by Lee Savino
With a cry of disgust, William slammed her forward, and she let her body go limp, hanging over the horse. The ground rushed under her feet, and she wondered if she’d survive the jump.
Then she heard the sound of hoof beats.
Together with William, she looked back.
Behind them, riding for all he was worth, was Miles. His broad body bent low over Monty, and she could see the intense look in his tawny eyes.
I’m coming. The hoof beats told her. I’m coming for you.
“Damn the man.” William jerked the horse, nearly throwing her off.
“William, no.” She clung to him, watching the ground rise and fall as the horse half reared up and then turned to its master’s bidding. “Not the river. It’s too dangerous.”
But it was too late. The horse’s legs thrashed the ground and then tore forward, plunging straight into the water. The horse pushed forward, then floundered.
William cursed, drawing out a whip and flailing wildly against the horses’ thin sides. The animal screamed and tried to surge forward, only to stagger as its foot was caught in the rocks.
“Carrie,” Miles called from the bank.
“Miles,” she said. “Stay back.”
“Get away.” William grabbed for Carrie. “You can’t have her.”
“She’s not yours,” Miles shouted, dismounting and striding to the edge. “She never was.”
“She’s coming with me.” William wrenched Carrie’s arm with one hand, and jerked the reins with the other. The horse, confused, turned again, then slipped and swayed under its two riders.
“You don’t deserve her,” Miles shouted from the bank, just before he stripped off his shirt and dove.
“Miles,” Carrie screamed, watching her husband disappear in a deep pool. She ripped her arm out of William’s and slid off the horse into the water. There she kicked off her skirt and flailed, trying to keep her head above water.
“That’s it, Carrie.” Miles slick head bobbed up closer. “Keep your feet up so they don’t catch on the rocks. Lie back and let the current take you.”
“No,” William roared. He tried to kick out of the stirrups, but his boot caught, and instead he started to fall. The steed tried to push against the current but lost its footing and fell backwards. Horse and rider cried out and then were silent under the roar of the white water.
“Don’t look back, Carrie. Look at me,” Miles ordered. “That’s it. Just keep on your back and let the water do the work.”
He swam closer and caught her shoulder, pulling her into his arms. “Arms around my neck,” he gasped, and steered their bodies with the push of the river towards the bank. They flopped onto the grass, clinging to each other even as they coughed up river water.
“I don’t see him. Where is he?”
“Gone,” Miles said grimly.
A horrible noise filled the air and Carrie realized the horse in the river was still screaming.
“Its foot is caught,” Carrie said, but Miles had already raised his rifle. The crack rang out against the mountains, and then the horse was silent.
She clutched at her husband then, pressing her face into his shirt, breathing in his wild scent.
“It’s all right.” He held her. “It’s over now, Carrie girl.”
9 months later
Little Mary Donovan lay in the cradle, staring up at her mother with her father’s eyes. Carrie cooed down to the babe already so silent and serious, like her father. She heard a creak on the step and turned, expecting Miles.
Instead, Lyle Wilder stood there, hat in hand.
“Mr. Wilder,” Carrie said in surprise. The tall man stood on the porch, his fine dark horse grazing on the hill behind.
“Mrs. Donovan. Congratulations on the little one.” He made no move to enter the homestead. His lean, tall body looked a little thinner than the last time she saw him, though his clothes and countenance were clean. She hadn’t seen him since the day he disrupted church, but she’d heard he’d spent a month with the Shepherds, getting back on his feet, then taken work near Colorado Springs for the winter and spring. By Esther’s report, he was a changed man.
“Miles should be home any minute.” Carrie smiled at him, wondering if she should invite him inside and give him some food. He looked like he’d passed a lean winter, and needed a woman to fatten him up.
Mary took that moment to coo softly, and Carrie turned before she could stop herself, heart melting at the little sound. She had a thought. “Come in, Mr. Wilder. Would you like to see her?”
Hat in hand, he advanced slowly to the crib.
Carrie picked up the drowsy babe and cradled her, showing her off to the tall man.
“She looks like her father,” Lyle said.
“Yes.” Carrie cuddled her closer. The babe had soft reddish down on her head.
“Her name is Mary,” Miles said from the door.
Lyle sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Both Donovans watched him closely.
“It was my mother’s name, also,” Carrie explained. “We wanted to remember her and another friend Miles lost too soon.”
“Far too soon, brother,” Miles said, clasping Lyle on the shoulder. “I was wrong to judge her. I was wrong about many things.”
Lyle gripped his friend back. “We both were.” He seemed unable to speak, so turned to the babe. “Well, Mary,” he said. “May you grow up to be as strong as your father, beautiful as your mother, and bull headed as they both deserve.”
Miles chuckled, and Carrie laid Mary back in the crib, whispering that she would be a good girl and not give them trouble. When Carrie turned back, Lyle was waiting to address her.
“Mrs. Donovan, I wanted to give my apology and regrets. I never should’ve tormented you and accused you so publicly. It was wrong of me.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s forgiven,” Miles added.
“Won’t you stay for supper?” Carrie said.
“No, I have a long ride ahead of me. I’m going to fulfill my last promise to my Mary.” Lyle stepped out onto the porch, with the others following. “She had a younger sister who she always looked after. Their drunkard father found them, and took back the girl—Rose is her name. Mary made me promise I’d find Rose and see her settled. As soon as I do that, I’ll come back and work my claim.”
“We wish you well,” Carrie said.
“How can I help?” Miles followed his friend down to his stallion.
Lyle mounted and looked at them both. “Watch my claim. These past few weeks I’ve been rebuilding. My brother Jesse promised to come help me, but he’s not been heard from for a year.”
Miles nodded. “I’m here for you, friend.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re not a friend,” Lyle said quietly. “You’re my brother.”
With a nod and a final pat on the stallion’s haunches, Miles leaped back onto the porch to stand by Carrie.
Together the Donovans waved Mr. Wilder away.
“That’s a man with a mission.” Miles squeezed his wife a bit tighter.
“Do you think finding the sister will bring some healing to him?”
Miles let out a big breath. “I think it’s a hard errand, but one that will do him good.”
“I suppose he’s mended his ways,” Carrie said thoughtfully. “Though my friend Susannah still calls him a scallywag in all her letters.”
“Now wife. What did I say about gossip? And calling names?” His face was stern, but he had a twinkle in his eye.
“Maybe I need a reminder.” She leaned into him.
“It is Sunday.” Miles took her hand and then hesitated, glancing back at their sleeping child.
“She'll keep for a few,” Carrie whispered.
“Then wife, to the woodshed.”
Smiling, she let him lead her down the path.
The End
Rocky Mountain Rose
Rocky Mountain Discipline Book Three
Published by Blushing Book
s
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2015
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Savino, Lee
Rocky Mountain Rose
eBook ISBN: 9781682591888
v1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Rocky Mountain Rose
The saloon was packed wall to wall with unwashed bodies. At the long bar, men hooted and hollered after the serving women, offering little more than a pinch on the behind as a tip. Men crowded around the faro tables in the back, betting hard earned dollars to the slick-looking shyster behind the table.
Rose stood in the shadows on the top of the stairs, her hands on her hips, surveying the crowd. Rowdy though they were, she felt energy rush through her, as it did every night she danced as Rosie May, the belle of mining towns. When she arrived yesterday, men were waiting on the edge of town to catch sight of the crimson-haired beauty. Grizzled grey hairs and boys young as twelve, and every age in between, had all left their homes and come West to make their fortune, but after a few months in a mine, they’d give all their gold and silver for a glimpse of a lady. Tonight, she’d give them a glimpse, and more.
“Ready?” Her young escort, Sam, stood close by in his own black suit, complete with red cummerbund and high top hat. A boy of only sixteen, Rose took him under her wing when they left the traveling show together to form their own act. He now played the part of musician and master of ceremonies, and once his height came on and voice deepened, he would be a useful partner and bodyguard. For now, Rose had her trusty Nell, the pearl handled Deringer she hid in her sash. Looking over the boisterous crowd, Rose stroked her silken garments and felt the gun, its hard form comforting under her fingers.
Sam was already making his way downstairs to start the show. Once he sat himself at the piano, he glanced back, and Rose nodded to him, then backed into darkness to wait for her introduction.
His fingers flew over the honky-tonk keys in a stunning glissando.
“She’s here, boys! The belle of the West herself. The lovely Rosie May will dance tonight, the latest dance from Paris!”
A ripple went through the crowd; a few heads turned to look up at the top of the stairs where a woman’s gloved hand shook a black lace fan.
“There she is. I seen her!” someone cried, and the bar broke out in lewd comments as Rose let her leg slink out from behind the wall.
Whoops and hollers greeted the long, stocking-clad leg, then cries of disappointment when she slid it away. Then laughs and whistles rose as she turned and stuck her bustle out beyond the wall and shook it vigorously.
“Give her a cheer boys, don’t let her be shy!” Sam shouted, and someone took up the chant, “Rosie, Rosie.”
A fan, a hand, a slender arm encased in a black glove, then Rosie herself strode from her hiding place into full view on the landing. The men cheered.
“Hello, boys.” Rose put her hands on the railing, showing off her hourglass figure in the frothy white dress she wore. “Would you like to see me dance?”
A roar of approval, and she put a finger to her mouth, pretending to think. “I don’t know. I may need a drink first.”
A crush at the bar as men waved bills at the barkeep. Rose smiled down at them.
“Of course,” she called. “I may have it in me to give you a taste of what you’ll get tonight.” Hiking up her skirts and petticoat, she slid her leg through the railing, showing one black stocking, then the other, as men whistled and cheered.
Right below the landing, one of the men stood on the bar to hand up a glass of amber fluid. Rose smiled and blew a kiss at her benefactor, then held the glass high.
“A toast—to the one who will never leave you, or let you down. Who waits for your lips and always warms you at night. To whiskey!” She downed the shot, then rode the wave of laughter down the stairs, sliding down the banister and jumping onto a table set up for her next to the bar. A few men held up their hands to help steady her.
“Thank you, boys.” She smiled. Drawing off her gloves, she threw them into the crowd then called to Sam for music. She kicked her legs up to the lively tune, showing off black stockings and a hint of creamy thigh. As the men grew wilder, she leaned back to the stair railing and held on, teasing the crowd with flips of her skirt and shakes of her bustle.
A few more drinks and they might riot, but for now she had them eating out of her hand. Rose dipped and turned, a false smile plastered to her face, every once in awhile shaking out her long red hair for the room to admire. She was queen of the room, and all the men were her fawning subjects.
Then, in a fated moment, her gaze hit the corner and time stood still.
A man sat in the back, near the faro tables but ignoring them completely. His blue eyes pierced her, his gaze so intense she felt he could see everything about her—every curve, every breath, every pore. He had hair and brows dark as the devil’s, but the face of an angel, perfect and breathtaking.
She knew him.
A shock went through her, powerful as lightning. Her legs weakened, and she stumbled, nearly losing her balance.
A few of the men pressed against the bar put up their hands to help her.
“Rose, are you well?”
“Sorry, boys.” She shook it off. “Another whiskey!” she cried as she stole a glass from a man at the bar, upending it into her mouth. The shocked customer stood staring while his friends pounded him on the back.
Rose winked at him and then motioned to Sam. “Music, Maestro.”
The piano started again, and she launched into a bawdy tune, one she’d sung many times. The miners all knew it too, and she let their voices carry hers while her thoughts scrambled behind her pasted smile.
So her dead sister’s husband was watching. It’d been five years, but she remembered him. Of course, she’d never forget the man she hated above any other.
As the night wore on, she kept dancing, tossing back whiskeys as if they were water, and avoiding the gaze of the man in the corner as her mind raced. What did he want with her? Last he’d seen of her, she was a skinny child, too thin and ugly to catch a man’s eye. Unlike her sister Mary.
He stole Mary from her and left Rose at the mercy of evil men. She blamed Doyle, her sister’s boss, and her own father. But she blamed Lyle Wilder most of all: first for stealing her sister, and second for Mary’s death.
She strutted and sang and held on to the banister of the stairs to keep the rowdy men from pulling her off.
Damn the man. Why did he come to haunt her? She was a tall, bold woman of eighteen. Full grown and able to take care of herself.
With that thought, she whirled to start a new dance and saw a man in the center of the room punch another full in the face. It would’ve been a quick fight, if the falling man’s partner hadn’t jumped to his feet, pointing his pistol at the attacker. A shot rang out, but it went wide as the attacking man rushed the shooter and dealt a glancing blow to the pistol arm. A jarring noise came from the piano, but Rose kept her eyes on the gun as it dropped between the two men and became the center of a scuffle. A shout, and Rose’s head snapped around, looking for Sam.
Her friend slumped over the piano, and for a moment, Rose didn’t understand. Then someone screamed, a horrible sound.
Rose was halfway across the room, pushing to Sam’s side, before she realized she was t
he one shrieking. The boy’s white shirt bore a spreading stain, the same color as his cummerbund. Spit bubbled in the side of his mouth, and he convulsed once but the light was already fading from his eyes.
With a cry, Rose whirled and threw herself in the fray. Fumbling in her skirts, she brought out her tiny pistol just in time to reach the epicenter of the fight and face the shooter. With both hands on the gun, she fired, even as strong arms grabbed her around her waist.
The shooter fell, surprise on his face. Rose crowed in triumph, then all the air went from her lungs as someone hauled her over their shoulder.
The room spun wildly, and Rose’s world filled with angry faces. Clawing at her attacker’s back, she tried to break free, but a hand clapped on her bottom, hard enough to give her pause.
Then the two of them were outside in an alleyway, the door to the saloon swinging shut and cutting them off from all light and sound.
She started to scream, but the man stooped and bounced her higher onto his shoulder.
“Quiet, Rose,” he ordered, clamping a steely arm around her legs to hold her. Even carrying her full weight, the man broke into a jog down the long alley, the movement jarring her midriff so she had to fight to get air into her lungs.
A shout behind them, and Rose peered through her hair to see the door to the saloon burst open, letting light and the roar of their pursuers out into the night. Her captor veered around a corner, heading down another dark alleyway. By the time she caught her breath, Rose’s kidnapper was climbing the back stairs to another building, then darting down a hall, opening a door, and carrying her inside.
In the inky darkness, the man set Rose down. The moon in the window gave the only light, and Rose could make out the tall, powerful form of her kidnapper, but nothing of his face.
Again, she drew in breath to scream, and a hand clamped over her mouth.
