Chapter 3
2355 Words
3
November
"May we see you home, Miss Travers?" Mr. Porter asked, standing among the congregation outside the town church. Both men held their hats as they looked earnestly at me. I couldn't help but swallow the thrill at having their attentions. It was unnerving; I was quite unused to one man's interest, but now, it seemed, I had two men interested. In me. Me!
I tried not to frown as I considered that. Why would both of them want to walk me home? As chaperones perhaps? I sighed as they watched me. Of course. It made complete sense, for I'd heard that Caroline Pickens had tried to corner—and capture—Mr. Quinn just a few weeks ago after a town meeting. Clearly, he didn't want to be trapped into a hasty marriage because of an overeager woman. He was just being courteous, and cautious, by having Mr. Porter walk with us.
I liked a courteous man, but that would not keep me warm at night, for Thanksgiving was quickly approaching and the frost was upon the ground in the mornings now. That meant the start of another long Montana winter. I wanted a man who made my body tingle at the thought of being kissed, needed to know what the rasp of calloused fingers felt like upon my skin. I wanted him to want only me.
I shivered thinking about Mr. Matthews. He most certainly wanted me. His attentions had just as much ardor, if not more, than either of the men from Bridgewater, but I did not long for him. I did not ache for him. I did not pleasure myself to thoughts of him.
The men were waiting intently for an answer, so I nodded my head and found my voice, pleased. "Yes, thank you."
They each took an elbow and guided me in the direction of the boarding house. Walking between them as I was, I felt so small and feminine. I also felt protected and sheltered from any kind of danger, perhaps even the likes of Mr. Matthews.
Both men were handsome, virile, and gave me the attention I expected—and longed for—from a suitor. Why were they being equally attentive and if the time ever came, how could I choose just one?
"We have heard the Arnolds have sold the boarding house," Mr. Quinn commented.
"Yes. The new owners will be taking over the business before Christmas."
"What of you?" Mr. Porter asked.
"I am a temptation the new owner's wife does not want near her husband, therefore I will seek employment elsewhere."
One of the men hmphed. "Your family lives in Miles City, I believe," Mr. Porter added. He remembered that small detail from a previous conversation.
I nodded. "Yes, my family is quite large and I would just be one more mouth to feed. Do not worry yourselves, I will be fine." I didn't feel quite that way, but I did not need to share that. The men stopped and Mr. Quinn turned to me. He was so close the buttons of his jacket brushed against my breasts through the fabric of mine. I had to tilt my head up to look at him. Mr. Porter stepped in close so that his front was against my back. I was surrounded. The combined feel of them, their scent, was heady.
"You will come to us if you ever have need," Mr. Quinn said. It had not been spoken as a question, but more a command.
While the needs he had in mind probably leaned toward moving a trunk to the stage, my mind turned to my more carnal needs I'd like him to fulfill. I felt myself flush.
"Both of us," Mr. Porter added with a deep voice and finality over my shoulder. His warm breath fanned over my nape and I shivered once again, this time for an entirely different reason.
"Marry?" I asked, my voice high pitched.
"I am a Justice of the Peace," the sheriff countered, as if I were questioning his abilities.
I took a step back, broadening the distance from Mr. Porter. "You want to marry me?" My heart was about to gallop out of my chest.
"I thought my attentions had been clear enough, but perhaps I was wrong."
I swallowed, but it was hard to form my thoughts, let alone a sentence. "But...I mean, that is...oh."
He took a step, then another so he could take my hands. Frowning, he worked the gloves off and tossed them to the floor, clearly frustrated he could not touch my skin directly. When he did, I gasped, the contact like lightning in a summer storm. I flicked a gaze up to his and he grinned.
"You should have come to me, to us—" he angled his head toward Quinn, "—instead of running away."
"I...I wasn't running from you."
"You need not worry about Mr. Matthews and his lies, for we know they are such."
"He told people I...I did things with him and that I stole from him." Tears burned the back of my eyes; the pressure of the man's avarice and mean plans was crumbling my resolve.
A finger beneath my chin tipped my head up. "Oh no. Don't succumb now. You've been so strong, so brave."
His words, not anything Mr. Matthews had done, had a tear slipping down my cheek and Porter wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "We know you are innocent, in every way."
"Then why did you pull me from the stage as if I were guilty?" I asked.
"You would not listen," Mr. Quinn said. "You needed a firm hand."
I wanted to contradict him, but Mr. Porter—Porter, cut in. "It worked, didn't it? We will be firm with you if the need strikes." He paused and let that settle in. "Now then, I apologize if my attentions were not clear enough for you. Please know, I have had my heart set on you from the first time we met."
My eyes widened. "That was two years ago!"
He grinned. "You're mine, Allison. You've been mine all along. Just say yes and I will make up for all the lost attention." He leaned in so that only I could hear. "I promise you will not doubt my interest, for it is very, very eager."
I licked my lips at the idea of this big, burly, virile man being eager. His size blocked out the others in the room, took the air completely away, made my body warm in a way the freestanding stove could not, and I had no choice but to nod. I might have been desperate to get away from Mr. Matthews, but I was not crazy enough to turn this man down. I'd wanted him since the first time I met him as well. I wanted to fulfill every carnal thought I ever had about him and—
Worry filled me, then shame. I leaned forward so our heads were close. "What about Quinn? He's been very attentive as well," I whispered. The man was in the same room and surely he knew his attentions had been for naught. Would Porter worry I might think of Mr. Quinn once we married?
Perhaps he saw the concern on my face, for he touched his forehead to mine and I could do nothing but look into his dark eyes. "All will be right. Trust me."
I nodded one more time and whispered, "Yes."
That one word was all it took for Mr. Porter to step back, slip his hand once again in mine, turn us both toward the sheriff and say, "We're ready."
"Wonderful," the sheriff said, rubbing his hands together. "A Christmas bride."
It was when Quinn moved to stand on the other side of me, standing tall and proud as witness, that I became Mrs. Allison Porter, sealed with a brief, chaste kiss. As my first, it was gentle and left me unfulfilled, but the look in Mr. Porter's eye held a promise of so much more.
He shook the sheriff's hand, as did Quinn. "We'll let you get back to your family."
"The wife's got a goose in the oven, and the grandkids will have eaten all the fudge by now if I don't claim my share. Stay here for a bit, warm up before your journey home," the sheriff commented as he shrugged on his coat, took his hat down.
"That's kind of you, sheriff. We'll take you up on that offer," Mr. Porter replied.
"Ma'am." He nodded to me as he put on his hat and went out into the cold.
Quinn shut the door behind him, and then bolted it. Both men turned to face me, then approached. I backed up until I ran into the bars of the single jail cell.
"Now, wife, tell me again your reasoning for not coming to us when Matthews threatened you?"
"Mr. Porter, I—"
"Just Porter, Mrs. Porter," he replied. "I repeat, why?"
He moved in so that his chest touched mine. The back of my head rested against one of the metal bars as I looked up at him. "Because...because he wanted to marry me and you didn't."
His brow arched. "I didn't?" Looking to Quinn, who'd moved to stand at my side, he repeated, "I didn't?"
Quinn shrugged as his finger came out to tuck a wayward curl behind my ear. The action was gentle and light, a complete contradiction to the size and tenseness of the man. "We made ourselves quite clear, on more than one occasion. We just didn't stoop to use slander or force."
"Did he force you, Allison? I'd swear that kiss we just shared was your first, but if he hurt one hair on your head—"
I shook my head fiercely. "No. He didn't touch me. He wanted me to marry him, but I did not wish it."
"Why is that?"
I took a breath. "Because he did not turn my head or pique my interest like—"
"Like what, angel?"
The endearment seemed to slip from Porter's lips easily and it felt...good.
I was married to Porter and there was no way to back out now. I could pound on the sheriff's front door, even hold his wife's fudge as hostage, but he couldn't unsay the words. I was Porter's wife and nothing I said or did could change that. So I told them the truth. "Like you and Quinn."
I watched the men's bodies relax before my eyes. Their shoulders lowered, their jaws unclenched.
"But...but that's not right," I added. "I'm sorry Quinn, I find you just as...appealing, but I'm married to Porter."
He smiled and little crinkles formed at the corner of his eyes. "That's true, but whomever Porter claims, I claim as well."
I frowned, unsure if I heard him correctly. "What?"
"You're my wife, too."
It was so close, almost suffocating standing with them looming over me.
"What Mr. Matthew's said about me is not true. I did not...lay with him. I am not a hussy to be handed about."
Porter's jaw clenched once again. "Of course, you're not."
"You will give me to your friend? Being married to you and given to Quinn, that makes me a hussy!" I tried to push at Porter's chest to get him to step back, to let me breathe a little bit, but he wouldn't move. It was like trying to move a mountain.
"I'm not giving you to Quinn," Porter said, his voice low as if riled. Perhaps he was, for I felt that way. "You are married to him as well. Many of the other men at Bridgewater were in the British army together and stationed in the country of Mohamir. This is their custom, more than one husband for a bride. They felt strongly enough in that country's ways to make them their own. We would not live and work at Bridgewater if we believed otherwise. It is our way as well. Being married to two men is the Bridgewater way."
"That's ridiculous. Laurel—"
"Is married to Mason and Brody."
My mouth fell open. "Olivia—"
"Is married to Rhys, Cross and Simon."
"She's married to three men?" I paused, and then realization dawned. "Oh God, I told the women I had eyes for Mr. McPherson that day I dropped off Rebecca's trunk." I covered my face with a hand.
"Rebecca belongs to him, and MacDonald."
I was mortified, sharing my girlish feelings with Rebecca about a man she'd just wed. "They must think I'm so silly!"
Quinn took a hold of my chin. "Nonsense. Our customs are not commonly known and we keep it that way. While we consider the two of us claiming you to be normal, others would not consider it as such. Dash's attentions were on Rebecca and that was the day I escorted you home and redirected you toward me, and Porter did the same soon thereafter," he commented. "Isn't that right?"
I glanced up at him through my lashes and nodded. Any interest I'd had in Mr. McPherson had been forgotten. Mr. Quinn released my chin and the skin there felt cold.
"We both paid interest to you after that because we wanted you. We never would have vied for your attentions. We wanted them equally. We want them equally."
"I thought just that, that you would fight each other," I murmured.
Porter shook his head. "We were both courting you. Together. Looking back, can you see it?"
I thought about how they'd escorted me about town, paid particular attention to me at town functions, stopped by the boarding house to say hello when they'd come to town—together and individually. While I'd been flattered and more than mildly pleased by their attentions, I hadn't considered it to be courting.
"Yes, but I couldn't imagine either of you being serious if both of you were attentive." I placed my hands on my hips. "I assumed you both knew about the other's...focus and couldn't imagine it being anything but courteous."
"We don't want to be courteous with you, at least not all the time."
"Not right now," Porter added, his voice deeper than I'd ever heard it.
I didn't know exactly what they were speaking of, but my heart hammered in my chest at the possibilities. "What do we do now? I...I do not know what to do." How did one go about being married to two men?
Something bright and hot flared in Porter's eyes. When I glanced at Quinn, he had a similar expression. "Now," Quinn said. "We make you ours."
- Writer
