Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3) (2 page)

A shout behind them, and Rose peered through her hair to see the door to the saloon burst open, letting light and the roar of their pursuers out into the night. Her captor veered around a corner, heading down another dark alleyway. By the time she caught her breath, Rose’s kidnapper was climbing the back stairs to another building, then darting down a hall, opening a door, and carrying her inside.

In the inky darkness, the man set Rose down. The moon in the window gave the only light, and Rose could make out the tall, powerful form of her kidnapper, but nothing of his face.

Again, she drew in breath to scream, and a hand clamped over her mouth.

“It’s all right, Rose. It’s me, Lyle Wilder.”

Lyle? Why?

She must have spoken out loud, because her words were muffled against his hand.

“I’m going to let you go now,” Lyle said. “Don’t scream.”

His hand lifted, and Rose scrambled backwards, fumbling for her gun. She’d managed to hang onto her Nelly in the commotion, and now she brought the Deringer up, pointing it at the man in shaking hands.

In the darkness, she sensed, rather than saw his hands go into the air.

“You gonna shoot me, Rose?”

Breathing hard, she registered the amusement in his voice. He always was a smug bastard.

Catching her breath, she rallied. “Where am I?”

A pause, and then a match struck. Light outlined the perfect contours of Lyle’s face as her sister’s husband regarded her soberly.

“In a hotel. This is my room.”

Keeping her aim fixed on him, Rose darted a glance around the room, a shabby replica of any other boarding house’s room like the ones she and Mary lived in.

Hands still in the air, Lyle slowly moved to a side table and lit the lamp. Rose backed into a corner, wondering if she dare kill the man her deceased sister had loved.

Lyle watched her, a slight smile on his face. “You want to lower your gun?”

“No,” she said.

“Come on, Rose. This is how you repay the man who saved your life?”

“No. This is how I repay the man who destroyed it.”

One second she was staring him down, then he moved, and the gun was aiming at nothing. Rose pulled the trigger, hearing the hammer click uselessly before Lyle’s long arms wrapped around her and locked her arms against his chest.

She looked up into cold blue eyes.

“That’s a single shot Deringer, Rose. And you already shot a man tonight. You think I wouldn’t notice?” He was tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him—a rare thing since she was taller than most men.

Her lip curled. “I could only hope.”

“Careful,” he growled. “You are very, very close to making me lose my temper. You don’t want me to do that.”

Her heart pounded, and she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, brushing his. She stared up into his sculpted features, taking in the lush lips and proud forehead, the dark hair brushing his collar. Pressed against him, she couldn’t help but notice the strength in his chest and arms, and the long, dark lashes around his brilliant eyes. It should be illegal for a man to be so beautiful.

His scent, masculine and clean, rolled over her, and suddenly her limbs were weak, and her thoughts screamed, “Danger!”

During the pause, his expression went from angry to curious. His blue gaze flickered down her face, and his lips parted. She couldn’t help it, inches from his mouth, her tongue came out and slowly licked her own lips.

“Rose.” His face softened, and she remembered herself. She shoved at him, going nowhere but at least putting in an effort to fight.

“Get your hands off me.” She slapped his away.

“What the hell?” He released her, and she took a step backwards then immediately went on the offensive.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, hands on hips. With her height and fiery hair, she knew her angry pose would strike fear into most men’s hearts.

Lyle wasn’t most men. “Saving your life,” he said, glaring down at her with the same force.

“I didn’t need saving,” she snapped. “I’m fine.”

“Far from it, Rose.” Lyle’s blue eyes flashed. “You waltz into Doyle’s town after all these years then throw yourself into a brawl. You could’ve been killed.”

“I can take care of myself, Lyle Wilder.” She tossed her head, sending red hair flying around her shoulders. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Really. Dancing on tables for a living in front of a room full of drunken men.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Quite a show you’ve got, Rosie May.”

“Shut your mouth,” she spat.

His eyes flashed at her. “You better start showing some respect, young lady, or I have half a mind to teach it to you.”

“No one asked you.” She started towards the door. “Take me back.”

“Not so fast.” Lyle pulled her towards him. She fought, but he was stronger and soon had her seated on the chaise, his hands on her shoulders. “Rose, stop. There are men out there looking for you. One of them is Otis Boone—fastest shot in this town, maybe the whole Territory.”

“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 her 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.”