Chapter One

Susannah Moore peered out the stagecoach window at the passing Kansas scenery: a flat, grassy plain as far as the eye could see. The further West they got, the trees became fewer and fewer until all that was left was a stretch of baked grass under a punishing sun, and, other than a few rock outcroppings as they grew closer to Colorado Territory, 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 chair, 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 thirsty and uncomfortable, and the adventure 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 me 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 inside the cab. 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 was carrying 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 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 oil cloth 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 weight 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, pressing himself almost flat. 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 reigns 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 wild 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 nudge 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.”

The driver yelped and dropped his weapon, and Jesse felt he’d finally gotten a piece of luck. The man was a coward, and probably not attached to Doyle.

Jesse dismounted and started walking up the side of the coach.

“I have my gun on you,” he called. “Just keep your hands in the air and I promise you’ll survive. This coach has something of mine–“

He reached the side of the coach, just as the door swung open and caught him on his side. He staggered with the blow, and then a shrieking weight hit him.

Jesse went down under the human missile. He landed on his back in the dirt, scrabbling with his attacker, who seemed to be wearing a copious amount of frothy petticoats. Whenever he got a grip on the fabric, the fancy cloth slipped through his fingers. He redoubled his efforts, and the sweet smelling bundle turned into a hurricane of scratching nails, ear piercing squeals, and flying blonde hair.

He flipped her onto her back and stared down at the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. Dirty blonde hair, pink lips, pert nose: the little miss would be lovely, if she wasn’t such a screaming harpy.

“Madam, you will be silent.” He shook her. For a second the lady seemed stunned into silence, staring up at him. Then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fainted.

Jesse took the opportunity to check on the driver, who was watching the whole event silently, his hands still in the air.

“Good man,” Jesse said, still in control even though his arms were full of woman and his rifle lay beside him on the ground. At least his handkerchief was still in place. “I just want something in the coach that’s mine. And then I’ll let you on your way.”

“Could you take her too?” the driver asked hopefully.

Jesse glanced down at his lovely armful and realized she hadn’t come awake from her faint. A man of the ladies, he could guess why.

Cursing, he flipped her over and tore off her dress, growling as he ripped at the tiny, delicate buttons. Goddamn women and their many layers. Usually he enjoyed this part and took it slow, but he had no time now for a fancy damsel who tied her stays too tight for some stupid fashion.

First the dress and the over-petticoat, and then he’d burrowed enough to find her corset. Drawing a knife out of his boot, he cut her stays and clapped the woman on the back. When she started gasping for air, he pulled off his glove and loosened her drawers so he could run his hand across her torso and down her slim waist and hip, checking for broken ribs. His rough hands caught on her silky skin, but there was no hurt, nothing but lovely, unblemished flesh, visible under the silky layers.

Jesse ripped off a strip off her fine drawers and bound her wrists while the woman heaved and coughed and drew air into starving lungs. With his help, she came up into a sitting position in his lap. A few seconds later, she realized her dress was gaping open, then discovered her hands were bound. Color came into her cheeks as she stared at him, open mouthed. Jesse took the opportunity to give her a cheeky grin, which, even hidden by the handkerchief, more than implied how he felt about her in his lap. She immediately regained her pique.

“What is this? You villain! Untie me at once.”

Deciding he didn’t like the haughty tone in her voice, he turned her over his lap and smacked her bare cheek. She yelped and stilled.

Jesse like that reaction so much he did it again, then took a fist of the dirty blonde hair and pulled her head up slightly. “Do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”

She grimaced and he tugged her head back further, his grip a little tighter.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered.

Jesse paused at the breathless answer, then decided he liked it. “Good.”

He became aware of her curvy body pressed up against his, and almost groaned when she wriggled against him. It’d been too long since he’d had a woman. He’d abstained ever since he’d invited his bride to meet him in Colorado Springs. And now here was a lovely piece of calico just like he liked them, bound and half undressed.

A snort from his horse reminded him of his mission.

“Stay put,” he told the lovely baggage, and deposited her on the ground.

“Damn you to hell,” she said.

“Such fine language for a lady,” he tutted. “Someone should teach you manners.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw the driver nodding in agreement.

Well, no one said business couldn’t be pleasurable.

Instead of rising, he grabbed the lady’s arm and hauled her up over his lap. As she squawked and started to kick, he delved under skirts and, finding a pair of split seam drawers, parted the layers of cloth and found her pretty cheeks, enticingly pale. They wouldn’t be for long.

He smacked her rump once, and felt her struggle to free herself. Her hands were tied before her, so she couldn’t manage to reach back to protect her bottom. Jesse caught her bound wrists anyway, and held them out in front of her. He drew his thigh over hers, weighting her so she couldn’t kick her feet. The woman stilled under him, as if realizing she was completely pinned at his mercy.

“That’s better,” he chuckled, and brought his hand crashing down over and over again.

She screamed and kicked and flexed her hands in their bonds.

Jesse felt himself grow impossibly hard, and gritted his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to be able to smack her bottom rosy, then set her on her knees and order her to use her mouth to please him, while he pinched her nipples to teach her.

“This will teach you to mind, little lady.”

The blonde growled in frustration, writhing with all her might, and Jesse redoubled his efforts, spanking her until she settled down. Her bottom cheeks warmed to a delicious red before he stopped.

“That should do it, for now. I pity the man that takes you in hand for the rest of your life.”

He gave her a final smack and tipped her off his lap. She settled on her knees before him, glaring up at him with her dress almost sliding off her shoulders, and angry tears coursing down her beautiful face.

“Stay,” he ordered, like she was a dog, and left her kneeling in the dust.

Raising his rifle, he ordered the driver down, and held it on the man, forcing him to carry most of the luggage out into a big pile, until Jesse found the big black box he was looking for: Doyle’s safe.

“Just one thing and I’ll be on my way,” Jesse said cheerfully. He tried picking the lock first, then swapped his rifle for a pistol and took aim. The shot did nothing but make the horses nervous, and both driver and the woman wince.

Grim, Jesse went to his saddlebags, and drew out the stick of dynamite. Halfway through rigging it, Jesse heard a shout.

“Wait!” Hands still bound, the woman struggled to her feet, her neckline flapping. Jesse put his hand on his pistol, but didn’t point it at her, even as she rushed at him desperately, her body half bent, her cleavage in serious danger of being exposed.
“Not my trousseau,” she shrieked.

“Whoa, little lady.” Jesse caught the little miss around the waist when she would rush past him to the luggage, and held her against him.

“Please don’t harm my luggage. It’s all I have.” She looked up at him with eloquent eyes, but it was her body pressed against him that persuaded him.

Jesse grinned down her, noting how, with her corset loosened, she was curved in all the right places. With a gentle hand, he pulled her neckline into place. “Since you ask so nicely, I suppose I could let it alone. Kneel back down, sweetheart.”

With a little sob, she did as he said and he felt himself harden further. He liked giving orders to this little wildcat, and watching her turn sweet as a kitten when she wanted something from him. He especially liked it when she was kneeling, her head at just the right height for other entertainment.
Pointing his rifle, he guided the driver to separate the safe from all the other bags, then directed both his captives to stand back while he lit the fuse. The trunk blew open, scraps of paper flying about as Jesse stepped forward to take his treasure. He stacked the gold bars into two saddlebags, and weighted Jordan equally.

Turning to the open-mouthed driver, he tipped his hat at the man. “Much obliged.”

“Do you know who you’ve robbed?” The driver asked. “Silas Doyle, the most dangerous man in the whole territory. His men ride with the Royal Mountain Gang.”

“You must be sure to pass on my thanks to him for sending you right past my stakeout. Take care next time you pass through here. There are some really awful men about.”

He stalked back to his horse, but couldn’t resist detouring near the little lady and offering her a hand up.
Her pretty eyes shot bullets at him, but she allowed him to help her to her feet. As he straightened, he noticed her staring at his ungloved hand and the burn scar marring the skin.

Cursing himself for his carelessness, he cast about for his glove and pulled it on. This was supposed to be a clean job: fly in, rob Doyle and worry his men, and ride off. He didn’t have time to tussle in the dirt with a pretty, brave—if petty and misguided—piece of calico.

Still, he couldn’t resist stepping closer to the little chit again and brushing a strand of blond hair off her cheek.

“It’s been a pleasure, my beauty, but all too soon we are parted.” The little baggage was growing on him, he decided.

Her features looked somewhat familiar to him, even twisted with hate.

“I hope they catch you,” she spat. “Then you’ll hang.”

Gripping either arm, he pulled her close, until he could scent the lavender perfume she wore. Her bound hands pushed at his chest, frantic and ineffective, but her face tilted up to look at him enticingly. He bent his head close, so his lips almost touched hers. “Till we meet again, baggage.” For a second, her sweet breath warmed his lips, and he was almost tempted to take her mouth, then throw her up over Jordan and ride off.

Instead, he set her away, pleased when she made a little sigh of disappointment. Seems he made an impression on the little baggage.

“Enjoy the rest of your trip,” he smirked, before turning on his heel, mounting his horse, and riding away.
*

In Rocky Mountain Rogue, Jesse Wilder meets his match in a proper schoolteacher from Boston. Susannah Moore has answered an ad to marry a fine Colorado gentleman, but on the way West her stagecoach is robbed by a rakish masked bandit. She reaches her destination safely and marries the handsome Jesse, only to realize later why he looks so familiar…

Can true love tame a rogue?

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