Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (20 page)

He only stared at her, his eyes great dark pools. “I'm going to get you out on bail. It's late, but I'll fetch Callan from his house and we'll be back. You won't stay in this godforsaken cell a moment longer than necessary. I swear it. I'll get you out of this.”

“It's not your responsibility.” And if Joshua hadn't shot Ham, in self-defense as she'd imagined, or for any reason at all, then someone else had. Someone who had a lot to lose.

She knew how cruel people could be—she'd seen far too much of it in her life. And it didn't matter if she was
married to a brutal man or not, the world was full of such men.

And if anything happened to Joshua, if he were discovered in a field with a bullet in his back as Ham had been, well, then the loss would be staggering. Not only to her heart, but also to all the people who loved him. He had family. He had a good life. She saw all that could happen to him in a flash—
if
the lawmen decided he was guilty of murder.

I would never want that for you.
Falsely accused, wrongly imprisoned. The punishment for murder in this territory was hanging.
That's no way for a good man to die.
For she had no more doubts, not one, that Joshua was a good man. When he reared up in a temper like a vengeful bear, it was for rightness' sake and not for his own.

So much stood between them, he'd lost faith somewhere along the way. So had she. Maybe, if they'd met before Joshua had become embittered and before she'd met and married Ham,
maybe
this great love they shared would have had a chance.

But now…the unforgiving walls and bars of steel crept in ever closer as if to whisper,
There's no escape
.

“Not my responsibility?” he choked out, as if he couldn't believe she'd told him that. As if he couldn't see they'd made their choices, and those choices had taken them further apart. Different lives. Different directions. “I gave my word to you. I promised you that I'd keep you safe.”

“That is not yours to promise. They think we are lovers, Joshua. And you know that's not true. They think we were seeing each other before Ham was killed.”

“Those things are easy enough to prove. We have the truth on your side.” He stroked his hand along the curve of her jaw, cradling her face. A tender gesture.

I don't want to feel this way for him.
She tried to rein in her emotions, but they went right on. Although she remained motionless, ignoring him as if he weren't in the room, she was aware of him with every inch of her body. Goose bumps covered her skin. Her blood rushed warm and tingly through her limbs. Her heart's center flooded with feeling and she felt the tug and pull of him, as if he were right there in the very center of her soul.
I love him so much. I don't want to love him so much.

But she did. More than her life. More than anything. There was no use in denying it. Not now. Not when everything in her life was lost.

There was a crash in the entrance and the hammering of several pairs of footsteps in the hallway. The sheriff broke into the room, face red with fury, a small army of men marching in behind him.

“Your time's up, Gable. You don't own this town, as much as you'd like to think you do. Get outta that cell. I'd be more than happy to lock you up, too.”

Joshua rose slowly, deliberately, as if he wasn't bothered at all by the armed men surrounding the cell. “Did you think I came in here to break her out? How dumb are you, Sheriff? Dumb enough to lock up an innocent woman, that's what.”

Reed Hamilton shoved into sight, his stone-cold gaze glittering. “There ain't nothin' innocent about that woman. You oughta know. The two of you murdered my brother.”

“You're just angry I won't let you bully her into handing over the land and the horses.” Joshua moved so he stood in front of Claire, protecting her from the men and their drawn guns. “I know you're a gambler, Reed. A gambler who's always on the losing end. And this time you're wrong, as usual. Claire didn't have anything to do with your brother's death. That's the plain truth.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she wasn't there when he was killed. I was.” Joshua held up his hands, approaching the open doorway to shield Claire from what was to happen next. “I shot Ham.”

C
laire watched in horror as Reed's fist flew. Joshua raised his arm to block the blow, only to receive Rick's left hook square in the jaw. His knees buckled.

“Joshua!” She sprang from the cot as he fell. Time stretched out in long, tormenting ticks. She hit the floor, her hands already reaching, but not fast enough.

The back of his skull cracked against the stone floor.

She caught him as his head bounced upward, recoiling from the impact. As she cradled his head in her lap, she ignored the commotion outside the cell, and stroked her hand along Joshua's face. “Can you hear me?”

His forehead furrowed as he groaned, fighting even as unconsciousness dragged him back down.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Joshua? Please wake up. You have to—”

Strong hands banded her arms and yanked her upward. “No!” She couldn't leave Joshua. The Hamiltons' hatred hung in the air, tainting it like a smoldering fire's smoke. “Joshua!”

He moaned, his head twisting out of her hold as she was wrenched away. His skull smacked against the floor again. No! He was defenseless. He was outnumbered. He was alone. She wouldn't leave him. She twisted and fought even as Logan and Rick hauled her from the cell.

“No, let go!” She dug her heels into the floor to try to stop them. She jerked against their hold on her, feeling her skin burn as she twisted and kicked. “Let me go!”

“That's the idea.” Logan gave her a shove out the door. The men released her at the same time, swinging her hard. Her shoulder slammed against a post. The air slammed out of her lungs as she skidded to a stop on the boardwalk. Dusk had fallen; ice crisped the boards as she crawled onto her knees and stood. She had to get back to Joshua. She had to save him. “Wait! Rick!”

The big brute, as beefy and hard as Ham had been, turned in an eerily similar way, the light from the hallway shading him in darkness. “We're no longer family. Get lost.”

“You have to stop this. Joshua didn't shoot Ham. You know he didn't. You know it, if you'd just stop to think—”

“You know what I think?” His sneer was slow and evil. “Ham was too soft on you. He never taught you your place, not good enough. Or you wouldn't be crawling onto your feet wearing a blue dress. Blue, not black. That was my brother your lover killed.”

Claire wasn't fooled. There was no real conviction in his manner—only triumph. “What do you want? What will it take for you to leave Joshua alone?”

“Oh, so now you're willing to bargain. Logan, go
back inside. The little lady and I have some business.” Rick's beefy hand caught her around the back of the neck and squeezed.

She felt the impact of his silent warning. The tiny hairs on her nape prickled. Every instinct shrieked at her to run.

Run? No. She'd never give in to that possibility. I will no longer be afraid, she vowed as she fastened her gaze on his. She refused to live in fear. She was through being bullied and controlled. She braced her feet, ready to pay whatever cost. Right here and right now. “You want the land?”

He crooked his left brow. “What? Are you going to sign it over to me?”

“What I want is for you to go in there, stop Logan and your brother from harming Joshua, drop the charges and call a truce between me, your family and the Gables. And I'll give you everything I have. The land. The cabin. What remains in my savings. Just spare Joshua.”

“You're willing to sign whatever our family attorney puts in front of you?”

“Yes.” There was no debate. There never could be. No matter what it cost, she wouldn't let Joshua sacrifice his life for hers. It wasn't every day a woman found herself an ordinary, everyday hero. Not the kind made of legend, but the flesh-and-blood man who stood for what was right, who walked tall, whose nobility never wavered.

Rick's leer traveled over her from bosom to hip like a filthy touch. “The land won't be the only thing I'll be wanting. You understand?”

She swallowed, feeling the last wisp of dreams fade.
Revulsion wrenched her midsection and she covered her mouth with both hands to keep her stomach contents where they belonged. Bile soured her mouth.

She couldn't speak, only nod. For Joshua, she thought. For him, she could endure anything.

 

There was a terrible thundering sound.
Ka-boom. Ka-boom.
The noise ricocheted through his foggy, shocked head.

Joshua registered pain next, arcing like the snap of a bullwhip through his skull, between his eyes, hammering in his jaw and lashing downward. A worse pain burned in the middle of his back, and it felt as if a cannonball had burned a hole through his ribs and was sitting against his lungs. Every breath was an effort.

At least I'm not dead. I hurt too damn much.
He didn't know if he just couldn't see or if he was alone in the dark. Silence echoed around him except for the blast of his pulse in his ears. He tried to move; pain struck like a lightning bolt of searing white light.

Hell, he hurt. His guts clenched. Sick with pain, he concentrated on breathing slow and steady. What in hellfire had happened to him? Where was he?

Ka-boom, ka-boom.
His brain hurt right along with his skull. Thought wasn't possible. He shivered from pain and shock and cold. Frigid wind skidded across his bloody face. Hell, he was outside somewhere.

But where? Near the mountains? Falling ice turned to slush on his skin. His guts cramped as he saw the looming giant of a cottonwood towering above him like an enemy, great black limbs lashing in the wind.

They'd dumped him in the middle of nowhere. They'd left him here to die. He realized now he had a bullet wound. They'd shot him in the back.

Just like his father.

He was dying. He was alone. And a coyote howled nearby. Maybe a hundred yards to his north. The eerie yowling resounded through the night, one predator calling his pack. Joshua wondered how long he had before the other dogs came and encircled him.

Weak, he couldn't fight them off. Blood rolled out of him like ice from the sky and he knew without bothering to search that his weapons had been taken from him. He was defenseless. And, damn it, being taken out by a coyote wasn't the way he'd prefer to exit this life.

Claire.
Fear for her welled up, when he hadn't been afraid for himself. Not even now. He blinked the ice from his lashes, and forced the fog of pain that had filled his skull. He had to think. He had to remember. They'd been in the town jail. The details were fuzzy, but that wasn't surprising considering the hellish headache that felt like someone was slamming a sledgehammer against the side of his head.

Think, man. Think.
All he knew was that Claire had been behind him in the jail when the Hamiltons ganged up on him. Was she still in that cell? Or had his confession freed her?

Or was she lying like this, injured and dying? The thought of her in pain and afraid tore a roar of agony from his throat. The coyote called again, this time closer.

Come to me, you bastard. If Claire is out here, stay away from her. Or I will hunt you down, I swear it.
His
hand scrabbled along the snowy ground until he found a fallen branch slick with freezing ice. At least he had a weapon. He wasn't done fighting. Not by a long shot.

He managed to wrangle his body into sitting up. Longer still before he could use the trunk of the cottonwood to lean on as he struggled to stand. Hell, his cracked ankle beat with pain. The pounding surged in his head as he sagged against the tree, slick with his own sweat and with the icing rain.

So far, so good. Clutching the broken limb like a weapon, he staggered forward. Nausea gripped his guts. Blood oozed down his chest, freezing on the front of his shirt. He slumped back against the tree, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't keep going with blood rolling out of him. Finally he ripped his shirt, stuffed fabric into the wound and used his belt to hold it tight in place.

He had to get to Claire. A rising sense of panic drove him forward. If the Hamilton brothers had taken her, who knew how they were treating her. It was almost too much to hope that the sheriff had released her, that she might be tucked away in her warm and cozy home, safe from the cruelty men were capable of. Men like the Hamiltons. Like Logan.

Joshua would find her, even if it was the last thing he ever did, and no matter the cost.

All he cared about, well beyond his own life, was hers.

As he took a second step, the hairs on the back of his neck straightened.

The coyote had arrived, and he wasn't alone.

 

Claire did her best not to let her anger show at the tracks of melting ice on her polished floor. It was a small thing, considering what she'd once had to endure.

And might well have to withstand again.

Rick grabbed the dime novel from where it rested and tossed it. The small paper volume slapped against the corner wall and slid to the floor.

She tried not to picture the bent and maybe even torn pages, but failed. Temper beat within her like the first pellets of ice against the window.

“It's gettin' nasty out there.” Rick kicked out a chair and knocked off her ruffled chair cushion. “The boys'll be needin' hot coffee and vittles when they come in. You don't look like you're workin' hard to me.”

“What do you know about hard work?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Ham hasn't been long in the ground and look how fast the manners go. You went and got yourself some gumption. Well, that'll be easy to get rid of. Get me a drink, woman.”

Oh, what I'd like to give you.
She gritted her teeth to keep her anger inside and fisted her hands to keep from tossing things at him.

She whipped open the cabinet and grabbed a tin cup to serve his whiskey in. Next to the tinware, there was a small unmarked canister of cascara bark, Joshua's grandmother's secret home remedy for deserving men.

Wasn't it thoughtful of Adelaide to leave a good supply? Claire took the tin and canister with her into the pantry, where she intended to sprinkle a scant portion of the small flakes into the whiskey bottle she'd kept for medicinal purposes.

But what if Rick noticed the little pieces of ground bark in his cup? The Hamilton men were serious about their alcohol. She might be better putting it into some
thing else. Like the cinnamon rolls sitting on the shelf, already iced and topped with ground cinnamon. The cascara flecks blended in perfectly.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she explained as she set the plate of rolls down next to the bottle and cup. “You don't have to sit in here and guard me. I'm not going anywhere. You keep your word about Joshua and I'll keep my promise to you.”

“I'll let him live.” Rick uncapped the bottle and splashed a generous portion of whiskey into the mug. “But I tell you this. If I ever see Gable on this property, I'll shoot first and ask questions later.”

Rick's words made her shudder. How could a man be so repulsive? It sickened her to look at him, because all she could see was his fist flying into Joshua's jaw. She felt no remorse at all for the cascara. “Would you bring in some coal for the stove?”

“I don't take orders from a woman. Get it yourself.”

She could have predicted that one. She left Rick to his liquor and carried the coal hod to the back door. Night came early this time of year on the high northern mountains, and the driving ice tinkling and cracking over the landscape reminded her of the first night Joshua had made his way here.

She melted from the inside out, remembering. He'd come out of the darkness, as if a part of it, astride his fine horse, his shoulders wide, his dark hat tipped just right to shade his eyes. What an impressive silhouette he made against the gray shroud of ice and flinty sky. His rugged face, his uncompromising jaw, the wide,
strong promise of his chest—just like a hero, Claire breathlessly thought.

Her hero. Without him, she would have never known that good men existed. Joshua had given up his freedom for her sake. She hadn't wanted to trust him, and she'd done everything in her power not to all along, sure he was not what he'd seemed. But she'd finally caught a glimpse of the real Joshua Gable, beneath the protective male shield he wore, beneath the capable mask he so carefully presented to her and to everyone. The real Joshua Gable was selfless and true. She loved him all the more for his genuine heart. She loved him now, when being with him was impossible.

Wherever you are, Joshua, please be all right.

She'd never had the chance to go back inside the jail and see if he needed her help or care.
Even a moment of comfort.
He'd hit his head so hard. Worry drummed wildly in her chest as she draped the old shawl over her shoulders and pushed out the back door.

Ice fell with a tinkling cadence and made it seem as if the vast night were singing. As she knelt to scoop coal into the hod, she tried not to think of the man who'd made sure she had winter fuel and winter staples. Impossible.

It was as if he were nearby, for the way her pulse skipped a few beats. But she had to be imagining it, she thought as she let the lid bang shut on the bin and hefted the heavy hod with both hands.

Feeling the cresting wave of affection moving through her, she turned to squint into the dark and storm. Ice stung her face and clung to her shawl as she searched the shadows and hollows and the cedar grove.

Nothing. She only imagined she'd sensed him.

Wishful thinking, that was all. For her heart would always be wishing for and wanting Joshua.

Always.

Her heart was a cold dark place as she hefted the heavy hod of coal into the crook of one arm and shoved open the door with the heel of her free hand. Her feet slipped and slid, her shoulder hit the door frame hard enough to rattle her.

“You got any butter?” Rick hollered from inside the house.