Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read Free

wide open. “Gutless outlaws,” she mumbled.
    “Little lady,” Art snapped again. “I advise you not to move. There’s a rattlesnake slitherin’ right behind you. Now, the best you can do is pay attention and listen right well.”
    Victoria ’s mouth dried. A snake? She reluctantly turned her head ever so slowly. She stared down then glanced off to the left.
    Oh mother and father—whoever he was—in the clouds above, the man wasn’t lying. Why she failed to notice the damn thing or the way that rattler shimmied across the dry dirt heading in her direction was any man’s guess. The fellows behind her probably weren’t interested in her excuses.
    “Now listen to me. We’re gonna get you out of this,” Art said in a throaty rasp. “When I say go, you’re gonna dive to the right and roll on down that hill without a look over your shoulder. You understand?”
    “Yes, but…”
    “We’ll talk about butts later,” Art quickly told her, cocking his gun. “You have a right nice one, by the way.”
    “Well, I’ve never in my life heard such talk,” she said, swallowing hard. Actually, she had, but a woman had to fake some propriety, particularly if she had zilch to her credit.
    “And you never will again if that snake gets a hold of a pretty little ass like yours,” Lane said.
    Two guns cocked. Art said, “All right pretty lady. Get ready.”
    She saw—and heard—the rattler on the end of the varmint and understood that the snake wasted no time in sliding a little closer. Hell and the fires under her, what were these men gonna do, wait until it crawled up her skirt?
    “Go!”
    No one had to tell her twice. The snake’s evil head darted up right before she made her escape. She propelled her arms in front of her and dove for the bushes, knowing darn well she’d end up face-down in the stream. And she did.
    Gunfire resounded into the hills.
    “We got him!” Art rejoiced.
    Well, duh. Of course they did. At least ten bullets pelted the ground.
    She splashed around in the water as the rapids—well, it was more like a few small waves, primarily the ones she made—began taking her, pulling her under and carrying her downstream.
    “Help! Help! I can’t swim!” she screamed, splashing around.
    The two men stood there watching her make a cotton-pickin’ show. They didn’t move. They stared at her blankly, and that was about all.
    “Help! Crying shame! Help me! I said I can’t swim!”
    “You can stand, can’t cha?” Lane called out. Apparently, he was the one with a little common sense.
    Floating just a smidgen more, which wasn’t by choice but because of the unstoppable, and probably imagined, current, Victoria regained her balance and realized she was only thigh deep in the water. Disgusted, she marched toward the shore, her splayed fingers smacking at the water.
    “I figured it wasn’t any deeper there than it had been on down yonder where you washed off a little earlier,” Art said, swinging his arm in the direction where she’d bathed.
    “What are you talking about?” she fired back. “Were you watching me?”
    The men stammered around all over the place. The sounds leaving their mouths ranged from an “uh-huh” to all sorts of gibberish she translated as denial.
    Pursing her lips, she struggled a bit, but eventually made her way to ankle-deep waters, never realizing how heavy a woman’s dress was until she tried to raise the wet material in an effort to find the best way to safety. Both men offered a hand, and she flatly refused their assistance.
    “I got myself into this mess and I’ll see my way out.”
    “Suit yourself,” Lane said, squatting down. His dark blond hair hung low over his brow as he picked at long strands of grass. Sticking a blade between his teeth, he wiggled the weed back and forth.
    “You sure fooled the daylights out of me for certain. I could’ve sworn I heard a woman hollering for help a few minutes ago,” Art said, removing his cowboy hat. As he dusted