Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) (8 page)

Before her switch marks faded, Calum slaughtered and butchered the bull, and tore a hole in the fence for her to walk through. Her heart flutters were strongest of all when she walked the new, straight path from her hut to his lodge each morning.

Despite these sweet happenings, the days on the homestead were long and brutal. Winter was coming, and they spent dawn to dusk readying for its arrival. Calum was often gone hunting, returning for dinner. She loved having the hearth warm and food ready for him, even insisting he sit in his chair while she served him by the fire. As often as not, she perched on a chair and chatted away about her day while he ate. She’d never talked so much, but having a silent Scot who seemed to enjoy her company emboldened her. He really was a friend.

But more than a friend. He always walked her home, insisting on it. She wondered if he would spank her if she disobeyed his request and went home on her own. The thought had her almost excited.

Then, one night, she got a chance to find out. The rain had started around noon, and continued through sundown. Phoebe finished banking the fire and making a pot of stew, and there was no sign of Calum. He was probably out hunting, if he didn’t get drowned like a fish.

After waiting, she decided to go home. It was too wet to do much of anything else.

The trail to her meadow was muddy, and Phoebe struggled a little to limp through the puddles. Even her staff got stuck in the sucking mud.

Approaching her little hut, she felt dismay. Her hearth would be cold and dead, and she was too tired to make a fire. It would be worse as winter came on.

The rain seemed to pick up, beating down in sheets so she could barely see her own door. Water poured off her roof, and when she opened the door to her home, she realized the leaks had gotten worse. Rain trickled down from multiple crevices, with the worst leak near the hearth, beating off the stone and turning the earthen floor in front of it to mud. Phoebe looked about in dismay. Her bed was now a large puddle. There was no way she could make a fire.

Shivering, she put her arms around herself and started to crouch, but the damp sent an ache spiraling up her leg. Her eyes smarted with tears as she wondered what to do.

It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours before she heard a voice bellowing over the rain.

“Phoebe!”

Her teeth were chattering too hard to answer him.

Calum flung the door open hard enough to splash into the small puddle. In the gloom, she could make out his frustrated features.

Body cramping, she tried to stand. “I waited for you—”

Her words cut off as he stalked to her. Pulling her to her feet, he dipped and she was over his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs to hold her there. Ducking, he grabbed her staff and bag, and headed back out the door.

“Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?” Phoebe kicked her feet a little as her employer stalked through the rain. The way back to the lodge took no time; the Scot’s big strides ate up the wet ground and easily avoided the puddles.

Once inside the lodge, he swung her down. Phoebe took a second to be grateful for the warmth and light, swaying a little on her feet. She was so cold.

“Silly, stubborn lass. I would take a tawse to you, if I thought it would teach you.” Calum moved about the room, flinging off his wet jacket, boots and shirt.

“What did I tell you, Phoebe? You wait for me, every time. I come home and panic because you’re not here, and you could have slipped and fallen in the mud…”

She couldn’t answer because her teeth had started to chatter again. Grabbing her again, he moved them both to the fire, as close to the hearth as they could go, and started undressing her.

His bare chest heaved. He looked so handsome with water droplets clinging to his faintly freckled skin, and wet hair hanging around his face.

“I didn’t want to bother you—” she said as her teeth clattered.

“So you walked through the rain? You’re soaked, you wee scunner.” His hands made short work of her buttons, and stripped off her wet dress, then burrowed further to find her corset stays. Her chemise and petticoat were next, flying over her head and dropped to land with a splat on the floor. Drops of water flew into the fire, where they sizzled. The rain outside sounded like a living, breathing monster. Phoebe was glad she wasn’t in her little hut.

“What are you doing?” she asked too late. He already had most of her wet things off. A numbness had taken over her mouth and mind.

“Getting you warm,” he said, glowering. “And no back talk. I’m done with this, Phoebe.”

She didn’t say anything as he knelt and peeled off her stockings and boots. He’d left the drawers and under-chemise, leaving her side for a moment, but when he came back with a great big fur blanket, he whipped those off too, and wrapped her naked form in the robe. After hooking his chair closer to the hearth, he picked her up and sat her down in his lap, fur and all. His broad hands started rubbing her body through the rug, chafing her limbs to warm them.

Phoebe didn’t fight it. She lay her head on his broad, bare chest and let her body absorb his heat. Her skin tingled a little as it came back to life.

“Stubborn,” he repeated, his tone softer, almost fond. “Sweet, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. But this has to end.”

They rested together in front of the fire. Phoebe’s eyes kept fluttering closed, only to open as Calum’s hands massaged life back into her skin.

“What has to?” she finally asked.

“Hmmm?”

“What has to end? What are you done with?”

“I’m done watching you struggle, all alone. I thought that if I gave you time, you’d come around. But it’s happening too slowly, and I’m not waiting anymore.”

Phoebe wrinkled her brow and Calum leaned closer.

“You’re mine, Phoebe. I knew it the moment I saw you. I think you knew too.”

“But—”

“You’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take care of you.”

Her body warmed with the heat of his words and body. “I can take care of myself.”

His look darkened. “Can you, Phoebe?”

“I’m not weak,” she protested.

“I never said you were. You’re very strong.” He kissed her temple and she froze in shock. “Now, do you want to eat something while I draw you a hot bath?”

She blinked at the change of subject. “I don’t need a bath.”

“You’re cold. I want you to warm up.” Rising, he set her back in the chair and started moving briskly around the room. He brought her a bowl of stew and put a pot of water on before disappearing, returning wearing fresh clothes and carrying the tub. Pulling the chairs around the tub, he built a little screen with the wet clothes, table and chairs. “There. Some privacy.”

Phoebe watched all this with a mind as numb as her cold feet. He said he’d care for her, and kissed her. What was happening?

Returning, he picked her right up and settled back to wait for the pot to boil, stretching out his legs and cradling her close as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Phoebe fit easily in his lap, but felt she should protest. She didn’t want to; the heat of his body penetrated to her very bones.

He took the stew bowl from her, frowning. “You need to eat,” he clucked, and spooning up a chunk of meat, held it to her lips. “Come on.” He coaxed the spoon between her lips as if she was a child.

“I can feed myself.”

“Not that I can tell. You don’t eat enough.”

“Is this what you mean by take care of me?” she huffed. “You can’t dress and feed me every day.”

He raised a brow.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will if I have to. And bathe and put you to bed. I’m going to make sure you get what you need.”

“Why did you bring my things here?” She nodded to her sack.

“You’re moving in.” His brow raised in anticipation of her argument. “I don’t want any lip.”

“I can’t move in with you.”

“Well, you’re not going back there.”

She pushed at him and he held her fast. “You’re not, Phoebe. You’ll catch your death. I’m not standing by and letting you freeze because of some daft ideal to make your own way.”

“I’m not daft, or silly, or stubborn!” She pushed off his lap, though she had to test her foot first, to see if she could stand. “I thank you for your help, Mr. MacDonnell, but—”

“But you’re accepting my kind offer to spend the winter in comfort.” He didn’t get up, but still managed to look intimidating. “That’s the only acceptable answer.”

She stamped her foot. “I can’t stay with you.”

“Why not?”

She was stumped only a second. “It…wouldn’t be proper.”

“It’s not proper for you to live in that hovel while I have plenty of space here.”

“We’re both unmarried.”

He raised a brow. “There’s an easy remedy to that.”

Her mouth fell open. He couldn’t be suggesting they marry. Surely not. She’d sooner think he was mad. “You’re not serious.”

“I am very serious. And if you think you’re going back to that place, you’ve got another think coming. I’d sooner chain you to the hearth. That would suit you, since you act like you’re Cinderella.”

“I do not!”

“You live in the meanest spot, work yourself like a dog, barely eat. I feel like a tyrant watching you slave away.”

“I’m trying.”

“Phoebe, I know you are. I’m trying to help you. You don’t have to live this way.” He rose and cupped her face, his warm hands matching the heat in his eyes.

“You’re like the little bird, caught in the thorns, struggling with a torn wing. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m going to help you and coddle you, and one day you’ll fly free.”

Phoebe stared up at him, not knowing what to say. There was some powerful force in his touch and gaze, the warmth tingled as it spread through her. She’d never felt so connected to anyone. Truly seen. He could pack all his strength and power into one gentle gaze and weave a spell to trap her. But she didn’t belong.

He released her and went to the cauldron, pouring the water into the tub and tromping out to get more. “Stay here,” he said.

Of course, as soon as he left, she limped over to her wet things, and started pulling them on. How dare he say all those things and touch the very core of her! She couldn’t allow it.

She wrapped herself in the robe as he came back in.

“Still coming down out there. If it were a bit colder, we’d have snow.”

He wrestled the full cauldron inside, pulling it to the hearth. Once it was set up, he dusted off his hands and scowled at her. “What are you doing over there? You need to be near the fire.”

She took a deep breath, and his eye narrowed, honing in on the stockings and boots she held in her hand. “I’m very grateful for your help, Mr. MacDonnell, but—”

“You set one foot outside to leave, and I’ll put you over my knee,” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She clutched the fur around her more tightly.

“Try me.”

He stalked closer and paused, waiting to see if she’d go through with it. They faced off. The look on his face was very, very determined. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

Then she hardened herself. He didn’t get to tell her what to do. She didn’t want to go back out in the cold and rain, but it was the principle of the thing. She started forward, but didn’t get very far. Catching her arm, he pulled her back. She fought but he had her back in the chair, over his knee and pinned before she knew it.

“Calum,” she shrieked as he pulled off the robe and struggled to undo her wet dress again. “You can’t do this!”

“I told you I can and I will. I’ll spank you any time I like. I don’t like doing it now, when you’re cold and wet, but you’re acting like a child.”

His hand swatted her, not hard, just enough to get her attention. She stilled.

“Your hut is completely unsuitable. The roof is leaking, the floor is wet. You cannot build a fire. And it’s only going to get worse, and colder. You cannot live there, Phoebe.”

He unleashed a flurry of swats, but even she could tell the force he used was barely enough to sting. She kicked her feet and tried to tussle with him, and he only secured her arms behind her back and tipped her forward so she was held fast and unbalanced over his knee. The helpless position defeated her faster than the spanking; she was beaten and she knew it.

“All right, all right.”

He stopped, but kept her pinned. “No more of this nonsense then? You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.” At least for the night.

“Good.” He helped her up. “Take off your wet things, and get in the bath.” He grumbled. “You’re a tough lass to help and no mistake.”

She stopped struggling with her clothes under her robe and glared at him.

He raised a brow. “Do I need to help you again?”

“No.” She shivered and finished taking off her things, grateful to be out of them. Next time she went to war, she’d pick a better battle.

Calum moved about the lodge readying the bath, muttering to himself about “stubborn lassies with no sense.”

The next cauldron of water wasn’t but a little bit warm, but that was all right. Calum hung more bearskins around the tub, giving some semblance of privacy, even though, if he wanted to, he could see right over the curtain he’d made. Phoebe didn’t care; she lowered herself into the bath, feeling numb. Tingles spread painfully through her body, and she sighed. Calum kept heating water to add, though he did it carefully, handing her a small bucket of heated water so she could warm the bath a little at a time.

When it was time for her to come out, he stood with another great robe, using the fur side to towel her off. She hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her bare breasts, but he stayed at her back, and acted like it was all business to wrap her tight in a bear robe and put her in the chair close to the fire.

“Sit here for a while,” he murmured, and she was glad to do as he asked. While she rested, he built up the fire to a blistering blaze. Her body felt heavy, drowsy.

Her eyes half closed when Calum came and seated himself, cross legged, in front of her, facing her. Digging under the robe, he pulled out one of her legs and started rubbing it.