Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (3 page)

Panic licked through him like the frigid wind. The doc had sworn he'd keep the woman away from Ham's body. Haskins was a good man, a man of his word, so what had happened—

“The deputy saw, too! And I told him what I know. How you've been threatening to shoot him in the back one night!” The woman was like a rabid dog, frothing and lost from reason.

He had to stop her. “Calm yourself, Mrs. Hamilton. I have threatened him a dozen times before this, as he threatened me in return.”

The truth of his confession boomed like thunder and the chatter surrounding him silenced. Joshua felt time stretch between one heartbeat and the next.

“I saw the hole in his chest!”

“You're overwrought, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said gently, because she had the right to her grief. He was surprised he felt so much pity for her, in spite of the fact she was reminding everyone of the fact that he and Ham had come to blows before over the grazing lands. And the sheep. A fact he didn't want to remind the deputy of.

“Doc!” Before he could cast around through the crowd for sight of the only doctor in the entire county, Haskins was there, capable and calm, with medical bag in hand.

Without exchanging so much as a look, Joshua knew the sawbones was on his side. On Claire's side. With his quiet courtesy, the doctor took the older Mrs. Hamilton by the elbow and made calming noises.

Just keep her calm, Doc.
Joshua knew they would talk later, but for now, there was nothing more to do.

“Excuse me.” Joshua touched his hat brim while the woman fell to her knees. He'd help, but he knew it would only aggravate the woman, and that was the last thing he needed or she deserved.

It wasn't her fault that her sons had turned out the way they did. There came a time when a man—or woman—had to own up to their shortcomings or hardships in life and take on the responsibility of them. It wasn't Claire's fault, either. She could not have forced her husband to walk a straighter path, for in the end, Ham's actions were his own choice.

And choices brought consequences.

All too aware of Claire's crumpled face, Joshua turned away from her. He could not offer aid, for the deputy was watching closely. Granny was tending to the young widow, whose knees were giving out, and had ordered someone to fetch a chair from inside the church.

Snow pummeled the world as Joshua looked down at the mantled coffin. It was snowing hard enough, as if heaven were in a hurry to bury Ham's remains.

Goodbye, Ham. I'm sorry, but I think you'll finally get what you deserve.

The sound of thunder crashed through his head as he remembered the gunshot booming in the dark, the lash of Ham's whip and Claire huddling on the ground at her husband's feet. Joshua tipped his cap to the man dead at his feet and felt justice had been served—a rare thing in this world.

He could leave and draw no one's suspicions since most of the attention went to the widow and Ham's mother. Joshua turned his back on the dead and started walking, for he could take no more of it. He did not want to remember that night. Soon, the truth would be buried with Hamilton. It was over.

There was no reason to suspect him, Joshua hoped, despite the feud between him and the Hamilton family. Ham had plenty of enemies and the deputy had no evidence.

“C'mon,” he commanded his littlest brother, who was in truth a half inch taller than Joshua. “Stop slathering over a pretty girl and put your mind on business.”

“What business?” Jordan gave his girl a shrug, as if to say, Who knows what my brother is angry at now?
The boy gave her a salute while Joshua pulled him away by the collar.

“It's time you learned some family responsibility. When we get home, you and I have tracking to do. Now get the horses and sleigh before I cuff your ears, boy.”

“Right away, your majesty.” Jordan gave a regal bow before he slouched away in his loose-limbed, carefree manner.

Someone should have swatted that boy on the bottom more when he was young. Joshua pretended it bothered him to no end and he barked out orders for Jordan to hurry up. If the storm got any worse, they'd have a hell of a time getting home, much less getting to work and to the herd needing his protection.

But the livestock weren't the only ones needing him.

Was Claire Hamilton all right? Worry clutched his chest and he glanced over his shoulder. Granny was holding a flask to Claire's lips and speaking to her softly. A swallow of Irish whiskey wasn't likely to cure anything, but she obeyed, choking and gasping. Granny knelt to gather the widow's hands in her own, speaking low and soft to her.

Maybe Granny could look after her.

It was a bracing thought. He felt Logan's gaze boring into his back. The lawman was staring hard. Did he think he would be able to see Joshua's secrets if he looked long enough? Troubled that the deputy continued to observe him, he forced a slow breath through his teeth and kept moving easy and slow.

I've got to act like nothing happened. I came to pay my respects, and now I'm dragging my lazy brother
home.
Like he always did. Surely that was all the lawman would be able to see. Instead of Joshua's guilt.

“What's your hurry?” Jordan grumbled as Joshua gave him a shove in the direction of the tethered horses. “I had Felicity Potter taking a sparkin' to me. Do you know how long I've had to work for that?”

“You? Work?” That was a laugh. Joshua forced his attention ahead, instead of behind him. “Get the horses ready and don't complain to me about work.”

“Golly, what's put you in a bad mood?” He went about his work, sloppy as usual.

The boy was gonna have to grow up sometime. Shaking his head, Joshua swept the snow from the sleigh cover. He didn't mind giving up a life of marriage and restriction for the responsibility of taking over after their father's shocking death.

He'd done what he had to do, making sure the land and animals were managed and the family provided for and protected. But it was more than a one-man job these days.

He sensed the presence behind him a heartbeat before he heard the faint ring of spurs and the pad of a footfall.

“Joshua Gable.” The words carried on the lethal wind, cold and dark. “You're a dead man.”

His blood iced at the sight of Reed Hamilton, a dark presence more shadow than substance in the thick haze of snowfall. He held loaded revolvers in each hand aimed, dead center, at Joshua's heart.

Joshua didn't hesitate. He drew.

C
laire Hamilton couldn't make the nausea go away, nor the way her head kept feeling as if it were swinging to the right and then the left, like a tree branch caught in the clutches of a spring tornado. Not even the burning nastiness of Mrs. Adelaide Gable's whiskey could clear her head.

Of course, if she'd known it was liquor, she never would have taken a swig. She'd thought the elderly widow had handed her water.

“Your color is coming back some, my dear.”

Mrs. Gable gave a grandmotherly pat on the side of her face, which was more of a slap. Claire's eyes watered.

The elderly lady grinned. “That's more like it. It's always good to have a bit of fight in you. Now stand up. I've got you.”

Mrs. Gable's gruff kindness heartened her. She was in agony from being around so many people. From having to accept condolences that did not come across as
sincere. How could they? She'd done her best, but surely her bruises could only be so well disguised.

Anybody who'd met Ham didn't particularly like him. Decent folk, anyway.

She was grateful for the older woman's help. Her quiet assessment was knowing, though she couldn't guess that it wasn't grief that troubled her, but a miscarriage. Mrs. Gable's grip was surprisingly strong for a woman of her advanced years, but then Adelaide Gable was no typical lady. Everyone knew that. She'd raised her sons after the death of her husband and had the respect of nearly everyone in the county. Her bright green eyes had seen a lot in her life and she seemed omniscient.

“Here's the doc, in case you'd rather stay clear of him.” Mrs. Gable's rough whisper was loud enough to carry over to Ham's mother.

It was a fine thing that her mother-in-law was preoccupied by her own grief and distracted by her own circle of comforters. She was quieter now, after having tried to hurt Joshua. The doctor had come. He was on the far side of the crowd surrounding Opal and she could not see him directly, but he was essentially only a few steps away.

She was supposed to be resting, and surely that would be the first thing out of the doctor's mouth, well-meaning and all. He could easily come to her and ask how she was feeling. What if he mentioned the miscarriage?

The sorrow was blacker than any she'd known, and while she was not grieving her husband, she was mourning her baby. She felt as if some vital part of her had been cut out and she was empty as a forgotten cup gathering dust.

No, she could not take the doctor's kindness. Memories of his face swam before her eyes, how concerned he'd been. How his was the only kindness she'd known aside from Joshua's that night, and she could not open her heart. It was too raw, and if Opal overheard, then think of the outcry she would make.

Claire knew the only way she would be all right was if she didn't dwell on her loss.

It was better to keep her real grief to herself. And that gave her the strength to pick up her right foot, despite the sharp pain in her lower stomach.

It's only from emotional upset and being up too long,
she told herself but feared it was worse. She resisted the urge to lay her hand on her stomach, as if minimizing the movement of her torso would bring less pain.

But such a movement would surely be noticed by one of Ham's brothers. Rick was watching her beneath the brim of his stained hat, his black eyes as inhuman as a rat's. Just like her husband's eyes had been.

It's almost as if he's still watching me.
She shivered and slid her hands into her coat pockets and kept them there. She limped through the worsening storm, looking like the grieving widow they all expected her to be.

A sudden shout rang through the snow-thick air. What was going on? She became aware that there was some scuffle. A crowd had gathered around so that she couldn't see. She could barely focus on the ground in front of her, as flakes clung to her lashes and the downpour pounded so hard the snow closed in like a shroud.

Her big toe stubbed what felt like a rock, and she stumbled. Adelaide's grip tightened on her wrist, keep
ing her upright. Pain sizzled like lightning up her leg, into her groin and into the very center of her belly.

She needed to get home. Everything would be all right if she could reach the sleigh and get the horses headed home. In a storm like this they would hurry there on their own, without a lot of guidance from her.

Alone, she'd be able to close her eyes, rest her head. That's all she needed.

Then the deputy ran past and folks started yelling. Two gunshots fired, popping overhead like thunderclaps. Then she saw the shadows of two men through the snowy mist. One was facedown on the ground, felled by a wide-shouldered man who had his back to her.

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 oth
ers 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 vul
tures, 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.