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

“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.

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.

Still she couldn’t stop her lower lip from trembling as she asked, “You looked for me?”

“From California to Texas. As soon as we found you gone, I rode out.”

“He took me north,” she said, regaining some of her composure. “Made me drink whiskey and lie down in a wagon. I woke up in Denver.”

“I know. I was there long after you were gone. For a red-headed child, you were hard to find.” He smiled, but there was no mirth in it.

She nodded, feeling her attitude steal back over her, gathering it around her like a cloak. “I knew Mary would want to come looking for me.”

Pain flashed across Lyle’s face, as if she’d struck a blow. “Rose...” he began.

“I know she’s dead,” Rose said quickly.

Lyle fell silent, but his eyes were filled with pain.

“One of Pa’s partners told me. He had kin in Florence that knew of Mary Wilder.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Lyle said after a long while. If Rose wasn’t mistaken, his eyes were shining with tears. “I wanted you to be there. For us to be a family.”

“She wanted that too,” Rose whispered. Her hand went to her throat as if it could smooth away the lump that had formed there. “How…how was she?”

“In the end?” Lyle sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Rose felt a sympathetic pang; it was obvious he was reliving old pain, but she had to know. Her whole body leaned forward, waiting to hear of her beloved sister’s final moments.

“She was happy,” he said softly. “She was always singing, or humming, even in the end, when her lungs gave out. She spoke of you every day. I knew she thought of you, because even in sleep she whispered your name.”

Rose blinked hard. There were no tears in her eyes; she hadn’t cried in years, but pain burned behind her lashes and spread through her body. A sound started low in her throat, a haunted cry that started soft and grew louder until her ears were ringing with it. She took a few, stumbling steps away from Lyle, then her legs weakened and she started to fold up in pain.

“Rose!” Lyle was at her side, catching her before she fell and lifting her in his arms. As he moved to the bed, she turned into him, closing her eyes and pressing against his shirt. He smelled of rain and leather, wood, smoke, and wild, and she felt herself snuggling deeper into his strong chest. Under her ear, she could hear his beating heart. It called to her, rising over the broken keening that rang in her ears, until she realized her cry was all in her head, but his heartbeat was real.

Lyle sat on the bed with her in his arms, tucking his chin over her head.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispered. “Mary made me promise. The thought of you alone out there…I would’ve looked for you until the day I died.”

She nodded against his chest, unable to speak, but wanting him to know that she heard.

He lifted her, laid her on something soft. She felt the blankets go over her and then a gentle hand on her hair.

“Sleep now, my wild rose.”

*

A few hours before dawn, she started awake. A dark shape moved in her room, and she sat up, shrinking back into the shadows. Her fingers reached for her Nell, but the gun wasn’t near her. She was still clothed in her corset and petticoats. As her eyes took in the room, she remembered.

“Rose?”

Lyle stepped into the light of the window.

“What’s going on?” she croaked.

Moving to the sidebar, Lyle poured her some water and brought it to her. “Doyle has men out looking for you. He knows you’re still here, and you’re going to run. It’s not safe for us to leave right now.”

She stared up at him, groggily trying to understand.

“It’s all right, Rose. Get some sleep.”

Too tired to argue, she nodded and handed back the cup. She watched his long, dark form stalk to the door, where he took his seat and leaned back, pistol at ready.

Lying back down, she tried to doze off, but the thought of a man—Lyle Wilder, no less—guarding her door at night was strange enough to keep her awake, mulling over it.

He said he would help her. But what did that really mean? Would she travel with him, like she had with her father, dancing and helping him win at cards, turning over every coin she made and hoping her earnings were enough to keep him from whoring her?

Rose felt the cold stealing over her, and she shook under the covers, forcing her eyes shut. She’d only slept a few fitful moments when she felt Lyle’s hand on her shoulder.

“Rose? You were crying out.”

In response, she shivered.

“Damn, you’re cold.”

A pause, and then she heard his coat drop to the floor before his weight hit the bed. She curled into herself, eyes closing tight as she felt his warmth seep into her. He rested his hand on her hip, his breath tickling the back of her neck. A part of her insisted she protest, but the rest of her was warm and comfortable, and soon she fell fast asleep.

*

When Rose woke again, Lyle was gone. Her body ached, her blood moving thick and sluggish as it always did in the morning. She blinked in the bright morning light, trying to dislodge the grit behind her eyelids, the evidence of a long night. She didn’t even want to think about what had happened. All she knew was that, before Lyle returned, she wanted to be long gone.

Her vow of amnesia worked until she padded across the floor and picked up her white stage dress. The spots of blood stood stark against the pure cloth, and she knew it did happen. Sam really was dead.

Casting about, she found her trunk and dressed quickly, then reloaded Nellie. Her money was sewn into the stitches of her skirts; she took the time to gather it all and tucked it safe in her bodice. It would be enough to get out of town. Pulling a few items into a bag, she snuck out of the hotel, finding the back stairs Lyle had carried her up last night. He was a strong man, to climb them without pause.