by Vanessa Vale
Rose
Wildflowers Of Montana
Book 1
By Vanessa Vale
© 2015 Vanessa Vale
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 author.
Cover Design: RomCon - www.romcon.com
Cover Photos: boxerx - fotolia.com; Romance Novel Covers
Rose Lenox has grown up to be more comfortable on the back of a horse than wearing ribbons and bows like her seven adopted sisters. For years working the land was enough, but lately Rose finds herself wishing for something different. She wants her own ranch and freedom from her overwhelming and unorthodox family. Rose is determined to strike out on her own and forge her own path.
Lenox neighbor, Chance Goodman, has watched Rose grow from a spitfire of a girl to a beautiful and fiery woman. For years he's waited patiently and watched her struggle to find her place in the world. When she leaves the Lenox ranch alone, determined to abandon her former life and to say good-bye to him, he knows the time has come to claim her. Letting her walk away isn't an option. Chance knows exactly what she needs...and he's going to give it to her.
Follow the eight Lenox sisters through this historical erotic series that's as big and bold as the Montana Sky. The Wildflowers of Montana begins with Rose and her hot, Alpha cowboy.
ROSE
WILDFLOWERS OF MONTANA
CHAPTER ONE
ROSE
The kitchen at six in the morning was akin to what I remembered of busy Chicago intersections—crowded, loud and slightly dangerous. With ten women in the house, there was never quiet, never any peace. It was the same, day in and day out. Dahlia bickered with Miss Esther about how the bacon should be cooked. Poppy stood behind Lily and styled her blond hair in another inventive creation. Marigold set the table with a loud clatter of dishes, eager for her meal. Hyacinth sat at the large table humming placidly to herself as she sewed on a button. Iris and Daisy were most likely still asleep or at least taking their time in dressing as to avoid morning chores. I paused and watched the hubbub, shaking my head at the claustrophobic feel in the room.
Nothing had changed. The room had not changed since the first day we'd all arrived from Chicago sixteen years before. Besides being older, no one had changed; our personalities were as varied as ever. Except me. I'd changed. Why did everyone irk me? Why did the house suddenly seem so small? Why did my sisters seem so grating? Why did I feel like I was being suffocated?
Wanting to escape, I dropped the armful of wood into the bin beside the stove and walked right back outside, and started across the grass to the stable. I took deep breaths of the cool morning air in an attempt to settle myself. It was too early to be riled, especially from just the normal morning routine.
"Rose!" Miss Trudy's voice carried all the way to me. There was more than physical distance between us; there was an emotional separation as well. I stopped and turned back with a sigh, tucking my unruly hair behind my ear. The woman who'd raised eight orphan girls, myself included, held up a folded cloth. "If you won't eat at the table, at least take something with you."
Her hair was up in a simple bun at her nape of her neck, the gray in her red hair bright in the sun just breaking over the mountains. She was still beautiful, even with the fine lines that showed her age. As I mounted the steps to take the food, I saw concern in her green eyes, but refused to speak of it.
I smelled the biscuits and bacon and my stomach rumbled. "Thanks," I replied, with a semblance of a smile on my lips.
"Where will you be?" she asked, her voice calm and placid. She never shouted, never raised her voice.
No one went off without sharing their whereabouts, for dangers abounded the ranch and all of Montana Territory beyond.
"I'll follow the fence line to look for any sections that might need repair." There was no damaged fence line. I knew it and so did Miss Trudy, but she only gave a small nod, allowing me to escape.
Not sure what else to say, I turned to head towards the stable. I couldn't tell her I was unhappy, although I was sure she knew. Uttering the words would make me seem ungrateful. She and Miss Esther had provided a stable, loving home for all of us girls. I would have grown up in a large city, never knowing the open expanses and big sky of Montana if they hadn't claimed us all and brought us west. The thought had me rubbing the space above my heart, guilt and a restlessness pressing heavily. No matter the depth of her caring or the closeness I had with the other girls, I needed more. I needed to escape.
***
"Whatever that fence post did to you, it sure is sorry now."
The deep voice that came from behind me was such a surprise that I hit my thumb with the hammer. I was a mile from the house when I’d decided to work out some of my frustrations on the fence. The post had had a loose nail and I'd begun to pound it in, continuing to strike even after it was lodged back in the wood. I was still hammering when he caught me unawares.
I sucked in a breath at the searing pain in the tip of my thumb, holding the base of it in my other hand. I let a few less-than-ladylike words slip out as I winced, walking around in a circle.
"Chance Goodman!" I shouted, my anger and pain loud and clear. "You don't sneak up on someone like that."
The man was ten years older than I and lived on the nearest ranch. His parents had died a few years earlier and with much success, he'd taken over the spread, adding more cattle and even studding out his prized bulls. The latter made me flush every time I thought of it, for I knew what happened between a man and a woman—Miss Trudy and Miss Esther were former brothel owners and had given each of us girls a special talk—and I'd always pictured Chance's face in my mind when I imagined such acts. I'd seen one of his bulls and the...the thing that hung down from beneath its belly and it had me wondering what Chance would look like. Would he be large himself? Would he be just as aggressive when he mounted a woman? My nipples always tightened into hard points and I felt slickness between my legs every time I imagined such a scenario.
There was no other man for fifty miles who was so fine a specimen of manhood as Chance Goodman. I'd thought so when I was nine, and I thought the same now at nineteen. His hair was a chocolate brown which he let run toward the overly long. He towered over me; I only came up to his shoulder and made me feel...feminine. There were eight women in the house who cared about ribbons and lace when I was more interested in saddle leather and branding. But Chance often made me wish I'd combed my hair or worn clothing that made me appear more comely, at least in his eyes.
It wasn't his broad shoulders or thickly corded forearms that had my heart pounding whenever I saw him. It wasn't the way a dimple dented his cheek whenever he smiled. It wasn't the strong jaw nor the big hands so much as his dark eye that attracted me. He was the only person who past whatever facade I raised to hide my true self. It was as if I were constantly exposed, every emotion and feeling I had was clear as spring water to him. I couldn't hide from him, even when, like now, he stood right before me.
"Here, let me see." He took my hand as I turned toward him. Before I could step away, he lifted it up so he could look at it, then, to my complete and utter surprise, slipped my injured thumb into his mouth. My own mouth fell open in utter surprise. My thumb was in Chance Goodman's mouth...and it felt good. His tongue flicked over the injured tip, sucking on it as if withdrawing the pain as he would venom from snakebite. His mouth was hot and wet and my finger pulsed—among other places—and it wasn't from the hammer.
At that enticing and very scary thought, I tugged my hand back. He could easily have kept it, for his strength was so much greater than mine, but he released me of his own choosing.
"Better?" he asked. His voice was deep and rough, reminding me of stones in the river.
I could only nod in response, as I was still flustered.
"I think this is the first time I've made you speechless." The corner of his mouth turned up and his dimple appeared.
I put my hands on my hips, ignoring the pain. "What do you want?" I asked, my tone acerbic.
His gaze raked over my body, assessing. He sighed. "Right now? I want to know what's wrong."
"Besides my thumb?" I held my hand up. "Nothing," I grumbled.
"Rose," he said, his voice raised in that irritating warning tone.
"What? Can't a girl have some secrets?"
His dark eyebrows went up. "Since when do you consider yourself a girl?" He glanced down at the pants I wore instead of the skirt or dress of every other female. The barb stung, for it only validated my earlier insecurities. He didn't think of me as a woman. He thought of me as...Rose. Plain Rose in pants. What man could ever be interested in a woman who'd rather wear pants than ribbons and lace? What man could desire a woman who hammered fence posts?
"Since...." I clamped my mouth shut. "Oh, bother." I turned away from him and stomped off.
"Is Dahlia pestering you again?" he called out. "Or did Marigold eat your breakfast?"
I knew he was toying with me, for he'd never poke fun at the other girls. He was too much of a gentleman. It didn't keep him from poking fun at me. When Miss Trudy and Miss Esther found us girls, orphaned after the great Chicago fire, they hadn't known our names. Why they gave us all names of flowers, I'll never know. Moving to the Montana Territory had been a way for all of us to start over, especially Miss Trudy and Miss Esther. Well off from their years running a big city brothel, they'd wanted a new life and found it outside the town of Clayton. We were infamously known as the Montana wildflowers and were always considered as a group of eight, not as individuals.
"Everyone is the same. Nothing's changed."
"Are you wanting something different then?" He leaned a hip against the battered fence post, relaxed and at ease with himself while offering me his complete attention. I saw his horse in the distance, head lowered and nibbling grass. A bird flew overhead, its wings still as it rode a wind current.
"Something different? Of course I want something different!" I waved my arms in the air as I spoke. "I want to be independent, wild. Free! Not stuck in a house full of women who gab all day long about hairstyles and dress sleeve length. I want to do what Miss Trudy did—strike out and discover a whole new life in a far off land."
He patiently let me vent my spleen. "What do you plan to do?"
"I don't know, Chance, but I'm about to burst out of my own skin. Don't you see? I don't belong here anymore." I lowered my head with that admission, for I felt shame and guilt press heavily on my heart. Miss Trudy and Miss Esther had done so much for me, for all of the girls, and I was tossing all those years, all the love aside. I pressed once again to that spot on my chest as I felt tears well. Lifting my head to the sky, I sniffed and forced the tears back. I didn't cry. I never cried and I was mad at Chance for making me feel this way.
With his long stride, he walked toward me through the tall grass and tilted my chin up with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. My hat fell off my head to dangle by the long cord around my neck. His scent, a mixture of warm skin and pine and leather was something I associated solely with him. "No. You don't belong here anymore."
I couldn't believe that he agreed with me. The one person who I expected to fight for me—my friend—agreed with me. He wanted me to leave. I tore my chin from his hold and stomped over to my horse, quickly mounting. Using the reins to turn the animal, I gave Chance Goodman one last look. It was time to move on; he'd just confirmed that for me. My heart hurt, knowing I'd never see him again. I settled my hat back on my head, gave it a little flick with my finger in farewell and rode off. Not only did the tip of my thumb ache, but also my heart.
***
The sky was black as pitch, just as dark in Clayton as it was on the ranch. Only lanterns shining from a few houses lit the way. I'd left my horse at the livery and made my way toward the boarding house. The night was warm so I didn't need a shawl or a coat, and only carried a small bag. I would take the next stage out of town, not caring whether it ventured east or west. Clayton wasn't large, but the livery was across town from where I would spend the night, forcing me to walk the distance alone. It wasn't the best choice considering the kinds of men that passed through town, but there was no alternative. Mines abounded up in the mountains and Clayton had the nearest saloon. This meant whiskey and women. It was one of these men who I unfortunately encountered on my way.
I walked quickly with my small bag over my shoulder, but the man had caught me unawares, stepping from between two buildings and into my path. I'd been thinking about Chance and our parting words. I didn't have a gun or a knife or any kind of weapon to protect myself when I walked directly into him with an oomph. I couldn't see his face in the dark but distinct body odor of sweat and whiskey emanated from his pores. His hands were quick and grabbed me about the arms.
"Look what I've captured! A lady of the night."
"I beg your pardon! I do not look anything like a lady of the night," I replied, offended. Despite my being unladylike, I did not deserve the comparison. I fought against his hold, a burst of energy making my heart beat swiftly. "Unhand me!" I cried.
"Oh, no. You're mine now." He roughly spun me around so that one of his arms banded about my waist in a viselike grip, making it difficult to breathe. His hold was strong enough where he lifted me up so only the tips of my toes touched the ground. The other hand went over my mouth, grimy fingers preventing me from screaming. I knew this because I tried, yet it only made him rougher in his manhandling. I was dragged into an alley, then behind a building. The hand came from my mouth for a moment to open a door, only to return it and squelch another scream. Using a foot, he kicked the door shut behind him, making the cheap windows rattle. I could hear a tinny piano playing and the air was heavy with the smell of whiskey—not just from my abductor—and thick cigar smoke.
A man scrubbing dishes in a deep pump sink turned his head and paused, plate in hand. I made sounds against the palm over my mouth, my eyes wide, pleading for him to help me, but he just turned back and continued his task. A narrow wooden stairway led upwards and the man turned sideways so we could both fit as he climbed, bumping me into the rough-hewn wall.
At the top, he released me, my feet touching the ground and air entering my lungs. I could see the top of a second stairwell at the far end of the hall, the music louder from here. A woman—who most certainly was a lady of the night—stood scantily clad speaking with a man who seemed quite pleased with her forward attentions. Further along were two men who leaned over a railing, presumably to view the saloon downstairs. I had no doubt as to my whereabouts; the establishment had been just down the street from where the man grabbed me and it was easy to infer from the men, the woman and the liquor.
"You can scream, but no one will help." The man leaned down to speak directly into my ear. His breath was hot and fetid. "They'll think you're playing, that you like it rough. I do. I like it when a woman fights."
A bitter taste filled my mouth at his unpalatable words. My only consideration was preventing this man from pulling me into one of the many rooms
that lined the hall. From Miss Trudy and Miss Esther's tales, I knew what occurred in the upstairs of a saloon, and it wasn't for me. Screaming and running off might not bring me the help I wanted, for someone might just drag me right back to the man or take liberties himself. I had to defend myself!
I remembered what Miss Esther had taught us about fending off an overeager suitor. This man most certainly wasn't a suitor, but he more than qualified. I raised my knee and stomped down onto the top of his foot with all my might. He had heavy leather boots that softened the blow, but it surprised him enough to loosen his grip. I rammed my elbow backward, directly into his man parts.
A muffled, high-pitched groan came from between his clenched teeth.
His hands went to cover his injury and I didn't delay. I dashed down the hall in the direction of the front stairwell.
"I'll get you, bitch."
At his hissed warning, I turned my head to look back at the dastardly man, which prevented me from seeing the man who stepped into my path. I ran solidly into him with my shoulder and my head. Once again, strong arms banded about me.
"No. Let me go!" I fought him with a burst of energy founded in fear.
"Rose. Stop." The voice was familiar, but that wasn't what had me stilling. It was his scent that I recognized. Chance.
I settled immediately and looked up at my friend, my savior. I didn't see the friendliness or usual warmth I usually saw there. Instead, his eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly and a tick pulsed in his cheek. He was more warrior than cowboy. "Did he hurt you?"
His dark gaze raked over my face, then my body as he pushed me away from him. He didn't release me, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders. This time, I did not mind a man's hands upon my person, nor his roving stare. Besides the odd thumb incident earlier in the day, it was the only time he'd touched me. His hands were quite large and very warm. The solid weight of his grip was comforting instead of confining.
