Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3)

by Lee Savino

  “Let me fulfill this last promise to Mary.”

  The hardness crept over her again. “For Mary,” she agreed, coldly, as another knock sounded on the door. Lyle left her side and she shut her eyes. He didn’t want her; he wanted to fulfill his promise to her sister. She was a pale copy for her beautiful and sweet sibling, but he would see to her just the same. Bitterness puckered her mouth as she turned to see Jesse’s head poking in.

  “Minister’s here. Is the bride willing?”

  Both brothers looked back at Rose, and she waved a hand in a derisive gesture.

  “As willing as any,” Lyle said, a dimple popped in his cheek. Jesse had one to mirror his brother.

  The sight was so charming, Rose rolled her eyes.

  *

  A few minutes later, the ceremony started. Rose stood shoulder to shoulder with her brand new fiancé and felt no need to slump to hide her height. Lyle was almost a head taller, a rare but welcome occurrence. She was used to manipulating her height to seem petite against smaller men.

  She wore her green dress and left her hair unbound, a red wave washing down her back.

  The minister didn’t seem surprised by her simple toilet. “Ready?” He eyed Rose frankly, until Lyle half stepped in front of her.

  “Is this Rosie May?” the chaplain asked of him.

  Rose let a smile curve her lips, more derision than joy.

  “It is, isn’t it,” the man exclaimed. “You’re to marry her? Is she with child?”

  “We’ll double your fee if you keep to the ceremony,” Jesse broke in, noting his brother’s rising temper.

  After those magic words, the man took out his bible and began without hesitation.

  Rose stood rigid, waiting for the next slight. She almost jumped when Lyle’s hand touched hers, clasping it.

  It felt nice, too nice. Rose resisted dragging it away. For Mary, she reminded herself. Lyle had no interest in touching her otherwise, no matter how much her body seemed to enjoy his.

  By the end of the ceremony, her mouth was dry, and she was almost swaying with fatigue and the strain of the day. She whispered the words, hoping the men would take her quiet for timidity, but Lyle put his arm around her, supporting her weight. It seemed she couldn’t fool the groom.

  When the minister spoke the last words, Lyle gave her a squeeze and touched her face lightly, turning her lips to his for a brief kiss.

  Jesse whooped, and stepped in, clapping Lyle on the back, and then leaning in to give Rose a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Welcome to the family,” he winked at her, “Mrs. Wilder.”

  As the younger Wilder went on to finish the dealings with the minister, Rose turned to Lyle with a dazed expression.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’ve never had a last name. Mary gave up our father’s as soon as we left him, and I haven’t had one since.”

  Lyle gave her another one of his tender looks. “I’m honored to share mine with you.” He raised her hand and kissed it. For a moment her heart fluttered, and she pretended the kiss was for her, the kiss of a lover, and not a man with an obligation.

  *

  The newlyweds rode out the next morning, meeting Jesse at his camp outside of town and heading southwest towards Lyle’s homestead and away from Doyle’s reach. Lyle kept his stallion close to Rose while his brother scouted ahead, circling back for meals and water.

  She didn’t feel married. Sometimes she enjoyed Lyle playing the doting husband, keeping a close escort, giving her the best of the meat and first pull on the water bottle, making light conversation during the journey when a rock or an eagle or a stream of note came into view. But sometimes she found his attention annoying.

  The night before, after the ceremony, food had come and the three Wilders all dined together, Rose practically falling asleep in her stew. In the end, Lyle carried her to bed and tucked her in.

  “Good luck, brother,” she heard Jesse say, before Lyle pushed him out the door. Half-asleep, she waited for Lyle to come and initiate his marriage rights, but he only tucked the blanket around her more firmly, crawled beside her and fell asleep.

  All day riding beside him, peering at his tall and muscled form out of the corner of her eye (even covered in dirt with half a day’s stubble he looked very fine), she wondered if he’d take advantage of her body during their “marriage.” Part of her rather hoped he would, while the other half of her wanted to beat his head in with a rock and ride hard the other way. Her indecision on the matter made her cranky.

  At sunset, they stopped at the foot of a large butte to make camp. Once Lyle started the fire, his brother stood, shouldered his pack and stalked off into the brush.

  Rose watched him leave with trepidation. “Where’s Jesse off to?”

  “He’s giving us some privacy.” Lyle sounded nonchalant, but Rose stood and paced around the campfire, rubbing her arms. It was a cool night for late July, and she looked with misery at the mountains, wondering if she could flee.

  “He wants a stake in my claim.” Lyle ignored her wanderings and kept tending to the fire. “Says he wants to settle down and help us strike rich. Of course, he told me that years ago and then left almost right after I put in for the land.”

  This neutral topic set her at ease, and she stopped her nervous movement, sitting back down on her rock. “What does he do now?”

  “Damned if I know. He always seems to have work. Courier, guard, his biggest skills are riding and shooting.”

  “Sounds like an outlaw.”

  Lyle grinned at the small fire, then shrugged at Rose. “Perhaps. I was looking forward to him coming to help me mine. But then I’ve seen him only four times in five years and count myself lucky. He keeps to himself mostly.”

  “Still, must be nice to know your brother.”

  “Mary said you had other siblings. A brother?”

  Rose shrugged. “A few. They died young, and my mother with them.”

  “Mary said a brother survived, but your mother took him to friends and left him, to hide him from your father. Apparently he was violent towards the boy.”

  “My father was violent towards everything,” Rose muttered.

  “Do you know where he is? Your father.”

  “The darkest pit in hell.”

  “Did you kill him?” Lyle’s voice held no condemnation.

  “No. His favorite mistress—Whiskey.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “Drank too much, fell into a trough and drowned. At least, that’s what reports say.” Her fingernails dug into her palms. “I hope he felt it.”

  Lyle nodded. “Well, at least that’s one man I won’t have to worry about coming for you.”

  Rose opened her mouth to speak, when a twig snapped nearby. Rose jumped, but Lyle was already up on his feet, gun raised. “Who’s there?”

  Two rough-looking men slunk out of the brush, stopping on the edge of the camp. Shadow and firelight warred on their mean, dirty faces.

  “Howdy, friends,” one spoke. He started forward, but Lyle pushed back his coat and drew out his second Colt, and the man stopped in his tracks and raised his hands. “We mean no harm. We’re camped back yonder. Come to ask if you’d like some company around the campfire.”

  Rose held her breath.

  “We had hoped for some privacy.” Lyle relaxed his weapons, but didn’t holster them. “But there’s no reason we can’t share a fire.”

  “We have venison to share,” the man offered. “If I had known it was just the two of you, we wouldn’t have bothered.”

  His buddy spotted Rose across the way and elbowed the speaker, drawing his attention to the fireside beauty. Both men leered at Rose, who tightened her arms around her torso.

  Lyle stepped into the line of sight, blocking the men’s view of his bride. “It’s not just the two of us. My brother is out hunting and should be returning soon.”

  As if on cue, a shot rang out, and the men jumped, putting hands to guns.

  “That’s him no
w,” Lyle drawled. “Crack shot, even at dusk.”

  A clatter in the brush, then Jesse came walking back, a dead rabbit in his hand. “Howdy.”

  “These men want to join us for dinner.” Lyle had put his Colts away, but he stood with his hands hitched in his pockets, right over the dual pistols.

  “Here’s our share,” Jesse told the two men. “Bring yours and a camp pot, and we’ll cook it all up.”

  Jesse spit the rabbit and roasted it next to a fry pan of hominy. The meal split five ways, but Rose picked at her share. She wished the strangers would leave. If she was with different company, she might flirt with the men a little and get their mettle, but Lyle wouldn’t allow flirting. She was without her greatest weapon, and even with Lyle close, the visiting men couldn’t stop darting glances her way.

  After dinner, their visitors lingered. Jesse didn’t disappear again, but sat on a rock, his rifle at his feet, and his own Colt in hand. He was cleaning the revolver, though Rose saw no need for the gleaming metal to need another swipe of the rag. Lyle also had his straight razor out and was honing it on his strop, a strip of leather about half an arm’s length long, and a finger length wide. Eventually, the older Wilder put his razor away and drew out a long hunting knife to sharpen. The blade made an ominous scraping sound on the whetstone. Just like Jesse, Lyle kept his eyes on his work, but the two visitors to the campfire watched the brothers carefully.

  Rose sat silent, her back straight, trying to keep from drawing attention as the men talked of mining claims, ways to Royal Gorge, and the best saloons in Colorado Springs.

  “Fine time to ride out with a lady,” the man said. “Not many out here, certainly not as pretty as her.”

  Rose kept her face to the fire, carefully blank. She’d barely eaten, and Lyle had scooted closer to coax her.

  “Once saw a lady as pretty as you. She was part of a show up in Denver. Bunch of girls were, but she was the only redhead.” The man kept on, ignoring Rose’s blank face and discomfort. “They gave her a separate act, advertised as the prettiest ankles in the West.”

  “I think my wife would rather hear talk of something else,” Lyle said quietly.

  “Wife?” The other man guffawed. “What she give you for the ring? Someone as pretty as her won’t work much, ‘cept when she’s on her back under ye.”

  Lyle was on his feet across the campfire before the man finished laughing. In one move, Lyle stooped and pulled the man up by his collar. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

  In his corner, Jesse was no longer lounging casually, but had two guns out, a pistol in his hand and shotgun on his knee. “Thanks for sharing the dinner. Don’t forget your pot.”

  Hands in the air again, the first man grabbed his pot, grumbling a little under his breath. He kicked a little dirt into the fire as he left. Lyle shoved the mouthier man in the same direction and waited on the edge of the camp until both men disappeared. Then he turned and signaled Jesse, who nodded.

  Rose came to her feet, watching the Wilders communicate without words. After a final nod to his brother, Jesse picked up his guns and stalked back into the brush. Lyle kicked dirt into the fire and started laying out the blankets and bedroll near a rock.

  “You all right?” he called back to her. “Never seen you look so lost. Even facing Doyle, you were made of stone.” He straightened, brushing off his trouser legs. “I didn’t like it. Prefer you angry and fighting.”

  She blinked at him and realized he was trying to make her feel better. “I’m tired.”

  “Must be,” he said gently, and moving past her, squeezed her arm.

  Watching him check the fire pit one last time, she didn’t move from her place. She felt frozen, wondering where else the night would take her. Here she was, making camp after a long day riding with her new husband, who stood up for her and protected her from the stares of other men. One day married, and she was already on new ground, and it felt like quicksand.

  “Come to bed, Rose.”

  Her stomach flipped, and she felt the quicksand fall away and a chasm gape at her feet. What would he want with her?

  “No worries, darlin’. We’re just going to sleep.”

  Her world tilted right again, and she took a step forward. “Where did Jesse go?”

  “He’s taking first watch. He likes a stake out.”

  Another glance into the brush turned out to be a mistake. Lyle took advantage of her distraction, grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto the bedroll. He positioned them both, pulling her until she lay on her side, rock at his back and Colts at hand. He draped his coat and a blanket over them, but she still felt cold inside. A chill hit her hard, and she shivered.

  When he wrapped his arms around her from behind, it felt like heaven.

  His lips brushed her ear. “Are you frightened?”

  Rose nodded.

  “Don’t be. Jesse will keep watch until midnight, then wake me. I’ll take over.”

  She nodded again, then craned her neck to face him. “Those men would’ve left if you’d given them a taste of me. Maybe just a dance and a kiss.”

  Silence, then Lyle moved, pulling her under him. She lay on her back looking up into his dark face, the moonlight just enough to see him by.

  “No one gets a taste of you anymore. ‘Cept maybe me.”

  “You defended me.”

  “Yes, Rose. You’re mine to defend.” His arms squeezed in tighter for a second, then he freed a hand to stroke her cheek. “I know you’re not used to a man standing up for you, but I swear, pretty soon you’ll think it’s normal what I did for you.”

  “It was nice,” she said.

  “I’m glad you think that. Maybe soon you won’t believe I’m such a scoundrel.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  He chuckled and turned her again, so she was tucked into his body. He threw one leg over hers, pinning her with its warm weight. It felt nice.

  “Go to sleep, Rose.”

  Too tired to fight, she snuggled in, and did.

  *

  When she woke again, it was still dark, and Lyle was lying down beside her. “Finished my watch,” he muttered roughly. “Go back to sleep.”

  She listened as his breathing went soft, and tried to doze off. But she couldn’t. Her thoughts swirled through the past day’s events, from Doyle and Otis to the men at the hotel and the sheriff, and then to the visitors last night. Those men would’ve caused trouble, and if it had only been Lyle and her, they would’ve. How would they survive when Jesse commenced his wandering?

  Moving slowly, Rose turned to face Lyle’s sleeping form. In repose, his face was breathtaking. Hair thick and perfect, eyelashes long as a woman’s against his beautiful cheekbones, lips perfectly formed. He could have any woman he chose, but he chose her, a saloon girl. For all he knew, she was a soiled dove, a whore who had sold her body so many times, there was nothing left to give. He needed to find a sweet, quiet woman, who would do as she was told, who had an unspoiled past and a decent family. She could never be that for him, but he’d never give her up, unless she could get away, once and for all.

  Every moment she lingered, she was a danger to him and Jesse. Rolling to her back, she watched dawn take over the starry sky. Before the sun rose, she’d made her decision.

  The horses were tethered together, and she separated the gelding and saddled him, patting his neck to quiet him. The black stallion nickered at her as she threw her leg over her mount and started off. The horse was quick to trot, and she rode south into the wilderness as daylight broke out behind the butte.

  By the time Lyle woke, she’d be long gone and he’d be off the hook. He’d be free to live his life. He’d saved her from Doyle; that would be enough to absolve him of his deathbed promise to her sister.

  Everything was going fine until she burst through the brush, and rode straight into a camp full of rough-looking men. Swerving around a few tents, Rose cursed under her breath and kicked her gelding to a faster speed. A few men sh
outed at her as she rode past, pulling on trousers as they tried to leap out of her way. Ahead, she saw a campfire. The two men from last night were there, scrambling to escape as she galloped right through their midst, gritting her teeth as the gelding leaped over their cooking fire.

  “Stop her, catch her,” a few men cried.

  One grabbed a shotgun and aimed, and Rose swung low over her horse, only to see him start to fumble to load the gun. Men gave chase, two grabbing their mounts and swinging up as she galloped past.

  “Stop her, she’ll sound the alarm,” they cried.

  A few pistols fired, but her horse was already dashing over the plain, headed back towards the butte. She dug her heels into the gelding’s side, hands shaking too much to guide it back on course. Behind her, she could hear men hollering as they broke camp. Apparently, they weren’t ready to forgive her disturbance; a few were still coming after her. She realized why: they were bandits, lying in wait for innocent travelers, right along the stagecoach path. If they caught her, she’d be dead.

  “Rose,” someone cried, and it was Lyle, riding for her, bent low over his black stallion, Colt in hand.

  Her pursuers fired shots, and she cried out in fear and relief at the sight of her Wilder riding to the rescue.

  Lyle rode hard, his stallion eating up the ground faster than anything she’d ever seen, until the black horse and rider fell along beside her.

  “Follow me,” he shouted, and turned his mount. She obeyed, kicking her mount to ride alongside Lyle’s stallion in a race for their lives. The big black easily outstripped the gelding, and she knew it would leave her and her ride behind, if Lyle didn’t keep slowing to wait for her.

  Shots rang out as the bandits drew closer.

  “Don’t look back,” Lyle ordered. “Keep your head down, and ride!”

  Flattening herself against her mount, she obeyed. Their horses fled past the butte, straight into its shadow. Rose kept her eyes on Lyle just up ahead, his powerful form and the stallion’s moving as one.

  Please, please, she begged under her breath. She could hear their pursuers drawing closer.