Sharing Amelia Read online

  Sharing Amelia

  Timber Creek Brides

  A Historical Western Menage Romance

  by

  Samantha Madisen

  Copyright 2017 Samantha Madisen

  Thirteenth Line Publications

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those that are clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, companies, organizations, events, or products, is purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted in this story are 18 years or older.

  Cover characters are models. Image(s) is/are licensed from:

  depositphotos.com/periodimages.com

  If you enjoy this story, we'd love it if you spent a few minutes checking out the rest of our catalog at Thirteenth Line Join the Thirteenth Line mailing list, to get notified about our releases.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Also by Samantha Madisen for Thirteenth Line

  "Wh-what?!? What are you doing?" I asked, wriggling on his knee to try and cover myself and stand up at the same time.

  It was no use. His strong hand pressed on the small of my back, locking me in place on his lap.

  My body went rigid beneath his firm grip.

  I can not describe the embarrassment I felt, knowing that my softest, most intimate parts were on full view for both men to stare at.

  "Amelia," Colt said, but his voice had changed. Still stern, there was a note of curiosity to it now as well. "Amelia you've been a bad girl, throwing the tantrum you did. You'll soon get a spanking for that. But there's something else I want to ask you about first."

  My heart was thundering, my whole body humming in anticipation of what he might do. The ache between my legs had grown to become almost unbearable.

  His rough, weathered hand came to rest on the soft cheek of my behind.

  I gasped, squeezed my eyes shut and balled my hands into fists.

  When he pulled me apart, revealing the softest, most private place I had to be dripping wet, I nearly began to cry.

  "Have you ever had a man touch you in this way?" Colt asked quietly.

  What?!? Of course I had not! What sort of a question... I merely shook my head, desperate to get whatever was about to happen, over with as quickly as I could.

  His fingers slid ever lower.

  My buttocks tightened as the tips grazed my... back hole and then, grazed roughly against my soft folds. I cried out.

  "Sh-sh-sh-sh... " Colt said.

  He was touching me! He was touching my... womanhood. He was touching my soft, wet place with his fingers, rubbing them around as if he knew what it was doing to me, as if he knew it was making the ache better, but worse at the same time.

  Chapter 1

  Amelia

  I don't normally speak this way but I can honestly say it was hot as sin in that stagecoach.

  The noon-day sun was beating down through the wooden roof and with the driver trying to save the horses we weren't going nearly fast enough for a breeze, hot as it would have been.

  My heart was beating fast enough just from the heat, not to mention that I would be at my destination soon.

  I folded one hand inside the other in front of me. It gave me comfort, the way holding someone else's hand might. I sat a little more upright on the bench and looked out the window into the glaring light.

  In the distance, a few houses or shops, whatever they were, had begun to dot the landscape. Seeing them sent a ripple of nerves trembling through me.

  It meant we were close. It meant I was close to my destiny.

  It had not been easy, leaving Boston and the familiar northwest and embarking into the unknown. I had been sure that father would have had something, some kind of legacy to leave behind after his death.

  You can imagine my shock when Mr. Ellison, our family lawyer, told me the money father had worked so hard to earn had been gambled away in the last few years of his life.

  He'd taken to the drink, father had, after mother had died. I'd said nothing because... well, because that was a man's business and not mine. He was still a good provider and I was only eighteen and though he loved me and never would have laid a hand on me it did not seem like my place to point out his vice.

  I suppose I blame myself for his death. Perhaps if I'd said something, if I'd had more courage to say something, he might have stopped and still been alive.

  None of that mattered now. What was done was done and best left in the past. Now all I could do was hold my head high and hope that everything would turn out alright.

  The stage coach came to an abrupt stop. Peeking out the window I realized I'd become so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed we'd come into the town and stopped in front of what looked to be a saloon.

  I drew in a quick breath and not by my own choice. It was the sort of place one would see back home on the poorer side of town. A ramshackle clapboard structure whose outside had been ground down by the wind and the sand and the desert sun.

  My heart skipped a beat as I heard the driver dismount. His footsteps crunched across the hot gravel sand and a moment later the latch turned and the door swung open letting in another blast of heat.

  "This'll be you, ma'am," the driver said, stooping to unfold the step below the coach.

  I tried to swallow away the tightness in my throat. I'd thought of this moment countless times over the past months.

  Born and raised in the city by two loving parents, upstanding members of their community and church, I could only imagine what a life in the harsh, hot desert surrounded by cowpokes and ruffians might be like.

  I'd read a book or two as a child about the west. Snuck to me by Sunday school friend Agnes, of course, my parents never would have allowed me to read such a thing in our own home.

  I remember the terror of imagining what the lives of women living out here must be like.

  Now I was to find out first hand.

  The driver offered his hand as I put my foot on the step. I took it, if only to steady the shake in my arm brought on by my nerves.

  It had quickly become clear to me that this was the only option in my life. Well, there were other, more tasteless paths I could have taken. This, at least, would have the legitimate blessing of the Lord.

  I would be properly married, in a proper church by a proper pastor, so I had been assured by the agency. Even if it was not the wedding I had always dreamed of, at least it would be that and not a dirty bed at a house of sin.

  My hat offered a modest protection against the glare but none against the heat of the sun. Stepping onto the burning sand, I could feel it heating the soles of my shoes.

  I straightened and glanced around as the driver rounded the coach to retrieve my small trunk.

  The street, though it could barely be called that, was empty. In fact it seemed like there was no one in the town at all, so quiet were the surroundings.

  I startled at the sound of the saloon doors swinging open and boots stepping out onto the porch.

  Two men emerged.

  One was tall and broad in the shoulders. He wore a black v
est over a white shirt and black trousers along with a black wide-brimmed hat.

  All that black made me hot just looking at him.

  He did have the most striking blue eyes.

  I looked away toward the ground and said a quick prayer of repentance for noticing such an earthly thing. His gaze drew me back.

  His jaw was strong and he wore a light stubble on it.

  My stomach fluttered at the sight of him, though I wasn't quite sure why.

  His companion might have been a bear if he'd had more fur. He was a burly fellow with a barrel chest and a shock of red hair. Hair covered his muscled forearms and the rest of him was covered by a white shirt and brown trousers.

  Surprisingly, neither of the men wore chaps or boots, as I had expected cowboys would.

  They seemed to both be waiting for something or someone and my heart did another little dance inside my chest at the thought that one of them was waiting for me.

  I wondered which one it might be?

  "Miss Amelia Anders?" the dark one asked, stepping into the heat of the sun. He seemed not bothered in the least by it.

  I folded my hands together in front of myself so tightly my nails dug into my palms. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead but I did not dare move to wipe it off. "Yes. I mean... I-I am Amelia Anders," I replied.

  So this was the one. This man was to be my husband. This was the person I was to spend the rest of my life with.

  "Will that be all then, ma'am?"

  I turned at the sound of the driver's voice to see that he had removed my luggage, closed the door of the carriage and was waiting, hat in hand. It took a moment for me to realize what for.

  A bit flustered, I fumbled to open my purse and pull my wallet from it when the gentleman in black and white stepped forward, hand cupped and dropped some coins into the drivers outstretched hand.

  If my cheeks hadn't been red enough from the sun and the sand, they were surely red with embarrassment now. I felt as if my face might light afire, it was so hot.

  "Thank-you sir," the driver mumbled and retreated back up onto his perch. A moment later the whip cracked and the caravan rumbled to life, hooves clopping and wheels turning until it rolled out of view behind the saloon.

  Then it was just I and the gentleman in black and white and the other gentleman still watching us from the porch.

  And all I wanted to do was to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come out.

  "Ms Anders?"

  "Yes?" I muttered, avoiding his eyes.

  "My name's Colt Sparks. I'm to be your husband."

  The words sent a thrill and a heat and a shiver rushing through me all at once. I swallowed back the urge to cry.

  It wasn't even that I was so terribly sad, it was an adventure of sorts, after all. It's just that I hadn't envisioned any of this happening at all the way it was.

  Now that I was standing there ready to seal my fate, I couldn't help but wonder what mother and father would have thought at how this had all ended up. Or pastor Thomas from back home.

  I bit the inside of my cheek as hard as I could to keep myself from crying.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sparks." Somehow I found the courage to look up into those piercing blue eyes.

  One corner of his mouth curled, then cracked into a smile.

  I dare say it put me at ease, the way he smiled at me. I suppose I'd envisioned a hard man, a man who barely talked and never smiled. This was... well, it was a relief.

  "I think," he began, then, glanced at his friend before looking back at me, "considering the circumstances, you should call me Colt," he said in a friendly but firm way. "And, may I... "

  It took me a moment to understand what he was referring to. I wanted to kick myself at the way my face lit up in another fiery blush. "Of course. Of course, Mr. Colt, er, Colt. Please, call me Amelia."

  His smile widened and moved into his eyes. "Amelia," he said softly. "It's a terribly pretty name."

  My goodness I'd never wanted to cry so much for no reason in my whole life.

  "Amelia, I have a question for you, if you don't mind," he asked.

  I managed a smile of my own back at him because up until this point I'd been deathly serious. "No. Of course I don't."

  "What were you told by the agency before you left?"

  "What was I told?"

  "Yes," he said, nodding. "About our... situation here."

  "Why," I began, racking my mind to recall any specific detail that might have seemed of particular importance. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

  Once again he turned back and looked at the brawny fellow on the porch, a little longer this time. He turned back to me with a sigh. "I was afraid of that," he said quietly. "Why don't we step inside for a moment? Perhaps you'd like a drink?"

  I stiffened as he waved his hand back toward the entrance to the saloon.

  Of course I should have guessed as much that moving out here to the desert would have me entering saloon's and other such dens. I suppose I thought I would have more time to ask the Lord's forgiveness before I did.

  "Is something the matter?" Colt asked.

  "Um... no," I replied. "Nothing at all."

  I had chosen this life. No matter what happened, where I was asked to go or what I was asked to do, I was determined that I was going to be a good wife.

  Mounting the stairs with the help of Mr. Sparks, er, Colt, I stopped at the top as his brawny friend was blocking my way.

  "Amelia?" he asked.

  "Yes?" I replied, my heart fluttering at what this fellow might want from me.

  "I'm Baird but everyone calls me Bear," the big man said with a large, welcoming smile. "I am... I am just so honoured that you have chosen to be our wife," he said, rubbing his hands together and nodding his head.

  The blood left my cheeks. My head snapped sideways to where Colt was standing.

  He had his hand up, as if he'd been trying to stop Baird from speaking.

  I looked back at Baird. His expression had changed from excitement to what looked like horror. I turned back to Colt. "I beg your pardon?" I whispered. "What's the meaning of this?"

  Colt sighed. "That's... you see, that's what I meant to talk to you about," he said. "We told the agency that we couldn't afford a woman each and they agreed that for a slightly higher fee they would send one for both of us."

  My mouth dropped open. My breath came fast and shallow and my heart thudded against my ribs. "B-both of you?"

  Colt looked to Baird then back to me. "I was assured that you would be informed of this."

  Informed?

  Informed?!?

  A weakness came over me. The world began to spin.

  I suppose if there was a good time to faint, this was it.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  Colt

  "Get her upstairs! George get us a tall glass of lemonade!"

  Bear had one foot on the stairs already when George spoke up. "You'll be better off in the cellar."

  "What?" I asked.

  "I said you'll be better off in the cellar. There's not much space but it's likely to be cooler down there. Upstairs'll be hotter'n hell."

  I looked at Bear and nodded. He was right. Stepping toward the bar, I waited for George to pour out the lemonade into a glass.

  He glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised, causing the skin under his widow's peak to furrow. "You and your crazy ideas," he muttered.

  "She sure is pretty," I said, turning to look at the door to the stairs where Bear had disappeared.

  "You might have waited to tell her about your hare-brained scheme until she'd acclimatized a little, wouldn't you say?"

  I shook my head. Once again, George was right. "Wasn't me. Bear opened his big mouth and hit her right over the head with it as soon as she was up the steps."

  "Course he did," George replied. He pushed the tall glass of lemonade across the counter. "And how in the hell do you boys plan on... executing this plan, exactly?" he ask
ed.

  I shook my head. I liked George and he gave good advice but sometimes he could be a little nosy. "Now that's just none of your business, is it?" I said with a friendly smile.

  "It might not be right now," George replied, wiping a few drops of lemonade he'd spilled with a white rag, "but I can guarantee you people are going to come out asking questions about just what's going on. You're better off giving me something to tell them than just pretending like they won't."

  "Asking questions? Why?"

  George sighed, shook his head and sat down on a stool behind the bar, mopping his forehead with the rag this time. "Son, you know the way people are! You and that big beast of a man living up on that ranch the two of you with just one woman. What do you think, people have enough to do around here not to ask questions about a thing like that?"

  I looked back at the open door to the stairs. Once again, George was right. "What do you figure we should tell them?" I asked.

  George shrugged. "Your circus, your monkeys. Better come up with somethin', though."

  I'd have to think about that one. "She sure is pretty though," I muttered again.

  "Go on," George said, "go get her that water. She's probably woken up."

  I made my way across the rickety floorboards of the saloon and down into the darkness of the cellar. Bear had seated himself on an old wooden stool and was cradling the little lady in his arms.

  George had been right, it was cooler down there.

  Her eyes fluttered open. A moment later, she let out a powerful shriek and jumped out of Bear's arms, stumbling back into the darkness.

  "Wow, easy there!" Bear said, reaching out and catching her easily behind her back before she fell over.

  It took her a moment of holding a hand to her chest and looking frantically from one to the other of us before she remembered who we were. It took another few moments for her breathing to settle down.