Three in Paradise [Tasty Treats 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  Tasty Treats 4

  Three in Paradise

  Shannon Connelly works hard at the Royal Princess Saloon, but when her boss threatens her security, she knows she's in trouble. That's when two clean-cut cowboys saunter through the batwing doors and offer to change her life.

  Eli and Josh Payne need a tough woman with conviction. They find this in Shannon, a pistol of a beauty with fiery red hair. Shannon decides to embrace everything their Wyoming ranch has to offer, not expecting to find Paradise in the arms of the two sexy cowboys.

  Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 21,137 words

  THREE IN PARADISE

  Tasty Treats 4

  Amber Carlton

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  THREE IN PARADISE

  Copyright © 2010 by Amber Carlton

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-694-6

  First E-book Publication: January 2010

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter from Amber Carlton

  Regarding Ebook Piracy

  Dear Readers,

  If you bought this book, thank you. I hope you enjoy it. If, however, you downloaded it illegally or else bought it for cheap in a bundle, I hope it’s the last time you do so. Illegally downloading a book is theft. Packaging this book in a bundle with other pirated books and selling or auctioning them for cheap is theft. It is the same as walking into a store and shoving a book into your purse.

  Everyone deserves to be paid for the job they do, including authors. Authors rely on the income from their books for their livelihoods, and the publisher relies on sales to sustain their business. Sharing our books illegally deprives us of our salaries. If people continue to download books illegally, and authors and publishers don’t get paid, we will all be forced to stop writing and get other jobs. If that happens, what will you do for fun?

  Do not download pirated books. Do not share files. Do not upload files to pirate sites. Please pass this message on to your friends. Thank you.

  With deep gratitude,

  Amber Carlton

  DEDICATION

  To everyone looking for a bit of paradise.

  THREE IN PARADISE

  Tasty Treats 4

  AMBER CARLTON

  Copyright © 2010

  Chapter 1

  Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory

  1869

  Shannon ran a hand across the nape of her neck, then dropped her head back and stared at the beams in the ceiling. “Oh, by all the saints above, ’tis more than a body can bear. Take a fuckin’ lesson.”

  The music spewing from the piano set Shannon’s teeth on edge. The so-called musician jammed his fingers into the keys in a seemingly random pattern of notes and chords. The tinny sound echoed through the saloon, scraping over her nerve endings like tiny pieces of glass. With the arrival of that piano, she’d lost the few precious moments of sanity the early morning offered her.

  “Ah, to get me hands on an ax,” she murmured.

  She envisioned methodically hacking the piano into unrecognizable bits of wood and ivory. She’d had the same daydream for two weeks now.

  She tuned out the horrible music by scrubbing the planks harder, concentrating on the harsh sound of the bristles against the knotted wood. The circles of suds grew tighter and tighter as she pressed down on the tabletop, putting the weight of her small body into her chore. Leaning over the table, the muscles of her arms straining, her gaze flickered over the occupied tables and the last of the drunks. They’d grown quiet as dawn arrived, too inebriated to form a sentence much less an argument. They’d be sorry now that the sun heralded another day of grueling labor in one of the warehouses or stockyards. Every now and then one of the men winced. Shannon didn’t know if it resulted from his blossoming hangover or if he hated the music as much as she did.

  The batwing doors swung open and thumped back into the frame with the regularity of a giant ticking clock. The regulars filed in for their breakfasts and shots before heading off to the depot to unload merchandise from the train. The rough men entered the world of the Royal Princess Saloon and Dance Hall singly and in pairs, but none of them looked happy to be there. The men clomped across the hardwood floor in worn boots, then dropped their overused, tired bodies into chairs. Some rested their heads on their arms as they waited for the cooks to spread out the food on the wide tables at the rear of the hall. Others grabbed a drink from the bar and stared upward eagerly, their eyes already glazed with lust.

  The whoops and hollers began as the doors on the balcony level opened and closed, and the doxies began their morning parade down to the lower level to ply their wares. Shannon grimaced at the extra noise and glanced up. The whores wore dirty, gauzy petticoats and unlaced corsets that displayed their ample assets for all to see. They rubbed bloodshot eyes as they pursed their painted lips and strolled about the floor, swinging their hips and caressing their breasts. None of them said a word to Shannon as they sashayed past her. That suited Shannon just fine.

  The women slid into any willing lap and held out hands for coins from those who wanted a quick fuck before their workday began. One woman fell to her knees in front of Vic Dean and licked the cock he angled toward her. When Vic pressed the back of her head, her face disappeared into his lap.

  The clatter of dice competed with Vic’s moans as several men took a chance, hoping that Lady Luck would find them today and end their misery in Cheyenne.

  Good luck to you, then. ’Tis sure I am it won’t be happenin’ here.

  The spinning of the roulette wheel became a background noise punctuated only by a sharp clack as the rolling ball found its destination. Jud’s announcement of “No winner! Place your bets” brought groans from several of the players. Shannon
wondered if Jud even watched the wheel anymore. His pronouncements of doom most often came before the ball found its slot.

  An argument brewed in the corner between two men playing poker. Mercifully, their raised voices almost drowned out the piano. Shannon could tell one of them would soon be lying on the sticky floor. She hoped only that the men wouldn’t tumble in her direction. The last fight had caught her off guard and nearly broken her arm.

  “’Tis better than Five Points,” Shannon muttered. “Anythin’ is better than Five Points.”

  A shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom and fell onto the table she scrubbed. She sighed. The table was not clean yet. Not even close. Shannon wiped her sleeve across her forehead, and her gaze caught and held on the two men who strode into the Royal Princess. As the doors swung closed, they stood for a moment murmuring to one another as though debating the merits of the place. Shannon could have told them there were better and worse places in town to spend a morning. She kept it as clean as she could, and the food wasn’t all that bad, but they probably wouldn’t ask the opinion of a woman cleaning blood off a table.

  They were big men, nice looking, too, and far cleaner than most. Since they’d obviously bathed recently, she assumed they’d spent the night at a hotel. Nary a speck of dirt dusted their boots. With their long coats and those dark hats pulled low over their brows, she thought they might be local men, possibly even from one of the new ranches a little north of Cheyenne. Aye, either of those cowboys would do to warm a girl’s bed at night. Where had they been when she’d taken that wastrel of a husband into her life? These men didn’t look the type to steal a woman’s reticule with all her hard-earned savings, vanish into the back alleys of Cheyenne, and turn up dead the next morning.

  ’Tis a welcome goodbye to you then, Joseph Connelly. ’Tis hopin’ I am you’ve found your proper justice.

  The men shifted forward, still unsure of their decision, and the shadowy form of their combined bodies nearly blocked out all the light coming through the door. The backlighting made it difficult to inspect their features, but as one turned to talk to the other, his profile stood out in stark relief against the dingy glow. He had a strong, determined face. A dark moustache outlined his upper lip and a well-groomed beard covered his chin. His tense body seemed primed for danger. This man looked like he would take no guff from anyone. He might even be the type to hand it out. His companion stood slightly more relaxed as he listened.

  “Aye, ’tis a mighty fine sight for a wee girl’s eyes,” she said softly.

  “Get your ass moving, woman. I’ve got a business to run.”

  Shannon whirled around, the scrub brush clutched in her fist. Jaw clenched, she took a step closer to her boss and lifted her face to peer into his beady eyes.

  “Did you say somethin’ to me then, Harvey Lightner?” she asked sweetly.

  He waved a hand in the direction of the two men standing on the threshold. “I said hurry up. There’s men over there waiting for this table.”

  “Aye, ’tis seein’ them I am with me own eyes. And do you think they want to eat their bacon and drink their whiskey smellin’ the blood o’ a dead man?” She smiled and batted her lashes as Lightner shifted backwards.

  He waved his hand again. “Just clean it up.”

  She stomped toward him. “I can’t just clean it up, you addlepated moron!” She clamped her mouth shut when several sleepy patrons stirred and glanced toward them. One of the men in the doorway took two steps forward. His companion reached out to stop him, then moved his hand beneath his coat. The last thing she needed this morning was more blood to clean up, even if the Irish luck finally found her and made it Lightner’s blood. That would make for a cheery day, but quite a mess. She took a deep breath, then forced the rest of her words through tight lips. “’Tis a man’s blood. How in the fuck were you thinkin’ I’d be able to just clean it up?”

  Lightner glanced toward the door where the cowboys watched them quietly. “Scrub more.”

  “I cannot scrub more, or harder, or any other damn thing. The blood leached through and has become part o’ the fibers. ’Tis your own sorry fault the stain exists. If you’d have moved the body last night like I told you to, me job would be a wee less difficult this mornin’.” She shoved the crimson-stained brush against his chest, grinding it into the dirty fabric of his vest. “If ’tis unhappy you are with me work, Harvey Lightner, would you be wantin’ to do it your own self?”

  Lightner jerked backward and swiped furiously at the faded brocade. His glance shifted to the balcony railing as he whispered, “Keep your voice down. Mr. Barrows doesn’t know about the…accident yet.”

  “Accident me ass,” Shannon said. “What charming tale will fall out o’ your mouth when Barrows discovers you had a dead man sittin’ here most o’ last night? That, in a fit o’ conscience, Calvin Clark put a gun to his own head because he was unworthy to live among the upstandin’ people o’ Cheyenne? Oh, truly, that will be a pitiful story worth hearin’.”

  “Be quiet,” he ground out.

  His gaze darted restlessly over the patrons, but the Cheyenne sunrise brought complacency. Most of the men found escape from their miserable lives in warm, lush flesh or stared with anticipation toward the food tables.

  Shannon shook her head. “You’ve helped Clark cheat men at cards. You cheated Dwight Fisher last night.”

  “There’s no proof of that.”

  “Continue your dreamin’, Harvey Lightner. Dwight Fisher will be quick to tell the error o’ whatever story you concoct, and he’ll be a hero in this town. Calvin Clark’s cheated every sorry son-o’-a-bitch that’s come through that door.” She stabbed her finger toward the small shaft of sunlight that penetrated the gloom between the two men. “You let Clark steal men’s coin for a share o’ the profits.”

  Lightner clenched his fists. “I did no such thing.”

  “I imagine Mr. Barrows would be interested in knowin’ how much money you have in your pockets.”

  “I have none.”

  Shannon reached out and skimmed down the side of Lightner’s vest with her finger. “Oh, but wouldn’t it be interestin’ to take a look?”

  Lightner slapped her hand, and Shannon laughed.

  “How’d you get so fuckin’ stupid? I knew how this was goin’ to end, you brainless yank.”

  Lightner pulled on the edge of his vest and his ugly, beady stare once again darted upward. “You don’t know anything, Mrs. Connelly, so I suggest—”

  “I know you passed off a dead man all night as a drunk so Barrows wouldn’t know you’d caused murder in his place. Where’d you put the body, Harvey Lightner? How much did you pay from your profits to get rid o’ the carcass?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “No, o’ course not. ’Tis nothin’ I am but the body that cleans up your incompetence. But ’tis knowin’ I am that Clark could not have cheated so many without your help. ’Twould seem you’ve lost your gravy train now that Fisher’s murdered your partner.” Shannon glanced around, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Now where did Dwight go? Mr. Barrows is goin’ to want to speak to him once I—”

  “Stay out of it. You can’t prove anything.”

  Shannon shrugged. “No, but ’tis sure I am he might like to know you’re runnin’ a rigged game and skimmin’ the blackjack profits.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me, Mrs. Connelly?”

  “Oh, blackmail. ’Tis such an ugly word, but I see it holds your attention. ’Tis concerned you’ve become this mornin’ with me performance and that’s not somethin’ I’m willin’ to let you do. I need this position.” She pressed her face as close as his foul breath would allow. “I’ll not let you jeopardize it. Find someone else to inflict your sorry self on.”

  “I’m your supervisor, Mrs. Connelly. Mr. Barrows—”

  “Will slit your sorry throat if he finds out what you’ve been doin’.” She pressed an inch closer. “So remember that and remember what I know. For no
w, you can kiss me pert, little ass.” She slammed the brush on the table and blood-flecked soap suds shot upward and splattered across his vest.

  Eyes wide, Lightner stared horrified at the mess for a moment then his ratty gaze shifted back to her.

  “You’ll apologize for that, Mrs. Connelly, and clean this vest as well, or I’ll toss your pert, little ass onto the street.”

  “Back the fuck off. Apologizin’ is the last thing I’ll be doin’, you rodent-face weasel!”

  “It might just be the last,” Lightner said. “I have other friends in this town besides Calvin Clark.”

  “Oh, ’tis threats you’re calling on now, is it? Well, ’tis not shocked I am to hear them fall from your stupid, rodent mouth.”

  “Your mouth can be put to better uses in this place.” He nodded toward Dolly Mae sucking on Vic Dean’s dick. The smile that spread on Lightner’s ugly mouth sent a shiver down Shannon’s spine, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Maybe I should talk to Mr. Barrows about a promotion for you.”

  Shannon spat in his face. The glob hit him right on the cheek. His arm shot out and gripped her elbow, hauling her against him. Then he shoved her back against the table. Shannon twisted, but he held on tightly.

  “You’ll pay for that, Mrs. Connelly, starting today.”

  “I’ll ne’er be a whore, you vile, ugly—”

  “Let the lady go.”

  At the sound of the rough growl, Shannon turned her face and met a hard, dark blue stare. The steely length of a gun barrel pointed in her direction.