Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) by Lee Savino Page B
Authors: Lee Savino
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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.
He should have a wife, she thought, and wondered at the pain that shot through her heart.
*
The next morning, she rose late. Her fire was out, and she’d never felt the cold bite so hard. Stepping outside, she realized frost had fallen last night. Autumn was here, and time was running out to ready her hut before winter.
Leaning against her hut was another surprise: the walking stick she’d seen Calum carving some nights before the fire. After a pause, she took it. A few weeks ago, she’d never accepted such a gift, but she understood her employer well enough to know he respected her without her pedestal of pride. This morning, with her leg stiff with cold, the aid was welcome.
Shivering as she went along the path, Phoebe reached the bull pen and paused. The sun was already climbing above the trees; Calum would be long up and off to his chores. She was walking as quickly as she could, but it would take twice as long as it should with the fenced area blocking her straight path. It would be quicker to cut through the pen. The bull was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she could just scale the fence and get across. With the walking stick, she could make good time, and it would cut a few aching minutes off her path…
She was halfway across the pen when she heard a grunt. There was the bull, facing her, a mean look in its eyes.
Heart pounding, she started to run, swinging her bum leg and leaning on her new cane. The walking stick slipped on a cowpat, and Phoebe tripped a little, flailing so she wouldn’t fall. The activity was too much temptation for the bull, and as soon as she righted herself, she saw it had begun to charge.
“Phoebe!” From the side, Calum vaulted the fence, waving his own red handkerchief as a distraction. Wolfie slipped through the fence too, and went growling for the bull.
Phoebe gasped as the wolf dog ran right up to its flank, as if to nip it, turning aside at the last moment to avoid the slashing horns. Wolfie darted away, growling. As soon as the beast twisted towards the great dog, Calum raced to Phoebe, scooping her up in his arms and racing for the fence. He practically tossed her over before vaulting it himself. Confused, the bull charged towards him, and Calum threw the red handkerchief into the pen, letting the animal gore the ground.
Calum ran and dragged Phoebe back from the fence, shouting for Wolfie until the dog slipped out of the pen.
The dog and two humans sagged to the ground, gasping for breath.
Calum recovered first. “What were you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t think he would see me. It was just a shortcut.”
The big Scot got to his feet, towering over her. “What possessed you to risk your life? You coulda been killed or worse.”
He stalked away, and stripped a branch off a young sapling, returning with it in hand.
She scrambled to her feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Teaching you to mind. Get your skirts up and lean on that post.”
Phoebe looked from the angry Scott, to the hitching post, and back again.
“Now, Phoebe. Unless you want me to tie you there and switch you up and down your legs. You’re getting eight as it is.”
“You can’t switch me.”
“Can and will. Now turn around.”
She backed away, wondering if she should throw herself in the pen again. She’d almost rather face the bull.
Calum charged her, and caught her around the waist.
“Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer as he sat on a stump and positioned her over his knees.
“This is madness,” she cried and kicked her legs.
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.
He should have a wife, she thought, and wondered at the pain that shot through her heart.
*
The next morning, she rose late. Her fire was out, and she’d never felt the cold bite so hard. Stepping outside, she realized frost had fallen last night. Autumn was here, and time was running out to ready her hut before winter.
Leaning against her hut was another surprise: the walking stick she’d seen Calum carving some nights before the fire. After a pause, she took it. A few weeks ago, she’d never accepted such a gift, but she understood her employer well enough to know he respected her without her pedestal of pride. This morning, with her leg stiff with cold, the aid was welcome.
Shivering as she went along the path, Phoebe reached the bull pen and paused. The sun was already climbing above the trees; Calum would be long up and off to his chores. She was walking as quickly as she could, but it would take twice as long as it should with the fenced area blocking her straight path. It would be quicker to cut through the pen. The bull was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she could just scale the fence and get across. With the walking stick, she could make good time, and it would cut a few aching minutes off her path…
She was halfway across the pen when she heard a grunt. There was the bull, facing her, a mean look in its eyes.
Heart pounding, she started to run, swinging her bum leg and leaning on her new cane. The walking stick slipped on a cowpat, and Phoebe tripped a little, flailing so she wouldn’t fall. The activity was too much temptation for the bull, and as soon as she righted herself, she saw it had begun to charge.
“Phoebe!” From the side, Calum vaulted the fence, waving his own red handkerchief as a distraction. Wolfie slipped through the fence too, and went growling for the bull.
Phoebe gasped as the wolf dog ran right up to its flank, as if to nip it, turning aside at the last moment to avoid the slashing horns. Wolfie darted away, growling. As soon as the beast twisted towards the great dog, Calum raced to Phoebe, scooping her up in his arms and racing for the fence. He practically tossed her over before vaulting it himself. Confused, the bull charged towards him, and Calum threw the red handkerchief into the pen, letting the animal gore the ground.
Calum ran and dragged Phoebe back from the fence, shouting for Wolfie until the dog slipped out of the pen.
The dog and two humans sagged to the ground, gasping for breath.
Calum recovered first. “What were you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t think he would see me. It was just a shortcut.”
The big Scot got to his feet, towering over her. “What possessed you to risk your life? You coulda been killed or worse.”
He stalked away, and stripped a branch off a young sapling, returning with it in hand.
She scrambled to her feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Teaching you to mind. Get your skirts up and lean on that post.”
Phoebe looked from the angry Scott, to the hitching post, and back again.
“Now, Phoebe. Unless you want me to tie you there and switch you up and down your legs. You’re getting eight as it is.”
“You can’t switch me.”
“Can and will. Now turn around.”
She backed away, wondering if she should throw herself in the pen again. She’d almost rather face the bull.
Calum charged her, and caught her around the waist.
“Mr. MacDonnell, what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer as he sat on a stump and positioned her over his knees.
“This is madness,” she cried and kicked her legs.
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