Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3)

by Lee Savino

  “Get off!” She fought, her fingers turning into claws headed for his face. He weaved out of the way, then caught her wrists and used them to pull her body over his lap.

  “Stop! Help!” she shrieked.

  “Shut it, Rose.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “If you won’t shut up, I’ll make you,” he growled. She started to scream, and he stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth. Writhing on his lap, Rose kicked her legs then felt his hand come down hard over her skirts.

  “Stop fighting, Rose. I am trying to help you.”

  She shouted through the gag, and he smacked her bottom again and again. Even through her dress and petticoat, she could feel the blows warming her bottom. It didn’t quite hurt, but it was a warning, and she took it as such, going still and letting the fight drain out of her. She’d save her fury for when she wasn’t pinned over her enemy’s lap.

  “Now,” Lyle said and pulled her to stand between his legs. “Can you keep a civil tongue in your head?”

  Breathing hard through her nose, she nodded. Still gripping her wrists, he pulled out the handkerchief then used it to wipe her mouth. The kindness in his touch gave her pause.

  His hands slid down her arms. “You’re bleeding,” he muttered.

  She felt panic, and her fingers tore at her dress to see the rust colored marks on her white dress. Lyle’s hands were at her buttons, undoing them with expert fingers.

  “Arms up, Rose,” he ordered, and when she didn’t obey, he forced them up, pulling her dress over her head.

  She stood in her petticoats and corset, too stunned by this turn of events to curse him.

  Lyle loomed over her, and her arms automatically came up to cross over her chest, hiding her body from him. Something about being alone and unclothed with a man tore through her defenses, and shock started to take over, numbing her. Her body was her weapon, and it frightened her to have the power stripped from it so easily.

  “Let me see, Rose.” Lyle tugged at her, and when she shook her head, tightening her arms further, he sat on the chaise so his head was lower than hers.

  “Please, darlin’. I just want to see if you’re hurt.”

  His soft words hit her like a blow, but she couldn’t fight anymore. She let him peel away her arms, her breath catching at his gentle hands. His fingers roved over her, checking her clothes, but they were unsullied.

  “You’re all right, darlin’. Wasn’t your blood.”

  Her body turned to stone. “Sam,” she whispered.

  One look at her stricken expression, and Lyle leaned forward. “He’s gone, Rose. I’m sorry.”

  She retreated, gulping hard to get rid of the knot in her throat. “It’s my fault.”

  “Darlin, it’s not.”

  His eyes were so gentle on hers, she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. She started to reach for her dress, then remembered the blood stains and snatched her hand away.

  Slowly, Lyle stood and lifted his black duster, holding it out in invitation to her. Rose stepped into the long coat and Lyle enveloped her.

  “Thank you,” she offered.

  He nodded, his expression thoughtful.

  A knock on the door shattered the quiet, and Rose whirled around, only to feel Lyle’s hands on her hips, drawing her back, directing her silently to wait by the bed.

  Thrusting her chin out, Rose retreated, but took up her Deringer again. Even unloaded, it might give a man pause.

  “Who’s there?” Lyle was at the door, his own pistol in hand.

  A pause then a deep voice. “Otis Boone.”

  To Rose’s surprise, Lyle relaxed his pistol and opened the door. “You are five types of fool,” he told the man outside, and laughter came from beyond the door.

  Lyle admitted a younger version of himself, a few inches shorter than Lyle, with the same dark hair.

  “Did you think I was him, brother?” The man was chuckling. He wore all black and held a shotgun casually in hand.

  “Not for a second.” As the man stepped inside, Lyle swatted the back of his head.

  “See, I didn’t think you would. I thought you would know me, and it would be a fine joke.” The dark-haired man smiled and out popped a dimple.

  “Idiot.” Lyle shook his head. “Where are our enemies?”

  “Safely tucked in Doyle’s bosom. Of all the men she had to shoot, it would be the brother of Doyle’s right hand man.” He shook his head and glanced around. “Where’s our lovely Rose?”

  “Standing by to shoot you if necessary.” Lyle grinned, and his own dimpled popped out to match the newcomer’s. “Rose, meet my brother, Jesse Wilder.”

  “A pleasure.” The man swept off an imaginary hat and gave a short bow. With the two brothers standing next to one another, Rose could spot the differences between them. They shared the same thick dark hair and smirk, but Jesse had green eyes instead of blue. The younger man also had a rugged look about him, a jaw rough with stubble and a nose that had been broken and set crooked. Lyle had the face of a fallen angel, beautiful and haunting. Jesse looked like the devil.

  Even as she studied the younger brother, he winked at her. She sniffed and moved towards the chaise, drawing the black coat around her like a royal robe.

  “I see you two have been busy.” Jesse’s voice was amused, and Rose knew he was taking in her form dressed in Lyle’s coat and making assumptions.

  “Blood on her dress,” Lyle muttered. “We’ll be needing her things sooner rather than later. Did you get the room clear?”

  “It was tough, but I got everything out,” Jesse reported. “Rosie May isn’t staying at the Black Water saloon anymore.”

  Lyle grunted his approval. “Let’s hope they think she’s left town.”

  “Excuse me?” Rose whirled back, hands on her hips. “Did you say you moved my things?”

  “Yep,” Jesse said. “Place was swarming with Doyle’s men; figured you can’t go back there.”

  She sat down hard, the events of the night finally swimming into focus. Sam was dead. She’d shot his killer and turned a three person fight into a riot. Her act was over, all the freedom she’d gathered for herself, gone with two bullets. She needed to get out of town, but where could she go? And what could she do to survive?

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together on the chaise. She couldn’t fall apart now, not even when everything she’d built for herself was lost. She had to be strong, use her wits and figure out a way to escape her enemies.

  Especially Lyle. Running wouldn’t answer the question of why Lyle was so intent on helping her, but she couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around that.

  Lyle was still grilling his brother. “Did you see Otis Boone? What about his brother?”

  “Joseph’s dead,” Jesse reported. “Otis is out for revenge and blood. Once he tears apart the saloon and streets, he’ll probably get drunk and sit vigil over his brother’s body. We should be safe for the night.”

  Lyle clapped his brother on his shoulder. “Good work. Get some rest.”

  With a final sympathetic look at Rose, Jesse left.

  “He moved my things?” Rose demanded of Lyle as soon as the door closed.

  “He did, on my orders. You can’t go back there, Rose. Not tonight, not for a long while. It’s not safe.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “Do not defy me in this, Rose. Your safety comes first.”

  Confusion poured through her—why would he say such a thing? It wasn’t enough that he’d leave her in the clutches of Doyle and her father, now he had to return, in her hour of defeat, and pour salt in the wound?

  While she had fallen speechless, Lyle had gone to the hall and pulled her trunk into the room. “There, Rosie May,” he said in that light, almost mocking tone. “All your things. I suggest you do a costume change, preferably one that alters your shape and hides your red hair. We’ll need to escape tomorrow.”

  Rose took a deep breath and drew on the anger that had given h
er strength for so many years. “What do you mean, we?”

  “I mean you, me, and Jesse. We leave tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going with you.”

  “The hell you aren’t. It’s not safe for you here. I’m not fighting you on this, Rose.”

  The arrogant tilt of his head brought her to a boiling point. “Why are you even here?” She threw out her arms. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Excuse me?” His face went hard.

  “You got Mary. What do you care about me? Especially since you worked so hard to get me out of your way.”

  His head jerked back like he’d been struck. “What did you say?”

  “I know what you did. Telling Mary you’d give her a new life. Had to get her sister out of the way first.” She stripped off the coat violently and flung it at Lyle’s feet. He barely gave the duster a glance, stepping forward to get closer to her.

  “Rose, that’s not...”

  “Don’t you deny it.” She stuck a finger in his face. “You meet Mary, and then go talk to Doyle. Then my father shows up to take me. You wanted me out of the way.” The words almost choked her as the knowledge of what he’d done had stabbed through her every night, even long after she’d escaped her father.

  “Rose,” Lyle said, no anger in his voice. “I never...I bargained for both of you. Doyle had a debt over your sister’s head, and he was being difficult. I went to talk him into letting both of you go.”

  “You didn’t want me,” she whispered.

  “That’s not true.” He spoke soothingly. “Half the time Mary and I talked, we spoke of you. We made plans to buy you new clothes and find books so you could have some schooling. The cabin I had was only one room; we would’ve added to it, for you. All our plans included you.”

  “Then why did you let my father take me?”

  “I didn’t. Doyle arranged it when your sister was busy and I was gone. As soon as we found out, I rode out to find you. I swear on her grave, Rose. I wanted to find you.” Moving closer, he caught her hand and squeezed it.

  Rose barely felt it. She stood, frozen. All those years she spent hating him—he’d looked for her? Pain went through her heart; the first crack in her stone walls.

  “It’s true, Rose.” He was watching her carefully. “I’ve been looking for you every spare second I’ve had. I found ways to travel across the territories and asked after you every chance I got. Caught wind of you once in Kansas, but the rumor there was that a red haired girl had died. I grieved you, Rose. Then I heard of a Miss Rosie May, with skin like milk and fire in her hair, and I knew it was you. I had hope again.”

  She shook her head as the story she’d told herself over the years to harden herself crumbled. “No.”

  “Yes.” Lyle put his hands on her shoulders. “And now I’ve found you. We can be together again. We can be a family.”

  The words sent a jolt through her, and she sucked in a breath, staring up at him. He looked so beautiful and sincere, his hands warm on her shoulders. His words full of promises that Rose could barely comprehend. Be a family? She didn’t know what to say to that.

  So she did what she always did. She fought back.

  Drawing herself up, she clenched her fists, chin up and her eyes glittering. She knew she came across angrier than a spitting wild cat, and she didn’t care. She was fighting for her life. “I’m not my sickly sister, willing to let a man come and take control.”

  “What?” Lyle’s eyebrows snapped together, and Rose felt a pang at using her sister as an example, but she had to do something. She had to drive this man away.

  “I know you like saving women, but I don’t need to be rescued,” she snapped, reaching out and shoving him. He barely moved, but she was still tempted to do it again.

  “So what was that in the Black Water? A small disagreement?”

  She bristled at the sarcasm. “I had everything under control.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “No, you listen to me,” she shouted. “I’m not going to let you barge in and run my life. You did that once; you’ll never do it again.”

  “Lower your voice,” Lyle ordered in a furious whisper. “You are now a target, and I’d rather not have Otis Boone burst into my room, hell bent on revenge. You do know that the man you shot was the brother to the second most dangerous man in town?”

  “He shot my Sam. I don’t care if he’s the king of England,” she spat back. “If you were not too busy meddling like always—”

  “I saved your life, little girl.”

  “I’m not little anymore,” she screeched.

  He reached for her, but she dodged away. Looking for a weapon during her escape, she stooped and caught up a chamber pot and threw it.

  Lyle ducked and the missile bounced against the wall, coming to rest by his foot with a clatter. Rose backed away, panting, as Lyle looked slowly from her missile to her face, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

  “You’re fortunate that you missed. And that it was empty.”

  The quiet way he spoke sent shivers up and down her spine; she knew he was close to the breaking point.

  But she was never one to concede defeat. “It was your good fortune, not mine,” she shot back with a toss of her red hair.

  Lyle strode forward, and this time Rose was too slow. The tall man grabbed her arm and swung her towards the bed. In a second, Rose found herself face down on the quilt, one arm twisted behind her.

  “What are you doing? Bastard…” Her screams were muffled by the blanket.

  “Teaching you some manners,” Lyle ground out, holding her down with one hand as the other ripped up her skirts. “Seems you didn’t learn the first time.”

  Rose felt air on her bare skin and stilled in shock.

  “No drawers? Bad Rose,” he said and applied the palm of his hand to her skin.

  The room filled with a loud smacking noise; Lyle didn’t hold back as he spanked her bare bottom. For a moment, Rose was still, feeling shock along with the stinging slaps.

  Then she came to her senses and fought harder.

  “Scoundrel! Blackguard!”

  “Insults will not save you, Rose.” Lyle’s hand punished her harder, laying strokes on top of already smarting skin.

  “Stop,” she shrieked. “It hurts.”

  “It should hurt. Maybe next time you’ll think before you fight the man who’s trying to help you.”

  Help her? Rose kicked a little as Lyle’s hand peppered her bottom, spanking up one cheek and down the other and covering her buttocks until they burned. He smacked a sensitive spot, and she whimpered, fighting her own tears.

  “Ouch,” she cried into the bed cover and let her head fall. All her energy went to keeping her tears in check. She would not show weakness. She would not cry. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let her head drop to the quilt.

  Lyle seemed to take this as defeat. His hand stalled, and he drew her up to face him.

  “Now. Will you listen to me?”

  For a moment she glared at him, knowing he could see her red rimmed eyes, her face grimacing against the burning pain in her bottom.

  Lyle stared back, blue eyes searching her face. He didn’t seem angry, just determined.

  Damn him.

  Hate surged through her, and she spat in his face.

  “Right,” Lyle said in a quiet, controlled voice, as her spittle tracked down his cheek. He sat down on the bed, pulled her over his lap and let his hand fly. For a while she struggled but couldn’t move.

  “You will not throw things, or spit at me. You will treat me with respect,” Lyle lectured in a quiet, stern voice. The muscles in his thighs flexed under her belly. She kicked, and he threw a leg over hers, trapping her under its heavy weight. So secured, Rose was helpless under the onslaught of his iron hand. Her bottom was on fire.

  But that wasn’t the only part of her that was burning. As the slaps continued to paint her bottom, Rose felt a strange pressure between her legs, quiet, but growing in intensity.r />
  Lyle’s hand spanked a little lower, under her cheeks, and to her horror, Rose realized her body was quickening, her lady parts tightening and throbbing in time to the blows.

  The spanking was exciting her.

  Unable to fight both Lyle and her growing arousal, Rose put her head down and moaned. She felt herself melting into his legs underneath her, while her temper, her usual champion, slipped away.

  “You will accept my help and not make things difficult. I am on your side, Rose.” The steady blows weren’t too hard, but laid down on her heated skin, they hurt.

  The angry bundle inside Rose started to unravel. Grasping for her outrage, she protested, “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “Because you’re family.” Lyle emphasized this with one great, resounding smack. “And I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  The words hit her like a blow, and she started gasping for air. Lyle felt her heaving and pulled her up, his hand fisting lightly in her hair to hold her to face him as she panted with dry sobs.

  His blue eyes were so gentle, they almost broke all her control.

  She jerked her head to the side, and he let her, using his hands to smooth down her shoulders, soothing her. Again, Rose squeezed her eyes shut.

  She would not cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  “You’re all right, Rose. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  With one final wheeze, Rose got her feelings under control. Crying was a sign of weakness and would get her nowhere. Her life had taught her that.

  But she could feel his fingers stroking her back, comforting her after her harsh spanking. If she wasn’t so practiced at presenting a face of stone, this tenderness would push her over the edge.

  Swallowing hard, she got her emotions in hand. What was it about this man that, after years of keeping her emotions locked in a fortress, threatened to tear down every one of her walls?

  Hope was more dangerous than fear, than hate, than anything. Hope almost destroyed her once.

  She vowed it would never have a chance to do it again.

  Realizing her punishment was over, she pushed to her feet and backed away. Lyle’s gaze followed her. She rubbed her face, knowing it was red and blotchy from exertion. But her eyes were dry. It was her one triumph.