Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (13 page)

“Sensible?”

Uh-oh.
Judging by the tilt of her slim brow, she didn't like that word. “Tell you what. You don't get mad at me for stickin' my foot in my mouth, and I'll give you the good news.”

She merely quirked her raised brow higher. He hadn't expected that. He'd pretty much pegged Claire as a delicate rose. But this was not the first time he'd seen her steel, her fire. And it launched him in the direction of the door faster than if she'd outright proposed to him.

But first, there was one more thing. He unbuttoned
his coat and dipped into his shirt pocket. He handed her a thick fold of cash. The brush of his fingertip against hers held the wallop of a mustang's kick.

She rocked back on her heels, aware suddenly that she was alone with him, and that her skin beneath her flannel nightgown and long johns tingled into goose bumps.

Why did this man affect her? She looked longingly at the strong plane of his chest and remembered well how remarkable it felt to rest there.

“The cash from the cattle. Didn't get top dollar, but James did a hell of a sweet talk to get what he did. This time of season, with a winter ahead to hay feed, prices are at their lowest.”

Claire felt too dazed to think of anything mundane. She glanced at the repaired windowpane and at the man who looked fierce as those wolves had been, and became
aware
.

Aware of being female, of the weight of her unbound breasts. And with the way Joshua was gazing at her with eyes as dark as the lead wolf. And, she wondered, as hungry?

He ripped away from her before she could guess the answer to that question, leaving her for the door. He walked away with his calm steady gait, his back straight, and his logger's shoulders squared. “Be sure and lock up after me. And don't tell me not to help you again, Claire.”

What did that mean? Her body was tingling, crawling with awareness for him, an awakening she didn't want even as she craved to reach out and draw him back. To hold on to the long, muscled length of him and find out if he was real.

“This is over six hundred dollars, Joshua.”

“Like I said, I wish it could have been more.”

“N-no. This is a fortune.” It wasn't the money that was doing this to her, although she stared down at it as if it was. Emotion clogged her throat. Her eyes burned so the folded greenbacks in her hand blurred. “Did you take out the money I owe you?”

His footsteps halted. Then knelled, coming closer to her. His voice sounded oddly tender in the crisp, frigid air. “What do you owe me?”

He said it as if he couldn't possibly imagine. As if he rescued women and ran off villains and rode in to save the day and it was nothing extraordinary.

He couldn't know she had less than fifty dollars to her name. That Thad's lien against the property might turn out to be legitimate once her lawyer got to the truth of the matter. That she had no notion how she was going to find and hold down a job when the closest town was fifteen miles away.

He couldn't know that she'd been sure of nothing all day, and that any number of men she'd come across in her life would have kept this money for themselves, or a good chunk of it.

It wasn't the money that mattered. It was the decency of the man before her. It astounded her. He was a tall, dark hunk of granite, staring down at her motionless, as if he wasn't sure how to deal with her and the tears trickling down her face. One brow arched in a question over his dark eyes, the hard stone cut of his face softened as he covered her hand with his, the fold of money digging into her palm.

“Claire, you don't owe me a thing.”

“You're wrong. I owe you everything.” Couldn't he see what he was? What he'd done for her? He was a man, real and flawed like the rest of them, but he was cut from a far better quality of cloth. But that didn't mean she could believe. “I counted up the winter supplies you brought out. It was nearly two hundred dollars.”

“Keep your money.”

“But that would be charity, and I don't need it. I can make my own way.”

“I don't doubt that one bit.” The center of his chest gave a big whack. He'd make sure the Hamiltons left her alone, no matter what it cost him. It was the right thing to do, sure, but he couldn't fool himself anymore.

This wasn't about what was right or what was responsibility. He wanted good things for her, this woman with a place in his soul. She tore her hand away and counted out two of the six hundred dollars. To his surprise she stuffed the folded wad into his shirt pocket. Neat. Easy.

And then she came up on tiptoes, so close every hair on his body stood up on end and his skin buzzed as she pressed a silken kiss to his cheek.

His heart went thump again, and began to fall as she sank her white even teeth into her lush rosebud-soft bottom lip, as if she were in deep thought. As if she were debating telling him one more time to butt out of her life.

No way, lady.
It was emotion that drove him, a fierce need that drove him forward as his fingers cradled her delicate chin and he breathed in her sweet rose scent.

He could read the surprise on her face as he slanted
his mouth over hers. Time to find out if her lips were as satin soft as he hoped. As luxurious as he dreamed. As tempting as he feared.

At the first brush of his mouth to hers, he felt her satin warmth and tasted her fire.

Yes.
She was beyond dreams, beyond temptation. He wanted more of her, even as he broke their kiss and turned away, blood racing and desire strumming in his groin.

Hell, he was hard with blinding need and his sensible, practical defenses would shatter into pieces if he kissed her again. If he didn't walk out that door and into the wintry, lonely night and never, ever, give in to an urge like this again.

It didn't hit him until he'd slammed the door shut behind him and he was safely outside in the dark, that she hadn't pushed him away. She'd kissed him, too. And that a mere thin board wall at his back stood between him and the worst mistake he could ever make.

He stalked away in time to notice more wolves had arrived. He checked his Winchester, fired enough shots to keep them at bay. He'd clean up the mess, make sure the cabin and the stable were secure, and then he'd head home.

If there were men hanging around, the wolves were shy by nature and smart. They knew they were no match for a man with a rifle. So their presence tonight told him Claire was safe from the Hamiltons come to scare her out of her house or, worse, blame her for their brother's death.

And he was glad for that. Because he needed to get the hell away from here. He had to get Claire out of his system. The woman's silhouette fell against the closed
front-room curtains, where she sat with her head in her hands, as if in defeat.

It was how he felt, too.

J
oshua's kiss. It was all she could think about over the next few weeks and on that sunny afternoon as she guided Stormy through Bluebonnet's busy streets. Was she thinking about the bad drivers and pushy teamsters? Oh, no, she wasn't attending to anything sensible—just Joshua's kiss.

It wasn't as if she didn't have enough troubles to distract her. No, the Hamiltons were keeping her attorney busy, and four men she barely recognized had each stopped by, interrupting her work, to ask her for a sleigh ride. Honestly! Did they think she couldn't see what they wanted? Two were widowers with small children—men looking for a woman to raise their children. Another had recently lost his land—a common enough fate around the county since the last two summers' weather had destroyed most wheat crops. Another in the process of buying up land from failing farmers—those men only saw one thing. Her land.

Men seemed to be as plentiful as gophers in a field,
and she sent them all back where they came from and good riddance.

As she reined the horse to a halt in front of the town's dress shop, she couldn't think of one reason she needed a man in her life. Not one reason.

Except for that kiss.

Kisses, technically. For something she hadn't wanted, she sure spent a lot of time unwillingly remembering. The crush of his fingertips as he held her chin upward—not brutal, not harsh, just…possessive. And not possessive in a bad way, as if he owned her. But in a heart-stopping, breath-stealing way that had made her heart tingle…and still did.

Stop thinking about Joshua's kiss.
Annoyed with herself, she tethered Stormy well to the hitching post and returned to the sled. Ever since Joshua had slanted his mouth over hers, she would forget her head if it wasn't attached at the neck. She sorted through the blankets on the seat until she found her reticule on the floorboard. It had fallen into a crate of Ham's things. Things she would drop off at the attorney's. Opal and Ham's brothers deserved to have Ham's personal effects, some of which were family heirlooms. There had been no more trouble with the Hamiltons. Strangely, everything had been silent. She had to wonder if those bruises and cuts on Joshua's knuckles, obviously from a fight, were the reason.

Not that she endorsed violence, so why did emotions inside her chest swell like a soap bubble? Because she could no longer blame the awareness she felt for Joshua on simple gratitude. I'm not in love with him, either, she
consoled herself as she clomped up the wooden steps to the raised boardwalk.

I do not want to ever be in love with any man ever again, she vowed as she knocked the snow from her boots. With her common sense firmly in place, she pushed through the etched-glass door and into the dress shop.

A woman with thick hair coiled up stylishly on her head and ringlet curls tumbling around her friendly face looked up from a button display. “Claire, why you're looking well. It's so good to see you. How are you?”

Betsy Gable Hunter, Joshua's sister, was by far the friendliest person that Claire had ever met. It was impossible not to like her. “I've come to shop, so I'm doing very well. And you?”

“Oh, shopping, too. There's nothing better…wait, there is one thing better.” Betsy's rosy cheeks turned rosier.

Mrs. Jance, the store's owner, breezed into sight carrying a loaded tea tray. “Why, hello, Claire. Never mind this one.” She nodded toward Betsy as she lowered the tray to the display counter. “She's about to become a bride. And someone didn't wait until after the ceremony.”

Didn't wait for what? Claire wondered as she accepted the steaming cup of sweet tea Mrs. Jance handed to her. Betsy's blush seemed to grow, and then Claire realized. They were talking about marital relations. If there was a polite word for that. Horror washed through her, remembering her wedding night.

No, surely that wasn't what the two women were joking about. Mrs. Jance was chuckling and Betsy's twinkling eyes were bright as stars. Certainly no woman would be speaking about that in such a merry way.

“Claire, do you mind waiting just a bit?” Mrs. Jance, polite and professional as always, picked up her tray. “I need to deliver the rest of these, and then get Betsy's items. Then I'll be right with you.”

“I wanted to look around first.” Claire took another sip of the bracing tea. The heat trickled down to her stomach and seemed to warm her right up. It had been a sunny but chilly ride to town. “Betsy, I owe you for the last laundry delivery. You were kind enough to leave the bundle without payment, and I stopped by your house on my last trip to town, but you weren't in—”

“Forget it,” Betsy interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Granny told me what happened. I'm sorry, Claire. I'll miss stopping by to visit, of course, but I figured you wouldn't be needing my services.”

They both knew what Betsy was kind enough not to mention. The only reason she'd hired Betsy out of her butter money was because of her pregnancy. Now there was no reason for her not to be lifting heavy tubs of water. As for forgetting about paying for her laundry, how could she possibly conscience that? Her pride prickled. “No, that's far too kind—”

“I have the best idea,” Betsy said, and clanked her teacup into its frail saucer. “I have been looking for someone to take over my business. Now, you might not be interested and I'd understand—”

Me, take over her laundry business?
Claire took a step back, hearing Betsy's words, but they wouldn't quite register in her brain. Why, she had to find work eventually, but she'd never considered her own enterprise.

“—but when I was widowed, the last thing I wanted
was handouts and when Mariah, who started the service, married, I jumped at the opportunity. Washing other people's underdrawers isn't a glamorous way to make a living, but it's good steady income and I have been quite happy. Claire, are you interested?”

“Why, I haven't thought of it. I need to find work.” How to find work was a problem she hadn't felt like mentioning to Betsy. All she knew how to do was cook and clean, which left work here in town at the diners and hotels, but jobs were scarce. She'd checked. And how could she keep a job in town when she lived so far away? She had so much to consider. But this. This could work. It wouldn't matter, because she could work at home and the delivery route would be quite long—

There was no feasible way she could afford it, and she choked on the excitement building in her midsection. She'd managed her money carefully, but surely to buy a business cost more than she had. Probably much more. “It sounds like a good opportunity, but Betsy, I couldn't do it.”

“Of course, you could. You could come along with me for a few weeks. I'd teach you everything you need to know. You'd be perfect for it. I don't know how I didn't think of it before.”

Betsy didn't understand. How could she? There she was looking at expensive mother-of-pearl buttons, when Claire had never owned anything of real mother-of-pearl. Betsy looked like an illustration out of
Godey's
come to life with her store-bought lace fichu pinned at the throat of her tailored velveteen dress that was probably made special-order by Mrs. Jance.

Betsy looked lovely and she had lovely things. She was from one of the most respected and wealthiest families in the county. She couldn't understand. She shot a glance at the town ladies seated around the fashion books at the sunny table in the corner. They all looked up with interest.

Feeling plain and out of place in her homemade clothes, Claire notched her chin a little higher. It wouldn't hurt to ask how much Betsy wanted for her business. It was out of her reach, that was for sure. A business had to cost a lot of money.

She had a horse to buy since she couldn't borrow Joshua's mare forever. And after taxes at year's end, she would be needing to watch every penny until she found work. But maybe… Her hopes rose, she couldn't help it. Only to be disappointed, she knew, but she asked anyway. “How much would you want?”

Betsy blinked. “For what?”

“For your business.”

“Oh, goodness, I don't think it's worth a wooden penny.” Betsy leaned in conspiratorially, realizing the other ladies were listening.

“That can't be true.”

“I took over when Mariah married, and I can't tell you what a boon it was. It's hard work, but it's provided me with a decent living. I'm getting married next month, and I've been in a quandary. How do I leave my clients who've been so good to me over the years? No, it's best I find someone to take over. How about it?”

“You shouldn't turn this into me doing you a favor,
Betsy. Surely you paid something for the business to start with?”

“Not a thing. And you would be doing me a huge favor. I need someone reliable, and my clients would love you. You're nice and my brother sure thinks the world of you.”

“Joshua?” She tried to think past the turmoil his name brought. Confusion and awe and lip-tingling kisses. “He thinks the world of me?”

“I know, it's hard to tell. He's always so frowny and gruff. He's very serious about his responsibilities, and that's a good thing. He just works far too hard. What he needs…” Betsy trailed off. Her cheeks turned rosier again. “You do know that you're invited to my wedding, right?”

“Uh…your wedding?”

“You know, the holy-vows-that-a-man-and-woman-take-in-front-of-witnesses event?”

“I've heard of it.” Claire tried not to be suspicious of Betsy's sudden change of subject and a happy twinkle making her eyes shine with what could only be hope. Betsy was caught up in the excitement of her engagement. Of course, she would want her older brother to be equally happy. It was hard to fault warmhearted Betsy for her very see-through matchmaking efforts.

Betsy charged right on without waiting for a response. “C'mon, say yes. This is a special day for me, and I want all my friends there.”

“Me? I…”

“We are friends, you know. So come celebrate with me and my family.”

“Don't you mean with Joshua, too?”

“Oh, no!” Betsy could feign innocence beautifully. “Granny adores you, and she doesn't like many people, and family events haven't been the same since our father died. Please, say you'll come. Oh, and Mama and Granny and I are sorely outnumbered when it comes to dining with the boys.” Betsy set aside her teacup. “You would be doing us a favor.”

What about Joshua?
How could she possibly attend a wedding, surrounded by his family no less, and his mother, and not relive his kiss? She'd never known a man's kiss could be like that. Could be so everything. Passionate and fiery and tender and beautiful all at once. A kiss like that could muddle a girl's common sense. A kiss like Joshua's could make her believe in what she knew wasn't true. What was impossible.

“Now that we've got that settled,” Betsy continued, “we'll discuss what day suits you best for coming along to learn the business.”

A whole new life. It stretched out before her like a dream. It wasn't the same one she'd had as a naive bride in her wedding dress, hoping for happiness and love and a family. No, with her miscarriage all chances of that had died, too.

But she had this chance to make something good with what remained. Wasn't that a rare gift? A chance like this didn't come along often, and she'd been too hurt for too long not to grab on tight with both hands.

She'd forget Joshua Gable's toe-curling kiss, because that path led nowhere.

This
road did. She had more than a job, she had a
business. With her attorney's help, she could keep her cabin and land and make a real home for herself. She'd be alone, but she'd be safe. And after what she'd endured, loneliness didn't seem so bad.

It was wise to keep as much distance from him as she could. She'd made a vow to herself. No more thoughts about Joshua. Not one. Not of his kiss, or the one they almost shared. Not of the man he was, how kind he was, how he'd helped her. If her lips remembered the thrill of his kiss, then eventually, that memory would fade.

That settled it. How could she say no to Betsy, who was offering her a chance at her own business? “I'd be happy to come.”

“Perfect. I'll tell Mama's maid to expect one more for the dinner after.” Betsy clasped her hands, radiating more happiness now that she was imagining, no doubt, and matchmaking for her brother.

Let her try, Claire decided, the ghost of Joshua's kiss still on her lips. It's simply not meant to be.

Mrs. Jance bustled into sight, carrying over her arm the loveliest dress Claire had ever seen. That had to be real silk, for no imitation could carry the luster of a precious stone. The fair, pale yellow fabric shone with a pearl's luster, and the matching lace had to be real French lace. Nothing Claire had ever seen equaled the intricate elegance of those dainty stitches.

The rich liquid rustle of the silk came as sweet as a melody once Betsy reached for the dress and gasped with delight. “It's done! You told me you weren't finished with it! Oh, this is more than I imagined. Oh, thank you. I'm…almost speechless! Me!”

The dressmaker's smile was reserved, but there was no mistaking that she was pleased with Betsy's response. “I wanted to surprise you. I promised you that I would have this done in plenty of time for the wedding. And I have a little surprise, too. An early wedding gift for your trousseau.”

Mrs. Jance laid a package wrapped in dainty white paper on the counter next to Betsy's tea. She then turned her kind eyes to Claire. “I have saved up a whole box of my nicest remnants for you. Come into my office and take as long as you like to go through it. How are you feeling?”

She doesn't know about the miscarriage.
Grief lifted in a fresh wave, but she managed to answer almost normally. “I was hoping to look at your remnants, thank you.”