The Stillwell Cowboys Book 3

MIRIAM

“I don’t like cayenne pepper tea,” I protested. “It burns my throat.”

“Mr. Priggishwine instructed me to make it for you,” Harmony whispered, glancing nervously at the door.

“It’s gross.”

“I know, but if you don’t drink it, he will fire me.”

I took the steaming mug from my nurse, marching toward the bathroom with the intention of pouring it down the sink.

“Stop,” Preston ordered, entering the bedroom.

“I can’t drink this.”

“You can, and you will, Miriam. And when you’ve finished every last drop, you will lie on your back and spread your legs.”

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.

He stood with his arms crossed while I drank the tea, tears pouring down my cheeks while flames licked my esophagus.

“Good girl,” he said, taking the mug and setting it on the nightstand. “Harmony will lube you up while I get ready.”

Lying on my back only made the burning in my chest worse.

I was used to being fingered by my private fertility nurse. I closed my eyes while the woman filled my vagina with her homemade herbal lubricant that was supposed to aid sperm in their journey.

Preston stripped naked, his penis erect and ready to go. Harmony handed him the jar of lubricant. He slathered it over his dick.

“Wait outside in the hall,” he said.

As soon as the door closed behind her, he grabbed my legs and placed them on his shoulders.

“No!” I cried.

I pulled myself into a sitting position, my eyes darting around the strange bedroom. My chest was on fire.

The babies were engaged in a kickboxing match, with my bladder caught in the middle. My dry mouth tasted like feces.

“Shoot,” I whispered when I reached for the water bottle on my nightstand, finding it empty.

I climbed out of the bed and headed to the bathroom, solving one of my problems. Two antacid chews calmed the heartburn, but did nothing for my dry mouth.

Just fill your water bottle from the tap, you pampered princess.

I waddled back to the bedroom, grabbing the empty bottle.

“Water is water,” I said while I waited for the flow to get nice and cold.

I filled the bottle, bringing it up to my lips.

“Nope,” I declared. “Not drinking that. Disgusting.”

I grabbed my long red satin robe from the chair, securing the belt tightly around my swollen belly.

The rest of the house was in darkness. Everybody had retired for the night. I crept down the hallway toward the kitchen, as quietly as an elephant could anyway.

It wasn’t easy navigating a strange house in the dark. The moon was bright, light streaming into the glass box that my stepdaughter and her estranged husband called home.

If every wall wasn’t floor to ceiling windows, I would’ve definitely run into something or tripped.

The natural stone tile was cold. I’d have to remember to wear socks next time. It was like walking barefoot outside. The entire house was on the chilly side.

Pru said her husband was cheap. He probably kept the thermostat behind a locked box. I knew all about that.

My father and my husband had the heat and air conditioning controls under lock and key. Not because they were cheap. They wanted control of everything.

“Late-night cravings?”

I whirled around, grabbing the edge of the kitchen island, my knees shaking.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Brooks said, his brows drawing together. “Come and sit down.”

“W-why are you sitting in t-the dark?” I whispered.

“This couch isn’t exactly comfortable,” he explained. “I’m six-two, and the couch is, uh, not six-two.”

“I didn’t know you were sleeping out here.”

“Given the choice of sleeping with a soul-sucking bitch or walking around with a kink in my back, I choose the kink.”

He grinned, draining his glass of what I assumed was some type of alcohol. “For my back, not sex. I’m not a kinky guy. I prefer good old-fashioned sex.”

“I’m just going to grab a water, and I’ll get out of your way,” I said quietly, turning toward the fridge.

“We don’t keep water in that fridge,”

I froze, my fingers tightening around the handle of the fridge door when I heard his footsteps behind me.

“Where do you keep it?” I asked.

“In the spare fridge in the garage.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Go sit down. I’ll get it for you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It kind of is,” he said, his slippers slapping loudly on the floor as he walked toward the door that led to the garage. “You’re in your bare feet. The garage is heated, but the floor is still cold.”

How bad do you want that water?

I considered making a mad dash to my room before he returned.

Mad dash?

Who are you kidding, Waddlesworth?

He was back before I could get my feet moving.

“I brought you two,” he said, holding out the bottles.

I stared at his large, outstretched hand, his long fingers holding both bottles.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my fingers grazing his when I took the water from his hand. My heart rate spiked, failing to deliver enough oxygen to my squashed lungs for a few seconds.

“Are you okay, Miriam?”

“Of course,” I panted. “I should go back to my room. Thank you for the water.”

“You seem a little out of breath,” he observed. “Why don’t you come sit down in the family room for a few minutes?”

I blinked, my sweaty palms losing their grip. The plastic bottles slipped from my fingers, bouncing off the floor with a quiet thud.

He bent down, grabbing them up before walking back to the living area off the kitchen.

Did he just take my water hostage?

I followed him, perching on the edge of the recliner chair, my bare feet sinking into the plush brown area rug. Pru’s house was very bland. She had similar taste to her father when it came to interior decorating.

Did Brooks have any say about his home?

Based on the argument I overheard, Pru wore the pants in their marriage. That didn’t really come as a surprise. But why did Brooks allow her to do it?

He was a man, and she was on his turf. His land. With his family nearby. Pru was the outsider at Stillwell Ranch.

“I thought you were thirsty.”

“I am,” I said, reaching for one of the bottles from the coffee table.

He watched while I took a long drink, his heated stare triggering inappropriate thoughts in my head, and an unfamiliar longing between my legs.

It’s just your hormones. The last thing you want or need is another man. Especially not this one. He’s off-limits.

“Tell me a little about yourself, Miriam.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me.”

I stared at the floor, my bare feet peeking out from under my robe. It felt amazing to sink my toes into the carpet, my red nail polish shimmering in the moonlight.

When I was growing up, I was never allowed to leave my bedroom without being fully dressed. Preston wasn’t quite as strict as my father, but he wouldn’t allow me to go barefoot.

“I’m not used to being around strange men,” I explained. “Especially in my sleepwear.”

“You think I’m strange?”

I lifted my head, an apology on the tip of my tongue. He grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I didn’t mean you were strange,” I sputtered. “I meant you’re a stranger. As in, someone I don’t know.”

“Let’s remedy that,” he suggested. “Pru mentioned you’re having twins. Do you know the sex of your babies?”

“Girls,” I shared.

“Nice. When are you due?”

“April 26.”

“Do you like red, or are you just being festive?”

“I like red. It’s my favorite color.”

“It looks nice on you, Miriam.”

My cheeks flushed. I wasn’t used to receiving compliments from men.

And the way he said my name was so hot.

Brooks had a sexy, baritone voice. One that could easily charm the panties off unsuspecting girls everywhere.

But he chose Pru.

Why?

Why would a man like Brooks allow himself to be controlled by a woman like my stepdaughter?

And for twenty years?

“Thank you,” I said politely.

“Have you picked out any names?”

“Maroni and Marilla.”

He blinked, his mouth falling open briefly while he rubbed his temple. “Where did you come up with those names?”

“From a book I read.”

“Love and Peril, West of the Rockies?”

“How did you know that?”

“I read it.”

“You read a love story?”

“It’s not a love story,” he said. “Love stories don’t come with a guarantee. One of the lovers often dies, or they just don’t end up together. West of the Rockies has a happily-ever-after ending. It’s a romance novel.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Is there something wrong with a man reading romance?”

“Not at all.”

“Why would you want to name your daughters after women in a polyandrous marriage?”

“Maroni and Marilla were strong, independent women, for their time. Women had no rights in the early eighteen-hundreds. When their father died, they did what they had to do to survive.

“They could’ve easily allowed themselves to become victims of their circumstances. Instead, they helped build a village, a community of fur traders, banding together as they faced the grave danger from wild men and beasts.”

“How many times have you read the book?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “More than once, but I haven’t read it recently.”

“Did you bring it with you?”

“No. I didn’t bring any of my books.”

“How come?”

“I couldn’t exactly bring a book collection on the plane.”

And my books are gone.

“You could’ve brought a couple of favorites.”

“I should be getting back to bed,” I said, leaning on the arm of the chair to push myself up.

“I have a large collection of old Western romances in the library. You’re welcome to read them while you’re here.”

“You do?” I gasped.

“Yes. And I have a copy of Love and Peril, West of the Rockies.”

“I would love to borrow it,” I whispered.

“I’ll go grab it and bring it to your room,” he offered.

“Where is your library?”

“At the front of the house, past the master bedroom.”

“I’ll come with you to get the book,” I said.

I picked up my water bottles and followed him down the long corridor.

The house was much bigger than it looked from the outside. After we passed the bedrooms, the hallway veered around a corner, a set of double doors at the far end.

“That’s my office,” Brooks explained. “I work from home. Renting commercial office space is a waste of money.

“In this day and age of modern technology, there’s no reason to incur the expense when most office work can be completed virtually. The pandemic has taught us that.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

In the early days of my marriage, I looked forward to the eight hours a day my husband was at work. And then he decided to step down and let PJ take over the reins.

I had no idea at the time that it was because he was terminally ill. He seemed fit and healthy, making my life miserable by demanding sex day and night in his bid to impregnate me.

He pushed open a door on the right, gesturing for me to go first. I stepped inside the room, pressing my fingers to my mouth as a squeal of delight slipped past my lips.

Moonlight flooded the cozy room. The outside wall was all glass, with a fireplace built into it. Bookcases stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

Comfortable chairs with ottomans were arranged in the center of the room, allowing one to read while gazing out at the gorgeous scenery.

Brooks flicked the light switch, brushing past me while I gazed around the library. He walked over to the shelf on the far wall, pulling a familiar book out.

“Here you go,” he said, smiling when he handed me the book.

I ran my fingers over the cover. “I love this book. I must go online and find a copy for myself.”

“You can have that one,” he offered.

I glanced up at him. Brooks was tall. I was only five-six, so I really had to crane my neck.

“I can’t possibly take your book,” I gasped.

“I’ll order a new copy,” he said. “It will be here before you leave, I’m sure. You can either keep that one, or take the new one.”

“I can’t wait to read this again,” I said.

“You’re welcome to stay in here or take it back to your room.”

“Thank you, Brooks,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome, Miriam.” He tapped his fingers on the shelf, clearing his throat. “I’m going to head back out to my couch and try and get some sleep.”

“I should go to bed, too,” I said, crossing the room to the door.

He followed behind, turning out the light before he closed the door softly. “Good night, Miriam.”

“Good night, Brooks.”