Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (11 page)

A tinkle of desire fluttered low and deep within her abdomen. Desire that she'd thought her wedding night had destroyed, so why did it seem to remain, a slow liquid beat?

If she were to lay her cheek on his chest again and hear the intimate rhythm of his heartbeat, then this physical response to him would intensify. And her lonely heart would begin to make foolish wishes that could never be found.

Just walk away, Claire.
It was the sensible thing to do, and heaven knows she was a sensible woman. Or at least, it was her intention to be from now on. She was
not a young girl. She was a woman widowed and wise to the truths of men.

You're better off alone, she reminded herself firmly and turned away from the flesh-and-blood man. He was not a hero out of her dime novels where right always conquered evil, where heroes were always heroic and true love prevailed.

Fiction, only.

She had to make decisions for her life based on what was real. What was and not what could never be. “I'll head inside under my own steam, thanks.”

“Well, you're starting to look gray again. You go inside, warm up and rest. Take good care of yourself, Claire. Something tells me this isn't the end of it. Only the beginning.”

You have no idea how right you are.
She could feel the truth of it in the meat of her bones.

Winter blew callously on dark clouds that whisked over the sun. In the shadows, on snow dull like ice, she ambled up the graceful slope of her driveway and into the house where Adelaide waited and watched at the window, her gun in hand.

She was grateful for this family that had come into her life, for however brief and for however kind. Maybe she would take Joshua's advice. She'd rest up. She had today and tomorrow to regain some of her strength so that come Monday morning she'd be able to endure the trip to town and whatever fate awaited her.

As she shut the door behind her and leaned on the wall for support, she couldn't say why her gaze skimmed the slope of the hillside down to where Joshua
kept guard. If her heart winced with want, she ignored it. There would be no more dreams of romance. Of love. Of believing a man so strong and fierce with his enemies could be tender to a woman, or have the heart to do so.

She shut the door firmly and did not look upon Joshua Gable again.

 

“What did Clise want?” Jordan said, his revolvers back in their holsters.

Joshua was proud of his little brother. He might make a good man yet. “He brought some papers for Claire to sign.”

“Makes you wonder why he'd drive out all this way on a Saturday, doesn't it?”

“Yep.”

Joshua was wondering about a lot of things. What the Hamiltons wanted with this rocky, hard-to-till earth. What was on this property that mattered so much? Nothing that he could see. But then, some people just wanted anything they could get their hands on. “He's gone for now. You fed the cattle?”

“Made sure their haymow was full and pumped some water. Should keep them until nightfall.” Jordan knelt to scoop his hand through the snow. He came away with a loose palmful and began to pack it. “What's the deal with you and the widow?”

“What deal? I found her in a storm and helped her.”

“You're helpin' her still. Not that I mind getting my toes frostbit for the sake of a pretty lady, but I'd like to know the reason.”

“Some things aren't for you to know, little brother.”

“I noticed a change about the time you shook the little widow's hand at the funeral. Next thing I know, you were in a brawl with the Hamilton boys.”

“They threatened me.”

“No, they threatened her.”

“Don't speculate on what you don't understand.”

“Whatever you say, big brother. I'll be headin' over to the ridge, to keep a good sharp lookout in case Clise decides to double back. Or those Hamilton boys come callin' again. They could be outta jail by now.”

“Anything's possible. Thanks, Jordan. You did good.”

“Hey, I'm just lookin' to protect my future sister-in-law.” With a wink he was gone, loping quick to get out of earshot.

“You've got that wrong, too, dumb ass!” he called, but he couldn't summon up enough ire for a good hot anger.

It probably looked that way to everybody. A helpless widow on her own, against the law and her vicious in-laws. Of course a man might step up to help a woman he cared about. Except for two things. He didn't care about her, and Claire Hamilton was no helpless widow. She might be down, but that was only temporary. The way she'd lit up like a prairie wildfire, all tough and bright and fearless, had surprised him, but only initially.

He'd never bought the image of a helpless woman, subservient and demure. If the women in his family were anything to go by, men were far more likely to be henpecked and browbeat. A woman was like a donkey. Not as big as a horse, but tougher, more stubborn and long lasting. And packed one hell of a kick.

If he felt attracted to the pretty widow, then it was only a physical thing. And passing. He'd been attracted to women before and it had gone as quick as it had sparked to life.

Attraction was a physical need, quickly relieved by a trip to the seedier parts of town. He was too smart to get involved and tied up and tied down by a woman looking for a man to henpeck, browbeat and provide for her.

Not that Claire Hamilton seemed to have a mean bone in her body. No, but she was strong. She was tenacious. And she'd put a bit of fear in the lawyer. Women just got their claws into a man, they couldn't help it.

It was up to the man to be smart enough not to be caught.

And if that meant turning his back and walking away, then that's what he'd do—as soon as he'd done what he was here to do. It was his overdeveloped sense of responsibility, as tough as a wild plains mustang.

He hadn't put the fatal bullet in Ham's chest, but he'd left Claire to do it in self-defense, something no woman should have to be forced to do. He'd set things to right for her and she'd be fine.

She'd probably have a husband by the end of the month, and rightfully so—a woman needed a man to provide for her. Then his conscience would be clear.

His conscience was the only reason he was here.

Or that's what he told himself as he paced the hillside, keeping watch. When at last he heard the faint squeak of runners and the dulled clomp of horseshoes on the iced-over snow, he began to pack up. His brother Liam was here. He'd keep watch on things for a spell.

Joshua saddled up General. When he rode away, he didn't look back. He refused to acknowledge the tug in his cold heart or the heat building in his loins as he remembered Claire, with her hair loose and tousled, standing against the wind and ready to fight.

It was an image that did not fade, not during the long cold journey home or throughout the exhausting day of hauling hay, feeding animals and mending fences.

It lingered into the night while he lay awake staring at the ceiling in his room and followed him into his dreams where it was not cold, but warm as fire and Claire's long hair tumbling everywhere, in his hands, over her shoulders, against her creamy bare skin.

He awoke, hot and shaking and in need, but cold water would not slake the thirst he felt. Thirst not for the water, and not for a woman.

But for her.

I
t was her first night alone, for Adelaide had returned to her home Sunday night. Claire couldn't sleep. She'd spent most of the hours after midnight watching the pattern the moonlight made on the wood floor. And the cold, silent hours before dawn feeding the fire, wandering around the kitchen and the front room. Seeing for the first time all that the Gables had done for her.

Her pantry was stocked, her coal hod brimming, her laundry folded and put away. The house had been cleaned, meals prepared and left down in the cellar, and outside the corral was silent and empty. The middle Gable brothers had taken her stock along with theirs to the cattle auction down Great Falls way.

As she pulled back the hem of the curtain to stare out the kitchen window, she knew Joshua was there in the night, keeping watch, keeping her safe.

Joshua. How much had he sacrificed for her sake? Surely his comfort in the night. And his conscience. He'd shot Ham—she'd seen it with her own two eyes.
The taking of a life had to weigh heavily on Joshua's conscience. Yet here he was, indistinguishable with the night, keeping watch when there were those who would do him—and her—harm.

I hope the Hamiltons never discover the truth.

Vigilante justice was the swiftest kind in Montana Territory, the fast snap to judgment that she worried about now. While Joshua was out there keeping her safe, who was protecting him? Watching his back?

Dawn came not with brightness but with a sullen shift of light. The clouds were an angry lavender-gray behind which the sun remained hidden. The Montana high country was unforgiving, and Claire thought of Joshua as she watched airy snowflakes crystallize in the air, weightless, floating and swirling like minuscule feathers.

The coldest morning of the winter so far, she'd guess. And if Joshua had stayed outside, he must be nearly frozen solid. She scraped her thumbnail against the thick sheet of ice coating the windowpanes. She shivered in the frigid draft through the walls. The stove blasting heat at full damper could not seem to melt away the ice.

If he was out there somewhere, was he watching her now? She slipped a candle onto the windowsill and drew the curtain away from the flame in hopes that he might come to the door on his way into town. She set potatoes to warm in the stove, in case he did stop by.

She broke the ice on the bucket and set wash water on to heat. While she waited for it to steam, she milled a handful of coffee beans from the ten-pound burlap sack the Gables had brought her. She would need to tally
up every purchase. The Gables meant well, but she was no charity case. She would never allow that!

A rap on the back door brought her out of her bedroom, where she'd retreated after her wash water had warmed. Joshua. She knew before she opened the door. Mainly because he had a brash distinctive knock—five quick raps like a hammer's blow. But also because she knew.

“I saw the light,” he explained, tugging his muffler down to reveal his face made white from being too long in the cold. “You need anything?”

“You're the one who's frozen solid. Come in and warm up before you head home.” She closed the door after him, not at all surprised to feel the cold rise off him in waves. “I have hot coffee.”

“Words I'd kill for. It's got to be twenty below out there. An early cold snap.” He walked in a little stiff, raining down ice shavings from his clothes onto the wood floor. He knelt in front of the cookstove and sighed. “You sure you ought to be up?”

“I'm better. Your grandmother gave me the okay, since she thinks she's a better doctor than the doctor is.” She spoke the words with affection.

Okay, he had to like her for that. His grandmother was a harsh woman, but he'd always known the hardest exterior protected the sweetest heart. “Let me get my own coffee, Claire. You shouldn't be waiting on anyone. Sit down. I'll pour you a cup.”

“No, Joshua. I want to do this.” She reached past him to the coffeepot boiling on the stovetop, using a thick hot pad to grab the metal handle. She felt the steady
press of his attention like a touch she could not escape, even when she moved away to the table to fill two cups.

“You've done so much for me,” she explained as she carried a steaming cup to press into his hands. “It's time I did something for you.”

She wants something.
Why else would she be so accommodating? If there was one thing Joshua knew, it was women. Maybe not in the wife sense, since he'd never even courted a woman—he was too smart for that—but he lived his life around his grandmother, his mother and his sister. And as the head of the household, he'd clashed with the female powers on a constant basis.

Women did what it took to get what they wanted. It wasn't the nicest opinion but it was the honest one. That's what Claire seemed to be, sincere as church bells tolling on a Sunday morning.

She moved with careful grace as she brought the sugar bowl to him. He glanced down at the sugary white crystals in the plain gray ironware bowl and tried to imagine a woman in his family doing the same.

Yep, she sure must want something pretty bad, that cynical voice within him commented. And he saw it all at once, a woman alone and not physically strong, vultures for in-laws out to get hold of what they hadn't outright stolen.

She was trying to butter him up by being so accommodating; maybe she was on the hunt for a husband. Who could blame her? It was a tough life on these spare, rugged foothills. She probably thought he'd do fine protecting her and providing for her.

He surprised himself by taking the spoon she'd
plunged into the bowl and scooping sugar into his cup. This near, it was easy to see how the single lamplight caressed across the bridge of her nose, and hers was a dainty beauty. Fine bones beneath her silken skin made a face that was heart-shaped sweet with gentle doe eyes beneath thick lashes and a mouth as soft-looking as a rose petal. The curve of her face from cheekbone to her fine jaw would fit perfectly against the palm of his hand.

Tenderness nudged to life in his chest, liquid slow and dangerous. He was no weak-willed man, but what of his reaction to this woman? He was frozen to the bone, but hot in his veins, and he had to know what it would be like to claim her lush mouth with his. Would her kiss taste as sweet as the fine sugar she stirred into her coffee? Would the soft warm satin of her kiss be merely nice? Or light a wildfire of need he wouldn't want to control?

This is how men fell, he realized. Desire blinded a man. It overwhelmed his logic and led to bad decisions. His blood roared in his ears as he tried not to listen to her. She was talking, telling him something, but what? He had no notion. Her gentle alto caressed over him and his mind couldn't make sense of the words, but he tingled like one raw nerve.

He managed to slurp the scalding coffee that scorched his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He swallowed swift and hard anyway. Her hair was down, thick and glinting like temptation and tumbling over her small shoulders to hide her breasts. Before he could start imagining those, he gulped down more coffee, his eyes stinging, his throat burning. When he finished, he plopped the empty cup on the edge of the worktable.

“Th-thanks,” he choked out and headed for the door.

“Joshua?”

What was it about her voice? Soft as a hymn, as peaceful as sunrise. He turned at the doorway, his fingers clutching the wooden jamb, holding back, holding on. Because he didn't trust himself to speak, he hooked an eyebrow in a question.

“The papers Clise brought? I looked over them yesterday after your grandmother left.” She stared down into the cup she cradled in her slender hands, her long hair falling forward to hide her face.

Through the sensual locks of silk, he could see the half moon of her lashes against her porcelain complexion. He didn't know how but he could
feel
her, heart to heart, for lack of a better way to describe it. A mix of outrage and determination that fisted in his gut.

“He tried to get you to sign over the property to him.” Joshua knew it with a certainty.

“He had all sorts of things I needed to sign. Not just the deed, but bank papers and family papers. I don't know all what Ham had, but it didn't feel right. I don't believe they were legitimate.”

“I doubt it.” He didn't have the breath or the patience to explain to her what each horse was worth or each head of cattle. The land might not be worth much, but certainly a whole lot more than nothing. And instinct had him thinking there was something more here. Something the brothers had come to fetch that night, and not only the cattle. He would put Liam to work on that problem.

“What I mean to say…” She set her cup down and
crossed toward him, coming fully into the light so there was no way to miss seeing her loveliness. And the honesty that he could feel. “I am grateful for all you've done, but this is my battle, Joshua. I will manage it from here.”

“The Hamilton brothers are probably out of jail by now.”

“You need to distance yourself from me.”
I'll miss you.
Claire hadn't realized it until that moment. Until the instant the palm of her hand covered the middle of his chest, where the hard bone and muscle covering his heart felt like steel against her hand.

The rise of his breathing, the pump of his pulse seemed to course through her skin and up her arm. Connected, when she didn't want to be. Bound, when she needed to be alone.

Anger dug harsh lines around his mouth as his fingers caught her wrist, keeping her from pulling away, from breaking the invisible tie between them. His fingertips seared like blue flame.

The power of his touch thundered in her soul. He seemed to swell up, as if ready for a fight, but she remained frozen in his grip, watching as his eyes turned flinty.

His voice pealed like winter thunder. “What is this? You're telling me to abandon you now? When the danger to you still exists?”

“There is a greater danger to you. I'll not have the Hamiltons coming after you or the sheriff asking questions about Ham's death. As grateful as I am—you've made an enormous difference, you saved my life—” Her voice broke, betraying her. Maybe she was betraying
herself. She pulled away from his touch. “You need to stay as far away from me as possible. So there are no questions. So you and your loved ones are safe.”

“And what will you do, Claire?”

“I can take care of myself.”

God save him from independent-minded women. With the way she was standing with her arms folded over her breasts like a shield and her chin tilted upward, she reminded him of a picture of a siren he'd seen in one of his father's old books. There wasn't one pure thought in his head as his focus lingered on her lips, full and made for a man to kiss.

See? He was losing sight of his judgment and every ounce of the sound mind he always prided himself on. He didn't doubt her sincerity or her determination. The truth was that the world treated women alone with cruelty, at times. His chest ached with a strange tug of emotion, for hadn't Claire Hamilton shouldered enough unkindness?

The thought of her facing more ripped him savagely and he wrestled down a long string of curses and enough anger to melt a few dozen acres of snow outside the cabin walls. “I'm the kind of man to finish what I start. I said I'd help you, and I will.”

“No one, not even my own family when I was girl, has been this kind to me. But the sheriff is going to start wondering why you are here. The Hamiltons already have. I don't want them taking the law into their own hands. They are lawless enough as it is.”

“I told you. I can handle those boys.”

“I don't want you to, Joshua. Not anymore…”
Couldn't he understand she was trying to do the right thing the same way he was? It wasn't as if he planned on keeping his brothers watching over her forever. “I owe you more than I can repay you as it is.”

“I'm not here for your money, what little you have.”

“And I'm not comfortable accepting help that borders on charity.” His eyes flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw as he broke away from her, and she wondered just how much she'd offended him.

She was no match for the Hamiltons when it came to a gunfight. And yet she could not bring more trouble onto this good man's name. “You keep staying here, other than to help me when I…was infirm, but now Opal knows her son was shot, not killed from a fall from his horse. The doctor made that up, I know, to fool the sheriff.”

“To protect an innocent. Self-defense is a hard thing, to be forced to kill, and to be forced to live with it after.” Joshua's hands fisted. “I can't leave you alone, Claire.”

“There's no other choice. You are not my brother or my friend or my husband. You have your own life far from here.”

“Not so far.” His throat was aching again, making it impossible to swallow. And nearly impossible to speak the words lining up in his head. “And you're wrong. Dead wrong.”

She blanched at his harshness. He watched what little color she had drain from her lovely features. “I'm wrong about what?”

“That I'm not your friend.” He headed straight out the door, keeping his back to her, refusing to look around as he slammed it shut behind him.

He stood in the bitter chill, drawing in cold air, as if that could freeze over the aching edge of emotions he didn't want to feel, didn't want to admit. He watched dawn paint the eastern rim of prairie lavender and the bellies of snow clouds a cool dull magenta.

He waited until reason returned, but it was a long time coming.

 

Almost an hour later, Claire couldn't help noticing her words to Joshua hadn't encouraged him to leave. As she wrapped her thickest muffler around her throat, she had a perfect view through the window.

There he was, as somber as the meager snowflakes falling dutifully to the ground. He was hitching up a sleek pinto to the small cart box, which he'd put on runners to make a boxy sleigh. He worked earnestly with his head down, as if impervious to the temperature.