Rocky Mountain Widow

She took a step closer and knew it was Joshua Gable. She could make out only his impressive silhouette. Shrouded with white, covered with snow shadow, he was no less awe-inspiring. His over-six-foot height was matched by his strong, working-man’s musculature. He held his attacker down with one boot dug into the smaller man’s back and cradled a Colt .45 in one hand, cocked and with his finger resting on the trigger.

A truly powerful man.

“Joshua!” Adelaide polarized with fear for her grandson. “Oh, you must excuse me, dear. That’s my boy, and he’s in trouble!”

Claire hardly realized the elderly lady was talking. She’d forgotten Mrs. Gable was even holding on to her. Her entire being seemed to focus on the smoking revolvers gleaming black in the pure snow, fallen from the downed man’s grip. She recognized the elaborate ironwork on the handle. That was Reed’s gun.

Reed had thought to attack a Gable? What, was he drunk, too? As if in answer, the powerful scent of the cheapest whiskey wafted up on the cutting wind. Reed was a coward, and even she could glance at the boot tracks already filling with snow to see that Reed had come up on Joshua from behind. Reed could have killed him.

The deputy was there, at Joshua’s side, and the men began to argue. Heated words melded together like flames in a growing fire and all she could hear were the hard brutal threats and accusations. Onlookers became involved, and Ham’s other brother, Rick, shouldered in, reaching to draw his gun.

In a flash, Joshua reached out and yanked the revolver from Rick’s holster. The crowd hushed, but they shouldn’t be surprised by Gable’s agility. Claire had seen him in action before.

Don’t remember, she commanded, taking a wobbling step sideways and leaning heavily against a tree trunk. Her forehead rapped on the thick limb—she didn’t notice it. Haze misted her vision and everything went white. Gasping, feeling strangely sick, she rested and counted the thrum of her heartbeats loud in her ears.

No one knew of that night. Only she and Joshua.

As if he could sense that she was thinking about him, his shoulders tensed and he turned toward her enough that he could see her over the impressive ledge of his shoulder. There was no looking around to find her in the murky snowfall. His eyes snapped to hers as if by destiny.

Look away, every instinct within her shouted. But logic told her the whiteout conditions would keep others from noticing. She indulged a long moment while their gazes remained bound.

Was he sorry? she wondered. Was he wishing he’d never met her and Ham on the road that dark night? Look at the trouble it had caused him.

The deputy leaned close to speak with him, a somber matter judging by the tight lock of the lawman’s jaw. Coop Logan had come often to her and Ham’s high country ranch, not that she saw him. When he did ride up to the house, he didn’t come to the front door like decent company but kept to the back door.

Mostly, he waited at the corner where the hill sloped steeply downward and out of sight to the prairie below. Ham would make his way from the house or the barn. What they spoke about or the purpose of the lawman’s calls, she couldn’t say. She wondered if he would arrest Ham’s brothers, as he obviously ought to, for drawing and firing guns on innocent people.

Well, perhaps not so innocent, she remembered with a painful wince. And she felt the punch of it move through her and reflect in Joshua Gable’s face. A muscle worked in his jaw and he gave a barely noticeable nudge of his head toward the street, where her horses and sleigh waited.

He wanted her to go home. First, she had something to say to the deputy. She grabbed Logan by the forearm and yanked down the hand holding metal cuffs.

“My brothers-in-law are in the wrong and you know it.” She spoke loudly, scolding him, and she was surprised how her voice carried high above the others’, silencing them. “They’ve been drinking. Everyone here can smell it. They must have been at it all night. Or worse.”

“This is hardly a matter for a woman.” The lawman said the last word with contempt. “Gable here is holding a gun on your brothers—”

“Former brothers-in-law,” she corrected. An important distinction in her mind. “I am no longer part of that family. Let Mr. Gable go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have some questions I need to ask him.”

“And not Reed? Look at him. Even I can see he tried to shoot Mr. Gable in the back.”

Joshua stepped forward, cutting between her and the deputy. “Mrs. Hamilton, it would be wise if you left this to me. Go home. You must need rest.”

His words were not condescending, but they were not kind. Not that he could be in front of these men. She and Joshua were two people who did not know each other—except for the night Ham died.

The last thing she wanted was for anyone to start wondering about how she knew Joshua. Especially the deputy. She could not ever risk putting this man in danger, not the only man who’d ever stood up for her.

She eased back, already forgotten by the lawman and Ham’s brothers arguing. Pain spasmed like a fist, opening and closing low in her abdomen and the pain traversed down the front of her thighs.

Time to do as Joshua asked, she figured as she walked carefully through the uneven accumulation of snow. Breathing carefully, she felt only the worst of pain when her shoe slipped or the snow gave beneath her heel.

It looked as if Adelaide Gable had joined the fray and the deputy was forced to deal with the real wrongdoers.

That was a change around here. Not that she was going to get used to it. Claire stopped to swipe the snow from her lashes. The street wasn’t far. She could make out the dark humps of horses and vehicles ahead. And a bright flash of red where she’d tied her team.

Trouble. She’d lived with Ham long enough to know the impending feel of it. Easing onto the street, she came close enough to see Ham’s mother being helped into the sleigh—Claire’s sleigh. And the matched bay horses gave nervous sidesteps beneath their blankets.

Those are my horses now, she thought, feeling rage roll through her. Rage that she’d kept contained during the funeral. Rage she’d held back instead of grabbing the nearby shovel, left by the grave diggers, to beat the casket with all her strength. That man had made her lose her child. He’d tormented her from the moment she’d stepped away from the church, a hopeful and dreamy new bride.

And his family had cheerfully made her miserable days since even more unbearable. And to think that woman, that greedy mother of his, was helping herself to the horses Claire had saved more times than she could count due to Ham’s careless treatment of them.

A new woman rose within her like the leading edge of a blizzard. She was no longer a modest and obedient wife but a widow of her own determination. She grabbed Thor’s bridle by the bit and held him firm. “Where do you think you are going?”

Opal had the audacity to look insulted. “Home. I’m not well.”

“Here you go, Mother.” The youngest Hamilton, a sister a few years older than Claire, was quick to slide in beside her mother and seize control of the reins. “Claire, scat. You’re in our way.”

“You’re in my sleigh. And these are my horses.”

“My dear brother would not want these fine animals to fall to you.” Annabelle lifted her dainty chin. She’d married well and had the attitude to prove it…and the avarice. It seemed to taint her sneer as she narrowed her small black eyes. “You are nothing but a mistake Ham never should have made. Move aside or I’ll run you down.”

“You will do no such thing.” Thor obeyed her, and well he should, since they were friends, and she held his bridle hard, pulling downward.

Annabelle gave the thick reins a resounding smack. The big gelding whinnied and shied, as Claire knew he would. She spoke low to him, keeping him in place, and by association, his smaller brother, Loki, who was harnessed to him.

“Release the horse!” Annabelle demanded. “Or I shall get out and be forced to—”

“What? I have shoveled out Ham’s horse barn twice daily since I married him.” While Opal moaned in her grief, renewed by the sound of Ham’s name being spoken, Claire bent, despite difficulty and the pain in her midsection.

She unbuckled the single strap that held the whiffletrees to the traces and forcefully met Annabelle’s eyes. “Come and get them if you can.”

She wasn’t surprised Ham’s family turned into vultures, only that they were trying to take what they could so soon.

Claire stepped up onto the sturdy tracing between the horses and, with a snap, yanked the leather straps from Annabelle’s kid-gloved hands. Ignoring her fierce, angry shouts and Opal’s sobs, she eased onto Thor’s back and sent him and Loki into a fast walk.

Pain jolted through her. It was far too much pain. “You need rest,” kindly Doc Haskins had said. “Complete bed rest. No stress or strain. No housework and no ranch work. No upset of any kind.”

She was only supposed to be up for the funeral. But now she wished she’d never come. She had thought saying goodbye to Ham would give her the chance to cast off the painful memories as well, but it had not worked.

At least she could go home now. The thought of her own bed and the soft flannel sheets made her moan with longing. Exhaustion settled like lead into the marrow of her bones. She had to escape, not only her relatives, but everything.

Sadness overwhelmed her, and to her disappointment, there was no quick escape. Already the swarm of the funeral crowd was buzzing close to the streets, and she drew Thor and Loki to a halt.

Why was everyone stopping? She strained to see over the big covered surrey in front of her. A sled had skidded off the road into the ditch at the crossroads that made up the trading post, the only civilization aside from the church on this remote corner of the county. The vehicle and team had caused a blockage on the only place where the two main roads through the county intersected. They were already receiving help from others nearby, although the traffic wasn’t likely to begin moving anytime soon.

Of course. Annabelle was still shouting, and she sounded closer. Claire didn’t have the energy to spare to look over her shoulder and in truth, she didn’t care. They could have the sleigh, but these were her horses. Hers alone.

And my friends, she thought as she ran her gloved hand along Thor’s sleek neck.

The warmth of him permeated the wool, reminding her of what mattered. She had survived. She was still here. Ham had not harmed the deepest part of her. Three years ago on a day more bleak than this, she’d become a bride and naive enough to believe she would be starting a wonderful new life.

Looking back, it was hard to believe she could have been that dreamy girl. She closed her eyes, and she could almost see the young woman who had worked a double shift every day for two months at the boardinghouse, cleaning and doing laundry to scrape enough money together to buy fabric and notions for a beautiful wedding dress.

That dress was the nicest thing she’d ever owned in her life or in her marriage since. She’d loved the delicate sage lawn with the tiniest little embroidered rosebuds of matching sage that looked as fine as anything the wealthier ladies in town wore. And the dainty pearl buttons hadn’t been real mother-of-pearl, but they’d looked as if they were. And that had been enough. She’d worn it for Ham, to mark the momentous honor of becoming a bride, his bride.

As that young woman spoke the vows in the echoing chill of the sanctuary, she’d meant them with all her heart. She fully intended to love and cherish, honor and obey her very dashing husband.

Obey—she hadn’t realized the impact of that one four-letter word until later. In the church holding Ham’s hand, her entire being had shone with happiness and hope for a good future.

When the minister had proclaimed them man and wife, she’d nearly floated to the ceiling. She’d been an orphan and little more than a servant in her uncle’s home, but now she had a family. A home. A fine man to love.

Claire’s heart wrenched with sorrow so deep and dark she could no longer see the present, only the past. The memory of that happy young woman seemed to ride by like a ghost and then became forever lost in the tenacious downpour of snow. If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the joyful music of that doomed bride’s laughter.

“Claire.”

She instinctively turned at the sound of the rumbling baritone. Joshua Gable was nothing more than a hint of a shadow in the shroud of snowfall, and then a silhouette of horse and rider, confident and powerful as he rode closer, and then he was beside her, dusted with white, and flesh-and-blood real.

What a man. How he had sneaked up on her, she didn’t know. She could feel his nearness like a summer’s wind against her skin. And now she could sense him like a whisper in her soul—a whisper she didn’t want.

Like that night, he came to her out of a storm, and although she was free from her marriage, she was not free from her fear. Joshua Gable wanted something. He was a man. She’d learned the hard way there were no heroes left to believe in. True love did not exist except in fairy tales.

She was no longer a girl of eighteen. She was a woman who’d learned the truth about life and marriage. She was a widow with experience and hard lessons learned. She would never believe in a man again.

Not even in Joshua Gable, who was hardworking and sincere and had shown her kindness on a night without mercy.

But that was over now, and they could never speak of it again. Before he could say another word, she shook her head, stopping him from saying whatever he’d come to her to say.

With a twist of the reins, she guided the horses down into the fallow field siding the road and nosed them toward home, grateful for the storm that whipped around her in a swirl of white and haze, stealing her from Joshua’s sight.

She didn’t look back.

Chapter Three

Claire didn’t know where she was or if the horses had been able to find the way, for the snow was falling so hard she couldn’t see the tips of Thor’s ears. She only knew the storm was worsening. And so was the pain knifing from her womb and radiating down her inner thighs. Unbearable ripping pain.

I’m just tired, that’s all. She clung stubbornly to that thought as tightly as she gripped the leather top of Thor’s shoulder harness. She needed to get home and lie down. Rest, just like the doc said. And then she’d be fine.

She was up too soon after losing the baby, that was all. She willed the pain to stop. Willed it with all of her strength, all of her being. The rock of the giant horse’s gait lanced through her midsection. If she could make it home, that’s what she needed. But how far?

The prairie stretched out around her, lost in the blinding whiteout. She couldn’t tell exactly how far she’d already come. The snow scrubbed like ice at her eyes as the storm worsened. Gradually she could see nothing but endless white, whirling snow. Not even her own mittens in front of her face.

Thor will get me home. The thought sustained her. Time had passed—how much she didn’t know, but enough that they had to be nearly home. And that meant rest.

Her bed was waiting, the feather mattress would feel like a cloud after this hard ride, and the flannel sheets and thick goose-down comforter as warm as melted butter. She’d lay her head on her feather pillow and let her heavy eyelids drift shut.

Thor’s pace seemed to pick up. Maybe he sensed her need. That would explain why the pain came more quickly. And if the pain changed from hurt to agony, from agony to killing, then it was because she was tired. And if she felt warm instead of cold and then hotter, it was her desperation.

We’re almost home, she thought, surprised at how hard it was to breathe. Her pulse drummed in her ears and her head seemed to throb with it. Air rasped into her lungs. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.

Maybe it was the storm. Or the cold. She didn’t know. Or the shock of seeing Joshua Gable at the funeral. Of having him act as if nothing had gone on between them, as if he hadn’t roped Ham like a steer and berated him for his cruel treatment of her. He hadn’t deserved Ham pulling a gun on him, and he’d defended himself. He’d defended her.

Joshua Gable’s gunshot had been the cause of Ham’s death, but she wasn’t going to tell that to anyone.

Thor’s gait became horribly jarring. It couldn’t be the pain was getting worse. No, she couldn’t allow that thought. Because she had to hold on. She’d lost her baby, she didn’t want to lose her life.

A pain clamped like a vulture’s claw and then squeezed. Talons dug deep into her insides, tearing. Ripping. Warmth slid from her body. No, after all she had survived—Ham’s treatment and beatings and the wagon accident, her miscarriage and now this, she would not give up now. She buried her face in the horse’s ice-caked mane and gritted her teeth, hanging on with all her might.

She tried to hold back the next pain, but it was too strong, an enemy too big to fight or to placate. A sickening wave of nausea washed through her and she fought that down, too. She would not give in. She’d will the contractions to stop, the warm seep of blood to cease. She was going to be okay. She had to be.

Agony seized her from the inside, the talons turning into something more monstrous. It was as if her entire abdomen was being vised from the inside out, and the torture blinded her. Seemed to enter every inch of her body until she was screaming helplessly.

She was slipping, her arms and hands clutched Thor’s harness but her muscles turned watery. Her strength drained away and she was sliding down the horse’s flank, falling like the ruthless snow, tumbling until she hit the unforgiving ground.

Someone help me. The vise within her twisted hard. There was only the bright flash of white sparks before her eyes and then she felt the vising gain strength. She lay helpless on the ground, shrouded by snow. Alone.

The physical pain tearing like a hungry predator at her flesh was nothing, nothing at all. Her heart was shattering, and that pain was why she cried out in the worsening storm, why the icy crust of snow beneath her or the dangerous cold did not hurt her.

Unable to move, lost and alone, feeling the life’s blood drain out of her, she listened to the storm rage on, cruel and lethal, as if there was no more hope in this bleak and bitter world.

Joshua cursed the timing of the storm. No, it couldn’t blow over, not on this day when responsibility weighed like an anvil around his throat. The blasted storm seemed to be gathering speed for an all-out blizzard.

It was too early in the year. He’d prepared for bad weather early. This was Montana Territory, and unforgiving storms were a possibility every year. He considered himself a top-notch rancher who accounted for every possibility, but not today. He had some things to say to Claire Hamilton and they needed to be said now. Today. Before Logan or Ham’s brothers decided to make good on their threats to find the truth.

The truth would stay buried with Ham, and Joshua would make damn sure of it. But nothing had been that simple. Ham’s brothers had made it clear they didn’t like him, yet how did either of them know he’d been out Ham’s way that night? Claire. He had to talk to her. He had to know what she might have said—either intentionally or by mistake.

The widow wasn’t his only problem. As Joshua pulled his hands out of his coat pockets to shake the thick layer of iced snow from his muffler and hat, he figured his brother and grandmother ought to have reached the shelter of home by now. His brother—that troubled Joshua, too.

The boy had taken one of the horses, leaving the mare of the matched team to pull Granny’s sleigh to the family ranch. But his younger brother knew something was amiss.

“I thought you had a fire beneath your britches to get chores done,” Jordan had observed, slouched as usual in the seat. “Now you’re headin’ off and orderin’ me to drive Granny home?”

He had been too irritated, Joshua realized in hindsight as he jammed his fists back into his pockets. “I have things that need seein’ to.”

“Things.” Jordan had sounded doubtful as he’d exerted enough effort to shake the snow from his hat brim. “Why in the hell are you watchin’ the road to the mountains? Maybe you could enlighten me, oh lord and master.”

“At least you acknowledge my supremacy,” Joshua had ground out, his fury rising at his brother’s pesky questions. Of course he was in charge. Where would they be if Jordan had taken over the reins of the family? They’d all be starved, homeless and slouching. “Just follow orders and take Granny home. There’s something I gotta do.”

“What? We’re heading into the mountains, eh? Agggh!” Jordan slugged the dashboard in frustration. “I can’t believe you’re doin’ this! I know where you’re going.”

I should have left the conversation there, Joshua thought as he nudged his left spur gently against General’s flank, keeping him on the road that was nearly impossible to see. I should have let him think what he wanted instead of tipping my hand. And now…

A hard gust of wind lashed against him, driving ice through the layers of fur, wool and flannel. Joshua shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. If Jordan guessed any of the truth, then an innocent woman would go to jail, for the simple fact of defending herself. For what other reason could gentle Claire Hamilton have killed her husband?

He remembered the image of that night, when Ham had first come into sight with his arm back holding a whip ready to strike the fallen woman. Why, he should have killed the man himself and saved her the trouble.

Bile filled his throat. Father had always been one to look the other way, not to get involved in other fools’ problems, and look where it had gotten him, shot in the back and left to bleed out in the far grazing fields. Playing it safe had not protected Father one bit. And yet, matters could not have been worse if he had taken aim and pulled the trigger instead of Claire. It was a mess.

But like this blizzard, it would soon pass and be forgotten. What he had to do was make sure of it.

General had veered off the road again, fetlock-deep in drifting snow. It wasn’t fair to drag the horse out in this. He’d put in a hard day hauling yesterday. Riding into the brunt of the storm was wearing on him. Joshua took his hand out of his pocket to pat the gelding’s neck, encouraging him. He’d make sure the horse got warmed mash as soon as they got home.

“We gotta keep going, fella.”

When the gelding didn’t respond to knee pressure or a flat edge of the spur, he lifted the reins from the saddle horn, shook off the caked snow, and added pressure to the bit.

General sidestepped to a halt. His opinion was clear. He didn’t like the storm any more than Joshua did.

“Sorry, buddy, we gotta—”

Was it his imagination, or did the wind have a strange keel to it? He stopped and cocked his ear. There was something in the wind, a low note to the eerie howling of the wind. A horse? A rider in trouble? “General, you are a fine horse. You take me to ’em.”

He gave the gelding his head, and the big animal stumbled in the drifts of snow and hidden clumps of dead buffalo grass. As if the storm were a living thing, determined to hold them back, the wind pummeled them, driving the snow horizontal, closing them off from the world.

While he knew the grand rise of the Rocky Mountains ought to be jutting straight up from the prairie floor directly ahead, he could see only an endless curtain of gray-white that fell around him, draping him from the rest of the world.

It was damn dangerous letting General wander off the road. More good men than he could count had become lost in weather like this. The sounds of the wind and the thickly blowing snow confused a man’s sense of direction and isolated him from every visual landmark. A man would wander off course and freeze to death, sometimes having come within a few feet of his own house or barn.