Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) Read online

  Whispering goodnight to the little bird, she closed her eyes and dreamt of a trio of sandy-haired boys with serious grey eyes, walking through the woods in moccasins like their father.

  *

  Over the next two days the bird’s wing healed, and Phoebe slept at the lodge. She liked the quiet evenings stitching by the fire, and though her employer frowned at her fervent labor, he didn’t complain. He spent the time whittling a figurine out of wood. On the second day, she rode the mule to fetch supplies at the store.

  “How is the Scottish bachelor? I’m sure he’s happy to have you about. Mighty lonely in that great lodge all alone.” Mrs. Martin winked.

  Phoebe didn’t quite know what to say, but that didn’t bother Mrs. Martin. Her own husband was also a quiet man, who seemed content to sweep and organize the shop, work in the back loading or unloading new merchandise, and do his wife’s bidding.

  Phoebe understood why he and others scrambled to please the outspoken matron; when she presented the scarves for the shopkeeper’s perusal, the woman’s entire face lit up.

  “Yes, yes, these are very fine.” Mrs. Martin fingered Phoebe’s creations with delight. “I love this pattern.”

  Before Phoebe could blink, the shopkeeper was counting out generous coin.

  “I can’t,” Phoebe stammered at the growing pile of money. “It’s too much.”

  “Pish posh. I’m selling them in Florence for five times as much. I insist.”

  The shopkeeper accompanied Phoebe out onto the porch, spending a few minutes instructing her husband on how to best load up the little mule with goods.

  In the end, Phoebe had taken the purse Mrs. Martin offered, plus Calum’s order and a few jars of preserves the shopkeeper added for her to “try.” Phoebe had the sneaking suspicion that the woman was trying to fatten her up.

  She’d ordered more cloth and thread. If she sewed every night, she could provide Mrs. Martin with new merchandise every week, and start supplementing her meager wage.

  “Bid Calum good day for me now,” Mrs. Martin ordered. “I used to worry about him living all alone in the those great woods with only a wolf for a friend. Poor thing. I’m sure he’s very glad of your company.”

  Mrs. Martin waved Phoebe off, nodding knowingly to her husband when she thought the young woman wasn’t looking.

  It was a fine day, and Phoebe set off walking, thinking she could stretch her leg a little and push herself. With the hard labor around the homestead, she knew she’d grown stronger in the past month.

  Staying on foot turned out to be a mistake. As she crossed the street, she passed a gang of men, miners by the look of their clothing, hitching their horses and oxen and heading to the store. One young man peeled away from the group to fall in beside her.

  “Afternoon, miss. May I see you home?”

  “No,” she breathed and ducked away, hoping he wouldn’t follow her. She limped away quickly, keeping the mule between her and the curious stares.

  She was a few miles down the forest path before she breathed relief, only to squeak in surprise when a large shadow fell over the trail.

  “Where were you?” Mr. MacDonnell’s eyes were stormy.

  “I went to town to pick up supplies. You were hunting.”

  “I came back early and searched and searched until I saw the mule gone,” he said. Phoebe was still a little out of breath from her scare. “I’m sorry. I would’ve left a note, but I never learned to write, I can barely read.”

  He jerked his head as if to absolve her, concern replacing annoyance on his face.

  “You all right, lass? You were walking awful fast.”

  “A man offered to walk me home, and I was trying to get away.”

  To her surprise, Calum cursed, then apologized.

  “Please ride the mule, Phoebe. I got him for you.” Without a pause, he lifted her onto the creature’s back.

  “So you did buy him for me,” she scolded him. “I didn’t want you to go to the trouble.” Her cheeks smarted as they flushed with humiliation. Now her hard-earned sewing money would have to go to paying him back for the mule, and all because of concern over her cursed foot.

  “You can take the price out of my wages,” she said stiffly.

  Calum snorted. “I will not. He’s as useful to me as he is to you.”

  “How so? You don’t need a mule to get supplies.” She watched his easy, swinging gait with envy.

  “Because I worry about you,” he bit out. “I don’t like watching you struggle.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Calum cursed, and this time he didn’t bother to apologize. “Shite, you are the hardest girl to give help to. Does your prickly nature keep others from getting close to you?”

  “Does yours?” she snapped. The combination of his anger and her scare outside the shop had tears smarting her eyes. “You can’t watch over me every hour of every day. I won’t stand your pity. I won’t!”

  “Pity,” he choked. “Woman… half the time I want to help you, the other half I want to tan your stubborn hide.” He halted, and with his hand on the mule’s bridle, the animal stopped too.

  “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he growled. “If you weren’t so beautiful, I’d have strangled you long before now.”

  Phoebe’s mouth flapped open and then closed. How could he call her beautiful? He’d called her thin and stubborn, and he’d even seen her foot. He had to be mocking her.

  Suddenly it was too much. She slid off the side of the mule without saying a word, and strode into the forest glen. She was so angry, she wanted to leave here and be done with him, but the thought of never seeing him again hurt more than her wounded pride.

  “Phoebe,” he called, coming after her.

  “Go away.”

  “Do not run from me, lass, ever. Especially not into the wild. Tis not safe.”

  She stood with her back to him, drawing in ragged breaths.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I didn’t mean to insult ye. I’ve told you before, I often say the wrong thing. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with someone.”

  “I have to make my own way.”

  “Why?” he asked, stepping closer and suddenly her heart was struggling to fly out of her chest. “Why can’t you accept my help? Are you afraid of me?”

  “No,” she said, shocked. “I just…” She’d never had anyone help her, only Mrs. Covey, and even then she knew it tied her to the woman’s employ. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You’re no bother.”

  “I’m half lame, Mr. MacDonnell.” She couldn’t believe he was making her say this out loud to reason with him.

  “You work circles around most men I know. And eat less than half as much.” Suddenly, the seriousness was gone and his eyes twinkled. “I know you’re not afraid of me; you were at first, but now you fight every inch.” His tone was frankly admiring.

  “I’m not fighting—”

  “Then accept the gift of the mule.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “It eases my mind to know you have a way to get about. I don’t like horses, but I know she’ll be a gentle servant for you.”

  “I need to be independent.”

  “Why? Who hurt ye, Phoebe?”

  She stiffened. She could never, ever answer that. It was just as shameful as her cursed foot.

  Finally, he sighed. “Never mind. Call it a truce, and come back with me to the lodge, please. There’s a treat waiting there for ye.”

  The treat was the little bird, all healed. Calum had covered the makeshift cage with a cloth to keep it until Phoebe came home. She could hear healthy wings rustling inside as he carried the bucket onto the porch.

  “Here.” He handed it to her like a peace offering. “Go on.”

  She paused a moment, then threw off the cloth and gasped with delight as the bird’s wings took it quickly away, the white patch on its wings winking at them before it disappeared into the brambles.

&n
bsp; “Fly free, wee bird,” Calum called. He grinned down at Phoebe and for a moment, she thought he was going to put his arm around her.

  Instead, she handed him back the bucket. His smile turned tender, and she felt her stomach do funny little flips.

  “Thank you,” she said before she ducked inside.

  *

  That evening, she sewed until she could barely see straight. More and more she caught Calum frowning at her as she stopped to rub her tired eyes. It wasn’t even twilight when she decided she couldn’t stitch any longer and announced she was going to bed.

  Mr. MacDonnell stood and grabbed his cap, holding the door open for her in silence. Phoebe felt a little thrill as she gathered her things. Nights with her employer, sewing and then walking home, were her favorite times. She still felt guilty about making him tail her to her lonely little hut.

  “Seems ridiculous to walk me home when I live alone out here anyway,” she remarked.

  His face darkened. “You should live in the lodge then.” As she limped forward, he hovered in the doorway, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t let her pass. “You stayed here these past few nights. Was it not to your liking?”

  “That was to tend to the bird,” she protested.

  “There’s another wee bird that needs tending. If it were up to me, I’d keep it safe and warm here inside.”

  Her breath caught. Did he mean her? After weeks of proving herself, he should know she could take care of herself. She hated appearing weak in front of him.

  Staring up at him, she felt fragile and defenseless. He’d caught her off guard.

  He seemed to sense her consternation, and immediately became contrite. “I’m sorry, lass. I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just, I was raised to care for my own.” His breath blew out, matching his look of frustration.

  “I have a right to live where I please,” she said quietly, and his scowl disappeared.

  “Of course you do. I don’t like it, but it’s not my decision.” Reaching out, he tugged her braid. “At least, until I convince you.”

  “You can’t convince me.” Phoebe’s forehead creased and Calum chuckled, tapping her nose, his good mood fully returned.

  “You’re stubborn, aye. But as I said: I’m a Scot, and a MacDonnell to boot, and we’re the most stubborn of them all.”

  “I’m not stubborn.” She walked onto the porch, cursing her bum foot for the hundred thousandth time. Her leg stiffened in the cool night air, forcing her to limp in front of him.

  If he noticed her slower gait, he didn’t mention it, but matched his stride to hers.

  “You come to the great woods all by yourself, no larger than a wee sapling. Ready to take on the wilderness alone.”

  “So did you!”

  “Aye, but I’m a big laddie. You’re naught more than a wee bird yourself.” They passed the thicket where they’d found the caught bird, and he reached out to tweak her braid again.

  “I’m not wee,” she huffed, throwing herself into their light-hearted bickering.

  “Little, I mean.”

  “I’m not little.” In a rare moment of whimsy, she stepped onto a log and balanced so she could look him in the eye. “See now, I’m as tall as you.”

  He hovered close, hands out as if he’d catch her if she fell. “Well done, little bird. You found a perch.”

  She laughed and stopped at the surprise on his face. “What?”

  “Nothing, lass. I’ve just never seen you laugh. You’re usually so serious.”

  Her smile died at the thought she’d acted too childish, and his frustration returned.

  “There I go with clumsy words. What I meant to say is that you have a very fine laugh, and I’d like to hear it more. I want you to be happy here, Phoebe.”

  “I am happy here.” She let him help her down. “I like working for you very much.”

  He sighed. They walked on in awkward silence; she wondered if she’d said something wrong.

  “I’m glad you aren’t too lonely here. I’m not the best company.”

  Privately, Phoebe disagreed. He was the best company she’d ever had. Even Mrs. Covey with her kindness and humor couldn’t compare to her tall, burly Scot with his moods that changed like the weather.

  She didn’t know how to say that out loud, though. “That’s all right.”

  “What I mean to say is, I know it can be lonely out here with a man and his dog, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  Suddenly her throat was dry. The flutters were back in her stomach; she’d been getting them more and more, and had a sneaking suspicion she knew what they meant. “I’m glad too.”

  They’d reached her little hut, and he gave it his usual grimace. Phoebe had worked hard to make the little place habitable, even stacking her kindling under the little lean-to.

  “Good night, Mr. MacDonnell.” She felt almost coy.

  She watched his large body stride into the woods with an easy walk, his hips swinging under strong shoulders.

  He should have a wife, she thought, and wondered at the pain that shot through her heart.

  *

  The next morning, she rose late. Her fire was out, and she’d never felt the cold bite so hard. Stepping outside, she realized frost had fallen last night. Autumn was here, and time was running out to ready her hut before winter.

  Leaning against her hut was another surprise: the walking stick she’d seen Calum carving some nights before the fire. After a pause, she took it. A few weeks ago, she’d never accepted such a gift, but she understood her employer well enough to know he respected her without her pedestal of pride. This morning, with her leg stiff with cold, the aid was welcome.

  Shivering as she went along the path, Phoebe reached the bull pen and paused. The sun was already climbing above the trees; Calum would be long up and off to his chores. She was walking as quickly as she could, but it would take twice as long as it should with the fenced area blocking her straight path. It would be quicker to cut through the pen. The bull was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she could just scale the fence and get across. With the walking stick, she could make good time, and it would cut a few aching minutes off her path…

  She was halfway across the pen when she heard a grunt. There was the bull, facing her, a mean look in its eyes.

  Heart pounding, she started to run, swinging her bum leg and leaning on her new cane. The walking stick slipped on a cowpat, and Phoebe tripped a little, flailing so she wouldn’t fall. The activity was too much temptation for the bull, and as soon as she righted herself, she saw it had begun to charge.

  “Phoebe!” From the side, Calum vaulted the fence, waving his own red handkerchief as a distraction. Wolfie slipped through the fence too, and went growling for the bull.

  Phoebe gasped as the wolf dog ran right up to its flank, as if to nip it, turning aside at the last moment to avoid the slashing horns. Wolfie darted away, growling. As soon as the beast twisted towards the great dog, Calum raced to Phoebe, scooping her up in his arms and racing for the fence. He practically tossed her over before vaulting it himself. Confused, the bull charged towards him, and Calum threw the red handkerchief into the pen, letting the animal gore the ground.

  Calum ran and dragged Phoebe back from the fence, shouting for Wolfie until the dog slipped out of the pen.

  The dog and two humans sagged to the ground, gasping for breath.

  Calum recovered first. “What were you doing?”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t think he would see me. It was just a shortcut.”

  The big Scot got to his feet, towering over her. “What possessed you to risk your life? You coulda been killed or worse.”

  He stalked away, and stripped a branch off a young sapling, returning with it in hand.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Teaching you to mind. Get your skirts up and lean on that post.”

  Phoebe looked from the angry Scott, to the hitching post, and back again
.

  “Now, Phoebe. Unless you want me to tie you there and switch you up and down your legs. You’re getting eight as it is.”

  “You can’t switch me.”

  “Can and will. Now turn around.”

  She backed away, wondering if she should throw herself in the pen again. She’d almost rather face the bull.

  Calum charged her, and caught her around the waist.

  “Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer as he sat on a stump and positioned her over his knees.

  “This is madness,” she cried and kicked her legs. Squirming did nothing to free her; Calum’s broad legs were sturdy under her body and she could not rock away. She writhed, trying to get her feet to touch the ground, and he steadied her easily with one iron hand, while the other collected her hands and pinned them in the small of her back. Within seconds, her skirts were up and she felt the cool air on her skin, barely protected by her drawers.

  “No!” Her struggles grew more wild.

  “Fight all you want, Phoebe, in the end you’ll be sorry.” He slapped her bottom, the force of his big hand stunning her. It wasn’t so much painful as humiliating. Even after the mock punishment session, she’d never thought she’d end up half-disrobed over her handsome employer’s lap, getting disciplined like a naughty child.

  She shouted but to no avail, his hand smacked down again and again, stinging each cheek. He didn’t pull down her drawers, but he didn’t need to. His bare hand was force enough. He wasn’t using full force, she knew, just enough to chastise her. Of course, after a minute, her bottom felt hot and glowing, and she knew she would still feel sore tomorrow. Her hips twitched, trying to escape his punishing hand, but his other hand gripped her tighter, and he put more force into his smacks until she stopped struggling and submitted.

  “All right, all right. I’ve learned my lesson. You can stop now.”

  His paw continued its rhythm on her bottom, and she felt a little desperate, tears in her eyes dangerously close to falling.

  “Please,” she begged. “I’ll never do it again.”

  “That’s right, lass, you won’t. Now take your punishment; it’ll all be over soon, and we can put this behind us.”