Their Rebellious Bride

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1

JAMES

Of all the women in the Montana Territory, why did my balls ache for her? Tennessee Bennett was a handful. A handful dangerous to more than just herself, for I quickly discovered—once I’d gotten her to calm down enough to be coherent—she’d not only gotten herself kidnapped by a mad man, but had put my sister in the same room with him. Fortunately, after six days… six fucking days in the man’s clutches, Tennessee was now free, thanks to Abigail’s impetuousness assistance. Thankfully, both women had been whole and unharmed after the incident.

As for Abigail, her two husbands had tended to her and taken her home to Bridgewater. It had been difficult to let them see to her—it had been my role until now—and I would have to adjust to their marriage, but they would keep her safe. Happy.

And while Abigail had Gabe and Tucker, Tennessee had no one. No money. No place to live. No prospects for employment now that her schooling was complete.

What she did have was me, and I was going to ensure she was taken care of. I hadn’t protected Abigail in the fire all those years ago. She’d rescued me. The guilt of that, of the scar she bore, reminded me of my failing every time I looked at her. I would not do so again. I’d save Tennessee, no matter what it took. Kind words, a spanking or even a hard fucking.

To start, it appeared a spanking. Because while Abigail had sobbed and needed comforting and affection, Tennessee seemed to need nothing but the ability to vent her frustrations. On me.

James Carr, just because your sister is my closest friend doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do.

She looked up at me through her pale lashes. Those blue eyes, with dark circles beneath them from six days of worry and most likely sleeplessness, made me want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be just fine, but I couldn’t. Not now. I would not coddle. It was blatantly obvious—at least to me—she needed a stern hand for putting herself in such a predicament, and she would find that from me. I could only imagine coddling had gotten her into this mess, her father being too lenient in his rearing.

After what just happened? I countered. "You were kidnapped and held for ransom. Grimsby was going to kill you. I only knew all of this because she’d had to recount what had happened to the sheriff in charge. I took a breath, let it out, thinking of what could have been done to her. Abigail came to your rescue and you fled, leaving her in that man’s house. Alone."

I didn’t flee; I returned with the sheriff! she snapped. For one whose head only came up to my shoulder, she had a keen ability to look down her nose at me.

While Tennessee had no skills whatsoever to offer any kind of help in the situation they’d been in—and she had gone to get the sheriff—it was the fact that she’d pulled my sister into her own predicament that had me riled. And the fact that she’d put herself in such a danger in the first place.

Six days with that man.

It might be best, young lady, if you didn’t talk, otherwise I’ll find an empty alley and take you over my knee, I countered, leading her down the Butte sidewalk. The sooner we left town, the sooner we’d be alone where I could get her bent over my thighs, drawers down by her knees, ass bare and pink with my handprint.

I’d never raised a hand to a female, and I wasn’t going to start now. This one riled me so. Of spirit and body. A spanking would do her—and me—a world of good. So would fucking the daylights out of her.

Both might have similar results… Tennessee biddable and tamed, and both would be pleasurable for me. As for her? She might dislike a spanking to start, but she had a passionate nature, and no doubt she’d have a wet and needy pussy when done.

But first, I had to find someplace private to mete out this punishment—an alley wouldn’t do no matter how I threatened… and to calm down beforehand. The more she spoke, the less I settled.

The weather was quite warm, making for bustling streets. Wagons and horses with riders rode past. Tinny piano music carried from a saloon, which wasn’t surprising as there seemed to be one on every block. Wealthy copper kings mixed as pedestrians with ladies of the night and mine workers. I hated cities. The noise. The wild crush of humanity. I wouldn’t have come if not for Abigail’s disappearance. I wouldn’t be remaining if it weren’t for Tennessee. And not for very long.

I don’t want to go home with you, she snapped, tugging against my hold.

My hand was atop hers in the crook of my elbow to keep her from bolting, just as she was trying to do. I’d told her, in no uncertain terms, she was leaving Butte with me. I offered her no option, for she had no others.

"I don’t even know you," she added with a harrumph which caused her breast to bump into my upper arm. Inwardly, I groaned at the lush feel of her. While she barely came up to my shoulder, she had curves that were impossible to hide beneath her prim dress. The pale blue matched her eyes, but the cotton material covered her from neck to wrist to ankle. The garment was as innocent as she was. Perhaps not in disposition, but definitely in body.

Oh, that sass. I couldn’t wait to see it turned to more… intimate tasks.

For two years, since I’d first laid eyes on her at the finishing school, she’d filled my dreams, made my cock hard, forced me to frequently grip it and find relief with my hand while envisioning her long, pale tresses tangled in my fingers, the soft feel of her skin against mine, the sound of her moans as I pleasured her, the feel of her tight pussy as I filled her for the first time.

I gritted my teeth, knowing she’d gone to Grimsby and put her life in danger when she could have come to me, and I would have saved her. That was done. Her father was dead and Grimsby on the way to jail.

After two years, Tennessee Bennett was mine. I’d waited because she’d been too young, and I’d wanted her to finish school. But I’d been sick, and while I’d thought it a simple summer cold, the doctor Abigail had summoned thought otherwise. An irregular heartbeat that indicated a weakness of the organ. Most likely an early demise. He’d looked grim at his diagnosis, as if I would drop at any time. I felt recovered from the cold, even if still tired. Was that because I was dying or that I just needed some sleep—and less stress? Perhaps I would die soon, but I had no intentions of doing so before I lived. Before I had what I wanted, and that was Tennessee.

Abigail wouldn’t stand in the way, not that I doubted she’d object to our union; she was married and had kept her own secrets. I would keep my health a secret until I was able to return to the doctor.

Now, nothing kept of us from being together—weak heart be damned—except perhaps Tennessee herself. It was time. She wasn’t just ready, she needed a real man. I would see her happy, settled, cared for. Cherished. Loved. I’d give her the moon if I could.

I am not a stranger. I am your closest friend’s brother, I countered, twisting her earlier words to my liking.

She pursed her full lips. What do you plan to do with me? she asked, one pale brow arched.

Fuck, she was so lovely. It seemed I was a glutton for punishment because my cock didn’t want a biddable, meek woman for a wife. No, it got hard for this little hellcat who seemed more inclined to want to stomp on my balls instead of cupping them in the palm of her hand and feeling how much seed was in them to fill her virgin pussy.

Marry you, of course. And not just a regular marriage, a Bridgewater one. Do you know what that is?

Her eyes widened. Marry? she squeaked. I don’t want to marry you.

Clearly, she only heard my first sentence, not the others, for then she’d know it wouldn’t just be me who claimed her, but Jonah Wells, too. Having two husbands would ensure she’d always be safe, that no harm would ever come to her. It was an instant decision. She was beside me and we would marry. But I’d been sick. I was sick, per the doctor. I wanted Tennessee, but I didn’t want to leave her—and possibly a child I might get upon her—alone if the diagnosis was accurate. Jonah Wells was the perfect candidate. The only person with whom I could imagine sharing a wife.

He was to come to Butte and help me search for Abigail—I’d left the ranch in haste with Tucker and Gabe and had him summoned to come and assist—but had yet to lay eyes upon him. That wasn’t surprising since it had taken time for us to track Abigail to Grimsby’s house. We would come upon him, I was sure.

Why not? Grimsby was your latest conquest and you were prepared to marry him. I can’t imagine him being your first attempt.

I had Tennessee in my grasp, and I was not waiting for Jonah’s arrival to make things official. In a Bridgewater marriage, he’d still be her husband as well, ceremony or not. I knew he’d take one look at Tennessee and want her just as readily. Vows read, I’d know once and for all she’d be safe.

Her eyes narrowed and she blushed, her pale skin giving away the truth without her uttering a word. She’d been husband hunting. Wealthy husband hunting and it had turned out disastrous. So bad her father had been murdered. Fuck, she was going to push me to insanity. Apoplexy might be an easier demise.

I might be a simple rancher, but I don’t drink to excess, don’t swear—at least in front of women, I have all my hair, my teeth, I shared, placing a hand on my chest. I had money, too. Quite a bit of it along with a huge swath of land. As my wife, she would want for nothing, but I would not wed her because of it. I’m exactly what you’ve been looking for.

And she was just what I’d been looking for. Her wild temperament and all.

I took her arm, led her down the street once more. Come, if you’re going home with me, we need to find a preacher first. Then a bed.

She tugged and shouted. "No! You told me I was going with you. You gave me no choice. I don’t want to go with you, let alone marry you."

Our progression was halted by a man who was rolling a wooden barrel from the dirt street toward a saloon, crossing our path.

I arched a brow. Why was she being contrary? "You have no option but to marry. You wouldn’t have attempted luring Mr. Grimsby into the parson’s noose otherwise. I