Regan [The Sisters O'Ryan 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3

  “Perhaps,” he offered.

  “Trust me,” Hay added. “In all my travels I’ve never seen anyone who knows nature like Seth. If he can’t find water, it isn’t here.”

  “Hay, stop.”

  “No. Please, Seth, I want to hear.” She hesitated, setting her spoon down and sitting back in the chair. “I know you will both think very ill of me for asking, but, if it doesn’t disrupt your plans too very much, would you consider staying and looking for water? I know everything is green now, but I have been told that the summers are very dry and hot. Something must be done to bring water closer or the farm will fail. And that means I will also, something I’m not prepared to accept if I can help it.”

  “Of course we will stay. And we don’t think poorly of you at all.” Hay’s dimples dented his cheeks. He covered her hand with his.

  “Wait a minute,” Seth said. “What about others? What about the people in town? They will think poorly of you.”

  “Damn, Seth. They think you’re here with a woman named Francis. All my life I’ve looked for an upside to having a feminine-sounding name, and now here it is. You go into town for supplies, and no one will be the wiser.”

  Ignoring Hay, Seth stared at her, as though seeking her honest thoughts. “Are you sure?”

  “I would be honored and grateful. And I’d pay you, of course.”

  “Nonsense,” Hay said. “Helping you is our pleasure, especially if you’ll cook. This dinner is delicious.”

  “Thank you. Thank you both.” She dabbed her lips with the napkin and took a healthy gulp of the cool water trying to settle her tumbling stomach.

  What had she done? Not content with risking ruination by inviting the men to stay at her place for the night, she had just asked them—no, begged them—to stay on indefinitely, not something a woman of high morals did.

  Holy mother of God, she was going to Hell for sure. And worse than that, she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry.

  * * * *

  Fool, fool!

  Seth lay in bed, his good arm behind his head, and stared at the dark ceiling. Hay snored in the bed next to his, oblivious to Seth’s tossing and turning. He should have left here as soon as he saw Regan Stone owned the place. As much as he wanted a job, as much as he wanted a place he could start to put down roots, he should have known this particular job would be like letting a fox work in a henhouse. She was too beautiful, too high in station, and he was naught more than a damaged, dirt-poor wanderer. But she treated him with dignity, as though he were still whole. Before the war, before he lost his arm, he would have fought for such a woman, class and station be damned. Back then, strong and confidant, he would have won her, too.

  Oh, yes. Regan Stone would have wanted him, just as many women had. He took his pick of bed partners at the end of cattle drives then, and he’d been choosy. But Regan wouldn’t be just someone to fuck. No, she deserved much more, and he would have given it to her, all he had in him as a man. Their nights together would set the world ablaze. Of that he had no doubt. But their days filled his imagination now, hours of conversation, of dreams, of children and living life as one. He wanted her with a fire he’d never known. How in hell could he stay?

  Damn Hay! He recalled their post-dinner conversation and the way Hay roped him into a decision he didn’t want.

  “She needs us. That’s why we’ll stay,” Hay said as they each carried a bucket of water from the pool off the Umatilla that Regan used for fresh water. “She’ll never make it to harvest without help. We’re here, and we’re the best she’ll find.”

  They left their burdens in the kitchen. Regan saw them to the door with mention of breakfast being ready at sunrise, and they retired to a bench outside the tidy little bunkroom to relax before bedding down. Seth lit his pipe, and Hay drew on a cigar. That was when Seth let Hay have it for interfering.

  “Our being here isn’t right. It’s not good for her, and it’s not good for us.”

  Hay had fired back. “Can you honestly tell me you can leave her here alone? Are you that much of a selfish son of a bitch? Will you go back into town for a menial job, just to watch from afar? If you can do that, then you’re not the man I know.”

  “You practically tricked her into asking for our help.”

  “She needs it, Seth. And I’ll tell you something else, too. She needs a man.” Hay pulled hard on his cigar. “Or two,” he murmured. “Remember those twins in—”

  “For Christ’s sake, you bastard!” Seth’s eyes opened wide. “She practically just buried her husband.”

  “There’s something about that,” Hay mused. “I’d bet a good portion of my inheritance that she didn’t love her husband.”

  “You’re crazy as hell.” Seth knocked the tobacco from the bowl of his pipe. “And I’m not gonna sit here and listen to crazy talk.”

  “Suit yourself,” Hay said amiably. “But you know I’m usually right. You understand nature. Women are my expertise.”

  Seth stood and went inside, where he’d lain sleepless ever since. Everything in him shouted, run! As soon as they put in the well, he would do his best to find a decent couple to come out and help her with the farm. He’d move on to the next place, a safer place. His sanity couldn’t take much more of evenings like this. Her gentle manner had nearly undone him tonight.

  His missing arm didn’t seem to bother her. How could she not be repulsed? His fiancée hadn’t been able to look at it when he returned from the war, and then she couldn’t bear looking into his eyes, either. That was the kind of reaction he’d become used to, not Regan’s calm, almost tender curiosity. After he deposited his bucket, she had taken a moment to ask one question. She had asked if the stump just below his elbow hurt. No one asked that excepting children who didn’t fully understand, either what they saw or their inquiry.

  A kid didn’t know that missing an arm—even from just the elbow down—meant a man couldn’t truly hold a woman. He couldn’t explore her womanly folds with one hand, feeling her cream on his fingers and her heat engulf each knuckle as he probed, while his other hand fed soft flesh and a hard nipple into his mouth. A phantom hand couldn’t help hold a man above a woman to best fill her pussy with every inch of his cock.

  No, missing an arm meant much more than any child grasped. The ache in his loins when he thought about those things made his loss a living, breathing thing. Regan hadn’t seem to care that his arm was missing, just that he should let her know if he ever suffered so that she could help. Unfortunately, she was in no position to help with what he suffered from right now.

  Throwing back the thin blanket covering his lower half, Seth sat up on the edge of the bed. Bunking off the ground was a luxury, but one he no longer found familiar enough for sleep. He worked his way into his pants. Using his stump, he dragged over his boots. Dawn would break shortly, so he might as well give up trying to sleep. He’d go for a walk and see if that wouldn’t clear his mind for the day ahead.

  A cool wind off the river forced him into a jacket. Habit had him strapping on his Colt. Walking around the barn rather than through it kept him from disturbing Koda. The horse would have stood and listened to him talk—Lord knows he’d done that enough during the last couple of years since Koda proved easier to discuss his thoughts with than people. Instead, Seth kept to the shadows.

  An owl swooped down a few feet away, scoping out a meal. The night surrounded him with all its sounds and smells. Leaves shuddered in the wind, rustling in the darkness. Squirrels chittered in anticipation of light cresting the mountains.

  On this side of the mountains, rays of moonlight illuminated the house. Seth leaned against the barn, blending into the night. What was Regan doing right now? If she slept, did she dream of her husband? Did he make love to her in her sleep, filling her fantasies as only a husband had the right to do? Did he kiss her, touch her secret places, and press his claim again and again?

  “Damn,” he whispered to the wind, “the man’s dead, and I’m jealous as hell.”


  Just as he started to turn away, a soft light filled the side window of the house. Regan woke early, too. It couldn’t be much past five.

  Suddenly, before he even realized what was happening, a shapely silhouette appeared, framed in the window. A thin fabric covering the window hid her from direct sight, but when she reached up to remove her gown, nothing shielded her curves. He sucked in a breath. No amount of imagination could have prepared him for this. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Seeing her like this, visible but not, held more allure than if she had stood there naked.

  Regan reached back to gather her hair. Seth had admired the beautiful auburn color at dinner surreptitiously. Now he pictured silky waves falling loosely over her shoulders and down her back. She twisted the bunch into a coil nestled on her nape. The highlighting flame guttered and then fluttered before finally gaining life again, making the whole scene surreal.

  Standing sideways, she raised one arm. A bathing sponge in the other hand glided the length from hand to torso. He imagined glistening, wet skin left in its wake. She repeated with the other arm. Her stance clearly showed full, round breasts. Were her nipples puckered in the chill air?

  She changed position. Narrow hips flared below her tapered waist would lead to long, trim legs. The hair at the apex of her thighs would be thick and dark, like that on her head.

  He licked his lips although his mouth was dry, and he had to remember to breathe. Randy as a young buck ready to mount his first girl, he drank in her silhouette. Impossible, but he swore he scented her arousal when she turned her head toward the window as though she saw him. His cock throbbed with need. In other circumstances, in another time and life, he would have strode to the door and kissed her into submission.

  The image of her beneath him, hot and anxious for his dick, consumed him. Sweat broke out on his brow. Without conscious effort he stroked the bulge pressing against the front of his trousers. He burned for her.

  Seth turned away but too late. Her silhouette would stay with him forever. After such intimate knowledge, how could he face her tomorrow?

  He stumbled back to the bunkhouse, wishing he was alone so he could bring himself relief. Damn Hay for getting him into this impossible situation. Staying meant nights dreaming of what he just saw, then seeing her every day, knowing she deserved so much better than him. And knowing she knew it, too. But leaving would doom her to likely failure, or reliance on someone she shouldn’t, in a foolish determination to succeed.

  “You okay?” came Hay’s sleepy voice.

  “No.”

  “That’s good.” In seconds his deep breathing filled the room.

  Sitting on the edge of his bunk, Seth dropped his head in his hand. He forced his mind clear of everything for a few moments and then examined his first thought.

  Maybe he’d picked something up over the years after all. Hadn’t Hay spouted off once or twice about Shakespeare’s notion that men were masters of their own fates? Well, Seth mastered his fate, as much as possible. Regan faced a monumental task on this farm alone. He had no choice, really. He had to help her make it work. Not to do so would make him even less a man than he already felt, and that was not an option.

  * * * *

  Hay faked sleep, swallowing his sigh. He had awakened when Seth stole from the bunkhouse, and he’d lain staring at the ceiling until his friend climbed back into bed.

  Seth’s restlessness the past several months had worried Hay. They’d known each other for a good many years, and Hay had seen signs of discontent building steadily in the past eight or nine months, before they’d joined the wagon train. Hay thought the search for gold in the Black Hills would hold Seth’s interest, but he was only marking time. When Hay suggested they head for the coast, Seth suggested Portland instead of the more obvious destination, San Francisco. So, they’d taken the path of the wagon train, though a month or two later. Having met Regan Stone, Hay half thought Seth had planned to find her again, but the look of surprise on Seth’s face when he realized who stood before them had been real.

  What about this woman had attracted his introspective friend? She was lovely, no questioning that. But they’d met beautiful women from Texas to the Dakotas without Seth taking an interest. Hay remembered the night Seth came back to their camp having met with David Stone and his wife. He’d been even quieter than usual, mentioning that he’d met the wife but saying nothing more. What it was in that that Hay picked up on, he couldn’t say, but he’d intuited something.

  Now Seth had stumbled on Mrs. Stone again. And she was free. Whether that was good news or bad, Hay couldn’t decide. What he did know was that if it looked as though being here would soothe Seth’s troubled soul, Hay planned to help make it happen before he forged on westward.

  However, if the lovely Regan Stone did anything to hurt Seth in the short or the long term, she’d have him to deal with.

  Chapter Three

  Regan opened the door to find Seth and Hay sitting on the top porch step. “Good morning.”

  The men rose. Hay’s hair blew in the morning breeze. Seth whipped off his hat. “Ma’am.” His eyes focused on a point over her shoulder, and he appeared decidedly uncomfortable. Surely he didn’t harbor ill will because she asked about his arm last evening.

  “Come in. I’m sorry you waited out there. I didn’t know you had arrived.”

  “It’s a very pleasant morning,” Hay said. “We were enjoying it, weren’t we, Seth?”

  “There wasn’t any Shakespeare, anyways.”

  Regan smiled and went to the stove for the coffeepot before taking her seat. She gestured to the table. “It’s not a huge breakfast, but I hope it will hold us until midday.”

  “Everything looks fine,” Hay said. He served himself and passed the dish of scrambled eggs to Seth. “You’re obviously not a farm wife, Regan. Did your husband farm at some point?”

  “No. Back home he clerked in a mercantile.”

  Frowning, Seth cut his eggs into the sausage patties she served onto his plate. If she had known of the men’s arrival beforehand, she would have stocked the larder. Her father enjoyed biscuits and gravy at every meal. She would have to go to town and shop more for a man’s appetite. A tiny thrill ran through her in anticipation. Had she missed a man’s company so much? No, cooking for these men pleased her. Seth stirred dark passions deep within, and Hay made her smile. Two sides of her personality thrilled to their company.

  Yet a thread of guilt gripped her. Davey hadn’t been dead more than half a year. Technically, she should still wear mourning. At home, only now would she be allowed to wear gray instead of solid black.

  Seth spoke up. “If it isn’t too painful to talk about your husband, do you mind if I ask what possessed him to come west to farm? It’s hard work even if you know what you’re doing. I don’t mean to insult him, you understand.”

  “My father asked him the same thing. Davey disliked what he did and yearned for adventure. When his cousin wrote, extolling the virtues of the West, Davey decided to follow him. Then his cousin returned to North Carolina, selling him this property.” She shrugged. “We were young.”

  “You’re still young,” Hay said, admiration filling his voice.

  She lifted her gaze to find him studying her. Earlier this morning while she bathed, she’d sensed someone watching her. Had it been Hay? Was he a gentleman by day, a voyeur by night? She’d peered into the blackness but discerned no one. Still, the feeling remained, joined with an illicit wetness between her legs, a pleasure at the idea of being watched. “Thank you, Hay.”

  Seth focused on the food on his plate. “Have you given thought to sellin’ and goin’ home yourself? With luck and lots of hard work, your husband might have made a go of this, but—again, no offense—you’re a woman alone.”

  “But I’m not alone, Seth. I have you and Hay.”

  He snorted. “Half a cowboy who hasn’t farmed in years and another who’s never pushed a plow behind a mule is not a tea
m I’d bet money on.”

  “You’re not half a cowboy, Seth, and I’d prefer not to hear you characterize yourself as such. I think…I think you’re more man than most ‘whole’ men I know.”

  Sweet mother of God, what had possessed her? She surely must be coming down sick to spout off like that. A quick glance confirmed that both men stared at her, Hay with amusement in his eyes and Seth with his mouth almost hanging open.

  “I apologize for being forward, but it’s true. A woman shouldn’t be thought bold merely for speaking the truth.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree, Regan.” Hay picked up a morsel of egg and sausage and continued eating as though she had commented on the sunshine instead of baring her soul. She liked Hay and was struck by the realization that there was much more to him than silky charm and good looks.

  Seth’s coffee cup sat empty. “Would you like coffee?” she asked. Nothing like changing the subject.

  He took a moment to answer. “I’m obliged, ma’am.”

  Regan wondered if he thanked her for the coffee or her comment. That he was back to “ma’am” didn’t escape her notice.

  She cleared her throat. “To answer your earlier question, when Davey died, for a brief time I gave thought to returning home. But I think I knew I would never do it. Maybe I shared his quest for adventure, or maybe I was simply ready for a new beginning. Either way, I was bound to come and take possession of our property. And here I am.”

  “You are indeed.” Hay saluted her with his cup before drinking.

  “I mean to stay until it’s proven I have failed.”

  “We assuredly will do everything we can to help you succeed. Why don’t we start the day with a ride around the farm. How large is it?”

  “A quarter mile beyond the barn is a line of aspen trees. I own about a hundred yards past them, down to the Umatilla, up to the trail, and two hundred yards back up beyond the cabin.”

  Hay whistled in admiration. “That’s a lot of land.”