Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) (6 page)

He paused only a second before tromping out and returning with the lit lamp and one of his shirts. “It may as well be a nightgown on you.”

She thanked him and he stood for a moment scratching the back of his neck. “Sleep well, Phoebe.” The bed was already made and the room was clean, if a bit stuffy from little use. Phoebe swept in here from time to time, and had spent her first night there, but she hadn’t explored it. Thinking back, she realized she’d never seen Calum enter it.

She changed out of her things and into his shirt. There was a dresser to one side. Out of curiosity, she opened it and touched the clothes inside in wonder. There were little shirts and trousers, child sized. The real surprise was the bottom drawer that held women’s clothes. A few large dresses, much too big for her form, a chemise and petticoats, even a brooch. The clothing was good quality, with fancy stitching. These were dress up clothes, set aside for special use. Did they belong to the people who’d lived in the lodge before? She’d assumed Calum had built the place, but she’d have to ask.

It posed another question: why didn’t Calum have a wife and family? Why did he live out here so alone? The lodge was a big place—three rooms, enough for a growing brood of children.

Her mind ran over the puzzle as she lay in bed, and eventually turned to thoughts of her handsome employer. She imagined him out in the armchair, brooding by the fire. At night he got rather melancholy. For such a big man, he was surprisingly gentle and sweet. The way he’d cared for the little bird, broad shoulders hunched as he cared for the quivering form—she’d never seen anything more beautiful. He would make a good husband and father. The thought made her happy and sad at the same time: he was so eligible and so alone.

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.

“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.