Their Wayward Bride

Their Wayward Bride

By Vanessa Vale

©
2015 Vanessa Vale

All rights reserved.

No part of the book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the author.

Cover Design: RomCon - www.romcon.com

Cover Photo:
Period Images

When
Laurel Sinclair's uncaring father seeks to pawn her off in marriage
as part of a business deal, she seeks to avoid her fate by fleeing.
But running away in a Montana blizzard proves to be a terrible
mistake.

When
handsome ranchers Mason and Brody find the stranded redhead next to
her injured horse, they take her in and immediately decide to make
her theirs, convinced they can convert the beautiful stranger to an
unusual arrangement of marrying them both.

The
Bridgewater way of one woman marrying two husbands is foreign to
Laurel, but she soon grows to love the two protective men who awaken
her to a world of carnal pleasures she never knew existed. She grows
to love them for their guidance and protection.

But
will her happiness be threatened by the secret she harbors? Will
Mason and Brody still love her if they discover who she is? And what
will happen when her scheming father and the cruel man he wanted her
to marry finally track her down?

THEIR WAYWARD BRIDE

A Bridgewater M
é
nage

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREL

I'd never been so cold in my life. My fingers had gone from cold to
painful and now they were numb. My legs were warmer where they
squeezed the horse's sides. I'd thrown my scarf over my head and tied
it beneath my chin an hour ago, but it offered no real protection
from the snow. It had only been light flurries when I left the
stable, but now the flakes were thick and came down so heavily I
could see nothing in front of me. The wind had picked up and it blew
the snow sideways, the chill biting into my very marrow.

I was lost. Completely and absolutely lost, which meant I was going
to die. Virginia City had been my destination when I'd set off, the
town only two hours on horseback from home, but I'd been out for so
much longer, and the town was nowhere in sight. Of course, nothing
was in sight. My eyelashes were coated with snow and it was getting
harder and harder to remain awake. Falling asleep would be bliss,
especially with warm, thick blankets, a roaring fire and hot tea.
Dreaming as I was did nothing to change my predicament. I was going
to die. Foolishly.

But what had I been expected to do? Stay at the house and let Father
barter me off as part of a business transaction? Mr. Palmer had
dangled the sale of his land, along with several thousand head of
cattle, for me. Yes, I was the price. Perhaps not all of it, but the
man had made the financial amount reasonable enough for Father to be
hooked like a fish with a nice fat worm. Then, once he had my father
eager, he'd given him the true price. His daughter. I'd lived at a
school in Denver since I was seven, shipped away and forgotten for
fourteen years. Then, two months ago, a letter requested my return.
I'd thought, after all that time, my father had wanted me and I'd
foolishly grasped onto that hope. My illusions were shattered
yesterday when Mr. Palmer had arrived to meet me and the men had told
me their plan.

It was then I realized my true value for Father. I wasn't his
daughter,
but a prized mare he'd sold to the highest bidder.
He'd sent for me only to marry me off to Mr. Palmer and finalize his
deal. I was to be traded for a swath of land, cattle and water
rights. I'd been nothing to him all along, for I was the one who'd
killed his wife. She'd died birthing me so it had been my fault.

Marriages of convenience happened all the time in the Montana
Territory. A woman couldn't survive on her own without a man; that
was a given. But I hadn't even been in Simms, let alone Montana
Territory. I'd been a ward of the school in Colorado. Regardless, my
life was not my own; I would not be a pawn in Father's land
negotiations. Especially not when the price, for me at least, was so
high.

My prospective groom was at least fifty. He had three grown children,
two who were married and lived in Simms, the third in Seattle. It
might have been tolerable to be the man's wife while being younger
than his children, but the man was shorter than I, had a belly that
reminded me of a whiskey cask and had more hair on the back of his
hands than on his head. Worst of all, he was missing teeth, and the
ones that remained were yellow from chewing tobacco. And he smelled.
The man was repulsive. If he’d been tall and handsome and virile,
making my heart race and my cheeks flush in his presence, that would
have been something else altogether. Father had said the deal was
done, the contracts signed. The only legal work left was acquiring a
marriage license—and with tomorrow being Sunday, would be resolved
at the morning church service.

So instead of marrying Mr. Palmer, I was going to die. I, Laurel
Turner, chose to freeze to death over marrying an unattractive,
unappealing, overweight geriatric. My anger toward the man, and my
father’s lack of consideration for what I wanted, had me spurring
the horse harder.. Perhaps I could see a light, a house, a building,
anything in this frozen squall where I could seek shelter. Numbly, I
wiped my hand over my eyes in disbelief. Was that a light? A yellow
glow, muted and soft, appeared briefly through the snow, and then
disappeared.

Hope shot through me and I turned the horse in that direction.

MASON

"I'll get more wood for morning," I told Brody, who was
working at his desk. We were in the parlor, the fire in the hearth
heating the room and the house beyond against the bitter cold night.
Wind and snow rattled the windows. I went to one and pulled back the
thick curtain. All I could see was my own reflection and snow blowing
sideways. "I imagine the wood pile will be buried by then."

Brody looked up from some papers he'd been studying. "Is the box
in the kitchen full?"

"I'll check and stoke the stove before bed."

My friend just nodded and returned to his work. There wasn't much
ranching to be done in the dead of winter beyond making sure the cows
didn't drop dead out in weather such as this, and tending to the
horses. The days were short, the nights long. Only the heartiest of
men survived in the Montana Territory, but for me, for Brody and the
rest of the men from our regiment who built the Bridgewater Ranch, it
was home.

For Kane and Ian, they had their wife, Emma, to help them pass the
time, and with the noticeable way her belly was growing, they'd been
quite busy. Andrew and Robert had Ann and their infant son, Andrew,
Jr. to keep them quite occupied. It was the bachelors of Bridgewater
who endured the long winter nights, alone. I sighed, wondering if
Brody and I would ever find the woman for us. It wasn't an easy task,
finding a woman who would marry two men, for that was what we'd
have—a wife for both of us. That was our way, the way of the men of
Bridgewater—find a woman, make her ours, cherish, protect and
possess her for the rest of our lives.

I sighed to myself as I shrugged into my shearling coat, flipped up
the collar and slipped on leather gloves. A woman wouldn't be
appearing tonight, no matter how much I wished for it. As I opened
the back door, a blast of frigid air struck me full force, swirling
snow into the kitchen. I stepped outside quickly, shutting the door
behind me, keeping the warm air inside. On more clement weather, I
could see the lights of the other houses off in the distance.
Tonight, however, there was nothing but black and white. Stacked
beneath the eaves of the house was a pile of wood big enough to
sustain us for the winter. Grabbing a few logs, I piled them in my
arms, went inside, carried them into the parlor and piled them on the
hearth.

"Need help?" Brody asked, still at work.

I shook my head. "Another load here and one in the kitchen. I'm
going up to bed when I’m done."

"'Night," Brody replied absently, focused on his work.

Once again in the bitter outdoors, I piled more wood on my forearm.
It was as I picked up the last log that I heard a horse whinnying. I
paused. All the horses were in the stable for the duration of the
storm. They wouldn't survive outdoors on a night like this. No doubt
we'd have a cow or two dead by morning. The wind kicked up as snow
slid down my neck. Lifting my shoulders, I winced at the coldness
against my skin. I was hearing things.

There.

I heard it again. It was a horse. This time the whinny sounded more
like a scream. I'd heard it before, a horse in pain. Injured. I
looked out into the darkness, but could see nothing. No animal,
nothing was in sight, just snow. It was up to my ankles; no doubt the
accumulation would build overnight. By morning, the drifts would be
waist high if the wind sustained. Had one of the other men missed a
horse? Was it wandering out in this weather?

I put the pile of wood back, opened the door and yelled for Brody. He
came quickly.

"I heard a horse. I'm going to go look for it."

Brody was surprised. "That's odd. Could be the wind."

"Could be," I agreed. "I have to check. I don't want
to lose an animal to this."

He held up a hand. "You'll need a lantern, and take the rifle."
He went to the gun rack where six rifles were vertically aligned on
the wall, ready for any kind of emergency. On Bridgewater, there was
always a chance for danger. Brody picked one and checked the barrel
before handing it to me. He picked up another for himself.

"Give me five minutes, then fire a shot," I told him,
ensuring I knew which direction to turn to return. "I won't go
far."

"Don't get lost because I don't want to go out in that bloody
weather to find you." He grinned.

I couldn't blame him. I didn't want to go out in this weather either.
But I
had
heard a horse. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I
didn't check.

After slinging the rifle over my shoulder, I tucked my collar up
around my neck again and forged a path out into the snow. After about
ten steps, I paused, listening. Wind, nothing but wind. Wait. There.
I turned toward the sound, walked in that direction. One minute, then
two. Then another. It was slow going in the deep drifts, fighting the
wind. I finally saw it. The animal was only about ten feet in front
of me, lying on its side. Thankfully it had a dark coat, otherwise I
might have missed it. I squatted down by the head, heard it breathing
heavily, eyes wide and wild. Sweat coated the animal's fur, even in
this weather, and the snow was beginning to cling to it, pile on top
of him. The sound that escaped the animal was of pain, almost a
tortured scream. It had a bridle, the reins beginning to be covered
with snow. A saddle. Which meant there was a rider. Somewhere.

I stood and ran in a quick circle around the animal and found a dark
mass in the snow. A man. Was he dead? It would not be a surprise,
either from the elements or being tossed from the horse's back.
Thankfully, the snow was fairly deep and cushioned the fall. While
the horse made agonizing sounds, I put my hands on the dark coat of
the silent rider. It was not a broad man's physique I felt, but a
narrow waist, flared hips. A woman! Holy hell. A woman was out in
weather such as this.

I rolled her onto her back and her full breasts were beneath my
gloved palms. I could tell they were full, lush mounds even through
the layers of clothes. Her head had been protected by a tightly
wrapped scarf, but she'd been laying there long enough for an inch of
snow to cover her. I didn't even know if she was alive or dead. I
wouldn't waste time finding out now. She had to be out of the
elements and quickly.

The horse, however, was another matter. Leaving the woman, I went
back to the horse, looked down at his front legs. There, as I'd
suspected, was a nasty break, the bone sticking through the flesh in
a white jagged edge. He must have stepped in a prairie dog hole. It
was not uncommon and unfortunately, deadly. Cocking the rifle, I went
back to the horse's head, stroked its sleek coat, and aimed.

The shot rang out in the night, but was muffled by the snow and blown
away with the wind. I doubted any other men besides Brody would hear
the shot. If they had, they'd wait for two more, three in a row being
our signal for an emergency. No one would venture out in this weather
otherwise. It was clearly deadly.