Savage Desire [Desire, Oklahoma: The Founding Fathers 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  Desire, Oklahoma: The Founding Fathers 3

  Savage Desire

  Raised in a bordello, Sarah Smith knew it was only a matter of time before she’d have to earn her keep on her back, the way her mother did, instead of doing the washing and cleaning. When one of the bordello’s meanest customers—an outlaw—noticed her, she knew her time had run out. She rushed to pack her things, only to discover that she’d accidentally stolen the outlaw’s gold. Running away, she finds herself on a train, headed for Desire, Oklahoma.

  Met by the tall, dark Indian, she finds herself drawn to him, and before she knew it, found herself married to him—and his two brothers. She knew, though, that Willy would come after her—and his gold. Realizing the danger she’d brought to her new home, she runs away, determined to keep her new husbands safe. But Hawke, Blade, and Phoenix Royal aren’t intimidated by Willy, and will do anything to protect her.

  Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 82,324 words

  SAVAGE DESIRE

  Desire, Oklahoma:

  The Founding Fathers 3

  Leah Brooke

  writing as

  Lana Dare

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  SAVAGE DESIRE

  Copyright © 2015 by Lana Dare

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-429-7

  First E-book Publication: May 2015

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 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 to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  SAVAGE DESIRE

  Desire, Oklahoma: The Founding Fathers 3

  LANA DARE

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  She had to get out of here.

  There had to be a life better than the one she lived now. It was out there, and she just had to find it.

  She’d been planning her escape for years, but the small amount of coins she’d managed to scrape together over the years wouldn’t even be enough to leave town.

  The smell of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat hung in the air on the second floor of the saloon Sarah had lived in her entire life.

  It was a bordello, and her mother worked there. She’d given birth to Sarah in the same bed that she currently used to entertain men who had the money to spend for a night of pleasure.

  Sarah feared that she’d have no choice but to work there, too, and it scared the hell out of her.

  She considered herself lucky that it hadn’t happened yet, but she knew that soon she’d have to earn her keep on her back instead of by doing the laundry and keeping the place clean. She mended, and made new dresses. She aired their rooms and changed their sheets every day.

  She did everything she could to make herself useful without drawing any attention to herself. She’d been lucky so far, and did her best to look as young and unattractive as possible, but she knew her luck couldn’t last forever.

  She’d seen the way the men looked at her, and had even heard them ask Rose, the woman who ran the bordello, if Sarah was available.

  Sarah also knew that only her claim to be younger and her struggle to look as ugly and inconspicuous as possible had kept Rose from noticing that she’d filled out years earlier, and had already become a woman.

  She used Rose’s disinterest to her advantage, lying about her age and knowing that no one, not even her mother, remembered exactly how old she was.

  Dropping the laundry she’d already gathered, she paused outside her mother’s room, taking a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing the worn wooden door open.

  Seeing what she’d expected to see—her mother alone and sound asleep in bed, she entered the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell of whiskey and smoke. Closing the door behind her with a sigh, she made her way silently to the side of her mother’s bed.

  Everyone called her mother Lily, and Sarah had been taught to call her that, too, by a mother who didn’t want to be called anything else.

  Not until about a year ago did she accidentally learn that her mother’s real name was Edna.

  When she’d learned the truth, she’d cried for days, the realization of just how much distance stood between her and her mother making her feel even lo
nelier.

  Despite the hot, dry summer in Waco, she felt cold inside and wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.

  Looking down at her mother, she tried to imagine what it would have been like to be part of a family. To be around people who actually wanted her for something other than doing chores for them.

  To feel loved—something that would never happen here.

  She’d been saving every bit of money she could get her hands on for years, knowing that if she didn’t leave, she’d end up used and old before her time—just like her mother.

  She took in sewing when she had the chance, but she didn’t have nearly enough money to even think about planning her escape.

  Turning to look in the mirror her mother loved so much, she eyed her reflection critically.

  She was short, which helped her look younger, and she did everything she could to make herself appear unattractive.

  She’d turned twenty-one three weeks ago, but her mother hadn’t remembered her birthday in years.

  Sarah hadn’t even thought of reminding her.

  Still studying her reflection in the cracked mirror, she untied the shawl she kept around her shoulders. No matter what the weather was outside, she always wore a shawl to hide the low cut of the worn dress that had once belonged to one of the other girls.

  Sarah had taken off the beads and lace in an effort to make the dress as plain as possible, but not even the handkerchief she’d sewn into the plunging neckline hid the upper curve of her breasts.

  Although she washed every day, she didn’t wash her hair often. Greasy and straggly, it made her appear unkempt and unattractive, and had a dirty smell to it that she would have loved to get rid of.

  But she didn’t dare.

  It gleamed with blonde highlights when clean, and fell in soft waves around her shoulders, so she either had to keep it dirty or wear a shawl over it—another thing she hated about her life.

  Depressed, she averted her gaze, looking down at the things her mother kept on the dresser—the small amount of things that gave her mother happiness.

  Lifting her gaze to the mirror, she studied her mother’s reflection.

  Her mother looked tired. Older than her years and worn out.

  Satisfied that she still slept deeply, Sarah picked up the bottle of perfume her mother treasured and lifted the stopper. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the floral scent, wishing she could dab just a little behind her ears the way she’d seen her mother do countless times.

  Her mother groaned in her sleep, startling Sarah into shoving the glass stopper back into the bottle and hurriedly setting it down again, knowing her mother would be furious if she caught her touching her things.

  She waited until her mother settled again, uneasy at the jittery feeling inside her that compelled her to linger in her mother’s room longer than she normally did.

  Keeping one eye on her mother’s still form, she reached out to run her fingertips lightly over the silver brush and comb that had been prominently displayed on her mother’s dresser for as long as Sarah remembered.

  Her fingers hovered over the pot of rouge that her mother used to bring color to a face that seemed to lose more color every day.

  Pulling her hand back, Sarah studied her reflection in the mirror.

  Her own cheeks lacked the color they’d once had, and she had an emptiness in her eyes that made her so uneasy that she turned away.

  She didn’t want to think about spending the rest of her life with the loneliness that plagued her.

  She had to get out of here.

  She wanted to be somewhere, and with someone who made her feel as if she belonged.

  Anxious to get away from the sickening smells and out into the fresh air, she gathered her mother’s dirty clothes and went out into the hall to place them in the basket with the others before she turned to once again look at the bed.

  A memory flitted through her mind, one that had a cold knot forming in her stomach.

  She’d been young, probably around three or four. Straightening, she tightened her hands on the handles of the basket, her gaze settling on the armoire standing against the far wall.

  She’d been watching her mother dress in what she’d thought at the time to be the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. It had been red, sparkly, and had feathers on the front and the sleeves.

  Her mother had worn a hat that matched it, her hair piled high under it.

  Sarah remembered being entranced by the dance of light on her mother’s earrings which, like the sparkles on her dress and hat, seemed to catch every bit of light from the smelly oil lamps, making her mother appear almost magical.

  Entranced, she’d sat on the bed, watching her mother get ready for the evening, startled at the loud knock at the door.

  Rose had opened the door without warning, her presence scaring Sarah into hiding beneath the covers. “Hurry up. You’ve got someone coming up. Now.” The door had closed, leaving Sarah and her mother alone again.

  A heavy tread on the stairs had her mother scrambling, and before Sarah knew it, her mother had tucked her into the armoire, hissing for her to be quiet.

  Sarah had been forced to stay in the hot, dark armoire and listen to her mother with a strange man.

  Her mother had made sounds—frightening sounds to a little girl.

  Remembering her mother’s order to be quiet, she’d pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs, very afraid that the man was hurting her mother.

  Since that night, she’d been afraid of men, and did everything in her power to avoid them.

  They all seemed so mean, and had glints in their eyes that scared her.

  Now, with a last look at her mother, she sighed and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  She had only one room left—Rose’s room. She dreaded going in there, and always saved it for last.

  As the madam, Rose always had the best clothes and the most important clientele. She was hard and cold enough to handle even the meanest men, and she prided herself on bedding the bosses.

  She didn’t seem to care if the man she took to her bed was the boss of an outlaw gang, one of the self-important oilmen, or a railroad tycoon.

  She loved men of power, and bragged about how she could use her body to bring them to their knees.

  Years of seeing things she’d rather not see and hearing things she’d rather not hear left Sarah knowing what they meant—and it disgusted her.

  Pausing outside Rose’s door, Sarah pulled her shawl around herself—despite the fact that the early morning chill had long ago given way to a warm, humid late morning.

  Hunching her shoulders, she knocked lightly at Rose’s door, her hand trembling. She’d waited as long as she could before entering, but the man that Rose had brought up the previous night had a habit of sleeping for most of the day.

  Willy Krenshaw—one of the meanest outlaws around.

  “What?”

  Sarah swallowed heavily, Rose’s angry tone clear even through the thick wooden door. “Miss Rose? I just want to collect the laundry.”

  She hated that her voice shook, the knowledge that such a hateful woman could put her on the street on a whim making her nervous every time she got near her.

  The door swung open and Rose appeared, her hair disheveled and her eyes barely open. “Fine, just hurry up and be quiet about it. I ain’t alone and Willy won’t appreciate bein’ woke up.”

  Nodding, Sarah kept her head down and slipped through the opening, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the room darkened by the heavy curtains hanging at every window.

  The curtains also kept out even the smallest breath of fresh air.

  Holding her breath as much as she could against the stench of whiskey, body odor, and sex, she rushed to gather the dress and stockings hanging over the back of the chair before crouching to gather Rose’s undergarments from the floor. She didn’t even glance at the bed, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rose fling off her robe and crawl ba
ck beneath the covers.

  A scrap of pale material puddled on the floor, partially hidden by the ridiculously elaborate silk bedspread, caught her attention. With a sigh, she gathered it and the other clothing against her chest, almost gagging on the combination of perfume, smoke, and sweat emanating from it as she reached for the clothes she’d almost missed.

  Finding more than she’d expected, she struggled to get them all in her arms, and hurriedly straightened.

  A hard pull at her hair shocked her into crying out, the pain to her scalp bringing tears to her eyes. Instinctively reaching back to ease the pain, she found herself yanked to her feet.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  Struggling to hold on to the dirty clothes, Sarah found herself standing face to face with a man.

  Willy Krenshaw—a very naked Willy Krenshaw.

  Terrified, she fought to get away, sobbing when the hand in her hair tightened. “Please!”

  “Don’t worry none about her, Willy. She’s just gettin’ the laundry.” With a groan, Rose slid from the bed again, walked naked to the window, and pulled the curtain aside.

  Blinking against the bright sunlight, she raised a hand to shade her eyes, apparently completely unconcerned by her nakedness. “Go on, girl. Get outta here.”

  Willy stepped closer, his gaze raking over Sarah. “Not so fast.”

  Sarah’s heart pounded furiously at the dangerous glint in his eyes, a look she’d learned to recognize and fear.

  He wanted to fuck her.

  Shaking, she gulped back a sob and stared into eyes glittering with evil. “Leave me alone.”

  To her horror, he threw his head back and laughed, a laugh that sent chills up and down her spine.

  “Feisty little thing, ain’t she?” The hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back so hard that it knocked her off balance.