Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3)

by Lee Savino

  “Scoundrel,” she cried. “Give them back.”

  “Come on, Rose. Day’s a wastin’. Got a lot to do.”

  Glaring, she rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.

  “Stubborn,” he said.

  “Idiot,” she mumbled.

  “Now, now, what did I tell you about calling me names?” He caught her ankles and dragged her down the pallet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I know how to wake you up and make you sweet.” With a wicked grin, he lowered his head between her legs.

  *

  The sun was up by the time the newlyweds left the cabin. After a simple breakfast, Rose helped Lyle with the morning chores and learned her way around the homestead. Fetching water, chopping and stacking firewood, and sweeping the cobwebs out of the cabin was work, but she threw herself into the mundane chores. The labor was good and she felt clean somehow, out in the fresh air with the sun on her face.

  By noon, her shoulders ached. She felt relief when Lyle stopped working to offer her a dipperful of water. “If you’re all right with jerky for lunch, we’ll ride out to visit our neighbors. I’d like you to meet them.”

  Nodding, Rose hastened to smooth her dress and brush out her hair. What would these neighbors think of Lyle’s new wife? Her pale skin and fashionable figure weren’t assets on a homestead; she would look ridiculous.

  Lyle caught her peering into his shaving mirror, fussing with her bonnet. Wrapping a handful of her shining hair around his wrist, he drew her head back and kissed her.

  “You look beautiful. Let’s go.”

  “I just don’t know what to expect…”

  “They’ll like you. Stow the piss and vinegar, and don’t throw anything at ‘em.”

  He ducked out of the door before she could find a worthy missile.

  The afternoon’s journey took them through the great pine forest, but they were never far away from the sound of the rushing river. Lyle guided his stallion along a woodland stream until he found the trail. Rose rode behind him and they brought the gelding along to give to their neighbor, who seemed to have a lot to do with horses.

  The Donovans homesteaded in a large clearing, their cabin on a hill overlooking their stable, corrals, and the river.

  A broad shouldered man, muscular and tanned, came out to greet them. Behind him, in a training pen, a great white stallion pranced and whinnied angrily at the newcomers.

  “Miles Donovan,” Lyle murmured to Rose, before dismounting and helping her down.

  “That horse is coming along,” Lyle said to Miles as a greeting.

  Miles shrugged. “He’ll always need a strong master.”

  “He’s a beauty,” Rose said, and had the pleasure of watching Miles’ eyes crinkle at the compliment.

  “Name’s Lightning.”

  “Come here, you old saddle-stiff.” Lyle gripped Miles’ hand and the two men thumped each other’s backs before looking to Rose.

  Lyle reached for her. “Donovan, this is my wife, Rose Wilder.”

  Miles blinked in surprise but tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am.”

  Donovan was shorter than Lyle, but his shoulders were wider and his whole form was thickly muscled. He was a stern faced man, and Rose kept her distance as he never seemed to smile. Only when his wife came out of their cabin with the baby in her arms did Donovan’s face soften.

  “My wife, Carrie,” he said proudly. Carrie was short and curvy, with long, wavy chestnut hair. A few curls wafted against her cheeks, having escaped her cheery bonnet. “And my daughter.”

  “You must be Rose.” Smiling, Carrie came forward and, to Rose’s surprise, handed the baby to her husband before coming to hug Rose.

  Turning panicked eyes to Lyle, Rose returned the hug as best she could.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. It will be nice to have a woman out here on the frontier.”

  “Carrie.” Miles looked disapproving, but his wife just shrugged.

  “Well, it’s true.” She turned to Rose and whispered loudly, “My husband can get by with just cattle and horses, but I need to talk to someone.”

  Lyle chuckled.

  Meanwhile, Miles was looking down at the babe in his arms. Rose almost caught her breath at the change in his serious expression. His shining look of love washed the usual grimness of his face away.

  “This is my daughter, Mary,” Carrie said.

  “Oh.” Rose’s hand went to her throat, and she blinked back tears that seemed to be always close by. She felt Lyle move closer to her side. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Do you want to hold her?” Carrie asked.

  Rose shook her head. “Not now. She’s sleeping. Let her be.”

  “She’s always sleeping.” Miles deposited the baby into the mother’s arms.

  Carrie cuddled her child close. “She’s the sweetest baby ever.”

  “Doesn’t take after her mother then,” Lyle said, and Rose looked at him sharply until she realized her husband was teasing.

  Carrie didn’t take the bait, only shook her head gently at the grinning man. When Miles and Lyle turned away, she stuck out her tongue at Lyle, then winked at Rose.

  “Got that cow for you once she’s weaned its calf,” Rose heard Miles say to her husband before Carrie fell into step beside her.

  “You taking Blossom? She’s a good cow.” The young mother walked quickly for someone so short. Rose swept along faster, wincing as her hem trailed in the muddy grass.

  “I guess so.”

  “Have you ever milked one?”

  “No.” Rose snorted before she realized that was probably going to be her chore every day. “I don’t even know how.”

  “I was the same way,” Carrie laughed. “Let me know if you need a tutor. I’ve become an expert hand at it, now.”

  As the men stood at the corral, watching Lightning and talking, Rose glanced down at her short companion. Carrie Donovan was the picture of a perfect prairie wife, with a robust form and freckles on her nose.

  “How long have you lived here?” Rose asked.

  “About a year,” Carrie said. “Miles wrote that he was looking for a wife, and I had no prospects back East, so I came to marry him. It was rough at first, but we found our way.” Her lips curved with a secret smile. “Little Mary was born this summer.”

  Surprised, Rose couldn’t think of what to say. She’d judged Carrie too soon; behind the sweet face lay an iron will.

  “I know Lyle has been looking for you for some time now. Where did he find you?”

  “In a saloon,” Rose blurted and waited for the woman’s rancor. “I knew Lyle when he married my sister five years ago, but I was separated from them. When he found me, I was working as a dancer.”

  Carrie cocked her head, nothing like disgust in her expression. “Did you like it? Dancing, I mean.”

  Rose blinked in shock. “I loved it. I loved the music, the audience. Just not the men—not all of them.”

  “I can understand that,” Carrie muttered, and again Rose felt she had misjudged the woman’s depths.

  “Have you ever been in a saloon?” Rose asked bluntly, and was rewarded with a slight coloring of the homestead woman’s face.

  “No, but I imagine it must be fun to dress up in fine things and have music every night.” Carrie blushed fully. “And both your complexion and figure are so perfect, you probably drew every eye.”

  Rose’s lip curled. “Yes, well, pale skin and fine hands won’t do me much good here.” She looked over the clearing, the cabin on the hill and well-kept garden behind, the cow in its shed and chicken coop, and wondered if she could ever be as steadfast and capable as the sweet-tempered Mrs. Donovan. What if she wasn’t cut out for such a life? Would Lyle become disappointed in her and wish he had never married her?

  One winter, she reminded herself. She could play at house for one winter, then come spring examine her prospects. Once Lyle saw how unfit she was for homesteading, he would let her go. Right now, with the fantas
y of living with her as he did with her sister Mary, he would try to keep her.

  “Rose.” Carrie turned to her. “When I first came here, it took me a while to settle. In the end, Miles and I worked it out—” Again, her cheeks pinked. “But I wish I had a friend nearby to see me through. Promise me that, if you feel lonely, you’ll talk to someone. I may not have many fancy things or exciting tales, but I’m a good listener. I’m here, if you need a friend.”

  “Thank you.” Rose felt a pang, realizing how haughty and alien she must seem to the frontier woman. “I promise you that I will call again. By then I may have a more suitable dress.” The redhead looked ruefully at her green riding dress, the mud stains not quite hiding the fabric’s fancy sheen.

  “I can make you one, if you like. Have Mr. Martin in town order you some fabric. Green, to set off your fine skin.”

  Rose felt her face soften into a smile. “I’d like that.”

  As the men returned, baby Mary started to cry.

  “Be well,” Carrie said, before heading up the hill to the cabin.

  “Take care, my friend.” Miles shook Lyle’s hand then tipped his hat to Rose before jogging up the hill to catch up with his wife. As Rose watched, he put his arm around Carrie, escorting her and the babe to their cabin in a tender picture. The perfect family, Rose thought, and wondered if Lyle would want children one day. She felt a pang as she realized she would best be long gone by then.

  *

  A few days on the homestead and Rose fell into a routine. Every morning, Lyle went to feed the horses and let them out to pasture, while Rose fetched water, tended the fire, and cursed over the making of breakfast. Lyle rode to the Donovans again and brought back meat, milk and eggs in exchange for a few hours labor. Carrie had sent an apron for Rose, who was grateful for something to protect her few dresses while she learned her chores. After the third day of Rose burning dinner, Lyle took over making the johnny cakes and cornbread, and made her promise to stick to making porridge for breakfast.

  One morning, she had spent a few extra minutes picking the juicy red berries on a bush near the stream where she got water. She put them in a dish and set them carefully on the table when a shadow cut across the setting.

  “Hello, sister.”

  Rose jumped at the man’s voice and whirled, but it was only her brother-in-law. The younger Wilder lounged in the doorway, black hair curling over his forehead and green eyes glinting. He looked so smug, but then, he always seemed amused by something.

  “Jesse.” After frowning at him, she went back to the hearth. Everything Lyle had told her about his vagabond brother had only grown her dislike of him. “About time you showed up.”

  “Couldn’t miss a hot meal.” He strutted to the table and started to poke at the berries. Rose rushed over and slapped his hand.

  “We’re waiting for Lyle.” Setting the porridge on the table, she started to dish it into their bowls.

  “Well, now I’ve seen everything. The great Rosie May turned into a cook. Pretty soon you’ll be knitting his clothes and darning his socks like a good housewife.”

  The glare she sent his way could’ve curdled milk, but Jesse just chuckled.

  “It’s good to see you settling into matrimony. My brother needs help.”

  “Especially since you can’t seem to stick around long enough to fulfill your obligations.” Rose couldn’t resist goading him, though she knew Lyle would want her to bite her tongue.

  Jesse started to answer, then noticed her breakfast preparations and caught her hands. “Rose, what are you doing?”

  “I’m putting berries into the porridge.”

  “Those are poison.”

  In their dish, the juicy red orbs looked so delicious. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. Did you eat any?” Jesse looked so alarmed, she shook her head quickly.

  “Good.” He relaxed and grinned, showing fine white teeth. “Unless you want to be a widow, I would throw them out.”

  “What’s this about being a widow?” Lyle said from the doorway.

  Still holding Rose’s wrists, Jesse turned his smile onto his brother. “Your bride’s already trying to get rid of you.”

  “Old news.” Lyle waved a hand. “She tries to kill me every day. Keeps me on my toes.”

  Rose tried to pull her hands away, but Jesse held on with a teasing smirk, until Lyle loomed over him.

  “You want to let her go?” Lyle’s voice turned scary.

  With a wink, Jesse released Rose and she scuttled away to the hearth to get the coffee. “No harm done, brother. I was just admiring your bride’s domestic skills.”

  “Don’t speak too soon, brother.” Lyle pulled up the large chair to the table, and held it out for Rose as she returned. “Though, I must admit, she’s gotten a good grasp of porridge.”

  She set the coffee pot on the table and glared at her husband before sitting down.

  “Thanks for making breakfast, darlin’.” He leaned forward and kissed her frowning mouth.

  Throughout the meal, Rose busied herself with serving the coffee and dishing out more porridge while the brothers talked about plans for the winter.

  “I have a commission to ride escort to a stagecoach. Some bigwig from Europe is coming West to make his fortune.”

  “I thought you’d be here for the next few months.”

  Jesse shrugged. “Maybe by the first snow.” He rolled his eyes at Lyle’s unhappy expression. “Relax, brother. I’ll have money enough to pay for my own stores, and help you two.”

  “We need help here,” Lyle pointed out.

  “I accepted the commission.” Jesse shrugged. “Can’t back out now.” Standing, he went to the door and slung up his rifle. “I’ll tent here a few nights. Shoot a few pheasant, maybe a buck. Least I can do, leave you some meat.”

  “That should help us. As long as Rose doesn’t cook it.” Lyle put a fond hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook it off.

  “You’ll be lucky if I ever cook for you again,” she hissed, rising and stomping away to do the washing up.

  “That’s what you get for marrying a redhead,” Jesse said to his brother, clapping on his black hat. “All spit and vinegar.”

  “But damned fine to look at,” Lyle drawled. “And catches fire like you wouldn’t believe. You should be so lucky.”

  She whirled to give them both a piece of her mind, and her foot kicked the water bucket and sent water splashing into the fire.

  The steam went up, and she staggered back with a gasp. Lyle was at her back at once, steadying her before handing her the bucket.

  “Her housekeeping skills leave something to be desired.” Jesse laughed.

  “Get out,” Rose shrieked and threw the bucket. The youngest Wilder ducked out of the cabin before the missile hit the door frame.

  “Calm yourself, Rose.” Lyle had a grin.

  “You too,” she snapped at him. “You were making fun of me.”

  “Just teasing, darlin’. It’s what we do with family.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Not without a kiss.” His lips descended, but she turned her face away. Lyle planted one on her cheek and walked out, still chuckling.

  Still fuming, Rose swept up the mess. How could she be a good wife when she’d never had a hearth or home? On the wagon trail, she’d helped make food, but more often her payment was a song and a dance. Lyle deserved a better wife than she.

  With that unhappy thought, she tied back her hair in a kerchief and went to get water. She couldn’t cook, or sew, or do much of anything, but she could scrub floors and do the washing. If nothing else, her house and clothes would be clean.

  Doing the washing turned out to be a nasty chore that left her dirty all over. Late afternoon, she looked up from her scrubbing to see her husband dismounting. A day’s labor and every hair on his head was in place. Even his stallion gleamed.

  She rather hated him. He strode up, grinning at her as she sat back on her heels and wrung out
the rag she’d been using to wash the cabin floor.

  “Long day, my love?”

  Blowing out her cheeks, she looked around the cabin. She’d pulled the table and chair to one side and used them as a place to hang the clothes to dry. Then she’d dragged the pallet outside, hung it over the corral fence and beat it until she was covered in dust. The floor was still wet in some places, but the rough floor boards looked fresher.

  Wiping a hand across her forehead she replied, “Too short, and yet too long.”

  Leaning down, Lyle swiped at her cheek with his thumb. “Got some dirt smudges on you.”

  “Oh.” She jerked back and wiped at her face with the back of her forearm.

  “Now it’s worse,” Lyle observed, and took the rag from her hand. “Why don’t you go wash up? Jesse and I will put things back together and make dinner.”

  Trying not to show her hurt, she stormed off in the direction of the stream. Try as she might, she could not find her place in Lyle’s world. He should’ve married a sweet wife, someone who would do his bidding, cook his dinner and darn his damn socks.

  It didn’t help that during dinner Lyle brought up their visit with the Donovans. Jesse leaned back in his chair and whistled. “That little Carrie. Sweetest flower for miles.”

  “Don’t let Miles hear you talk of his wife with any disrespect.” Lyle paused in eating to rub his jaw, wincing as if remembering an old blow.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect. If I had a wife like that. Of course, it’s too late for you. You got a little spit fire.”

  “I did so,” Lyle grunted, and Rose’s temper flared. Her rage was towards him, not Jesse. Jesse was a scoundrel. But Lyle was her husband and should defend her.

  “Coffee?” She shoved her chair back, then stomped to the fire. Returning with the coffee pot, she slammed it down.

  Now both men were grinning at her, and for a second, she considered flinging the hot liquid at them.

  “I’ll take some.” Jesse pushed his cup forward, and she poured for all of them.

  “I made Indian pudding.” Lyle got up to go to the hearth. “Last time Rose tried a dessert, we almost lost the Dutch oven. I scraped burnt bits out of the bottom for half a morning. Whatever she was cooking turned to coal.”