Rocky Mountain Discipline

by Lee Savino

Finally, they stopped at a stream. He dismounted first, and helped her down. Once she slid off Jordan's lathered sides, she practically leaped into Jesse's arms, her mouth finding his.

  His hand gripping her hair, he kissed and kissed and kissed her.

  "Jesse," she gasped, when he was done.

  "I thought it was over," he said, his hands working over her body as if he couldn't believe she was alive. "I heard the shot. I knew they would give me an opening. It was just a matter of time."

  Their bodies came together again and it was a while before Susannah broke the kiss.

  "Shouldn't we run, in case they're following?"

  "Bigs and Billy Johnson won't be brave enough, now that Doyle's dead. They'll pick someone else to bully."

  Susannah blinked. "Doyle's dead?"

  Her question was rewarded with a glimmer of Jesse's old smile. "You shot him in the stomach."

  "Is that bad?"

  "If you want someone to die a slow and painful death, sure. I don't think we'll be worrying about Doyle anytime soon." Planting one last kiss on her head, he boosted up onto Jordan and reached for her. "Come on, Susannah. Let's go home."

  She put a finger against his lips, smiling. "Call me baggage."

  THE END

  Rocky Mountain Wild

  Rocky Mountain Discipline - Book Six

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2016

  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 Wild

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-435-3

  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 Wild

  The young woman sat on Calum’s lap, her hair falling down her back in a thick, dark mass. Pale and slight, with wide blue eyes, she was a lovely creature, though at the moment she wore a little pout.

  Taller and larger than most men, Calum MacDonnell had no trouble balancing her slender body on his broad thighs. One arm supported her, while the other dipped into a bowl of stew.

  “Open,” Calum said, holding the spoon to her mouth.

  She whimpered a little in humiliation, but did as he said.

  “Good lass.”

  Her brow wrinkled as she accepted the food into her mouth. “I don’t need you to feed me,” she said once she had swallowed. “I’m not a baby; I’m two and twenty. I can take care of myself.”

  He just clucked at her and held up another spoonful to her lips. “That argument would’ve worked before you decided to disappear down another trail, even after you agreed you’d follow me straight home. It’s a lot of work, playing in the snow, and you weren’t to run off without me. You might fall and break a bone, and then were would we be?”

  “I was perfectly fine. I’m much stronger now.”

  “We don’t want you to overdo it,” he said. “You’re much too thin to be flitting about in the wild on your own. My wee bird needs to eat.”

  She took the next spoonful obediently, then whined, “But Calum…”

  “Hush, Phoebe. As it is, you’re getting spanked and plugged tonight. Keep it up and you’ll get another clyster. Disobedient lassies need their bottoms cleaned out to settle them.”

  She pouted, but let him continue feeding her, not even protesting when a bit dribbled down her chin and he mopped it up with a cloth.

  “That’s it, wee one,” he crooned. “Just a few more bites before I put you over my knee for your punishment. And where do naughty Phoebes get punished?”

  The beautiful lass squirmed in his lap. “My bottom.”

  “That’s right. Inside and outside their bare bums.” He held the cup of milk for her to take a sip before picking up the spoon again. “Now if you finish your dinner like a good lass, after I plug your cheeks and turn them pink, I’ll make sure to take care of you.”

  Three months prior…

  When the stagecoach stopped in Royal, Colorado, Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. The little town stood out from the miles of wilderness, tucked against the rising mountains.

  Clutching the bag containing all her meager possessions, she hopped down before the driver could come around to help her and started for the general store, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of two men lounging on the porch, watching the coach. Both were tall, smartly dressed and good looking. With their similar slouching confidence and matching thick, black hair, they looked like brothers.

  Phoebe ducked her head before she finished limping up to the building, hoping to avoid the men’s stares. The limp came partly from her cramped leg and partly from her cursed right foot. From birth it was twisted slightly inward, forcing her to wear an oversized shoe and walk heavily on her right side. Mrs. Covey, her former employer, had been understanding about her defect, and even provided bandages and hot compresses that seemed to help. But the long journey from Missouri had her whole body aching.

  The men on the porch were gazing at her, but men always did. Phoebe considered herself twice cursed; once at birth with a twisted foot, and then, at the age of thirteen, with a comeliness men could not ignore. Even the shawl clutched around her head couldn’t cover the thick black fall of hair flowing past her waist, the darkness accentuating her pale skin and wide blue eyes. Her body was too tall and skinny to hold much interest, but her face was more than enough to catch the eye, as it did now. At least the men only stared. If one decided to take advantage of her, experience had proved she couldn’t run away fast enough.

  But she’d come all this way to start her new life, and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be afraid anymore.

  Reaching the porch, Phoebe ignored the two men who watched her curiously. Only a close study would note her fingers whitening where they clutched her shawl.

  “Help you up, miss?” one asked, coming away from the railing and offering her his hand. Shaking her head, she shied away and limped towards the store to wait for her new employer. Before she could open the door, a large woman in a fine dress bustled out.

  “Mrs. Martin.” The two men whipped off their hats.

  “The items you ordered won’t be here for a fortnight,” she announced, and the men groaned.

  “You should’ve put in the order sooner,” she scolded. “You know every man and his mule is trying to dig for gold.”

  One man looked to the other, settling his hat on his head. “I told you so.”

  “Shut up,” the other retorted, with an easy grin that told Phoebe he was joking.

  “Now, now,” the matron clucked. “None of that on my porch. The supplies will come in when they come in, so be off with you. Don’t you have wives waiting for you at home? I know Rose will give you the sharp side of her tongue if you keep her dinner waiting.”

  “She’ll give it to me anyway.” The taller man shrugged. He didn’t seem too put out by the shopkeeper’s nagging.

  “And who are you?” The woman turned her attention to Phoebe, who gulped several times before she could speak.

  “Phoebe Wilson, ma’am. I’m here to take a position working for Mr. MacDonnell.”

  “Mac?” one of the men said in surprise. “He hired you?”

  Phoebe nodded. “He offered a position as housekeeper, cook and laundress.”

  “That Scot. He needs a wife.” The taller man shook his head.

  “Are you sure that isn’t
what the position really was?” The other scoffed, and the first cuffed him.

  “You Wilder boys, shoo,” Mrs. Martin ordered before addressing Phoebe. “You, girl, come inside.”

  Easing her bag onto her other shoulder, Phoebe followed, hiding her limp as much as possible. The woman didn’t seem like someone to refuse.

  “What does our Calum MacDonnell need with a housekeeper?”

  Phoebe’s whole body tightened at the question. Was there a problem with the position? She didn’t want to be sent back. Her old employer Mrs. Covey would take her back in, but both she and Phoebe knew it wasn’t safe for her at the hotel anymore.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. He placed an ad, and my old employer found it.”

  “Did she want to be rid of you?”

  “No, ma’am. She was sad to see me go. But I needed to leave.” The position had looked perfect, and come when Phoebe had needed to flee far away.

  Mrs. Martin’s eyes narrowed a moment, and then her scrutiny dissolved. “Oh, you poor dear. Man trouble?”

  Phoebe didn’t quite know how to answer; men were often trouble for her, so she nodded.

  Mrs. Martin returned the gesture. “It’s all right. One thing I know, Calum MacDonnell can handle himself. He’ll protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection,” Phoebe blurted. “I just want to work.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Martin waved off her protest. It was obvious the woman had made up her mind about Phoebe’s predicament. “And I’m sorry for all the questions; I’ve never had children of my own, but I’m quite a mother hen. It’s a small community, and I’m protective of all my boys.” As she spoke, she laid out crackers and jam, and pushed it towards Phoebe, along with a cup of water. “Go on, girl, eat up. You’re too skinny by far. Calum needs a sturdy girl.”

  A nervous pang went through Phoebe again. Would he think she was too slight to be much use on the homestead? She took a bite of the cracker and it turned to dust in her mouth, so she drank the whole cup of water instead.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’ll be a perfect fit for Calum. He’s been alone too long.” Phoebe’s forehead creased, but Mrs. Martin patted her hand, then fingered the edge of a scarf Phoebe wore. “Where did you get this? I’ve not seen such fine needle work.”

  “I stitched it, ma’am.”

  “Stitched it?” The woman’s eyes lit up. “Can you do it again?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to make you one?”

  “I’d like you to make me ten. They’ll sell like hotcakes.” Mrs. Martin turned on her heel and marched to a shelf, selecting some items. “Here. I got this cloth three months ago and no one’s touched it. Do you have a needle? You can use this thread.”

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Then it’s settled. Come back in a few weeks and show me what you’ve done, and we’ll agree on a price.”

  “I will, ma’am. You have my word.”

  “Such a lovely, polite girl.” A smile spread over the matronly woman’s face. “I’m glad you took the position with Calum. I think you’ll be good for him.”

  Phoebe nodded politely. Mrs. Martin reminded her of her old employer Mrs. Covey—a business woman with all the determination and finesse of a battering ram, but generous in her own way. She vowed silently to finish as many scarves as she could within a month. She was used to working long hours by day and sewing at night, and the extra income would be welcome.

  Her fingers itched to take out her shears and begin right away, but she made herself wait. It might offend her main employer, and he was due any minute. Excusing herself, she limped outside and sat on the edge of the porch.

  The town wasn’t more than a few buildings arranged around a wide, dusty street. The last house was a white, cheerful residence, with a big barn looming behind. Beyond that—woods, fields and more woods, rising over the foothills, framed by mountains. The whole picture was vast, empty, wild. Just what Phoebe needed: a new land, with a place to call her own.

  When Mrs. Covey had found the ad asking for a housekeeper and cook in exchange for a plot of land plus a little pay, Phoebe had almost thought it too good to be true. All her life she’d dreamed of having a place of her own, with a few acres to farm for food and have some produce left by to sell. There was land enough available for anyone who traveled west, but Mrs. Covey thought that a young woman alone should have help of some sort to lean on. Phoebe agreed, though she privately vowed to be as independent as possible. Calum MacDonnell’s offer was the perfect fit; he would be both employer and fellow homesteader, and would pay her a steady wage. With Mrs. Covey’s help, Phoebe answered the ad and was on a stagecoach by the end of summer. Living alone and working the land would be a challenge, but it would be worth it. For the first time in her life, Phoebe would have a home.

  Now she only had to impress Mr. MacDonnell.

  Across the way, a man strode out of the woods and made for the little store. Not a man, but a giant, big as a bear, clad all in fawn-colored buckskin. He had long sandy hair down to his shoulders and scruffy facial hair. As he drew closer, she saw he was clean about his clothes and person, as if he’d made some effort, but the total effect was still wild.

  He was walking straight towards her. Phoebe wondered if she should call for help. The man’s hazel gaze fixed on her, and she felt her heart flutter. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, and she relaxed as her head tilted back to look up into his face—rugged but well-formed under his bristling beard.

  “Mrs. Wilson,” he greeted her in a deep, soft voice.

  She wanted to ask how he knew it was her, but guessed it was an easy prediction: she was the only unfamiliar woman around for miles.

  “Miss,” she corrected, and stood. She was tall for a woman, but he was taller still, and broad. He dwarfed her. Her new employer—for that’s who it must be—let his eyes rove over her, taking in her slender form, the faded dress that was her best, the secondhand gloves and bonnet Mrs. Covey had gifted when she told the innkeeper she was leaving her employ for a housekeeper position in the west.

  Squaring her shoulders, she waited for him to pronounce judgment.

  A pause, then his face broke into a grin. Phoebe caught her breath; the smile took the man’s rough features from pleasing to something else entirely. Again, Phoebe felt her heart flutter.

  “Pleased to meet you, lass,” he said in a faint Scottish accent. “I’m Calum MacDonnell. Welcome to Colorado.”

  Phoebe’s heart beat faster as the big, burly man looked down at her. She’d never seen such a wild creature, or a man with such long hair and unruly beard. He wasn’t even wearing proper clothes, but the fringed leather favored by trappers. And on his feet, not boots, but moccasins.

  This was her employer?

  “I trust the journey went well?” His voice had a slight burr, and she had to really think hard to understand what he was saying.

  “Yes, yes,” she answered after a pause and hoped he didn’t think she was slow. She cleared her throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacDonnell.”

  She was rewarded with a crinkle around his grey eyes. “Pleasure’s all mine, lass. I was going to take you straight back to the cabin, but you look like you need a meal.” His Scottish burr softened his blunt words about her weight.

  Suddenly, Phoebe felt very tired, like she’d been pushing a boulder up hill for days and finally reached the top. If only she could lie down and rest in her own space, then face her new employer when she was up to fighting weight. She had to show she was worthy of the position first.

  “I’m fine, Mr. MacDonnell.”

  He frowned, as if he wanted to argue with her. Her chin came up with the last of her energy.

  “I’d like to see my new home.”

  “So be it, lass. We’ve got a few miles to go yet. Where are your bags?”

  She nodded to the simple sack at her feet. Mrs. Covey had insisted Phoebe take one of her old carpetbags, but in the end Phoebe couldn’t bear the charity.
The woman had already given her so much.

  If Mr. MacDonnell was surprised about her meager belongings, he said nothing. Instead, he stooped to pick up her bag. She beat him to it, though, and their hands touched. A shock went through her, sending a slight tendril of warmth curling through her.

  “I’ve got it,” she said, hoisting the sack over her shoulder to hide her chagrin at the tiny spark that had jumped between them.

  He looked at her as if she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. She knew what he saw: a skinny young maid in old clothes and old, if sensible, shoes. She was pretty enough, but she’d answered his ad for housekeeper and cook so her looks didn’t matter much. All he would care about was whether she was strong enough to survive out here. She had to prove she was.

  She felt like glaring at him, almost fierce. He couldn’t send her back. Not when she was this close to her dream.

  “It’s this way, but it’s a bit of a walk,” he said.

  “That’s all right.” Her heart sank. She was so tired, and her body was aching, especially her cursed leg.

  Shrugging, he started back across the street the way he’d come. Phoebe followed, gritting her teeth as her step jarred her right foot. The oversized shoe on that foot felt heavy and huge. She swung it a little, limping, to keep up with her new employer’s long stride.

  Glancing back, he stopped. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she denied, even as the ache radiated through her entire leg.

  “Don’t lie to me, lass.” Her new boss frowned at her, great coarse eyebrows and rugged jaw making him look even more intimidating at his height.

  “I’m not lying,” she snapped back. “It’s just my leg. It gets a bit stiff, and it’s been a while since I could properly stretch it.”

  Calum MacDonnell glared at her for a long moment, then turned on his foot and marched back to the shop, leaving her in the middle of the dusty street. Fear rose in her as her new employer made a beeline for a stocky man who’d just pulled up outside the shop, reining in a fine pair of horses. Was he done with her, that quickly? She wanted to call after him, but her pride wouldn’t let her.