Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7) by Lee Savino Read Free Book Online Page B

wanted it.
    She was used to receiving male interest, even being an object of desire. She was beautiful as her mother had been. As healer and daughter of one of San Luis’ founders, her position afforded her respect, so men of the village looked and did not touch.
    Until this Englishman. He had no qualms laying his hands all over her, taking liberties. The way he’d tied her to the fallen log and taken control…
    Her breath left in a huff. She could not sit and think on this foolishness. She had a ranch to save.
    She felt different. The birching had opened her up, left her thinking strange thoughts about a British poppycock, as if, through pain, the lord had touched her soft core. She’d even cried in front of him. She hadn’t cried in a long, long time.
    The conflict raged in her and she took it out on the cornmeal she was grinding for Ana to cook with tomorrow.
    After a few minutes, her shoulders ached from the force she used on the pestle.
    The sun hung low in the sky, signaling an end to this long and weary day. The guests were fed and quartered; they were in the stables now, currying their horses. Francesca heard their voices floating over the field. Laughter rang out; Lord James Sebastian Chivington must be telling a joke.
    Francesca ground the meal faster.
    Juan rode up and she stopped, grateful for the break.
    “How are the rest of the fences?”
    “Fine, señora.” He hesitated. “After you left, Diego rode by.”
    Francesca wiped the sweat off her forehead. “What did he want?”
    “He’d heard what had happened, and offered to help. He says his vaqueros are yours to command.”
    “I’m sure,” she muttered. “What did you tell him?”
    “I thanked him. And said I’d pose the offer to you.”
    “And we will decline, of course.”
    “Señora…”
    “No, Juan. We cannot let him impose.” I cannot afford to owe him.
    “Why not? He is family.”
    Francesca’s brow creased as she struggled to put her feelings into words, to give them rationale. “If he is so close, then why did he not help Cyro? What was between them, that my father died and Diego was content to watch us struggle?”
    Juan sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”
    “Tell me what?”
    “Señor Diego Montoya…he asked for your hand in marriage. Before you were married to Cyro.”
    Francesca stilled. “What?”
    “Your father declined for you.”
    “Why didn’t my father tell me?”
    “You were young and beautiful, but also as you are now.” He waved a hand and she could fill in the blank—reckless, hot headed. “He was afraid you would run away with Diego. Or that he’d seduce you. That is why your father married you off so quickly. He saw fruit in a marriage with the older Montoya, not the younger. Señora, he only wanted what was best for you.”
    Francesca tried to think back to the time before she was married, when Diego spent more time around her father’s ranch. A handsome, dark eyed man in his twenties, his presence always made her heart beat faster.
    “Why did Father choose Cyro for me?” She’d been only sixteen, deep into the study of her mother’s healing arts, and surprised when her father showed up on the step of the apothecary to tell her she would be wed in a few days.
    “I believe he thought Cyro was more steady. He was friends with Cyro and respected him greatly. Cyro’s military career and ideas about farming made him great company to your father. They would ride in the fields all day and sit and tell stories and smoke all night.
    “Who knows, perhaps Señor De La Vega thought you would end up marrying both Montoyas—the elder and then the younger. Time passed and Diego has grown into a fine man. Cyro was much older than you and Diego. After his passing, it makes sense that you two become close.”
    Something about the conversation made her skin crawl. Perhaps it was knowing that her father and husband had sat around and discussed this without her. Why hadn’t her father included her in the