Rocky Mountain Discipline

by Lee Savino

“Don’t cry for them, lass. They’re in a better place.” But his look was tortured.

  “Calum, I’m sorry.”

  “If I had not dragged them from their home, they’d still be alive. It was me and my wandering ways that did it.”

  “There’s no way you can know that. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “But I do.” He glanced out the window to the falling snow. “And every winter, the darkness comes and I cannot shake it.”

  She gently pried the wooden piece from his big hand, and rose, turning it over in her fingers. “It’s not your fault, Calum. I’ll tell you over and over again, until you understand that.”

  “Oh, lass. You cannot fix me.”

  “No.” She set the toy horse on the mantle next to her little bird before turning to him with gentle determination. “But I can love you.” Her blue eyes held his until he held out his hand to her.

  “Come to me.”

  She curled up with her head on his chest. His arms went around her and she felt him heave a sigh.

  It wasn’t much, to sit close with her man before a crackling fire, but it was enough.

  The next morning he woke her. “Come see.” The world outside their lodge was entirely white. “Bundle up. We’re going out.” He pulled out two long strips of polished wood, taller than she was. “What are those?”

  “Trust me, lass.”

  They went outside and he tied them to her feet, and another pair to his. She had her poles and he had his own pair; they practiced skiing around the yard before he tromped to the forest edge. “You ready?”

  The skis slid across the hard white crust, leaving twin tracks through the snowy trees. He led her through the forest trail until the land started to incline.

  “Tired?”

  She shook her head. Her body was warm, her cheeks red with cold, but she felt alive.

  “Come on.” He found a small hill and showed her how to ski down it. She had a moment of panic, then the muscles in her legs engaged and she slid down, crying out with glee as the wooden skis carried her effortlessly to the bottom.

  “Again,” she shouted. They climbed the hill over and over again until her laughter echoed around the hills.

  He gave her some jerky and water.

  “You ready?” He nodded to the high ridge. They trekked up the side of the mountain, taking the path she’d tried to find the night she ran.

  The hemlocks were bowed under their snowy covering. Other than the fox and deer tracks, the world was flawless white.

  They labored up the side of the mountain. Every so often, she wasn’t sure she could manage to go on, but whenever Calum looked over to check on her, she forced a fierce smile.

  Finally, they burst from the trees to a wide expanse, a large, open slope that usually was a rocky path, now soft and smooth with countless feet of snow.

  “This is it,” he told her, waving his pole. “Ready?”

  The drop was further than the hill they’d practiced on. But her legs were strong, stronger than they’d ever been, and she knew: she was ready.

  “I can do it.”

  His eyes crinkled as he nodded for her to go first.

  Scooting her skis to the precipice, she took a deep breath. The whole white world was at her feet, the mountain and hills, great forest and plains stretching out below, inviting her.

  She took a deep breath, and using the poles, launched herself down the slope. Her heart beat faster and for a moment she felt afraid, then her powerful muscles took over, balancing and letting the skis carry her over the pillowy snow as easy as a bird soars in the air: effortless, fast and free.

  And Phoebe flew.

  The End

  Bonus Scene: The Rogue’s Wife:

  A few minutes after the shooting…

  While the others carried Phoebe’s uncle into surgery, Jesse pulled his wife into another one of the rooms. Susannah was quiet, her face pale and peaked, her hand on her middle as if to steady her stomach.

  Jesse lit a lamp and turned to her. “Here. Let me look at you.”

  “I’m fine.” She gulped a few times. “I feel much better.”

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s all right,” she protested. “I didn’t get shot.”

  But his hands were roving up and down, checking her body under her layers of clothes before coming up to cup her face.

  “Did they touch you? Did they touch anyone?” he demanded.

  “No.” She stepped back, catching his hands. “I pulled my gun before he got close, and told him to stop. He threatened us and came forward, so I aimed and fired.”

  “You aimed for his leg and not his body?”

  He’d instructed her to fire into a man’s torso if she ever wanted to make sure and stop him. She lifted her chin. “I know you always told me to shoot to kill, if I had to, but I didn’t want to kill him.”

  “You were lucky. It might not have stopped him, and then it would’ve just made them all mad.”

  “I know that,” she snapped. “I also knew you and the other men were close, and my attackers weren’t armed.”

  “You didn’t know that for sure. They could’ve had weapons close by.”

  “Fine, I made a mistake. Next time I’ll be sure to aim for the chest.” She glared at him, and he stood frowning at her. “I did what I thought was best in the moment. And now a man is shot.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the surgery. “And I have to live with it, not you.”

  The door creaked open a little, and they could hear the wounded man shouting in his room. Jesse crossed and shut it, hard.

  When he turned back, he was relaxed. “What’s done is done. And it all worked out. You did well.”

  “Thank you.” Despite herself, her lower lip trembled.

  “Come here,” he said gruffly and she crossed to him. His arms slid around her and she shook a little with the aftermath of her feelings about the shooting and their fight.

  “I didn’t want to shoot him, but I couldn’t let him—”

  “I know. It’s all right.” He hugged her until she pulled away, her blue eyes flashing defiance.

  “How dare you pull me in here to question me. I did what I had to do.”

  “I know you did, Susannah, and I’m sorry for second guessing you. I was afraid.” He squeezed her harder. “I should’ve been there. I’m supposed to be the one to protect you.”

  “You did protect me today. You taught me to shoot.”

  He sighed. “I’m not used to caring so much for someone else. I’d die if I lost you.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  His hands slid up her back; he couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

  “You’re not mad at me then?”

  “Never. I’m so very proud of you.” Weaving his fingers into her thick hair, he kissed her.

  She gave a little sobbing breath and he hugged her tight again.

  “You’re a good teacher,” she said, trying to change the subject to something lighter. She knew she’d shot a man who deserved it, but she still felt a little sick.

  “I don’t know about that, baggage.” He fell into her old nickname, telling her that he was joking. “It’s been a few minutes, your foe is vanquished, and you still haven’t cleaned the gun.”

  She moved away from her husband, scrubbing her face.

  “I know,” she huffed. She’d already pulled a handkerchief out and lay it on a seat, setting the gun on it. “I was just about to do that—”

  Her husband’s hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back to him. “Later.”

  Their eyes met.

  Then they were all over each other, hands clutching at each other, ripping at clothing, bodies pressing into one another, driving towards the bed.

  “You looked so beautiful, holding the gun, protecting your friends. I didn’t think it was possible to love you more, but I do.”

  “I want you so bad,” she panted and fell back on the bed. He tossed up her skirts and broke the s
tring on her drawers in his haste to get them down. She kicked her legs to help him pull them clean off.

  “That’s better,” he growled. “No more wearing drawers. They’re just in the way.”

  She laughed as he dove next to her, his lips finding her neck. “I’m not going to stop wearing underclothes.” Her voice was breathless.

  “Your husband demands it.”

  Pushing at him until he fell to his back on the bed, she rose up and straddled him. Susannah was smaller than her husband but there was fire in her eyes. “I say no. You better mind me. My husband gave me a gun and taught me how to use it.”

  In one move, he rolled and pinned her under him. “I don’t think so.” He slid all the way down her body, opening her legs and diving into her muff. Her hips lifted to meet his mouth.

  A second of kissing and sucking at her mound, and then he drew back, took her ankles and flipped her over. She gasped as she bounced on the bed on her belly. Then he pulled her closer and smacked her bare bottom.

  “You’re mine.” His fingers were already kneading deep into the flesh of her bottom, fingers gripping and claiming her, leaving marks. Her pelvis jerked against the bed, pussy gasping for release. The slight sting always excited her.

  Jesse slapped her bottom again and she cried out with a mixture of defiance and delight.

  “I say you don’t wear drawers, and you will do as I say. I catch you in them and I’ll whip your behind.” He spanked her again, and she growled in frustration, writhing under him on the bed. “I might just choose to keep you here, tied to the bed, where no one can hurt you. No one but me.” His placket open, he lined up his cock to her cunny and thrust right in.

  She howled in happy anger, trying to come up on hands and knees to push against him. He continued to rain slaps against her bottom, spurring her arousal on. She loved it when he was rough and he knew it.

  “What do you say to that, baggage?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Grabbing her by the hair, he made her arch backwards while he pounded her from behind. Her satisfied cries told him how she really felt about all his harsh talk.

  He flipped her around, and slammed between her legs, holding her gaze and talking as he thrust.

  “I’m going to tie you up tonight and tease your golden pussy, and when you’re crying for me, I’ll make you suck me, still tied. Them I’ll get the quirt and whip you up and down.”

  She gasped. “Yes.”

  “You’re gonna feel it tonight. Susannah. You’re gonna know you’re mine.”

  “Yes, Jesse, yes.”

  “I’ll whip your sweet flesh ‘til its red and screaming, then I’ll take out my cock and take you ‘til you can’t move. Then I’ll lick your pussy and do it all over again.”

  She was already cumming, spasming around his cock. He lifted her, carrying her to the wall. Her legs came around him and her head flew back as he held her in his arms, his lower half hammering her into the wall.

  “Damn, Susannah, I love you,” he said, his lips darting close to hers.

  “I love you too.” She grinned, and pushed her hands up under his shirt before raking her nails down his bare back.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked later when they lay twined together, their passion sated for the moment.

  “What?”

  “What you said about…” Her eyes grew hooded. “What you said you would do to me tonight?”

  Jesse stared at her in disbelief. He had taken her hard against the wall, and then again on the rug on the floor. She’d ended up on hands and knees, pushing back on his cock while he smacked her bottom pink. Her pussy spasmed when she climaxed over and over, choking his cock so much he thought it would snap off. He’d had to carry her to the bed.

  But now, meeting her hope-filled blue eyes, he felt his tired dick stir.

  “You sure, baggage?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not too worn out?”

  “I’m sure. I want it.”

  “Then I’ll give you what you want.” He cuddled her close, wondering how he got so lucky.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise, baggage.”

  The End

  Rocky Mountain Ride

  Rocky Mountain Discipline - Book 7

  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.

  Lee Savino

  Rocky Mountain Ride

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-708-8

  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 Ride

  Lord James Sebastian Chivington the Third sat in a dirty bar in San Luis Valley, Colorado. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and he’d just started drinking.

  “All right, boss.” His guide, a man called Cage, sat down beside the lord and gave a world-weary sigh. “What’s the plan for the day?”

  Sebastian shrugged. “The usual,” he said, and watched Cage’s shoulders slump. For the British lord, a typical day looked like drinking, smoking and spending his father’s money, with the occasional hunt or lay with a lightskirt thrown in for good measure. Probably not the adventure the older man had been looking for when he signed on to Sebastian’s entourage.

  Cage looked as frustrated as Sebastian felt.

  “Any news, my good man?” Sebastian called to the bartender.

  The man shrugged. “Not much around here. The war ended a week ago. Lee surrendered.”

  Sebastian raised his glass in mock toast. “Well done. About time you colonists stopped killing each other.”

  The bartender turned away, shaking his head at his foreign customer. Lord Sebastian wore an outfit of his own design: a fine suit that flattered his lanky frame, with the addition of a neatly pressed bandana around his neck and over-sized black hat to keep the sun off his fair skin. The effect was rather ridiculous. Cage had warned him about standing out too much from the rugged, dirty men who made up the sparse populace of the West, but Sebastian didn’t care if he looked a fool. He found life was more interesting when people didn’t take him seriously.

  “Just so you know, boss, most folk here don’t like being called colonists,” Cage said.

  “No?” Sebastian lifted a blond brow. “I shall inform the Queen.”

  Two more of Sebastian’s hired hands joined him as he sipped his drink. Behind their table, a card game started up.

  “Want a whiskey?” Sebastian offered his three companions.

  “Is that what you call that horse piss?” Cage said. “And no. I’ll stick to coffee until midday.” The two others agreed.

  “Suit yourself.” Sebastian shrugged. “You Yanks and your coffee. Haven’t you heard of tea? It’s much better if you don’t try to steep it in Boston harbor… and then when your king sends help, throw a Revolution.”

  The men at the card game stopped to glare at the blond lord. Sebastian gave them a cheery wave. He’d found in life you could say whatever you wanted as long as you acted ridiculous. An old court jester trick.

  “I prefer coffee varnish for breakfast,” he said, using cowpoke slang for ‘whiskey.’ He drained his glass and raised it to signal the bartender. “Garçon! Another!”

  If his guides felt disgust, they hid it well. Then again, they were used to seeing their employer drink a quarter bottle of whiskey before noon.


  “Milord.” Cage used Sebastian’s title with more sarcasm that respect. But that was all right; as the third son of a duke, and slated because of birth to receive no more than a fraction of his father’s estate, Sebastian felt the same way about his breeding. “Perhaps you might give some thought to where we’ll travel next.”

  “I don’t know, Cage.” Sebastian raised his glass and pretended to squint at the amber liquid, all the while studying his hired man.

  Cage was typical American western stock. Ageless, timeless, tanned skin with wrinkles around his faded blue eyes. Dark hair with a touch of silver. Practical manner and dress. Popular enough with the ladies, but mostly a loner, married to his horse and saddle, the wind and sky, and wild outdoors.

  Compared to Cage, Sebastian was a pale blond cherub, though too old and tall and long in the face to be a good addition to any Raphael painting. There was a rakish twinkle in his blue eyes that boredom and general malaise hadn’t dimmed. He saw it every morning in the shaving glass, and supposed that when it was gone, he would give up and go home.

  His fingers tightened around the glass. Home was not a pleasant thought. Third in line to inherit the dukedom, he had all of the prestige, some of the money, and none of the title—or the power and land that went with it. Completely lacking responsibility and cursed with brains enough to know it, he’d made a mess of his life until his father had sent him to America.

  “Go,” the duke had said. “It’ll make a man of you.”

  After bagging two buffalo, Sebastian had no more desire to kill things. He could go home, but to what? Studies bored him, familial duty bored him, the ton was interesting until his father realized he was skirt chasing and banished him to the colonies.

  So now, Sebastian was in a saloon in San Luis Valley, looking for answers in the bottom of a dirty glass.

  Frowning, he announced to the Cage, “I need a quest.”