to change her life overnight. He continued pacing and rambling. She decided to let him go ahead and get everything off his chest. For a man of few words, he sure had a lot to say all of a sudden. “I might be content to stay here if I didn’t have a rope waiting for me, but even that doesn’t matter. You deserve better than to look at a marked-up man for the rest of your life.” Victoria felt the first tear roll down her cheek. She stared at the wayward cowboy she’d come to know in a short period of time. She saw his heart then, the ache in the pit of his gut. She caught a glimpse of the harrowing past he tried to protect others from seeing, too, the shadow of a ghost refusing to leave him alone. His burdened expression was wrought with pain, filled with fury and sadness. It was a dangerous concoction for a man of Lane’s stature, another woman’s husband who trembled with his agony but refused to break. Holding Victoria in his arms had been his undoing. She’d done this to him. He’d warned her. He told her he still grieved his wife, and she refused to listen. “I think you’re beautiful,” Victoria admitted. “I don’t care about the scars on the outside. What bothers me are the internal wounds. I want you to heal, Lane. Maybe I can help you.” “Gosh damn it to hell, woman! What do you want from me?” Reaching a decision, Victoria rose and went to him. “I don’t want anything from you, but I have something to give you. Maybe someday you’ll thank me.”


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Chapter Six Lane wasn’t disillusioned. Victoria backed away with stark determination marking its place in her haunted, midnight blue eyes. She was frightened, but not scared enough to change her plans, her eager pursuit. Her trembling fingers unhooked the first button, and then one more. Her hands propelled straight down her chest and belly as she slowly eased one pearl away from the material, then another. Her expression never changed. Her confidence refused to shatter. “You don’t have to give me anything, Victoria.” “A gift,” she whispered, easing her shoulders away from her dress and camisole. She knelt then, stripping off her petticoats and pantaloons as she left her clothing in the dust and went to him. He rubbed his lips together, thoughtfully contemplating the night ahead. “What present are you prepared to give me?” “You know,” she whispered, her arm draping over his shoulder. He took her then, hoisting her into his arms as he carried her nude body to the stall where he’d been resting. Rather than placing her on the blankets he’d used to make a bed, he gave her a perched position on the top wooden rail. She gripped the board under her seat as he stepped away, taking his time to undress as her eyes followed his. He shrugged away his shirt, bought new a few days back, but worn long enough to look old and tattered. He unhooked his belt, stepped away from his breeches. Her eyes followed his as he took his cock in his hand and pumped. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

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She nodded as she watched him stroke his heavy erection, now thick with the need building. The pulsing wedge of flesh knotted as he pulled and yanked. His scrotum burned as he locked his fingers around the shape and continued to shove the length of his cock through his tightly clenched fist. Victoria’s round nipples were beaded to perfection. The rosecolored gems were as hard as rock candy, and guaranteed to be every bit as sweet. Lane inched closer. Dropping one hand on each knee, he spread her then, watching as the lust and anticipation replaced her initial shock. “You feel like the finest silk,” he said, walking his hands up her thighs, rubbing her ivory skin as his thumbs dug into her flesh. As he inched closer to her pussy, he kept his fingers rotating in a circular pattern, gentle in his approach, taking his time as he worked for her arousal. He stood back and looked down. Her glistening pussy lips twitched with her excitement. Her knuckles were white as she clutched to the top rail and several times, her entire body trembled under his touch. “I’m going to taste you,” he told her, stepping between her legs again. Her feet dropped away from the middle plank. He stared at her pretty toes and those small, dainty ankles. “I promise, Victoria. I won’t hurt you.” “What do you mean, you want to taste me?” He repositioned the soles of her feet on the board beneath him, and leaned over her, his tongue swirling down her stomach as he kissed her belly and made his way to her pussy, the hair found there tickling his nose. Her arousal then struck him and he made the moment into a man’s hour, taking the opportunity to appropriately claim a woman no other man had touched.


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He dipped his tongue into her cunt and sipped at her juices, allowing her time to understand, perhaps protest if she could bring herself to resist the pleasure. Instead, she jerked. Her body pulsed around him from the very moment he entered her. And Lane certainly knew how to give a woman her fair due. **** Victoria’s nipples felt like tiny pebbles ready to crack. Lane’s head dropped between her legs and for a minute there, she thought maybe he meant to examine her. She wasn’t quite sure why he was looking so closely at her pussy, but his heated gaze aroused her. His hot breath tickled her folds. When his fingers brushed over her pussy lips, she was immediately excited, but nothing prepared her for what came next. His tongue slipped between her moist flaps and she gasped. The fear first stilled her, but then the lust overpowered her angst. Lane lapped her pussy. His tongue was like a villain’s as he invaded her space. He pushed through her canal as if he’d earned the chance to explore her, the first rights to claim territory only he could have. And good Lord, with a sinful mouth damning her to pleasure, he could take and claim whatever he wanted. A few reverent strikes from that tongue, and Victoria didn’t have a clue what hit her. A wave of moisture gushed through her cunt as he licked harder, thrust deeper. “Lane! Stop! Something is the matter!” Oh God, if something was the matter, she hoped he never set her straight again. The barn began to spin as her head bobbed to the left and the right. She almost lost her grip on the board as he twisted around between her legs, sucking at her clit, licking her cunt. Lane went at her like he was bobbing for apples. He tonguefucked her like there was no reason to use his cock, like he preferred

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to have his lips locked over her clit, suckling the tightly drawn button, the little bead now hard and sensitive to his touch, his roaming tongue. “Mmm,” he whimpered, gripping his dick as his tongue continued to strike out at her pussy. “Good God woman, you filled me up.” Gripping the plank, she stared down at his pulsing member. The size of his cock had increased considerably since he’d dropped to his knees. Rising to his feet again, he looped his arm around her waist and kissed her hard upon the lips. She shunned him, turning her head to the left to avoid tasting herself on his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding her chin firmly. “Don’t you like the way you taste?” Feeling her skin heat, she shrugged, looking down to the left as she avoided direct eye contact. “Do you like the way I taste?” “I do,” he said, gripping her legs again. Before she could stop him, he’d spread her once more. This time, he fingered her. Using his thumb, he rolled her clit as he thrust inside her, pushing the weight of his hand against her bottom as he massaged her back hole and impaled her front. “Does that feel nice, Victoria?” “Yes,” she hurriedly admitted, gripping his shoulder. Her nails bit into his flesh, and when he flinched she immediately massaged the area she’d scratched. His lips met her folds again. He suckled her flaps, teasing them as he screwed his fingers inside her, thrusting in and out, up and down. “Now, Victoria,” he whispered. “You’re wet again, sweetheart. You’re so hot and ready. Come for me, Victoria. Let me taste you again.” Another hot wave of satisfaction came closer as he fed from her cunt. Her mouth dried, but her pussy remained wet, slick. The sloshing sound became more than she could bear as he feasted on her


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cunt, sipped and ate. He acted as if he were famished, starving for one more nip of whatever she had to offer. “Come! Victoria!” She whimpered then as her body jerked under his hand and lips. Before she knew what happened, Lane yanked her off the wooden planks and towered over her. Lifting her to him, he bracketed her legs around his waist. Then, he entered her with one sudden jolt, and the flames inside her cooled in an instant. Unfortunately, the pain of a first impalement drew a screeching sound she never recognized as her own.

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Chapter Seven Art drew his weapon as he entered the barn. His heart was racing as he rounded the corner and headed to the stalls where their horses were bedded down. As he came around the first wooden partition, his breath caught in his chest. A spectacular creature sat atop Lane, riding him like he was a beast to be tamed, a stallion only one mare could handle. Lane’s mouth covered her breast as he rose up to enjoy her. Lapping at her nipple, he indulged in her body. He devoured her like Art had imagined he later would. Son of a bitch. Art never imagined Victoria would respond like a woman in heat. Ducking down behind a haystack, he peered around the straw and listened to the sounds of sex. Bodies slapped together. Voices whimpered in unison. They fucked each other like they might be damned if they didn’t take all the other one offered. Art’s cock was as hard as timber as he watched the loving progress. He heard the cries of passion as signs of their fulfillment echoed throughout the barn and rocked his senses, shattered his nerves. Victoria collapsed against Lane’s chest a few seconds later, and as Art stood there in the shadows, he saw the signs of a ruined man and knew what he had to do. Lane need not worry. He would save him from the catastrophe waiting to happen. “Don’t the two of you believe in waiting?” “Apparently you don’t,” Lane replied, turning his head to acknowledge him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”


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“I’m saving you,” he said, tripping out of his breeches and joining them. “Saving him?” Victoria asked, arching a brow. “Yes,” Art replied, easing down beside them. He lay on the tattered blanket and eyed the point of connection. Lane’s cock was still buried inside that hot little cunt, and Art was terribly envious. “Her pussy is like a warm shelter,” Lane said, a heavy breath falling from his lips. He kissed the tip of her nose and winked. “I bet,” Art said, watching him. Oh no, Art was too late. Lane was already done for. Victoria shot him a seducing smile. His balls tightened as he watched her leave Lane and come to him. As if she read his mind, she inched toward him, crawling over him like she knew what she had to do in order to make a man happy. Art figured they’d get along right well. Just as soon as he dipped his stick inside her. **** “You know what I want you to do, right, honey?” Art drawled, fisting his cock with one hand while pushing her head toward his groin. She eyed the size of him. His length was long, at least twelve inches, and as he pressed against her nape, she didn’t have to guess what he desired. If Lane pleasured her with his tongue then surely a man could find satisfaction in her mouth as well. “I’m nice and clean,” he reminded her, bringing the tip of his cock to her lips. “All you have to do is suck and blow. It’s real simple.” “That’s easy for you to say,” Lane said, rising up to support himself on bended arms. Intimidated, Victoria glanced at Lane and he nodded. “You’ll like it. I do.” “You like sucking his cock?” she asked, surprised.

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“No,” he shook his head. “I like sipping on your sweet pussy. You’ll like licking his dick. You’ll be wet and ready to fuck again. I promise.” She felt her skin heat as he used the kind of words men had never used in her presence. Then again, she’d never been in this sort of situation before. “Show her what you want,” Lane told him. Art winked. “Want me to guide you, honey?” She nodded and he pressed the tip of his cock through the seam of her lips. The head swelled against her tongue as she took him. “Oh yeah, girl, that’s hot,” he said, pushing a little more of himself into her mouth. Victoria cupped his balls and rose over him, drawing him closer to her throat as she sucked the shaft. His dick thrummed against the roof of her mouth, and soon, Art’s hips were jerking as he rocked forward, slipping deeper and deeper. Gagging as he tapped her tonsils, she quickly pulled his meaty penis away from her lips and stared into his lust-filled eyes. “I can’t do this.” “You’re doing just fine,” Art promised her, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I won’t get my fill in your mouth. I promise.” She frowned as she looked at the tip of his cock. Studying the end, she noticed a bead of fluid leaving the slit. Incredulously, she found she was eager to taste him. Dragging her mouth over the tip, Victoria’s tongue darted in and out and she sipped a bead bubbling at the head. The translucent film covering the mushroom shape drove her instincts and she found herself desiring more. “I think she likes how I taste,” Art said proudly. She consumed him then, dropping her head over his groin as she tried to stuff his size between her cheeks. His cock tapped her throat, and again, her reflexes reacted. She choked as he stroked across her tongue and he retreated once more. “Easy, honey. We aren’t in any hurry.”


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That was his story. Victoria, on the other hand, wanted to know what it meant when a man had his fill. The day before, Lane shot off in her pussy, but she only felt his release. Now, she had the opportunity to watch, taste, and devour. She looped her tongue around Art’s size and drew him to her again, sucking his cock as she enjoyed him. Her fingers tightened against his balls as she stroked his scrotum, toyed with the weight of his erection and engorged size. Art’s long penis glided across her tongue, and soon he fucked her mouth as forcibly as Lane had taken her body. When he sat upright in the middle of her pursuits, Victoria anticipated a strong finish. But she never bargained for what Art gave her. “Wait there a minute!” Art cried out. His hips shot off the ground and Victoria stayed right with him. “Fuck! For crying out loud, Lane! Do something!” Why was he calling out for Lane? He sure didn’t have a thing to do with how well she pleased him. Lane rubbed her hip as she sucked Art’s cock. She licked and lapped at him as his dick swelled, practically popped. A few seconds later, he jerked and grunted. A jet of his release spiraled down her throat, heating her tonsils and filling her senses with the masculine scent and taste of one well-satisfied man. Art’s cock twitched against the roof of her mouth as he came, and as she swallowed his cum, she squeezed her legs together, finding she no longer wanted to wait for both of them to fuck her. She tried to get away from the hot stream of his release, but Art held her in place. “Oh no, baby. You wanted it. Drink. Suck. Swallow. Good God. Like that. Just like that. Don’t you dare stop now!” As Art pleaded with her, she relaxed. As the never-ending fountain of his cum rolled down the back of her throat, he fucked her face in a way she’d never expected. Lane smacked her ass and stroked the cheek he swatted, caressing her until the spot he repeatedly spanked burned and throbbed. Rolling

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her hips back, she stayed right with Art, laving him with her tongue as his size became manageable, his release became addictive. Rising to the tip, she licked the clear film coating the crest. “Mmm,” she whispered, indulging in every last drop of his pleasure. “You’re so sweet.” “Sweet?” he asked, arching a brow. “Yes,” she said, taken aback by the surprise in his eyes. “What do I taste like?” he asked, fondling himself when she released him. “Come here,” she said, learning from her earlier experience with Lane. Art licked his lips and kissed hers. The kiss soon became reckless. He cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples as he pampered her mouth, spoiled her body. Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she pushed away from him, placing some distance between them. “So? Now you see why I think you taste sweet?” Art chuckled. “Let me show you what I think is sweet.” His hand dropped between her legs, and he thrust a finger inside her warm pussy. “That right there is as sweet as it gets.”


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Chapter Eight “Hello? Victoria? Is anyone out here?” “Oh shit!” Victoria screeched, reaching for a blanket. “That’s the marshal.” “The marshal?” Art asked, gulping. “Yes!” “Is he a customer?” Art asked. Victoria was stunned. Noticing the spots of blood on the horse blanket, she pointed. “If I were some whore for hire, would I bleed like that?” Immediately, Art looked at his tainted fingers. Rather than acting repulsed by what he saw, he grinned. “Looks like we gave Victoria here an education.” A gun cocked about the same time Art made the statement. “What the fuck is going on here?” the marshal yelled. “Victoria, are you all right?” “Marshal, I…” “Damn it to hell!” he shouted, fumbling for another gun tightly holstered at his side. “Put ’em where I can see ’em, boys!” “Don’t show him your cocks. He might blow ‘em away,” she whispered. “You aren’t funny,” Art said under his breath. The marshal aimed the second pistol but looked away. “Victoria, get dressed. I’m here and I’ll take care of these fellas. Are you all right?” Victoria hurriedly gathered her clothes and darted behind the haystack. “It ain’t what you think, Marshal.”

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“It’s exactly what I think!” he assured her. “These men raped you, and now you’re afraid to tell me the straight of it. You’re just like your precious momma. She always protected the criminals. Why she’s lucky one of those outlaws didn’t put her in the grave before she turned thirty.” “Marshal, Victoria is right. It’s not what you think.” “Shut the hell up. Victoria, get your damn clothes on and wait for me in the house.” “No, Marshal. I won’t do it. These men didn’t hurt me.” “The hell they didn’t,” the marshal said. “You think I don’t see that blood there on the blanket. Men, get your breeches on. You’re taking a ride into town with me.” Victoria hurriedly slipped her dress over her head. After securing about half the buttons down the front, she stepped out in the open. “Marshal, you have to listen to me.” He studied her face. “Where’d they hurt you, girl?” “I’m not hurt.” “You’re in shock. I’ll have Doc Taylor ride out and take a look at you.” Victoria glanced at Lane and Art. Lane looked deeply troubled. Art appeared suspicious, acting as if he were up to something. There was a gun near that blanket, and Victoria shook her head behind the marshal’s back, praying Art and Lane wouldn’t harm him. “Marshal, these men are friends of mine.” “Friends?” “Yes, friends!” “You expect me to believe you were out here in the barn poking around with two men?” He shook his head. “No, Victoria. I don’t buy that. I can’t. Now get on in that house and let me have a word with them.” “No, Marshal.” She defied him. “I will not. This is my home, and these men are my guests.”


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The marshal studied the rolled-up blankets and saddles strewn about in a corner dimly lit by a small lantern. “If they’re friends, what are they doin’ out here in the barn, Victoria?” Victoria took a deep breath. “Marshal, please.” “Victoria, I ain’t tellin’ you again. Get in that damn cabin and don’t come out until I’m through here.” Defiance took hold, and she marched over to Art and Lane. She stood in front of them with her arms spread wide. “You’ll have to go through me to get to them.” “Don’t do this, Victoria,” Lane said, gently pushing her arms downward. “We’ll go with him.” The marshal narrowed his gaze. “Wait a minute. I know you.” He stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper folded in fours. As he opened up the document, he walked toward the only other lantern in the barn, located right next to the very spot where Victoria lost her innocence. She squeezed her legs together and stared at Art, who must’ve known what she was thinking. He winked, but that didn’t ease the fluttering sensation in her gut. She knew what images were on that wanted poster. Lane warned her. The marshal most definitely would think of him as an outlaw. Wanted men were no count according to those who pursued them. “Well I’ll be damned,” the marshal said, pacing in front of Art and Lane. “The two of you are wanted for a gold heist.” He shook his head. “You must be the doggone dumbest robbers I ever heard tell of.” He shook the crinkled paper in front of their faces. “What happened to the gold, boys? Did you buy whores and drink it up, and now you’ve come back to my town to see if you can’t find another miner who strikes it rich?” “That’s not why we’re here,” Lane assured him, staring straight ahead.

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The marshal rubbed his chin. “What brings you back to these parts then, men?” He wasn’t buying a word Lane said because Victoria knew the marshal to be a very sarcastic man when he met up with strangers. Some said when the marshal was the friendliest, he was the deadliest. If his demeanor were any indication, he sure enough thought her guests were guilty outlaws. “What do you mean…back?” Art asked. “We’ve never been in these parts, and we can prove it.” Lane shot him a quick glance. Apparently they couldn’t prove much of anything if Lane’s eyes told a truthful tale. The marshal glared at the blood on the blanket again. He took a few deep breaths and then looked away. “Did the two of you take turns pokin’ Victoria or not?” “They did not!” Victoria said, justifying her lie by thinking it was none of the marshal’s business. Plus, she reasoned, she’d only been penetrated by Lane, so in one sense, she told the truth. “I didn’t ask you, Victoria,” the marshal pointed out. “I didn’t get between her legs,” Art said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” “That’s where you’re wrong, and I’ll leave it at that,” the marshal said. Victoria frowned. “Marshal, these men haven’t hurt me.” “So that’s fine then, I should just let them go, I reckon.” “You should indeed!” Victoria exclaimed. “They haven’t done anything wrong!” “The law says they have, and that’s good enough for me, Victoria. They’re wanted for robbing a stagecoach loaded down with the gold Max Carpenter pulled out of that mine near Ute Pass last year.” “There’s no way these two could’ve pulled off a robbery like that, and you know it.” “Well, they did, and I know nothin’ of the such.”


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“The hell we did,” Art said. “We were in Tombstone this time last year.” “Ah,” the marshal said. “Tombstone this time last year, he says. And who told you that robbery took place this time last summer? Hmm? Only the true robber would know information like that.” Lane snatched the wanted poster from the marshal’s hand. He jabbed the paper and read the inscription underneath. “Wanted for the stagecoach robbery dated June 7, 1898.” The marshal grabbed the paper and stomped toward the door. “I’ll wait for the three of you on Victoria’s porch. You’d best be ready to ride into town, boys. I think a lot of Victoria, so I’ll take her at her word. Maybe you didn’t bring her any harm, but Max Carpenter is convinced you stole his gold.” Turning to Victoria, the marshal added, “He wants ’em to hang for their crimes. It’s my job to take ’em into town where they can face their accusers.” **** “Did you do it?” Victoria asked, her gaze working between Art and Lane. “Doesn’t matter if we did or didn’t, we’re still gonna hang for that robbery. You heard the marshal.” Victoria placed her hands on her hips and stared at Lane. “But did you do it?” “Would our hanging be easier on you if we told you we did?” Lane asked. “No, it would only be easier if I knew the truth.” “So you could what?” Lane asked, realizing this was the very reason he’d been attracted to Victoria from the start. She reminded him of Sarah Ann. She had guts, and probably wasn’t afraid of much. That was part of the reason Sarah Ann was in the grave today. She believed in the law, and when that crooked Tombstone marshal came

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for her that cold December day, she’d gone with him. She even told Lane she’d be home before he could miss her, and God love her soul, the woman believed that right up until the time the marshal put a rope around her neck. Lane knew the truth about the law now. He saw his future and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop the marshal outside unless he killed him, and he wasn’t gonna draw his gun and take the life of another. There’d be more marshals coming for them. “I’m waiting on an answer, Lane.” Lane took a deep breath and studied Art. Bringing her against him, he gave her a hearty hug and whispered in her ear, “Yes, Victoria. We robbed that stagecoach.” She stilled against him. Lane released her. He was unable to look at her after his confession. Quietly, he gathered his things and went for his horse. Art grabbed his saddle and bridle. He didn’t acknowledge Lane or Victoria as he tossed the gear on his horse’s back. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not,” Lane said. “I told you the truth.” “You didn’t tell me the truth, damn you!” she screamed, stamping her foot. “You told me what you thought it would take to make it easier on me.” “Go on back to the cabin, Victoria,” Art rasped. He tightened the girth on his horse, and kept his back to her. Victoria rushed them then with her fists drawn. She struck Lane’s back and wailed like a baby. “I don’t want to believe you, because it’s not the cotton-pickin’ truth!” Lane wheeled around and caught her arms. Tears gushed down her cheeks, and in that moment, Lane cursed himself for his prior actions. And he cussed himself for the words he was about to speak. “What do you care, woman? Huh?” His voice was as icy as a Colorado winter storm.


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She shook her head. Tears continued to flood her face. “I can help you.” He released an evil chuckle, one wrought with the pain he was about to cause her, but deliberate all the same. He wanted her to take the night they’d shared together and put it behind her. There was only one way to ensure she didn’t get mixed up in the mess they were in, and that was to protect her the only way he knew how. “Why would you want to help us?” Art asked, glaring at Lane. He probably knew what Lane was about to do, and greatly disapproved. It didn’t matter. Art was a pouter, but he wouldn’t have to trouble himself with worrying over his friend’s displeasure for long. The marshal would probably hang them high before dusk tomorrow. “I want to help you because…because…” “Because why, Victoria?” Art asked, taking a step toward her. “I…I don’t know why, all right!” “Yes you do,” Art said, closing the distance between them. Standing inches away from her, he looked her in the eye and said, “You gave Lane here something you’ve never given another man before. He made you into a woman, and now you think he belongs to you somehow. Well, he doesn’t and I don’t. You were just a poke, woman. That’s all you were. That’s all you’d ever be, whether we hang or not.” The blood left her face and Lane turned away, unwilling to witness the pain Art caused her. Art apparently read his mind and saved him the trouble of breaking her heart. Now, he owed him. With the marshal waiting outside, Lane didn’t think he’d ever have a chance to repay such a large favor.

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Chapter Nine Victoria barely slept. She’d cried herself to sleep right before sunrise, but awoke a few hours later when she heard some riders in the distance. The whooping and hollering alerted her to the obvious. There was a big celebration in town, and since the Saturday didn’t mark the date of a holiday, that could only mean one thing. The town was preparing for a hanging. Dragging herself out of bed, Victoria moped around the cabin. She stared at the dishes stacked on the edge of her chopping block and came undone. As she wept, she sat down in the chair Lane had occupied the night before, and cried all that much harder when she could’ve sworn she caught a whiff of that raw, masculine scent of his. Convincing herself she was losing her mind, she ducked her head in the nook of her arm and sobbed. Why had she given herself to strangers? How come she’d never had those urges before? And why, out of all the travelers on the prairie, had she chosen two men doomed for death by hanging? She rose from the chair and went to the porch, desperate to get some fresh air. As she sat down on the stoop, she caught a glimpse of the grey wolf in her peripheral vision and jumped, alarmed by the animal with its predatory gaze. Victoria glared at the beast. She didn’t move, and the animal hurried away. Darting between spruce tress, the wolf returned to the ridge overlooking the cabin. Within seconds, he paced the ground he’d apparently marked as his territory.


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Watching him, Victoria thought of Lane’s words. They hummed in her ears like a tormented song. That’s a bad trait for any man to own. Lane didn’t kill for sport, he’d told her. I’m a quiet man, Victoria. I like the simple things in life. Would a man who liked the simple things in life rob a stagecoach guarded by five riders and two hired guns? She remembered the story about that heist. The buzz in town had been gruesome. The men who took that gold were bandits. They wore bandanas over their mouths, and shot up that stagecoach before the men protecting the gold even knew what hit them. No one died, but they were all injured. Would a man who refused to kill a wild animal fire upon humans? There had to be something Victoria could do. She marched inside and grabbed her mother’s rifle, the only gun her ma had ever owned. Slamming the cabin door behind her, she marched to the barn and grabbed a saddle and bridle in passing. She couldn’t let Lane and Art die for something they didn’t do. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if they hung for a crime they didn’t commit. Victoria came to a stop then, considering Art’s parting words the night before. They’d used her. Art made the fact clear. Still, she didn’t want them to hang. She didn’t believe they were guilty. Then again, her ma never entertained anyone other than innocent travelers. Maybe she was as delusional as her mother. Glaring at the stall where she lost her innocence, she cursed under her breath. “No,” she muttered. “It’s not possible.” She hurriedly affixed the girth on the saddle and then bridled her mare, shoving the bit in the horse’s mouth. Glancing at the stall where she’d spent the early part of the evening before, she shook her head once more. She might have lost her virginity, but she wasn’t about to lose her heart. Nope. She didn’t have time for such nonsense. Swinging her leg over the saddle, she mounted her horse and rode like hell out of that barn. As dust churned behind her, Victoria

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thought about the future she was about to lose. She considered all the ways she might be able to protect the men she now believed she was destined to love. No, hell no, she didn’t have time for such nonsense, but it didn’t hurt to daydream all the same. That’s when her past caught up with her and her history became clearer. A few gallops down a broken path and her mind continued replaying past events. Reining in her horse, she came to a sudden halt, contemplating the direction her memory was taking her. Dear God, had she always ignored the truth that was right in front of her? After her ma died, the marshal started riding out to check on her. He’d stop in every now and again to see if she was doing all right, particularly if Mrs. Dodson told him she hadn’t been in the General Store in a few days. It never occurred to her until right then why the marshal expressed an interest in her. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, kicking her horse with both heels. “We’ve got to hurry, Strawberry. Run faster, girl! Run faster! The marshal will help us. I just know he will!” She hoped her arrival in Cripple Creek wouldn’t put her in town too late. **** “Art, look,” Lane said, tilting his head toward the barred window in their cell. “Is that Victoria?” Art asked. Waving her arm over her head as she rode closer, they could hear her. “Marshal! Marshal! You’re hanging the wrong men, and you know it!” “Oh dear God,” the marshal said, rubbing his temples and rising from his old wooden desk. “What is she up to?” Art asked. Lane wondered as he watched Victoria leap off her horse, trip over her feet, and hurry toward the marshal’s office. As the only


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representative of law and order in town swung open the door, Victoria burst inside. Her face was flushed and stained with all sorts of debris. “Victoria,” the marshal began, placing his hands in front of his body. “I don’t want you here. A hanging is no place for a woman.” She narrowed her gaze and took a step backward. She slammed the door to the marshal’s office and locked it. “Sit down please, Marshal.” “Look, Victoria. I did everything I could as a lawmaker. The facts will show these boys here robbed that stagecoach.” “Facts, hell!” “Victoria!” the marshal shouted. “I ain’t gonna listen to a lady talk like a whore.” “Why? Because my mother was a whore?” “That ain’t got a thing to do with it.” “Yes it does.” The marshal went pale and Lane paid closer attention. He jabbed Art in the ribs, and under his breath, he said, “This ought to be good.” Victoria smirked. She turned away from the marshal and addressed them. “The two of you didn’t rob that stagecoach. Want to know why I know?” “Why, Victoria?” Art asked, probably just to appease her. “Because of you, Lane,” she said pointing at him. “You know that wolf that followed you to my house?” “Yeah. What about him?” “He paid me a visit today.” “Are you all right?” Lane asked, gripping the iron cell bars. “I’m fine, Lane,” she replied. “Thanks for asking.” “Oh boy,” he muttered. “She’s still pissed at us.” “Pissed isn’t the word for it but I’ll deal with you later,” she said, turning back to the marshal. “And I will deal with them later because you’re gonna let them go.”

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“Nope,” the marshal said, shaking his head. “They’ve been found guilty. Judge was in town working on some mining cases. He ruled on it this morning before he left for Stockton.” “Then call him back,” she deadpanned. “Send a telegraph to the next town over.” “Victoria, I can’t save your friends.” Victoria sat on the edge of his desk. She pushed her golden locks over her shoulders. “It sure is hot in here.” “Then go on home where it’s cooler. Those shade trees should keep that cabin of yours cool this time of year. Let me worry about these two.” Victoria smiled as sweetly as she could probably manage. “Remind me never to piss her off if I live to see another day,” Art said. “Same here,” Lane muttered. “You know a lot about those shade trees, don’t you, Marshal?” Victoria asked, studying her fingernails. “Of course I do. I’ve been by your place a-plenty through the years.” “Yes indeed you have,” Victoria said, crossing her left leg over her right. “I used to wonder how come you stopped coming out. When I turned about eight, I think it was. You just stopped coming. I wonder if your wife knows about me.” The marshal went pale. “Are you blackmailing me?” “Are you my father?” He gulped. “That’s what I thought,” she said, pointing toward the cell. “Let them go, clear their name, tell everyone in town it was a terrible misunderstanding.” “Victoria,” he snapped. “I can’t do that!” She shrugged. “You married Caroline Sweeny, didn’t you?” The marshal’s left eye twitched. “You know damn well who I married.”


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“She’s a very nice lady,” Victoria drawled. “I’ve met her a few times myself. Lovely person. Just lovely.” “Get to your point, Victoria.” Victoria slid away from the desk and stalked him. “You were no father to me. After ma died, you came around just enough to make sure you could lie down at night and convince yourself you were a good man, a man who occasionally stopped in to say hello to his only daughter.” A beat later she added, “Doesn’t the Sweeny family work with neglected kids back east?” The marshal rubbed his forehead. He didn’t say either way, but Victoria knew they did. They were always placing kids with families there in Cripple Creek. “You’re not a kid anymore. Caroline would understand why I’m not active in your life.” “Would she?” Victoria asked. “I don’t think so. My mother was a whore. She took countless men to her bed—outlaws, farmers, Indians, and even marshals. Wonder if a fine, upstanding lady like Caroline would have the stomach for a man who took a whore to bed quite frequently?” “Why would you hurt Caroline? She’s an innocent woman.” “And you’re about to hang two innocent men. It’s called an eye for an eye. Considering the rumors in town about Caroline’s stability, I’d say that kind of rumor would be just enough to push sweet Caroline over the edge. What do you think?” The marshal turned to Art and Lane. He looked at Victoria and stood a little taller than before. Lane thought he detected a little bit of pride in the man’s worrisome eyes but he couldn’t tell for sure. Finally, the marshal grabbed the keys to the jail cell and said, “Did you rob that stagecoach or not?” Lane shook his head. Art followed suit. “Well then, I’ll send a telegraph to the judge.” “It appears you don’t have a choice, Marshal,” Art said.

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“On one condition,” the marshal added. “You two stay the hell away from my daughter.” “You might as well go ahead and hang me,” Lane said. “Because I tell you about what’s gonna happen if you let me out of here.” “What’s that?” the marshal asked, arching a brow. “I’m probably gonna love her.”


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Chapter Ten Probably, hell, Art thought as they rode back to Victoria’s place later that afternoon. The two of them had been making eyes at one another all the way home. Home. Fuck. He was as hung up on the idea of a future with Victoria as Lane apparently had been. As the clopping of horse hooves came to a halt by a shaded area near the river, Art caught the end of a conversation bound to snap him out of his daydreams. Lane said, “So what tipped you off to the marshal being your daddy?” Victoria slid away from the saddle, and Lane was there to catch her. She looked up at him and smiled. “I don’t know. Your wolf friend got me thinking. I knew you lied to me about robbing that stagecoach. After I thought about it awhile, I started beating myself up, thinking maybe it was my fault the marshal caught up with you before you had a chance to turn yourselves in. “Then I thought about how red-faced he was when he saw me naked. He kept looking away from me, trying to give me the chance to get dressed without gawking. My ma used to say if a woman had a good body, a man would look at her regardless of whether or not he had a good woman at home. She always said God couldn’t fault a man for looking at a woman when all he was doing was admiring the beauty of the big man’s handiwork.” Art and Lane laughed. “Anyway,” Victoria went on, “I noticed something else about the marshal, too. He was mad, enraged really, when he walked in that

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barn and discovered the two of you had been with me. He was so angry, he was unwilling to see what had happened there as a consensual agreement between adults. He wanted to pin some other crime on you. “So I studied on that for a piece, too. That’s when a stream of old memories rolled through my head. I didn’t just remember the handsome young marshal who used to come and visit my mother. I remembered his voice, too. It hasn’t changed any. “I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before now. His appearance has changed considerably. He’s about fifty pounds heavier than when he used to call on my ma, so maybe that’s why I didn’t figure out the past until history mattered.” “But his voice hasn’t changed?” Art asked. “He has a lisp,” Lane pointed out. “Yes he does,” Victoria agreed. “And that lisp is exactly why I remembered a lot of things. He and my mother had a lot of arguments before he quit calling on her altogether. Lucky for the two of you I remembered a lot about him just in time to save your necks.” “My neck thanks you,” Art told her. She grinned as she led her horse to water. Once all three animals were watered down, Lane said, “So now what?” She shrugged. “This is as good a place as any to show me how much you appreciate me.” Art’s cock twitched in his breeches. “Here?” “Yes,” she said, giggling. She stripped off before they could stop her—not that they would—and waded into the river. “Good God, she’s right about one thing,” Art said. “Any man in his right mind would have to look at her if he was able.” Lane yanked off his boots, slid away from his breeches, and shrugged out of his shirt. He dove into the river while Art took a seat on a large rock. “You gonna stare from over there, or come in and take a closer look?”


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“I’ll be along shortly,” Art assured her, gnawing on the inside of his jaw. As Lane and Victoria frolicked in a concealed area of the river, mostly covered by a thicket rich with swooping branches and leaves, Art thought about how close he came to death. Victoria saved his life. What kind of woman went out on a limb for a man she barely knew? Leaning back on his elbows, he smiled as she approached him. Squealing like an excited young girl, she ran up the hill, rushing away from the river as Lane chased her. “Get that thing away from me!” she exclaimed, giggling. “You’re the one who tried to arouse me. And you’re the only one here who can do something about that.” “Man has a point,” Art said, rubbing his chin. “What if somebody sees us?” she asked, her eyes sparkling as she asked the question. “Would that bother you?” Art asked, tilting his head from side to side in an effort to see under the mess of blonde locks blocking her eyes from meeting his. “No,” she fired back. “Good Lord, woman,” Lane said, grabbing her around the waist and drawing her against his chest. As Lane aroused her, tweaking her nipples, rolling the hard gems between his thumb and forefinger, Art’s mouth watered. His hard cock pressed against his pants and he wondered then if she could handle them together. There was only one way to find out. **** Victoria spread her legs as wide as they would go. “Don’t be a lily liver. Cowards aren’t welcome to play here.” She dropped her hand

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between her legs and worked for her own pleasure, stimulating her arousal. “I ought to spank you for that,” Lane told her, nipping at her calf as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. “I liked it when you spanked me last night.” “You liked being spanked?” Art asked, shooting Lane a quick glance. “Did you hear that, Lane?” “I did,” he said, licking his way to her pussy. “Hmm, sweetheart. You smell like honeysuckle.” “I should,” she said, laughing. “There’s a vine right behind me!” Art reached for a few golden buds. Snapping the stem off the first one, he squeezed the tip. The syrup dripped over her nipple, and she arched her back. “Ah, that feels nice.” “If you like that, wait until you try this.” Art carefully aroused her with more honeysuckle, covering her breasts in the syrup. Then, he dropped his head between her mounds and devoured her. Lane paused and watched Art. He, too, reached for a vine. Soon, he dripped the natural juice over her pussy, rubbing the stems between her legs as she arched and moaned, groveled and whimpered. Using his fingers to arouse her, he stirred the moisture inside her, dipping his fingers in and out of her cunt as he sipped her lips, tongued her pussy. “Lane!” Art pinched her nipple. “There are two of us here, you know.” She smiled. “I know, but you’re not getting busy like he is, now are you?” As if Art accepted the challenge, he reached between her legs and slapped the hell out of her mound. Her hips shot off the rock. As her bottom left the flat surface, Lane tucked his hands underneath her. In a matter of minutes, he was shaking his head back and forth, eating her out like she was the only meal he could find on the prairie. And Art wasn’t ignoring her. He taunted her with his mouth, tantalized her with his fingers, and stroked her with his quite capable tongue.


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As her imagination ran wild, Victoria heard riders in the distance. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop Art and Lane. She wanted this pleasure. She needed them inside her. She wasn’t about to halt her own satisfaction for passing spectators. If they paused instead of riding by, they could take a seat and enjoy the show. This was too good, so delicious. And nothing would prevent her from taking what was theirs to give, hers to have.

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Chapter Eleven A horse neighed. Voices filled the air. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from taking the pleasure they allowed her. The whole damn town could watch them for all she cared. Her legs splayed. Her body bucked. The entire moment was so surreal. And Victoria wanted to remember every detail. The whispering leaves in the distance. The way Lane suckled her pussy lips like he was so lost in her body he’d never find his way out. And then there was Art. “Oh, Art,” she crooned, holding his head to her breasts as he licked at her hard nipple, twirling and pinching one, nipping at the other until the bud was hard, erect, and oh so tender. Lane thrust his tongue inside her, wiggling the texture inside her pussy until she finally braced for the orgasm rolling over her. Her fingers laced through Art’s curly hair. Her body rose and fell. “More,” she hummed. “Oh please, men, give me more.” Lane shifted. His forearms braced against her thighs as he suckled her clit and nuzzled her mound. “So sweet.” “No! No! Don’t stop yet. Please don’t slow down. Keep at it. Oh God, please!” Art looked up and shot her a one-in-a-million grin. “Stop, Lane,” he demanded in a gruff voice. Unfortunately, his words held more power. Lane rose over her then, his right leg thrown over her left. At the same time, Art mirrored the same action, towering above her from her right side. With fisted cocks in hand, they lowered their cocks to her pussy. “Now,” she moaned. “You’re both gonna…”


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“Shh,” Art said, bending over and stealing away with a kiss. “We won’t hurt you, Victoria.” “Yes you will,” she promised them. “It would have to hurt.” She stared down the length of her body. “Look at the size of those things!” Lane looked at Art’s penis. Art looked at Lane’s. They shared a suspicious smile and then inched inside her together. “Easy!” she exclaimed. Birds high above them left the trees where they’d been perched. Another crunching sound in the distance was followed by several more. “Oh, God, hurry! Damn it someone is coming! Hurry! We’re going to be interrupted!” “The only one who’ll be coming is you,” Art promised her. Latching onto one another’s shoulders, Art and Lane slid inside her cunt, finding the perfect space. They stroked her together, filling her with their size. And as they discovered a forbidden pace, a seesaw effect began between them, forcing their cocks to rub together as the friction became overwhelming. “Oh yes, right there,” she hummed. “Harder. You have to go deeper.” As they obliged, she screamed out with agony and with pleasure. She’d never known such a mix of pleasure and pain, bliss and taboo. Lane pinched her nipple as he fucked her. “Relax, Victoria. You’re trying too hard.” “No,” she assured him. “You’re doing all the work. I’m just dying.” They stilled inside her. She stared up at two strong and sexy men. Both fellows had angst settling in their eyes. “Want us to stop?” Lane asked. “No!” “You said you were dying,” Art reminded her, a grin tilting his lips. “I am. It’s very painful,” she admitted. “But hurt me more.”

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Lane started to slide out and she jerked. “If you leave me, Lane, I swear I’ll hang you myself. Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m enjoying you!” “We don’t want to bring you pain, sweetheart.” “Just give me a minute,” she said, a sharp shard of arousal dousing her pussy with heat and moisture. She closed her eyes and thought of her wet pussy saturating their cocks. The way her body enveloped them, welcomed two cocks instead of one, shocked and inspired her. As her pussy clenched, she bucked underneath them. “Now, oh God, please. Give me what I need right now!” As if they knew precisely how to deliver everything she desired, Art and Lane began an age-old tempo they made new by developing their own pace, a brand-new rhythm. Their bodies came together, slippery and wet from the sweat sheathing them. Thrust after thrust, they pounded inside her, fucking her with their wide, long cocks. They stroked together, screwed her with broken beats. And as the grunts and moans resounded around them, a smidgen of awareness heightened her senses. They were being watched. And that turned her on. Victoria rolled her head to the side and bit down on her fingernail. Her eyelashes fluttered as Art and Lane came over her, rocking forward, drawing back. She saw movement in the bushes, but she couldn’t focus. She didn’t care. “Now!” she screamed, her pussy so hot she felt as if the cocks inside her were licking her walls and tending to high-rising flames. Smoldering desire took hold, and she braced for the end. Reaching high above her head, she latched onto those honeysuckle vines, pulling the weeds down over her as she tried to hold on for another minute, maybe just one more second. “Ah, there!” she exclaimed, her body writhing under them. Sweet heaven and the sun shining down on her, there was nothing more spectacular than this!


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“Good God, hold still,” Art grumbled, beads of sweat scattering across his brow. Lane’s face wrinkled as he pushed his cock high inside her channel. “There. God yeah. Right there, Victoria.” The turbulent exploit was much like sliding down a cascading waterfall. As their pleasure consumed them, their bodies shifted and swayed in a dozen different directions, and as they landed in a pool of desire, their bodies became broken waves rocking in tandem. One led the other into a delicious freefall of satisfaction only they could share together. **** “Well, what have we here, boys?” Victoria jerked. Art yanked her against him, covering her body with his. Lane went for his clothes and hers, but it was too late. The outlaws surrounding them swung their breeches and her dress around their heads like they’d taken their clothing as trophies. “Damn, what a woman,” the taller one said. “You think you can handle me and my boys like you handled these two?” “I doubt you have a cock to match that big mouth of yours,” Victoria said, unable to keep her anger to a minimum. “I know you,” the older guy in the back said, pointing his finger toward her. “You’re that girl that lives out there in the prairie by your lonesome, ain’t ’cha?” She held her head high and refused him an answer. The man who’d first approached them pushed Art out of his way and pursued her. “My friend asked you a question, woman. You deaf, or just plain dumb?” “I’m not deaf.” “That leaves dumb then,” he said, his laughter quickly joined by group support.

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Victoria stared at the idiot in front of her. “I heard your friend, but a lady never tells a stranger where she lives.” “No, but a tramp does, and ain’t that what you are?” the old guy asked. “I seem to remember your mammy giving her share of rides, too.” He looked at Art, and then shifted his gaze toward Lane. The rage had settled in their eyes. They were surrounded, and knew better than to pick a fight when the battle was already clearly won. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about my dead ma like she didn’t matter,” Victoria said, dropping her hands away from her body. They’d already watched her fuck. They’d seen her ass, gawked at her breasts. What did she have to hide anyway? “Your mamma is dead?” the older man asked, a flash of sincerity in his eyes. “Well that is a blessed shame.” “Died a while back, yes she did,” Victoria said, hoping she could keep the elderly fellow talking. The old guy turned on Art and Lane. “And you two came in and took advantage of an old whore’s daughter while the gettin’ was good, I imagine. Don’t count yourselves lucky. Her momma fucked anything that walked, screwed some of ’em who couldn’t walk much after they got enough of her.” “Victoria has heard plenty from you,” Lane warned, his eyes flashing with dangerous fury. The man next to Victoria grabbed her around the waist and held her body securely against his. “What do you say, little lady. Wanna see how many dicks can fit in that pussy?” She locked eyes with Art. He was pale, but far from out of it. He was contemplating their next move. He was a thinker. Until that moment, Victoria wouldn’t have guessed. “Let her go,” Art said, hardly stern enough to sound like a man ready to negotiate. “Or you’ll what?” the rogue asked, dipping his head and kissing her neck.


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Victoria didn’t squirm under his lips. She refused to give him the pleasure. If she resisted him, he’d find more excitement in her body than she wanted him to have, and since she was naked, he wouldn’t struggle for access. A gun cocked in the distance. “Back away from the girl.” Victoria looked over the old man’s shoulder. There, on horseback was the marshal and his men, a few fellows who rode alongside him when posses formed. “And who are you?” the ringleader asked, shoving Victoria to the wayside. “You see this badge, don’t ’cha?” “Are you the marshal in this town, or just riding through on your way to the next one?” another fellow asked. “It shouldn’t matter to you either way. But if it does, I’ll tell you the only thing that really matters in the first place. I’m the girl’s father. If you don’t back away from her, I’ll blow your balls off and send them home to your mother. Ask me if I’m kiddin’.” Another five guns cocked. The pistols pointed were all aimed in the direction to drive home a solid point. The tall man hissed as he stepped over her. “This ain’t over, sugar.” The marshal hopped down off his horse and pulled out a wanted poster. He studied the paper in his hand and then ripped it to shreds. “All right, boys. Let’s take ’em in. I believe we’ve just caught the men responsible for robbing that stagecoach this time last year.” “What are you talkin’ about?” the outlaw leader asked, resisting the marshal when he grabbed him by the arm. “You said it wasn’t over. I believe you. It ain’t over. You picked the wrong place to stop and water your horses. You damn sure picked the wrong girl to grope.”

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Chapter Twelve They rode home with nary a word exchanged between them. Victoria was tired, but her need for silence had more to do with the thoughts of her father than her exhaustion. The marshal came to her rescue, but more than saving her, he’d publicly declared she was his daughter. He’d made the confession in front of men he knew well. Bounty hunters he respected. Cowboys she recognized. Victoria wondered if his proclamation meant he’d come to accept he’d fathered a child with a whore. Victoria was a grown woman now, but she still longed for a connection with her father, someone she could call out as family. Would the marshal be there for her when she needed him? Would he invite her into his home and make her feel welcome? Victoria felt a smile tug at her lips. Hadn’t he been there for her in the past? Perhaps he hadn’t told her who he was or why he felt compelled to drop in on her from time to time, but nonetheless, he’d made the effort. He evidently cared enough to check in, and when push came to shove, he stepped in and saved the day, or at least…her friends. She considered Lane and Art as she slid away from her mare once they came to a halt in front of her cabin. Regardless of the relations between them, she enjoyed their company, and hoped they wouldn’t leave her after they’d shared so much together. Lane caught her as she dismounted. Taking her horse’s reins out of her hands, he said, “We’ll be right outside.”


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She offered them a weak smile. Art clasped her hand in his and squeezed her fingers in passing. “You don’t have to sleep in the barn you know,” Victoria called after them. They kept walking. “I could fix you some dinner. Aren’t you hungry?” They still kept walking. Uncertain of what she might have done to make them feel they needed to put some distance between them, she marched up the front steps and entered her dark, lonely cabin. Picking up the lantern, she removed the glass globe, lit the wick, and replaced the cover. As soon as the place was aglow, she gasped. “What are you doing in here?” Dressed in nice trousers, a white shirt, and fancy suspenders, a man Victoria didn’t recognize rose from her table. “Ms. Page, do you know who I am?” With movement behind her, she turned. A large brute with broad shoulders and ragged clothes stepped forward. She shifted her focus to the gentleman standing next to her small table. She shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen either of you before.” “That’s right. You haven’t,” he drawled, his Southern accent thicker than any she’d ever heard. “My name is Max Carpenter.” She gulped. “My name must ring a bell.” She shook her head in denial. “Well, let me refresh your memory.” He took a few steps and stood mere inches from her face. “You are harboring—screwing— two men accused of stealing my gold.” A beat later, he said, “Now does the name mean anything to you?” She shook her head again. Max waved his finger toward the man behind Victoria. He immediately yanked Victoria’s arms behind her back, securing her wrists with his large, calloused hands.

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“Ouch!” She squirmed and wiggled but was unable to break free. “You’re hurting me!” “Ms. Page, as you can imagine, I’m not a very happy man.” “There’s a doctor in town. If you want something to take away your misery, I suggest you consult him for a dose of happy pills. I don’t have an antidote for discontentment.” “You’re a funny girl, aren’t you, love?” She continued to fight for freedom, but her efforts were in vain. Giving up the struggle, she glared straight ahead, not necessarily looking at Max, but hardly avoiding him altogether. “She’s ready to play nice, boss,” the whale of a man said. Max smirked. “Ms. Page, I would’ve been a tremendously wealthy man if your boys hadn’t taken what belongs to me. They were supposed to hang for their crimes, but I guess things worked out for the best this way. “You saved their asses and now, I can take out what they owe me by using yours.” He unhooked his belt and snapped the leather as he removed the strap. “Bend her over.” Victoria shook violently. “Please, you can’t do this.” “Actually, I can. See, if I’m as well informed as I believe I am, this cabin here has quite the reputation. Your mother used to run men through here faster than my father once drove cattle across the open range. After what some of my boys—you know the ones you sent to jail earlier today—saw, it appears the fruit is just as loose and wellmatured as the tree.” “Art and Lane didn’t take your gold, mister. They didn’t!” “I said bend her over, and I won’t ask again!” he shouted, addressing the hard outlaw securing her. “No! You have to listen to me!” she wailed. “Art and Lane wouldn’t steal from you. Don’t you understand? The marshal arrested several men down by the river today. They’re awaiting trial. Believe me! Listen to what I’m telling you!”


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He snapped the leather belt again. Approaching her, he tilted her chin upward and stared into her eyes. “I don’t give a damn who took the gold, if you want to know the truth, Ms. Page. The fact is, those boys your father arrested today were my boys. They worked for me. They didn’t take anything from me. They had no need to steal what already belonged to them in one way or another.” “That’s not true!” A wicked chuckle fell from Max’s lips. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you in the face, would you, Ms. Page? “You didn’t find out who your daddy was until Lane and Art were taken into custody. Why hell, you probably didn’t even realize your momma was a whore until my boys told you and you probably think—somewhere in your simple mind—that those two men you saved from the noose today plan to stay here and make all your troubles go away. “Women like you lie to themselves. That’s how they keep living. That’s how you, my dear, keep pressing forward.” He tossed the belt aside and screamed, “You will not lie to me!” “Hold it right there, Max,” Lane said, stepping inside the cabin with his gun cocked. Victoria released a heavy sigh. “Thank God.” An evil smile tilted Max’s lips. “Well, look what we have here.” “Let her go, and I’ll let you walk out of here. Keep your hands on her, and you’ll lose them about the time you lose your life. Is that what you want?” Art stepped inside her small quarters, too. “Max, you’d better listen to him.” “Well if it isn’t the other half of the package deal,” Max grumbled. “It’s been a long time, Art.” “Yes and I was hoping it would be another hundred years or so before I set eyes on you again.” “Planning on living forever, are ya?” Max asked.

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Art cocked his gun. “I reckon I have a few days more than you do.” The man behind Victoria shifted his weight, and Art turned his gun on him as quickly as he returned the revolver and pointed once again at his original target. “Victoria, get behind Lane.” Victoria scurried toward Lane and ducked behind him, peering over Lane’s shoulder just long enough to gauge Max’s expression. “Do you know him?” “Yes,” Lane said out of the corner of his mouth. “I thought you said you didn’t rob him.” “I didn’t,” Lane told her. “We just took back the gold he originally stole from us.” Max laughed. “You always could justify your actions.” “We had a deal, Max,” Lane told him. “We spent months down here digging. We slept in the cold and rain. We barely had food on the table, and never had one day when we were warm or comfortable in the wintertime. You said you’d give us the equipment we needed for mining.” Art chuckled. “That was a lie.” “You said you’d send in money for food, room, and board.” “I never slept anywhere but under the stars,” Art informed him. Lane shook his pistol at Max. “But I guess the coin that rolled away from this poor miner’s vault was the one that mattered most. You promised us a fifty-fifty split. You never worked those mines. You never gave us the equipment you swore would one day arrive. And you damn sure didn’t sleep outdoors without a blanket to warm you or a roof over your head.” “We only took our claim,” Art assured him. “And your sorry ass reported all of that gold stolen.” Max’s eyes darkened. He studied the man to his right. Apparently detecting the other fellow’s uneasiness, Lane said, “Let me guess. You’re on his payroll, too?” “Are you freelancing?” Art asked.


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The fellow nodded. “Nice,” Art commented. “I gotta give you credit, Max. You’ve stayed alive a lot longer than I thought you might. You’ve cheated every man from here to Virginia and you still manage to keep hiring good men, miners who just want to make a better way for their families, for themselves. You’re a piece of work.” “He’s a piece of shit,” Lane mumbled. “That’s what he is.” “Don’t listen to them,” Max said, obviously jittery as his sidekick inched closer. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.” The burly fellow took another step and then another, grunting every time his boot struck the dirt floor. “I’m telling you, they’re making this up!” “Then where’s his money, Max?” Lane asked. “Sir, if you’ve worked for him and you’ve yet to see a coin for your efforts, then you might ask yourself why. And you might keep in mind another important fact, too. Max Carpenter planned on seeing me and my partner hang. He wasn’t satisfied that he kept most of the loot. He wanted our lives, too.” The big guy snarled then lunged forward, attacking Max. They fought their way to the porch, where they rolled to the ground. Fists and profanity flew as the two men fought one another. They rolled around on the ground for a good bit. Finally, Art fired a few shots in the air. “Break it up and ride on out of here!” After another shot was fired a few minutes later, the men parted, panting. Max dabbed at his bloody lip. Lane pointed toward their horses and said, “You two have less than a minute to get out of here. You best never come back. If you do, I’ll hunt you down myself.” Max sat atop his horse seconds later. Swiping at his mouth, he looked down on them. “This ain’t over yet, boys.” “There’s a marshal in town that may think otherwise after he hears the rest of our story,” Lane told him. “We’ll see about that,” Max said, riding away in one direction while the burly fellow headed off in another.

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Lane stared after them. “Yep. I guess we’ll see.”


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Chapter Thirteen Victoria spruced up her sheets and fluffed the pillows. Aware of Lane and Art watching her, she wheeled around. “How did you know they were here?” “Their horses were around back. We saw them when we rode up. I knew we’d have to ambush them.” “I wondered about that,” she said. “They rolled out of my house and landed next to horses I’d never seen before. I wondered if I might have missed them when I entered the cabin.” “You think you’re so lovesick you aren’t aware of your surroundings?” Art teased. She froze. Unable to let herself contemplate something as romantic as love, she studied their handsome faces in search of humor. Were they making fun of her, or were they considering a future with her, too? Surely not, she reasoned. She’d known them less than a couple of days. Then again, a person’s life could change in a minute. In comparison, two days seemed like a lifetime. “Don’t read too much into anything I say,” Art told her. “I was trying to be cute.” “You aren’t,” Lane informed him. “Says you,” Art grumbled. She grinned. “I guess you don’t want to sleep in the barn after all.” Lane pointed to the bed. “Looks like you’ve piled up a few extra pillows and blankets right here. I don’t believe you want us in the barn.”

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“That’s where you belong,” she said, starting to pass him. Grabbing her around the waist, Lane stared at her lips. “You may be right about that.” Shaking her head until her hair fell loose around her shoulders, she tilted her chin toward his. “Why didn’t you tell me about the gold?” “It wasn’t important.” “So are you rich?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t sounded like such a gold digger when she made the inquiry. “We get by,” Lane replied. “I get by,” she said. “Gold miners live pampered lives.” “Not all of them,” Art assured her. “So you robbed that stagecoach?” she asked reluctantly. “Nope,” Art replied. “We took our gold out of the crates before they were loaded. That whole stagecoach robbery was nothing more than theatrics courtesy of Max Carpenter and his boys.” She released a burdened sigh. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that.” “Victoria, we aren’t perfect, but we aren’t like a lot of the guys your ma used to see out here,” Lane said. “I know,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. “So we’re not staying in the barn tonight?” Art asked. A hopeful expression was stamped upon his face. “Not a chance,” she said. “I have big plans for both of you.” “How big?” Art asked. “Huge,” she crooned, placing her hand on the sizeable bulge in Art’s pants as she slid her hand down Lane’s belly, securing a tight grip on his covered cock, too. “The woman knows how to get a man’s attention,” Art said. Victoria sashayed across the room, working her hips like she planned to later use them. “Question is, can I keep you interested?” ****


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Art was on the outskirts of new territory, and the unfamiliar terrain frightened him. Victoria sent them to bathe while she fixed a light meal, and after beans and bread, he and Lane sat on the porch, whittling. “She’s gonna expect us to stay,” Art said. “Suits me.” “Lane, we can’t stay here. We’re a danger to her, and you know it.” “Not if we talk to that marshal.” “That marshal is her father, in case you’ve forgotten.” Lane grinned. “I don’t expect him to approve of what I have in mind for his daughter, but I think after I have a little sit-down talk with him, he might see things my way.” “What do you plan to say?” Lane shrugged. “I thought I might point out the obvious. It’s better for Victoria to have two men who care about her than a few strangers prowling around here every few days. What father wants his daughter passed around?” “What makes you think he cares about her either way?” “Oh come on now, Art. You heard him out there today. As soon as he realized Victoria would remain in danger, he was ready to pin bogus charges on those cowboys. Max’s men are gonna hang because they represented a continual threat to the marshal’s daughter.” “He may hang us still yet, then.” “Not if we promise to give her a good life.” “I don’t know…” “You don’t know about the marshal, or are you having second thoughts about Victoria?” Art grunted. “I ain’t the keepin’ kind.” “I am,” Lane confessed. “I searched the West for a woman like Sarah Ann, and when I least expected to find one, there she was.” “Victoria isn’t Sarah Ann, Lane.”

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“I know. And I wouldn’t want her if they were exactly alike. I’m ready to start over. Start fresh.” “You’re rushin’ things. That’s all.” “Maybe, but ask yourself this. Would it bother you if Victoria was with another man? I mean, besides me, of course. Would it eat at you?” “Hell yeah,” Art said. “Then you may want to consider rushing things, too. She’s a young, beautiful woman. A man would be stark crazy to let her go.” “You’re right,” Art said, standing. “And he’d been plumb stupid to keep her waiting, too.” Lane laughed. He tossed aside his stick and followed Art inside. They entered her tiny room together. Standing in the doorway, Art’s heart started fluttering. Lying on the bed with her legs splayed, Victoria looked more beautiful than the hour before when she’d been serving dinner. Of course she would. She was naked, aroused, and just plain sexy. Of course she looked better than a plate of beans. Barely visible under the lantern’s light, her pussy lips glistened. Her pointed nipples were shaped like diamonds, and as she cupped her full breasts, Art’s cock danced in his breeches. A hot shot of arousal scorched his balls and made his cock painfully hard. “You’re beautiful,” Lane told her, shrugging off his shirt. “You’re beautiful,” she said right back. “Hey now,” Art said, winking. “You can’t play favorites.” “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she assured him. “I’m crazy about both of you.” “I’m crazy about you, too,” Lane told her. Shit, Lane was just plain pussy whipped. Art knew he should’ve pressured Lane into seeing a few whores back in Tombstone. Now that he’d gotten his dick wet again, he was henpecked.


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Then again, what was Art’s excuse? He was plumb nutty over Victoria. He looked down at his cock. Yep, he was nutty all right, in more ways than one. Sitting on the bed, he pulled off his boots. By the time he slipped off his breeches, Lane was undressed and crawling between her legs, kissing her inner thighs, tweaking the little button hidden between her folds. “So much for waiting on me,” Art rasped. “You’re always complaining about being late to the party,” Victoria said, twirling her nipples. “You’re being a very bad girl tonight,” Art told her, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her across his lap. “What do you think you’re doing?” “What I should’ve done when I first met you,” Art told her. “Lane?” she squealed. “Relax. You’ll love it.” “That’s the truth on a Sunday,” Art said, rubbing her shapely globes. He worked his fingers into her flesh as he massaged her bottom. “My Lord, woman, you’ve got a pretty ass.” She wiggled on his lap. The heat from her pussy warmed his leg and he reached under her, determined to enjoy her hotness. Stuffing three fingers between her folds, he finger-fucked her until she humped against his hand. “You bad girl, you.” Sticking his fingers between his lips, he sucked the fingers he withdrew. “Hmm. You taste better than ice cream.” Victoria stretched her neck and moaned as she watched him. What he would give to frame her lust-filled expression for the rest of his days. As he teased her, Lane sat on the bed. He studied them as Art worked to arouse her. Victoria’s full, soft tits mashed against his thighs. He was pretty certain, given the fact she couldn’t lie still, he wouldn’t have to try very hard if he wanted to make her come.

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Studying her bottom, maddening thoughts got the best of him. He shoved his hand underneath her body and inserted his third and middle finger, going for the core of her pussy as he stroked her. Fuck! He was as hard as a pistol, and ready to fire off any number of bullets. Her clenching pussy teased him as he twirled his fingers inside her. Hell’s fury, he couldn’t stop himself from taking what was his to own. He dragged his fingers from front to back, coating her asshole with her slick juices. Lane frowned as he watched, most likely uncertain of how Victoria would respond. Art continued to dip his fingers inside her cunt, gathering a little moisture, and doing what he could to wet the entrance he planned to claim. Against his better judgment, and due in part to his great impatience, he pressed his fingertip right inside her rear passage. “What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped, her voice muffled as she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m preparing you for things to come,” he told her. When she jerked again, he secured her hip and held her steady. His arm propelled behind him and he slapped her bottom, the resounding smack alerting him to the obvious. He’d gotten a little carried away. “Oh my God,” she whimpered, her back bowing in response. “So you liked that, did you?” Art asked. “Hmm, yes,” she replied though uncertainty lived in her shaky voice. “Are you sure?” he asked, smoothing his hand over her red ass. “Yes, I liked it. Yes.” Apparently she was all right with the fact he’d gotten carried away. He ran his fingers down the seam of her bottom, and this time, he positioned his middle finger against her puckered, tight, virginal hole. Using his free hand, he spanked her again. When her bottom clenched, he stuffed his finger inside her tight ass. “Oh hell, Art,” she rasped. “Oh please. You’ve got to go deeper.”


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He looked at Lane and shrugged. “You heard the woman. Give her something to scream and tremble about.”

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Chapter Fourteen Victoria never thought of her asshole as a means for entry. She squeezed the hard digit Art thrust inside her and refused to let him withdraw his finger. There was some element of pain when he first invaded her there, but now the searing sensation in her pussy alerted her to the obvious. She wanted a cock in her cunt and a dick in her ass. And she wouldn’t be happy until she experienced what she desired most. Reaching under her body, she touched Art’s dick. He grinned as she stroked him. “I’m not through with you,” he said. “You’d better hurry and get that way soon, because I’ll push my own fingers in my pussy if you don’t put something worthwhile there.” “What’d you have in mind?” Lane asked, joining the conversation. “Your penis,” she said, looking right at his thick cock. “And yours, Art,” she added, squeezing the dick positioned right under her mound. Art kept her over his bended knee. He swatted her behind again, and a shocking amount of arousal swept over her pussy lips. Her core was on fire as he rubbed his hand over her ass cheeks and buried his finger all the way inside her. She was coming undone. Her nipples felt sensitive to his touch, and she ached for a mouth to soothe the fires disrupting her peace of mind. She needed their mouths suckling her nipples, their cocks stroking her pussy.


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Art toyed with her hole and continued to impale her anus, pushing his finger high inside her ass and then retreating. He fucked her nice and slow as he watched her carefully, perhaps eager to gauge a reaction. As she rocked with him, his expression changed. What was once solemn and unexpressive soon turned wild and untamed. As she bucked against him, he positioned his cock at her belly, allowing her to feel his length, get a good idea of the strength and power building behind his erection. “Fuck me,” she pleaded. “What did you say?” Lane asked, scooting off the edge of the bed. “I said, fuck me!” “Where have you heard such language?” Art teased, busting her ass. This time when the spanking began, each lick delivered was harder and more aggressive. Art’s hand came down over and over again as her bottom burned, and her pussy exploded into a pool of pulsing heat. “I need you inside me!” she screamed. “I liked the word ‘fuck’ a little better,” Art said, caressing her bottom. “Haven’t you spanked me enough?” Art helped her to her feet. “Bend over on the bed and let Lane check you out.” Lane reached for the lantern. Holding the light over her when she stretched out on the bed, he said, “Good God, Art, you’ve worn this poor woman’s bottom plumb out.” “Not yet I haven’t,” he promised. “But I will.” Art’s promise was her undoing. She stretched her arms forward and then flipped over. Staring up at them, she said, “So what do you say, men? Are you gonna fuck me or look at me?” Lane grinned. He wrapped his cock in his closed hand and pulled. “I could do a better job,” she promised.

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“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he said, pressing the tip of his dick to her mouth. Her tongue whipped around his size and he sank between her lips, stroking between her cheeks as slowly as a man should be allowed. She sucked him to her throat, blowing him as he retreated, drawing him closer to her tonsils as he fucked her mouth, glided over her tongue. Using her lips to tease him, she kissed the tip, sliding her mouth back and forth over the tiny slit topping his cock. A bubble appeared there and she twirled her tongue over the transparent speckle, savoring the taste of his masculine spice. She oohed and ahhed as she brought him inside her mouth again. His cock swelled as she gave him head, and the harder he became, the more he inspired her arousal. Unable to get comfortable, she tucked her hand between her legs and swirled her fingers around her opening. She didn’t stretch her neck in an effort to find Art, but instead focused on Lane. His dick was longer, more erect, and his gait continually changed. He appeared excited enough to come, and she practically groveled for his release. Swallowing again and again, she tapped his balls with her fingers, dragging them up and down his scrotum until she could trace the tiny veins in his sac. Lane growled, fisted himself at the base of his cock and in a guttural voice, he said, “You’ll get a mouthful if you work after me like that.” “I’m thirsty,” she confessed, rising to the tip, looping her tongue around the crest and dropping her head over him again. “You’re a little witch,” he grumbled, still resisting her. She could see the way he tried to restrain. But she felt his resistance crumbling. Her gaze locked with his and she rose once more to the mushroom head, locking her tongue around the shape, tucking her tip right under the hooded flap before drawing him with a stronger suction than she’d


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used before. She sucked him clear to the back of her throat and hummed against his shaft. Still unable to reach the satisfying conclusion she desired, she looked up at him and said, “Come on, Lane. Let me taste you.” He smirked. “Will you drink every last drop?” “Yes,” she promised, her fingers dancing past her folds as she fingered herself and blew him. Art appeared in the picture right in time, dropping his mouth over her opening. He suckled her pussy and thrust his tongue inside her. As she grunted and moaned, her vibrations finally inspired Lane to show his appreciation. He grabbed hold of her hair and moved her head up and down, urging her to suck his dick at a pace he set. As he stretched her lips, her gag reflexes worked overtime to keep up with his pace. Art’s head moved side to side in between her legs. He feasted on her cunt as she enjoyed Lane’s meaty, thick dick. And just when she thought she couldn’t keep up anymore, Lane stilled inside her. After a short pause, he wrapped her hair around his fingers and fucked for a finish like he might have done had he been locked between her legs instead. Pounding at her throat, Lane took that release she’d tried her best to grant him. A jet of his cum shot down her throat, and that was truly her undoing. There was no stopping her explosive end as Art pushed his tongue inside her channel and ate from her pussy like he’d never eat another meal or delight in the newfound flavor he’d discovered. **** He’d spanked her. He’d fucked her pussy, sucked her sweet clit. Now, Art wanted that pretty little ass. After he finished giving her an orgasm driven by his lips, mouth and tongue, Art longed to introduce her to the forbidden.

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Lane, greedy somebody that he was, yanked her over him. He framed her face and kissed her like he might forget how if he didn’t practice right then. Art grabbed her hips and drew her to him, positioning her bottom right in front of his rigid cock. “Hang on there,” Lane said, breaking the tender moment he and Victoria shared. “It’s all right,” she promised. “I don’t want to wait. I need both of you inside me.” “You do, huh?” Art asked, rubbing his cock over her shapely globes. “That’s what I said,” she crooned, dragging her body over Lane’s as she found an angle possible for double penetration. Dying to poke that precious ass, Art reined in his control before he ripped into her. Holding his cock at a distance, he finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He rubbed the tip over her entrance, waiting for the puckered hole to flex and welcome him. Then Lane entered her. Art jerked and pulled back. He was ready to take what she was eager to give, but instead, he resisted the heavenly invitation, determined to observe for a second more before diving straight into temptation. “Damn, sweetheart. You must’ve been born this way,” Lane rasped, stroking her. “What?” she asked, shifting her hips to accommodate the cock buried inside her. As Lane’s heavy balls bumped against her, Art rubbernecked and watched, taking himself completely out of their intimate connection. The sight of their two bodies rocking together made him hard. Lane paused before he slammed inside her, and his forceful movements took Art to the brink of insanity. There was nothing more erotic than a stiff pecker slipping in and out of a slick pussy. “You only interested in watching, Art?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.


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“Yep.” He walked around to the side of the bed and observed a little longer, getting a close-up view in order to tease her. There he gained a much better picture anyway. Victoria’s folds parted as Lane shoved his cock inside her cunt. His dick disappeared between the honey-colored hairs scattered across her mound. Lane’s brow wrinkled. His jaw set. He was close to claiming a strong finish. “Ah hell,” Art said, pumping his cock through his tight fist. “You must prefer looking on,” Victoria whispered, placing her palms flat against the back of her head. Working those thighs, she bent her knees. With her toes digging into the mattress, she opened and closed her legs as Lane entered her. In a matter of seconds, Lane was working a little harder. Clutching her hips, Lane shoved her body high above him and then yanked her back over him. Repeating the process once more, he said, “Art, if you’re gonna join us, you’d better find your place soon.” Art stared at Victoria’s full breasts. Leaning over, he kissed her protruding nipple. He fondled her as she fucked Lane, wishing he and Lane could just keep her in bed, screw her all the time. There was no need to do much else in that prairie. Loving on any pretty woman was about the only thing worthwhile. A whisper in his inner ear reminded him that wasn’t entirely true now. Fucking Victoria was the only way to go. After being with her, he didn’t have a need for any other. Standing behind her once again, Art’s hands fell to her rounded rump. This time, he spread her for a well-intended purpose. He towered over her, jerked once, and fell against her back, grabbing her around the waist to secure her against him. “Oh, God!” she screamed as he thrust inside her. “That’s right, beautiful. Your prayers have been answered.” Art grunted as he fucked her. The wait was over, and the delay was sure worth the temporary sacrifice.

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Lane withdrew a few inches, making room for another participant, and Art gave her body time to adjust. But when her sleek passage began milking his cock, squeezing around him so tightly he thought he might pop, well that was the final test of a man’s strength. He screwed himself balls-deep, completely filling her asshole. Then, he retreated, realizing he was greedy when he buried his dick inside one hell of a tight, virginal hole. Seconds later, Lane’s pace quickened. Victoria bucked like a wild woman. And Art wasn’t about to be left out in the cold. He hammered inside her and took that beautiful bottom he planned to stamp as his own. “Fuck and the pleasure found in it!” Victoria screamed, tossing her head back. Art grinned at her crazy vocal expressions, finding more pleasure being inside her than he ever imagined possible. He struggled to give Lane a little room, and as soon as he did, his good friend took advantage. Lane started a-whooping and a-hollering, and Victoria practically sang. In the midst of her satisfying song, Art listened to the only words a man needed to hear from a satisfied woman. “Deeper! Harder! More! Oh please, men, please! Give me more!”


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Chapter Fifteen The next morning, Lane rode into town alone. He insisted on going to see the marshal by himself, even though Art and Victoria both expressed their displeasure. They were afraid he might be ambushed. He shared their concerns, but sometimes a man just needed to be a man without assistance from anyone else. After Max’s buddy turned on him the night before, he wasn’t necessarily looking for Max. He figured the old cheat was probably laid up somewhere demanding a whore’s attention for his wounds, assuming the burly guy hadn’t caught up with him after they parted ways at Victoria’s place. Lane read faces well. He’d instantly picked up on the fact that the guy accompanying Max had already heard his share of lies. Poor guy probably had some loot somewhere he was waiting to collect, too. Lucky for Lane, Max hadn’t showed up at Victoria’s cabin alone. Riding up to the marshal’s office, Lane couldn’t help but notice the six wooden caskets located at the end of the street, right next to the hotel. He held his hand over his brow and squinted. Apparently, one of them was already occupied. Curiosity drove him and he clucked to his horse. Riding by the saloon, he headed to the south end of town and came to a ripping halt as soon as he saw the dead man on display. “Well I’ll be damned.” “Did ya know him?” a young boy said, approaching him cautiously. “Yep,” Lane said, tilting his head. “What happened to him?”

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“Some man shot him here in town last night. Shot him in cold blood. That’s what my pa said. He mentioned a man like Mr. Carpenter made a lot of enemies. Were you one of his enemies?” Lane swallowed. He studied the young lad looking up at him with bright eyes and promise. Rather than give the fellow a story he’d carry with him out of his youth, he simply said, “We used to be friends.” “I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said. “Me too, kid. Me too.” Lane reined his horse in and clucked as he tugged him off to the left. He rode to the marshal’s office once more and tied off his gelding at the hitching post. Before he took the next step he considered his purpose there. He wondered if the marshal would give him a word, or if he’d have him arrested. Considering the crimes he’d committed against his daughter, he thought the marshal might find cuffing him a tad more enjoyable. Lane had never killed, but he’d kill the first man who’d dare lay a hand on his daughter, if he ever had one. Thinking about that, he decided he’d best ride on out. He turned his back to the building and traipsed toward his horse again. “You ridin’ out today?” The marshal’s deep voice stopped him. Slowly, Lane turned around and stared up at the man towering over him from the elevated porch. “No,” he replied. “Hadn’t planned on it.” He pointed down the dirt road. “Friend of yours was called out into the street last night.” “Seems I’m not the only one who had a problem with Max, huh?” “Thought you didn’t know anything about him.” “I knew enough, but I didn’t steal from him.” “Man who killed him last night said he’s been robbing his men of gold. Any truth to it?” “I’d say there might be some,” Lane replied, rubbing his chin. “What I figured.” “Noticed you have a few empty caskets.”


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“Yep,” the marshal answered him. “What about it?” “You got a hangin’ coming up?” “Seems so.” “Got a reason to hang ’em?” “Do I need one?” the marshal asked. Lane shrugged. “Depends. Do those men in your jail plan on bothering Victoria if you let them go?” “That’s the word.” “You tried talkin’ to them?” “Talk is a waste of time when you’ve got true outlaws on the hearing end of the conversation.” “I suppose so,” Lane agreed. “Are you an outlaw, mister?” the marshal asked. Lane shook his head. “I reckon not.” “Do you consider yourself a good man?” Lane thought about that for a second. Rather than answer right away, he turned the question around. “Are you a good man, Marshal?” The marshal strode off the porch and pointed toward the prairie. “A long time ago, I used to think so. That is, until I fell in love with a beautiful young woman. She was as pretty as a California sunset, and just as hot as the heat in the middle of a damning drought. My ma and pa warned me away from her, but I wouldn’t listen. “See, I was in love with that woman. I wanted her to be mine, and was pretty certain, at least for a time, she wanted me to be hers, too.” “What happened?” Lane asked, thinking who the marshal loved really didn’t determine whether he was a good man or not. A faraway gaze settled in the man’s eyes. “Well you see, she was as wild as them Indians she occasionally entertained. Don’t get me wrong, Gertrude—Gerty, that’s what we called her—she was a good woman for a spell. But she had a queer disposition. She was indifferent. That’s what she was. Reckon the only thing she ever

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really cared about was Victoria, and she didn’t give her the time of day much.” They stood there staring out at the prairie together. Lane remained silent until the quietness became strained and uncomfortable. “I’ll be good to your daughter, Marshal.” “I imagine you’ll be better to her than I’ve been,” he said, slapping him on the back. Feeling satisfied, Lane started for his horse and the marshal headed back inside. Before he disappeared behind the door he opened, he called out, “If you’re not, I’ll come lookin’ for you.” “I imagine you will, sir.” “Call me Carl. It’s an ugly name, but somebody’s gotta use it.” It was an ugly name, Lane thought as he rode away. But it sure had a better ring to it than “marshal.”


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Chapter Sixteen Dinner was on the table when Lane returned. Victoria smiled when she saw him. “We were getting worried about you.” “I wasn’t,” Art grumbled, shoveling a helping of potatoes into his mouth. “I’m sure you didn’t miss me much,” Lane said, removing his hat and taking a seat. “I did,” she said, sitting beside him. “How’d things go in town?” Art asked, barely looking away from his meal. “Couldn’t have gone better.” “Did you see the marshal?” Victoria asked. “I saw him,” Lane replied, picking up his fork. “How was he?” she asked. Lane stared at Victoria and thought about several subjects he needed to approach. He wasn’t quite sure which one to address over dinner. “Oh for God’s sake, quit makin’ the girl dig out the information. She ain’t hoeing potatoes.” Victoria took a sip of water. “Well. Did things go okay for you?” “See there?” Art asked, looking up from his food. “You’re makin’ her work for it. Spit it out. Tell her what happened.” Lane chuckled. “She’s not the one who’s in such a big hurry to find out what went on, but I will tell you this. Max Carpenter is dead.” “What?” Art dropped his fork.

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“Seems the burly guy called him out into the street last night. They had a gunfight, and if the casket he’s occupying is any proof, he lost.” “Won’t see me losing any sleep,” Art said. “What about his gang?” “Apparently, the marshal still plans to hang ’em.” “What’s the charge?” Art asked. Lane shrugged. “I didn’t ask. The crime is obvious. They groped the wrong marshal’s daughter.” “They threatened her, too,” Art reminded him. “Well, I don’t think the marshal is threatening them. He seems pretty bent on hanging those fellas. There are several caskets opened down in the middle of town.” Victoria shivered. She stared into her plate, and her eyes watered. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Lane asked, caressing her hand. “It’s not right,” she remarked, shaking her head. “What’s not right?” Art asked around a mouthful of food. “Those men dying because of what they did to me. Look at me. I’m fine. I’m sitting here with the two of you enjoying my supper, and those men are there in that jail tonight thinking about dying. It just ain’t right.” “Victoria,” Art warned. “You can’t blame yourself.” “He’s right,” Lane told her. “You can’t, and I won’t let you. Keep in mind, your pa—I mean the marshal—he had a few other good reasons to put those fellas out of their misery. Evidently he figured out what was going on with Max and his gang. He knows they were squandering gold.” She shrugged. “He’s still hanging them because of me.” Lane reluctantly nodded. “You may have a little something to do with it, but I don’t think you’re entirely to blame.” “Blame?” she screeched. “Way to go, Lane,” Art said, dropping his fork in his bread pudding.


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“That’s not what I meant.” “What did you mean?” “Yeah, Lane,” Art said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “What did you mean?” Lane was backed in a corner. Of all the conversations he should’ve tabled for after dinner, he picked the one guaranteed to ruin a good meal. Lane cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing, Victoria. Your pa isn’t going to let those men walk.” “Quit calling him my pa.” “That’s what he is. Whether you like it or not, he’s your father, and you’re stuck with him.” “Don’t you mean he’s stuck with me?” she asked, standing. “No,” he said, leaving his chair as well. “That’s not at all what I mean. Your father cares about you. He loves you.” “Right,” she said. “He loves me so much he wants the world to know I’m his daughter.” “I’m pretty sure those in Cripple Creek realize who you are now.” A beat later he said, “The older people would’ve talked, anyhow.” She frowned. Understanding she couldn’t possibly translate what he meant, Lane said, “Sweetheart, listen. Your pa loved your mother. She was the one who didn’t want him.” “I don’t believe that.” “I do. Based on the letter Art and I overheard you reading and the rumors around this town, I believe your mother liked her life so much she never planned to change her way of doing things.” “Why would she enjoy being poked by every man coming or going?” she asked, fury marking its place in her eyes. Lane released a sigh of relief. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d sort of worried about Victoria’s past and how her future might in turn be affected. “Let me ask you something.” She held her head high. “What is it?”

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“Do you want the kind of life your mother led? Do you want for your children what your mother gave you?” “Who said anything about children?” she asked, her voice an octave higher. “Yeah, Lane,” Art said, hurriedly reaching for a biscuit. “Who the hell said anything about kids?” “Do you think you won’t end up like her?” Lane asked. “If you’re having relations with one man after the next, you’re bound to end up pregnant. And then what? If the only way you can survive out here is lying down next to outlaws, what do you have to offer your future children?” “Where are you going with this?” Art asked, his brow furrowed and his lips turned down. “Victoria, I want to see you live a rich, full life. I want you to have children someday—my children—and…” “Oh for the love of God,” Art said, his palm falling against the flat surface of the table. “Do you think we could eat dinner before you start babbling about a future filled with snotty-nosed kids and a marshal for a father-in-law?” “Carl,” Lane said. “Carl?” “That’s his name,” Lane said. Art sighed. “No wonder he became a marshal. He didn’t have a lot of options with a name like Carl.” “I like that name,” Victoria said, smiling. Lane touched her cheek. “Maybe you could use it every now and again. I bet the marshal would rather hear you call him Carl than ‘marshal.’” She stared at him blankly. “What else did he say to you?” “We just had a nice, friendly discussion. A discussion best left between men.” “He threatened to kill you, didn’t he?” Art asked. “No,” Lane replied.


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“I bet he did,” Victoria said. “Not exactly,” Lane assured her, returning to his dinner. Tucking his napkin at his collar, he added, “But I’m pretty certain if Art and I don’t make you happy, he’ll come looking for us.” “Then I guess you’d best be making me happy,” she said. Lane winked. “That was my line of thinking, too.”

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Epilogue One year later “Art! Lane! I’m not happy with the two of you right now!” she screamed hell and damnation at the top of her lungs. Wolf sat next to the front window licking his paws like he wasn’t at all affected, but Lane knew better. That damn wolf was so attached to Victoria that he’d probably attack him and Art if he realized they were responsible for her current predicament. Art stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his eye on the marshal. Lane paced the length of the porch, wishing he could be sitting by Victoria’s bedside as she gave birth to their first child. The marshal had begun to pace, too, which made Lane very uncomfortable. He stayed right behind him, almost deliberately walking on top of Lane’s shadow. He wondered if that action held any particular meaning. “Help!” she screamed. “Lane! Art!” A beat later and she yelled again, “So help me God if I get my hands on you….” Lane snickered. Apparently she forgot her role in all this. Art turned five shades of red when the marshal stopped his stroll across the porch. “I’m going in there. I can’t take this anymore.” The marshal stood in front of the door. “Don’t you move, son. You think you can’t bear much more. You think about what that girl of mine and what she’s goin’ through. I blame the two of you for her present condition.”


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Art’s eyes widened. He took a step back and glared at Lane. “We don’t know for sure which one of us is the father.” His voice was shaky as he tried to get the marshal on his good side. Lane would’ve laughed if this had been the time or the place to share a chuckle, but considering the fact Victoria had been screaming her head off for the last few hours, a group giggle was hardly appropriate. “Art, shut up before I change my mind about you,” the marshal said, taking a seat on the stoop. In recent months, the marshal and his wife, Caroline, had gotten in the habit of dropping by to check on Victoria. Lane and Art were quite fond of them, but at times like this, they knew better than to cross Victoria’s pa. The marshal’s love for Victoria had become more and more apparent. His visits were more frequent. He occasionally outstayed his welcome, often keeping Victoria on the porch until the wee hours of the morning, telling her things he remembered about her mother while educating her on his family history. Victoria and her pa were close. God forbid if something should happen to her. A loud squeal resounded and Lane jerked, his eyes immediately affixing on the front door of the cabin. A few seconds later, Caroline appeared in the doorway. “You have a boy!” “A boy! Did you hear that?” Art exclaimed, embracing Lane. “We have a boy!” Lane and the marshal shook hands. Congratulations were passed around. Then, Art said, “I gotta tell ya. I sure am glad Victoria gave birth to a boy. I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.” Caroline frowned. Her eyes watered. “What is it, honey?” the marshal asked, placing his arm around his wife’s thin shoulders. She reached right inside the door and took the two bundles from the doctor’s arms. “I wanted you to rejoice about one child before you

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celebrate the birth of another.” A beat later she mustered up enough enthusiasm to exclaim, “You also have a girl!” “Two?” Art asked. “We have two of them?” The marshal laughed. “You know what this means of course, don’t ya, Art?” Art stared at the babies. Rubbing his eyes with balled fists, he shook his head. “I reckon it means—considering our situation and all—one is definitely mine, and the other one is Lane’s.” “Sure,” Lane said, pacifying him. “That’s what I was thinking, too.” “How do we know which one is which?” Art asked, looking to the marshal for answers. “They both look the same to me.” “I guess we’ll have to wait until they’re a little older,” Lane told him. “Then we’ll be able to tell which one looks like me and which one belongs to you.” “But you really believe one is mine and the other one is yours?” “Why hell no,” the marshal said, slapping him on the back of the head. “Wake up, boy. One of you is a daddy this time, and the other one will have to get busy after you figure out which one of you fathered the first two.” “That’s not how it works, Carl,” Lane said softly. “It’s not?” the marshal asked. “Nope,” Lane assured him. “We’re a family. I’ll love the kids we bring into this world, whether they’re mine or Art’s, and he will, too.” “But surely you both want boys of your own.” “Did you ever want a boy?” Art asked. The marshal shook his head. “I messed up a-plenty the first time around.” “Pa! Pa!” The marshal’s wife stepped out of the marshal’s way and he hurried inside. “I’ll sit with her a bit.” “You do that,” Lane said. Before the marshal shut the door, he added, “Carl, about that boy? You didn’t need one. You were right


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about that. You did pretty damn well the first time around. And I don’t think you would’ve ever had a child who loved you any more than your daughter does.” The marshal smiled, nodded, and disappeared behind the door. His wife handed off the two infants and returned inside as well. Art took a deep breath and said, “I figured out how we can tell if the boy is mine or yours right off the bat.” He pulled back the blanket covering their baby boy and said, “Yep, he’s mine all right.” “Oh for the love of Victoria! I can’t believe you think you can tell by looking there. He’s a few minutes old, for pity’s sake.” Art laughed as well. Then, he said, “I do, you know.” “Hell, don’t tell me,” Lane said. “Get in there and tell her. She’s waited for over a year for you to tell her what I say every day.” “I reckon I’ll get around to it.” “When?” Lane asked. He shrugged. “I’ll wait until the heat of passion.” “You may be waiting a few weeks.” Art shrugged then pointed at the small window. “It’s never too late to tell someone how you feel. Look at Victoria and her father. They’re as thick as thieves.” “They ought to be,” Lane said. “Thieves are the very reason we’re all standing here today.”

THE END WWW.BOOKSTRAND.COM/NATALIE-ACRES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Natalie Acres is one pseudonym for a best-selling Tennessee author multi-published in several genres. Natalie writes exclusively for Siren Publishing.

Also by Natalie Acres Ménage Everlasting: Country Roads 1: Sex Drive Ménage Everlasting: Country Roads 2: Pole Position Ménage Everlasting: Country Roads 3: Bang the Blower Ménage Everlasting: Cowboy Addiction 1: Sex Junkie Ménage Amour: Outlaws 1: Wanted by Outlaws Ménage and More: Bridled 1: Bridled and Branded Siren LoveXtreme: Bridled 2: Bridled and Saddled Siren LoveXtreme: Bridled 3: Bridled and Bucked Ménage Amour: Cowboy Sex 1: Sex Party Ménage and More: Cowboy Sex 2: Sex Games Ménage Amour: Cowboy Sex 3: Sex Camp PolyAmour: Cowboy Sex 4: Sex Holiday Ménage Amour: Cowboy Boots and Untamed Hearts Ménage Amour: Cowboy Boots and Unfinished Business

Available at BOOKSTRAND.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

Propositioned by Outlaws

Propositioned by Outlaws

Propositioned by Outlaws