Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) Page 3

  “From the moment I set you in the chair, until now.”

  Glancing at the light streaming in the open door, she felt a sudden shock. “What time of day is it?”

  “Noon.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Mr. MacDonnell, I promise you, I am not a lay-about. I never sleep past dawn.”

  “Calm yourself, lass,” he chuckled, patting her hand until she snatched it away. The warmth of his hand was nice, but she wasn’t in the habit of letting herself be petted, as a rule.

  “I’m not lazy,” she insisted. “I never have been.” All of a sudden, she felt near tears. “You can write to my last employer if you wish, and ask her.”

  Listening to her frantic babble, he sobered.

  “Phoebe.”

  She fell silent.

  “I read the recommendation your employer wrote. Her account was so glowing, I thought you were twice as old and three times as large. You’re a wee wisp of a thing, but I know you can work. I believe you. Relax, you start work tomorrow.” He squinted. “How is it you came to work for Mrs. Covey for nine years? You can’t be older than twenty.”

  “I’m almost two and twenty,” she admitted.

  “Still, such a young age.”

  She licked her lips, wondering how much she could lie. His gaze missing nothing. She sighed. “I left home when I was very young.”

  “Left home? Ran away?” Don’t lie to me, lass. She could almost hear him say.

  Her voice was very soft. “Yes.” It was the truth. She had run away from home and her family. She’d had to. It was that, or be treated like less than an animal.

  After a moment, to her relief, Calum nodded and let the matter drop.

  “I’ll put the mule to plow today. Best if you look around here and see what you might need for washing and meals. You can start work tomorrow, if you’re feeling rested.”

  “What about my land? May I see it?” There was a little cabin homestead on her acre where she expected to live.

  “Aye, lass.”

  “I may as well settle my things there.”

  Calum hesitated. “There is a tiny place on your acre, but it’s naught but a mean hut. Dirt floors, drafty. I wouldnae want ye to stay there.” His accent thickened with his worried tone.

  “But, the advertisement said there was a place on the land. I thought I would stay there.”

  “That’s the hut. It needs a lot of work. I mean to help you fix it up, but for now I have the second bedroom you can stay in.”

  Phoebe’s brow furrowed. Was this some sort of test to see how far she’d impose on him? Sure, she had lived in Mrs. Covey’s hotel for many years, but that was different. Mr. MacDonnell was unmarried, and as much as it embarrassed her to have noticed, very eligible. It wouldn’t do for a single woman to live with him, even a crippled housekeeper.

  “I couldn’t do that, Mr. MacDonnell—”

  “Call me Calum.”

  Phoebe ignored that. “I would prefer to stay there, and not put you through the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he insisted, and they stared at each other over the breakfast table until he gave in with a sigh. “Very well. I’ll show you the hut.”

  As soon as breakfast was cleared away, she picked up her sack. “Ready.”

  He showed her the path through the meadow. There was a great fenced in area for his bull between his land and what was to become hers, so the walk was longer than it could be.

  Calum pointed out the way to the stream and Phoebe’s heart sank a little. She hadn’t thought about how much more distance she’d have to walk every day, working on a claim. Mrs. Covey’s hotel had been much more manageable, even with a steep staircase.

  Phoebe noticed her new employer was shortening his stride to match hers, and pushed on faster. Mr. MacDonnell frowned down at her, but said nothing and picked up the pace.

  They came around the fence, and Phoebe saw their path lead through a small copse before opening into another meadow. There, on the edge of the wood, was a little hut. The wood was grey and patched with mud, with a mossy roof. Phoebe stopped in her tracks, and stared at her new home that was little more than a shack.

  Beside her, Mr. MacDonnell cleared his throat. “It’s as I said, lass. My house has an extra room. It’s yours if you want it.”

  “I don’t want to impose, Mr. MacDonnell. This place is good enough for me.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue with her, so she turned her back and marched on. The hut looked worse and worse the closer she got, and the door opened with an eerie creak. Taking a deep breath, and nearly coughing at the rancid smell of old smoke, Phoebe started setting out her things. She had a blanket and bedroll she could manage to sleep on, and the hut already held a water bucket and a cooking pot next to the fire pit, not that she’d make use of it. She’d be taking meals with her employer.

  As she straightened, she noticed Calum watching her with that steady grey gaze. If he hoped she’d cave and prove her weakness, he was mistaken.

  He answered her raised chin with a little smile. “You’re a stubborn lassie, aren’t you?”

  In response, she took up the little bucket. “Will you show me where to get water?”

  *

  Later that night, Calum MacDonnell watched his new housekeeper limp around his lodge. Pale and slender, with dark lashes fringing large blue eyes, she was the loveliest lass he’d ever seen. Her mouth was pinched a little with pain, and she often winced and rubbed her leg when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  She’d matched him stride for stride that day though, learning where to get water and the way around the bull’s pen that jutted between her land and his great cabin. And she made the best biscuits he’d ever tasted, blushing hot when he praised them over and over again.

  “They were a favorite of Mrs. Covey’s boarders, too,” she’d murmured in her sweet voice.

  “I bet they were. I’m surprised one of them didn’t propose marriage on the spot.” He slathered butter onto one and crammed the whole thing in his mouth, only catching her pinched, frightened expression when he looked up after brushing crumbs out of his beard. He’d changed the subject, but filed the incident away. In light of a bad situation with a man or marriage, her cringing ways made more sense. Not just shy then, his wee Phoebe had been abused.

  The thought made him burn. She’d be safe enough with him, of course. If only he could get her to accept more help.

  It pained him to think of how she insisted sleeping in that godforsaken hut, but it made one thing clear: wee Phoebe Wilson didn’t have anything in the world but her pride. It was all he could do to not to throw her over his shoulder and install her in his house where she belonged.

  More than anything, he wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, rub balm into her leg until she relaxed. Even though she’d tried to hide it, he’d caught a glimpse of her twisted foot poking out from under her skirt, and it didn’t look too bad. Nothing Dr. Shepherd couldn’t correct, although he had a feeling she wouldn’t like it if he called the doctor in to look at her. Stubborn lass.

  Fortunately, he could be even more stubborn.

  After dinner, his little miss settled by the fire, tucking her feet under her. Instead of joining her and working on his woodcarving, he pretended to be busy back in the bedroom, peeking out every so often to see if he could catch her head drooping.

  Once she fell asleep, he’d put her to bed in the second room. No sense in her going elsewhere, no matter what she thought. When she argued with him back at the hut, almost visibly digging her heels in for a fight, he’d felt a fierce surge of pride at the way she’d challenged him. Thin, penniless, with that heartbreaking limp, she made her way through life through sheer force of will. She would not accept pity.

  It had been a long time since he’d felt so protective of anyone. In fact, it had been a long time since he felt such strong feelings for anyone at all.

  Checking on his new housekeeper again, he found his chair empty. A quick se
arch of the lodge revealed she’d wasn’t there. His wee bird had flown.

  Throwing open the door, Calum pulled a bearskin over his shoulders before grabbing the lamp and stomping out. It wasn’t safe for wee lassie to be walking about at night, but she couldn’t have gotten far on that leg. He’d catch up to her, and then he’d explain the rules. She was in his care now.

  He’d examine his new, tender feelings later. Now he had to catch up with his new ward, and tell her how it was going to be.

  *

  Under a velvet night sky, Phoebe stumped along the trail to her side of the land, hoping she could remember the way. She’d waited too long to leave, but she had so wanted to stay curled in the giant chair, rubbing her leg and gazing into the fire. Even after her employer had retreated for the night, she’d been reluctant to leave the warm hearth, but had forced herself to slip out quietly. Wolfie trotted along beside her; she’d tried shooing him away but once the great dog had gotten to know her, he’d stuck to her side like bark to a tree. Even now she had to walk carefully to keep from bumping into his big form.

  “Wolfie, no, get on with you.” She yelped when the animal pressed closer to her, almost knocking her off the trail. She heard a rustling behind her and whirled, relaxing when she noticed the light swinging from the man’s hand. It was her employer.

  “Phoebe,” he bellowed, stomping up to her. Wrapped in a fur robe, with his long hair wild about his face, he looked closer to a bear than a man.

  “Mr. MacDonnell? Did I forget something?”

  “Aye.” In the low lamplight, his face looked fierce. “Your escort.”

  She pointed to Wolfie. “I had one.”

  Calum fixed a glare to his pet. “And you’re no help either, you great fur beastie. Letting the lady walk alone at night in these woods.”

  “It’s not far,” she protested, but Calum took her arm and started marching forward.

  “I walk you home each night, especially after dark.”

  “But—”

  He stopped and held up the lamp to illuminate his glowering expression. “Dinnae argue. I’m this close to—” He broke off.

  “To what?”

  “Nothing.” He seemed to be trying to get himself under control. “There are rules to being in my employ, lass. I should’ve taken the time to properly explain them.”

  “Rules?”

  “Aye. For one, you always must have an escort after dark. And Wolfie is not good enough. From now on, it will be me.”

  “But that will inconvenience you.”

  “It’s not an inconvenience to make sure you’re safe. I will not argue about this, lass. You’re stubborn, aye, but I’m a Scot. My da always said that you’re better off arguing with a mountain than a MacDonnell.” His thick brogue and grin softened his words.

  “But—”

  “Not another word.” He laid a large finger over her lips, and Phoebe found her cheeks flaring with heat at his touch. The big man was gentle, but one look told her he would not be moved in this. “Cross me on this and there will be consequences.”

  Her brow furrowed and he dropped his finger, shrugging off his bearskin and wrapping it around her. “More on that later. Let’s get you to bed.”

  There was a chill to the night air, a hint of coming autumn.

  They went along in silence for a time. The path to her house took a while because they had to skirt around the section of fence that kept his bull. By the time the lamplight washed the dingy hut door, Phoebe sighed in relief. The big man beside her seemed unhappy for some reason, and when she offered his bearskin back, he waved his decline.

  “Keep it.”

  After his little speech, she thought it wise not to argue. Even though he towered over her, and he obviously was upset about something, she didn’t feel frightened in his presence. On the contrary, she felt safer walking with a giant at her side, his swinging lamp chasing shadows away.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He grunted, blowing out the lamp before stomping away.

  *

  Over the next few days, Phoebe found the rhythm of her new position. In the morning she woke, cramped and cold on the hut floor, and almost grateful for the walk to work to warm her. Mr. MacDonnell would usually be awake and gone already, returning after his morning chores to eat the massive breakfast she spread on the table. She ate with him, spending most of the time perched on a stool nibbling on a lone biscuit while he cleared two plates of them, smeared generously with wild honey. In addition to a mountain of biscuits, he polished off a steak or two, and threw the bones outside to Wolfie. Then he wandered off for the day while she cleaned up, swept and started on laundry. She had his clothes to darn as well as the scarves to finish for Mrs. Martin, but she waited until after dinner to work on that extra project.

  Mr. MacDonnell worked long hours, disappearing with Wolfie into the woods for hours on end. He had some cattle, including the bull whose pen jutted between her place and his and made her morning and evening walk twice as long. There also was a sizable garden that Phoebe helped tend to, and planned to expand. Her employer, however, preferred hunting to ranching or farming. One day, before breakfast, he returned with large buck slung over his shoulders, and proceeded to gut and ready the animal for the smokehouse. He stacked green hickory logs in the base of the tiny shack, and waited until thick white smoke poured from the little chimney on top. Wolfie chewed a bone nearby and Phoebe came out onto the porch with a pair of his socks she was darning to keep them both company. He’d stripped off his shirt and wore only buckskins and moccasins. It was all she could do to keep her focus on her needlework instead of his broad bare chest, sprinkled with faint freckles and some coarse hair. So she kept her eyes down and distracted herself by talking.

  He wasn’t much of a talker, her Mr. MacDonnell, but he didn’t mind her chatter, it seemed to amuse him. She blathered on and on like she never had before; the cozy company of a man and dog in the vast wilderness loosened her tongue.

  “Come spring I shall plant peas in the garden, and other edibles for our meals. Mrs. Covey let me grow herbs all around the hotel grounds; they are pretty and put off a pleasing scent. Though I do not know how well they will grow here. And use the mule to till my acre and plant something there. I do not know what. What do you think?”

  “About what crops to grow? It’s your land, lass. You decide. You can ask one of our neighbors for advice.”

  “Neighbors?” Phoebe felt surprise there was anyone within ten miles of them.

  “You know, Mrs. Martin or Donovan. Or one of the townspeople.”

  “They hardly live close enough to be called neighbors.”

  “I forget, you’re a city lass.”

  “I am not! I hardly lived in a city.”

  “You did, compared to out here.”

  She rolled her eyes and he wagged a chastising finger. “Do not roll your eyes at me, lass. That disrespect will get you a trip to the woodshed.”

  “What woodshed?” She eyed the piles of hickory chips he was making for the smokehouse. “You just go chop down any tree you like in the forest and just haul it here.”

  “Perhaps I’ll build a woodshed, just for the purpose of taking you there whenever you give me lip.” She glanced up sharply, but his wolfish smile told her he was joking, so she relaxed.

  “I don’t give you lip—” she protested and he raised a brow. “Oh, all right,” she grumbled, and took out her annoyance on her stitches.

  “It’s all right, Phoebe.” He’d taken to calling her by her first name; as her employer, it was his right and she didn’t mind. Secretly, she even thought of him as Calum, or her Mr. MacDonnell, though she’d never say it out loud. “It’s so lonely out here, I’m sure you’d pick a fight with a passing bear just to give use to your voice.”

  “I would not. And it’s not lonely out here. It’s nice. I like it.”

  He seemed pleased, and she felt a surge of happiness.

  “It�
��s a lovely home you have. I’m surprised you don’t—” She stopped. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t have a wife or family. The lodge was large enough to fit a brood of children.

  “I like having my own land. It seems, Phoebe, on this one thing we’re in agreement.” He grinned.

  She waited but he said no more on the subject of family.

  It was nice, she reflected at dinner, to have a friendly employer. Sometimes he went through spells of thoughtful silence, but when she approached him, he was ready with a smile. He wasn’t an ogre, despite being the size of one. Their bickering was playful.

  The first real contest came one night later that week, when Calum disappeared for the day and didn’t return for dinner. Phoebe got a good start on the scarves Mrs. Martin had requested, but finally stepped out onto the porch.

  The moon rose and with autumn falling fast, it was getting darker earlier. She waited and waited but her employer was nowhere to be seen. Finally, she stood up, putting away her sewing for her next night in front of the fire. There was nothing for it, she’d have to go alone.

  As she followed the trail, she realized how confident she felt. The fear she’d felt working at Mrs. Covey’s, worrying about when her family would catch up with her, was gone. She felt safer with Mr. MacDonnell than she had in a long time. She’d gone from cowering at the sound of a man’s voice to walking home in the dark.

  Of course, her employer wouldn’t like her going off alone. He had been so insistent on accompanying her. Sometimes she got the feeling he wanted to put his foot down and order her to sleep in the second bedroom. To his credit, he always bit his tongue. He respected her.

  A dark shape moved onto the trail beside her.

  “Where are you going, lass?”

  Phoebe leaped with a little cry, her heart beating faster.

  He came out of the darkness, and though she couldn’t see his face, she could feel his anger. “What did I tell ye about walking off at night?”

  “I wasn’t walking off. I waited for you. I know you don’t like where I live, but you really don’t have to concern yourself.”

  “No, Phoebe. I do have to concern myself. You are my responsibility, and if you test my rules again, I’ll turn you over my knee.” There was nothing joking in his tone now.