Rocky Mountain Rogue (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 5)


Rocky Mountain Rogue

Rocky Mountain Bride Series, Book Five




Lee Savino



©2016 by Blushing Books® and Lee Savino






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Savino, Lee

Rocky Mountain Rogue


eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-366-0

Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design


This book is intended for
adults only
. 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:

About the Author

Ebook Offer

Blushing Books Newsletter

Blushing Books



Susannah Moore peered out the stagecoach window at the passing Kansas scenery: a flat, grassy plain as far as the eye could see. The trees became fewer and fewer, the farther west they traveled, until all that was left was a stretch of baked grass under a punishing sun. Other than a few rock outcroppings as they grew closer to Colorado Territory, there was no end to the prairie in sight.

It was all very boring, really.

With a sigh, the blue-eyed beauty pulled back the window covering and sagged back onto her seat, waving a fan in a useless attempt to dispel some of the dust and cool down. Back in Boston, the journey west seemed so exciting. After weeks of travel by train and then private coach, she knew the truth: she was hot during the day, cold at night, and dirty not even two minutes after finishing her bath in one of the hell holes they called a hotel. The whole trip was uncomfortable, she was thirsty, and the adventure was non-existent.

Setting aside her fan, she drew out for the umpteenth time her one solace and companion on this nightmare journey: a photograph of her intended.

Jesse Oberon had dark wavy hair, light eyes she guessed to be blue or hazel, and an unsmiling face that couldn't hide how handsome he was. His tall, lean body looked sharp in a black suit and vest, long legs encased in shining black boots, and black hat in hand. Susannah's finger traced the curve of his head and she smiled. Mr. Oberon, or as she already thought of him, her Jesse.

The coach bounced over a brutal rut, and Susannah nearly lost her seat. Frowning, she tucked the picture away and drew back the oilcloth to shout at the driver.

"What in heaven's name are you doing? I was nearly thrown from the carriage! Are you even paying attention to where you're going?"

"Sorry, miss." The driver didn't sound sorry at all. "Road's a little worn here. We're almost to Colorado Territory."

"Thank goodness," Susannah grumbled, holding on to her bonnet. She'd spent half the trip ricocheting around the inside. At least there weren't any other passengers with her, just a few trunks and bags, several of which were hers. There were no private coaches to Colorado Springs, so she'd contracted one that carried only packages. After an unpleasant experience on the train to St. Louis involving a drunken man serenading her beauty, Susannah had vowed never to travel as a single woman again. Which, once she arrived in Colorado Springs, she would no longer be.

As the afternoon wore on, the way grew rockier. Hanging onto her seat for dear life, Susannah was grateful she hadn't eaten anything all day. The journey had certainly been hard on her body, and her clothes. Her smart riding habit and jacket had been the latest fashion when she bought it, but now, soaked in sweat and covered in dust, they weren't fit to be cleaning rags. The food had been so horrid, she'd lost weight, though today her corset felt a bit too tight. The maid who'd laced her up that morning had seemed annoyed at Susannah's exacting instructions, and taken it out on her stays.

The road curved, and as the coach rattled on, Susannah uncovered the window again to see large, orange rock outcroppings. Craning her neck to watch them pass, she perked up with interest at the sight of billowing dust far beyond the coach's wake. Was it buffalo? Or Indians? She squinted to see.

After a few moments, she realized it was a lone horse and rider, galloping hard to catch the coach. The road turned again and the rider disappeared behind the rocks. Susannah sat back, feeling a little disappointed. It would've been nice to see something other than dirt and scrub brush.

The road ran along on higher ground, with a large ditch on either side. Susannah checked again, but the rider was gone.

And then he was right beside her, driving his horse out of the ditch to gallop up to the coach and pull level with her window.

He was clad all in black, from gloves to boots, with a broad brimmed hat shading his face and a black handkerchief covering half his face. He rode easily alongside the coach, a shadow no one was meant to see—except she had seen him.

As she stared out the window, he raised his head and looked straight at her. For a moment, green eyes met blue. The rider pressed a gloved finger to his mouth in an order for her to stay silent. His green eyes sparkled over his disguise, and as Susannah stared, he winked at her.

She fell back into her seat with a startled gasp. The sudden arrival on a lone stallion, the handkerchief disguising his face, this man was no benign traveler; he was a rogue up to no good.

Sliding to the other side of the coach, she drew back the oilcloth and stuck out her head as far as she dared.

"Excuse me," she called up to the driver and his partner. "Did you realize there's a rider trying to catch up with us?"

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Jesse Wilder knew the minute he'd been made. The guard next to the driver turned with a shout, gun already out. Ducking in his saddle, Jesse pressed himself flat, and slowed his horse to race behind the carriage, where the dust gave him some cover. He used the few seconds he bought himself to reach for his rifle.

He could've shot the driver and the guard back at the pass, but where was the fun in that? Besides, he hated waste, but didn't want to drive a team of horses back to Colorado Springs. Better to let the driver live to carry back the tale of a lone bandit who took Doyle's gold.

Of course, he hadn't reckoned on there being three of them, though. Whoever heard of a passenger on a courier coach? Someone had gotten greedy for extra fare. Of course, a slender blonde slip of a woman wouldn't weigh the stage down any, not like the big brute of a guard.

A shot rang out and ricocheted off the ground near Jesse: the guard making a nuisance of himself. Instead of shying, his horse, Jordan, just put his head down and powered forward. Even with the driver cracking the whip, the team of four horses couldn't outstrip Jordan. The increased speed made the bumps even worse, and as the coach rocked, the guard on the rooftop almost lost his balance. For a moment, his shotgun waved in the air, but then the man righted himself, ready to make trouble.

Jesse ducked in his saddle, keeping his head low. His stallion sped up, pulling alongside the coach again. Above him, the stupid guard was still struggling to aim his shotgun, pointing it down to where he thought the threat was, endangering the little miss in the cab below.

Clucking his tongue in disapproval, Jesse directed Jordan to run flat out beside the coach. He hated to see bad gunmanship almost as much as he hated anyone associated with Doyle. Any man who made so free with a firearm was a menace to everyone around him. Jesse would be doing the world a favor, really, by putting him down.

Slipping one foot out of the stirrup, Jesse put the stallion's body between him and the flying cab. In his precarious position, he balanced and raised his shotgun. Aiming with one arm, he steadied his body as best he could on the galloping horse. Jordan kept on charging; Jesse could shoot a fly out from between the stallion's ears and the horse wouldn't flinch.

The bald, hulking man by the driver would be one of Doyle's henchmen, usually a thug one step away from being an outlaw. Jesse had seen what Doyle's men had done to a prostitute up in Denver, and had no reservations about shooting the thug dead. Which is exactly what he did. Jesse's luck held, and with one bullet and one carefully aimed shot, and the big guard jerked backwards and flew off the coach.

The driver flapped the reins in horror, driving the horses on even as the body of Doyle's man bounced on the side of the road.

"Stop the coach," Jesse shouted. "If you stop it now, I promise you won't die." He raised his gun to take aim at the driver's hands. It would be a shame to hurt an innocent hire, but it was the driver's choice.

The first shot went wide by design, and Jesse readied his rifle for another, but the warning was enough. Crying out, the driver reined the horses back hard, and the coach stopped a hundred feet down the road in a great cloud of dust.

Jesse nudged Jordan forward, gun trained on the place where the driver would be. "Put your hands up. This is a robbery. Obey and I swear on my mother's grave you won't be harmed."

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