Rocky Mountain Bride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 2)

by Lee Savino

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry.” She collapsed into a stool. “There was a bug. I was going to restuff it, but the mattress is too old. It needs to be burned.”

  She sat, twitching and miserable, as Miles dragged the horrid bundle outside and threw it off the porch. “Now, will you mind me and stay off that foot all day?”

  “What if I have to stoke up the fire, or refill the water?” She glanced in the corner at the chamber pot, but didn’t mention it.

  Miles took her meaning. “You may see to your needs—but walk only for that reason.”

  “What if there’s a problem, or a fire?” His sternness brought out some perverse stubbornness, even as she shifted on her throbbing sits spots.

  His lips tightened. “You may leave the cabin if it will save your life. But somehow I doubt there will be a reason for you to disobey me again.”

  She opened her mouth to disagree and he held up a finger.

  “New rule. No back talk, or I’ll repeat the punishment.”

  Her mouth snapped shut.

  “Good girl. Now,” he waved the finger in front of her face, “you will stay off that foot until I tell you otherwise.”

  Her melancholy grew as she watched him do her chores, fetching water and making breakfast. For all her good intentions, she still was making trouble. If she continued this way, perhaps he would send her home, despite his words last night. And then what would she do? She had no prospects there, except for one odious man they would make her marry…

  The thought made her so sick, she could barely eat what Miles put before her.

  His large hand settled on hers and squeezed. “Eat, Carrie. You need your strength.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but saw his stern mien and thought better of it. “What shall I do today?”

  “Why don’t you make a list of things we need for the cabin.” He waved his hand around the small living space. “Chairs, rugs, needles for your darning.”

  “A new mattress?”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “We’ll need that sooner than later. Make a list. I can’t say we can buy it all at once, but we’ll work our way through it in time.”

  She nodded, grateful. He was trying to cheer her up.

  “I want you to be happy here,” he said, getting up to clear his place.

  His words stunned her. A new life she expected, but happiness? She had barely dared to dream of it.

  “Mr. Donovan,” she said quickly, before he could hit the door. “If you leave your shirts for me, I’ll do the darning.”

  *****

  The end of the week came swiftly. Miles and Carrie worked from one end of the day to the other, and she slept very well, despite only having a few blankets for a mattress. Her foot healed quickly, although it was a little swollen. Miles cautioned her about moving too far on it, but as long as she was careful, she was able to do her chores. Things went much more smoothly, although she had a minor mishap with the chicken coop door, leaving it open for half a day and barely catching all of the hens before Miles returned to the homestead. She thought he noticed some chicken scratching in the dirt near Monty’s pen, but he said nothing about it.

  One afternoon, she sat on the porch with nothing to do. The garden was weeded, the chickens all fed, and the cabin was as clean as she could make it. She’d done her best by Miles’ mending until the thread ran out. She was bored.

  In the distance to the right of where she sat, she could hear horses whinnying. In the corral to the left, Monty and Belle were nowhere to be seen. It must be the other horses Miles spoke of.

  What was the harm in going to look? Miles wouldn’t be home for hours. She took up the pail, deciding she’d get water, and headed down the hill to the thin woods.

  Her foot hurt a little, but the bruises had mostly faded and she was careful where she stepped as she forded the stream and stepped out of the copse, into a field.

  The land sloped further and a mile away, she could see a large body of cattle moving slowly over the plain. In the meadow in front of her, Miles had fenced off a large area for his horses. Chestnut, bay, and pinto, they all grazed, glossy and perfect.

  She went around the fenced area, and saw a separate, smaller pen, with a large white stallion running in circles around its master. Miles stood shirtless in the middle, holding whip and reins, his broad, lean body flexing and turning to keep his eyes on the horse at all times. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, and she forgot herself and let the pail drop with a clank.

  At the sound, the horse spooked. It reared up on its hind legs, whinnying and shying away. Carrie watched in horror as the stallion kicked the air in front of it, just a few feet away from Miles’ head. She rushed forward to help, but Miles threw out a palm to stop her from coming any closer, then whirled to face the horse. From where she stood, she could see man match wills with beast, the muscles in both males taut with readiness.

  Miles approached, hands out and spoke soft words until the stallion relaxed to all fours, and then dropped its head to nuzzle its master.

  Only then did Carrie remember to breathe.

  Miles finished quieting the horse and then left the pen to come towards her. His late day stubble carved shadows into his already harsh face, and dust streaked his tanned muscles. Her mouth went dry and she took a deep breath, wondering why her stomach fluttered so at the sight of him. A strange giddyness came over her, even as he frowned down at her.

  “I told you to stay near the homestead.”

  “I thought it would be all right,” she stammered, as Miles took her arm and guided her to a stump. He knelt and propped her leg up on his knee, pushing up her skirts and unlacing her boot.

  She blushed. It was unseemly for a man to see a woman’s ankles, not that propriety ever seemed to stop him. Perhaps things were different in the West. Peeking up at him, she wondered if he thought she was pretty.

  “It’s not swollen, and the bruising’s gone down. But I don’t want you walking this far on it.” She met his tawny gaze, warm feelings suffusing her.

  “Your health is important to me,” he continued, lacing up her boot and then standing. “You’re my responsibility, now.”

  A responsibility. Just like a horse, or his herd of cattle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a burden.”

  “You’re not a burden. But you must learn to listen to me.”

  Shaking his head, he picked up the water pail. “Stay here.” He strode back towards the copse and the stream.

  Carrie studied his retreating back, the power latent in the tanned form. He still hadn’t bothered to put on his shirt. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t.

  When he returned, body wet from a quick dip in the stream, pail in hand, she quickly averted her eyes. What was she doing? Lusting after a man like a wanton woman? As if her past hadn’t taught her the punishment for such a sin.

  Miles offered the pail to her to drink, then went to set hay bales in both pens.

  Carrie stared down at the water in her lap, wishing she could will her feelings away.

  The white horse stood at the fence, nickering at her, so she stood carefully, and went forward with the pail to offer it a drink of water. As soon as she was near, the horse kicked the fence, neighing angrily, and thrusting its head forward to knock the pail out of her uplifted hands.

  Then Miles was at her side, pushing her back and inserting himself between her and the raging stallion.

  “Easy, Lightning.” His deep voice held no trace of fear, only stern command. Carrie clutched the back of his shirt, walking backwards with him until he turned to her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, and she caught her breath at the tenderness in his tone.

  “I am. I’m sorry.”

  “My fault,” Miles said. “I should’ve warned you—but now I will. He’s still untamed. You’re never to go near the pen, unless I’m here with you and tell you it’s all right.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  Before
they left, Miles knelt and checked her foot. Again, his hands were strong and sure as they worked over her bruised flesh. “Does that hurt?”

  “No, sir,” she said. When she looked up, she saw the horses lining the fence, watching her with their master. She expected they found his deep voice as soothing as she did.

  “All right then. We’ll walk back, but you’ll lean on me.”

  He took her arm and escorted her back to the homestead. Even though his legs were longer, he matched his strides to hers, so she didn’t feel as if she must scurry along. As they left the meadow and started to climb the hill to home, she leaned more on him, grateful for his solid weight.

  Halfway across the stream, she almost slipped on a rock. Without breaking stride, Miles scooped her up and continued across the river. His muscles flexed around her, but, other than that, didn’t seem weighed down by his new bundle.

  After a moment, Carrie put her arm around his neck, trying to pretend she wasn’t in a man’s arms. He smelled of hay and woods, a particular scent she’d recognize anywhere as his own. It was intoxicating. Her body heated through and through, and she despaired at ever being chaste and good.

  “Your horses are very beautiful,” she said, trying to distract herself.

  “Thank you.”

  “Why did you settle so near the mountains? I would think there are better territories for ranching.”

  “I had a business partner. He wanted to stake a claim, build a mine. My only requirement was that it be secluded. He chose this place near the river, and I agreed. The mountains are an added barrier against too many folk coming to live here.”

  “And you didn’t want to pan for gold?”

  “No.”

  They reached the porch, and she slid down, feeling reluctant to let her arm around his neck go. She couldn’t help staring up at him, trying to read the expression in the quiet fire of his eyes.

  “I don’t mean to pry. I thought most men come up here to find gold.”

  Gently, he drew her to stand next to him, facing the land. Together they looked down the hill, over the grassy fields and pens, horses and cattle grazing in the thick evening light.

  “Those men are looking for a quick wealth and an easy life. I know what I want from life, and have the patience to work for it. These fields are my mines and there—” he pointed, and she knew he gestured to the horses and cattle, “is my gold.”

  *****

  That night at dinner, Miles sat beside her, head bowed with exhaustion, and shoveled away the basic stew she’d made by soaking dried meat and adding the rest of the potatoes, turnip and carrots.

  She felt guilty watching him eat his fill. He worked so hard, and she did so little to contribute. Where was his business partner? The ranch seemed too much for one man to handle.

  Before bed, Miles asked for her list of items to buy, and then agreed with each one.

  “End of the week we’ll head into town. We’ll ask Martin to order what we need, if he doesn’t have it already.”

  She nodded, rising to clear the plates.

  Miles caught her hand. “The Reverend will be there.” He hesitated, then raised his eyes to hers. “We could get married, if you’ll still have me.”

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she took a deep breath and swallowed hard. His tawny eyes seemed to strip all her secret longings, and deliver them to her.

  “I’ll still have you, Mr. Donovan.” She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

  He didn’t return it, but the slight crinkle around his eyes warmed her heart.

  *****

  When Carrie woke the next day, Miles was already gone to check on the cattle and feed and water the horses before the day’s journey. He’d left his blanket rolled neatly by the door, and she took it up to place it on the bed with the others.

  They’d share a bed tonight. The thought gave her pause, and a few butterflies. She felt happy and nervous at the same time.

  Instead of stewing on this, she grabbed a basket and went out to get the eggs. Using handfuls of feed to distract the hens, she combed through the grass to find the hidden clutches. Her search yielded eggs of every size and color, from large and brown to tiny green, and she marveled that only a few days ago she’d learned the chore.

  Miles came in when she was almost done cooking breakfast, and stood waiting, rubbing the back of his neck in his usual way. He’d taken the time to bathe in the creek, and had scraped off his beard. His brown hair looked darker wet, with red hints hidden in the dark depths.

  When they sat down together, she waited for him to say grace, but he reached right for the biscuits.

  She bent her head and scuttled out a little prayer of her own.

  “We’ll take the wagon to town and get supplies from Martin after the ceremony. If he doesn’t have what we need, we’ll have to get by a few more weeks without them. The cattle need to go to the winter pasture; I’ll move them after Belle drops her foal.”

  “Are you worried that she’ll have her baby when we’re gone?”

  He shrugged. “She’s carrying well and seems healthy enough. She’s in her own stall, and if the time comes today, nature will take its course.”

  He scraped the last of his eggs from his plate, but Carrie lingered over her empty dish. “How did you learn so much about horses?”

  “Loved them ever since I was a boy. My father got me a job with a breeder who promised to teach me.”

  “What did you learn?” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands.

  “My ma would thrash me for putting my elbows on the table,” he observed.

  She froze, then caught the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He was teasing. With a small smile, she put her hands into her lap.

  “I learned…that horses make several tons of muck a day. And I was the one who had to clean it.”

  Carrie giggled.

  “But after I proved myself, he taught me. How to care for them, shoe them, nurse them back to health when they’re sick…”

  Entranced, Carrie watched her intended’s face grow gentle, the harsh planes smoothing as he spoke of the horses he loved. He looked even more handsome with hair wet from the washing and a soft expression.

  “…The old man died and left me two horses from his own stables. Ones he knew would be good breeders. I brought them with me from Kansas, and also bought Monty and Belle’s dam. The rest, I trained them myself.”

  Carrie remembered something Lyle had said that she’d wondered about ever since. “How long does it take you to break their spirit?”

  He frowned a little. “The best trainer doesn’t break a horse’s spirit; he tempers it. He molds it and directs it where he wants it to go. The horse learns to mind, and then the two of them can ride as one.” His tawny eyes seemed to glow as he told her, “Firm, but gentle, Carrie. That’s the way a good man leads.”

  Blinking to break the spell, she gathered the dishes and left the table. Her fiancé was watching her from his seat when she looked back.

  “Miles? Are you taming me?”

  “Aye, Carrie,” he said softly. “And to answer your question, it doesn’t take that long. But it lasts a lifetime.”

  *****

  A short while later, Carrie came out of the homestead in her blue dress, with her hair braided under the yellow bonnet. Miles had the wagon hitched with Monty and a gelding. She walked slowly down the path to them, careful not to let her hem fall in the dirt.

  As she approached, Miles jumped down. She thought she saw a hint of appreciation in his face when he took in her scrubbed face and clean dress. Excitement and anticipation added a blush to her cheeks; she felt them redden further under his scrutiny. But he said nothing and simply helped her into her seat.

  They both were settled and ready to go when Miles said her name quietly, and then nodded towards the chicken pen.

  She’d left the gate open.

  “Oh no,” she said as Miles leapt down to shut it. Miraculously, no chickens had escaped, but when he retur
ned, he gave her a tell-tale glance.

  “We’ll talk about it when we return.”

  As the cart bounced down the hill, Carrie sat gingerly, wincing and wondering how much more her poor backside could take.

  *****

  They reached the town around noon, and Carrie felt surprise. Royal was the same small dusty town, but now it seemed huge and grand compared to their little cabin on the hill.

  “There’s no church building, yet,” Miles said. “Reverend Shepherd holds services out of his home. That’s where we’ll go.”

  As they pulled up to a fine white house with red flowers growing in front of it, a woman with bright yellow hair rushed out into the street.

  “Mr. Donovan,” she called, waving.

  Miles leaned down to tell Carrie, “That’s Mrs. Shepherd, the Reverend’s wife. Go to her. I’ll see to the horses.”

  Carrie sat frozen, staring at the lovely woman coming to greet them, until Miles’ shoulder nudged her.

  The Reverend’s wife was stunning, with pretty green eyes and a pleasant complexion. “You must be Miss Winters.” She came smiling to Carrie, both hands outstretched.

  Carrie felt very small and drab next to the beautiful woman. “Soon to be Mrs. Donovan.”

  The woman’s smile broadened. “So everything has gone well.” She spoke with immense satisfaction. “I’m the Reverend’s wife. Call me Esther.”

  An hour later Carrie sat in Esther’s tiny parlor, chattering happily about the homestead, the horses, and Miles.

  “He doesn’t smile much, though he seems to be a good man.”

  Esther looked pleased. “He is. It will be a good match.” She leaned closer. “I don’t mind telling you that Johnathan and I met the same way. Only I was in Maine, and he was in Rhode Island.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Shepherd’s smile broadened, and out popped a dimple. “We’d both written letters to the American Missionary Board, requesting a post out West. They wouldn’t send us alone, so they put the two of us together.” Her laughter brightened the room. “So, you see, I did very well, and wanted to pass on the blessing. I’m the one who encouraged Miles and my husband to write the letter.”