Rocky Mountain Dawn (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 1)

Rocky Mountain Dawn

Rocky Mountain Bride Series, Book One

By

Lee Savino

©2015 by Blushing Books® and Lee Savino

All rights reserved.

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Savino, Lee

Rocky Mountain Dawn

eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-144-4

Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design

This book is intended for
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. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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Table of Contents:

Author's Notes

About the Author

Ebook Offer

Blushing Books Newsletter

About Blushing Books

"Esther Richardson, get out of that tree!"

The branches of the apple tree shook, dropping fruit, and the short, plump matron on the ground squawked and shielded her head. At her feet, a pair of tow-headed children tucked their heads under their mother's skirts to escape the volley of hard, unripe apples.

The shaking became violent, and more fruit bounced to the ground, along with a few dead twigs. Then a blonde head poked between the leaves.

"Mama?"

The squat woman on the ground stomped her foot. "Naughty girl, get down before you fall and break your neck."

One of the larger boughs danced wildly, and then a young woman dropped out of the tree. Her mother shrieked again as the girl staggered, then righted herself.

"I'm fine, Mama. The ground broke my fall."

The two children stuck their head out from behind their mother's skirts and giggled.

The young blonde winked at them.

"Honestly, climbing trees at your age, what will the neighbors think?"

Esther shrugged and brushed back her honey-colored hair. "If I was a boy, you'd let me climb."

"You are not a boy...oh, if your father was here. I'd have him spank you, old maid of twenty-two or not."

"I'm not an old maid," Esther cried. "You have to be twenty-five at least to be a spinster. I'm merely considering my offers." Pulling her two siblings out from behind her mother, Esther set off in the direction of the house, her complaining mother in tow.

"You have no offers, according to your father."

"I know Mr. Miller asked for me." Esther dipped and caught up an apple, walking while she polished it against her dress.

"That was three months ago, and your father turned him down firsthand."

"Well," Esther said, biting into the apple. "I can hardly keep up with every suitor."

Her mother sighed. A pity her eldest had been a girl, blessed with a quick mind and a sharp tongue, strong will, then pretty green eyes and long shining hair. The good boys she found too slow, the sharp ones too ugly, and the successful ones she challenged to live as Jesus and give all their money to the poor.

One disgruntled mill owner had stormed out of dinner, telling Mr. Richardson his daughter was a radical.

Her poor mother remembered all this, and drew in a big breath. "At fifteen, I met your father..."

"...and married a week later, I know, I know. You always told me you should've waited." Esther threw her arm around her short mother who was breathing hard, trying to keep up with her daughter's strides. "Anyway, Mark Spencer said he would take me."

"Heavens, no," her mother said, thinking of the town hooligan. Handsome, to be sure, but just the other day Doctor Whitney had treated a poor beggar who claimed Mr. Spencer's fine buggy had run him off the road.

"What use have I for a husband, anyway?" They approached the house, and Esther threw her apple core into the midden. "Most men smell bad and think that books are for propping open doors. I want a scholar. Someone who wants to travel the world with me and see strange things and talk to different peoples. I want to see the world."

"Oh, Esther." Her mother groaned and wished, not for the first time, that her eldest had been a boy.

*****

At dinner that night, her mother told Esther's father of her afternoon escapade. Her father frowned over his spectacles but said nothing until his wife had turned away to fuss over a younger child.

"My dear daughter, what am I to do with you?"

"Nothing, Papa. I just needed solitude."

Her father looked over the rowdy dinner table, filled with his eleven children and shrieking wife. "I understand. You need to leave home, get away. I thought seminary would settle you, but you seem more restless than ever."

"I just want to do something." Esther leaned in, face shining. "All the things I studied, all the knowledge I gained, I want to use it."

He shook his head. "You should've been a man. Then at least I could set you up in a parish."

"I don't want to settle here. I want to adventure."

"Well, until then, no more climbing trees. You give your mother a scare." Her father pushed away from the table and stood with a sigh.

Esther rose with him. "Let me help you to your study, Papa."

"No, no." He waved her away. "I have some important business to go over. And under no circumstances are you to come in and snoop among my papers. Don't think I don't know that you snuck in to read about the Abolitionists when I was gone." His finger waggled in her face, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

*****

The moon hung bright and shining in the sky when the tree next to the Richardson's house started shaking softy.

Esther wriggled out onto a branch to a half open window. Grunting, she got it open and dropped into her father's study, right behind his big desk. There was still some oil in the lamp, and she lit it quickly, glancing around her favorite room in the house. Tonight, the books held no interest for her.

Sifting through her father's papers, Esther found three newspapers, as new as last week, and set them aside. As she did, a letter fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she read the solicitation from the American Mission Board to her father for funds, and had an idea.

It took the rest of the night, but by dawn she had a perfectly penned letter to the Board, introducing herself as a single woman of Baldwin, Maine, and offering to carry their cause West.

"I cannot send money," she wrote, "but I am a pious woman, hardworking and true, who wishes to do God's work. Please consider sending me to preach the good news to the people of the frontier."

*****

She mailed the letter, and when fall turned to winter and winter into spring without a response, she forgot about it.

Which is why, when one late afternoon she was dressing for dinner, she looked up in surprise at the sound of horses. Two men rode into the yard, one familiar and white-haired, and the other a stranger—young and very, very tall.

She recognized one as the local doctor and turned to her next youngest sister. "Mattie? Are any of the others ill?"

"No," her younger sister answered, hustling to the window. "Why would old Dr. Whitney be coming today?"

"He must want to meet with Father." Esther scrambled to take off her work frock and replace it with a new one, a rich purple that she wore only to church.

"Esther?"

"What is it, Mattie?" The blonde stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair.

"Who's the other rider? The tall man?" Mattie stayed peering out of the window.

"Perhaps his apprentice?"

"He doesn't look like an apprentice."

Tripping over her skirts, Esther flew back to the window in time to catch a glimpse of the tall man with brown hair and dark brows. The stranger was younger than his fellow rider, but probably around thirty. He wore a dark jacket and suit that Esther could tell was very fine—the latest fashion according to the newspapers from Boston.

"But so tall. He may not fit in the door," Esther murmured, and left Mattie craning to see if this was so, while Esther went back to the mirror to finish putting in her hair pins.

"Esther?" Her mother called up the stairs, just as young William arrived at the top of them, breathless.

"You're wanted in the parlor," he told his older sister.

"What? Why her?" Mattie started from the window, but before she reached the door, Esther shut it firmly.

The blonde took the front stairs so as to avoid the kitchen, where her mother would surely be waiting to lecture her. After sending William back, Esther paused on the landing to peer into the parlor.

The two men stood in the receiving room. Old Dr. Whitney looked his usual grizzled self, so Esther barely spared him a glance. Her eyes were all on the stranger—taller than her by almost a foot. Another few inches and his brown hair would touch the ceiling. Up close he looked younger, probably in his late twenties, but he stood with assurance of a much older man. He had a lean face and dark, forbidding brows.