Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (21 page)

Reminding her of the price she'd paid for Joshua's freedom.

 

Claire. She was alive. The sight of her dropped him to his knees. He could blame it on his wounds. He had hobbled across the wintry prairie until he liberated a pony from its pasture and had found his way here, to Claire's property.

He hadn't been aware of how terrified he was to find her cabin dark and her gone, disappeared, maybe dead—until this moment. Until he saw her shadow cross the front room curtain. She was safe enough to walk. She was home. She wasn't moving as if she'd been injured.

Thank God.
His guts were a tangled knot of fear, a knot that didn't relent as he hunkered down beneath the wide, protective limbs of an ancient cedar and swiped blood and ice from his face. It felt as if he'd been to hell tonight and crawled his way back to the world.

He coughed. Blood sputtered into his bare hand. The metallic scent of it told him he didn't have much time.
Every time he moved his torso, blood oozed from his bullet wound. He could feel weakness taking hold.

Whether he lived or died didn't much matter to him at this point. He'd never been so miserable. Never been with so little hope.

His family would be all right without him. He could see that now. Liam was a great horseman; he'd been helping manage the vast ranch holdings for years. James was mighty good, too, and Jordan was going to settle down and fit right in, in time. Betsy was to be married. And with all her sons around her—well, all but him should he die—Ma ought to be happy. And Granny was entirely capable of taking care of herself. She could probably run the ranch single-handedly better than he ever could.

Claire's shadow passed in front of the curtained window again—a sight that hurt worse than the bullet in his back. She would be all right without him. She had the laundry business to make her way, and his brothers would look out for her. Betsy had befriended her. She wouldn't be alone.

He'd been smart, staying a bachelor, working hard instead of wasting time courting. Even when he'd finally succumbed to a woman and fallen hard in love with her, he hadn't let himself need her, really need her. His life had stayed the same. He had stayed the same.

Smart. That's what he was. And not sad for all that had passed him by. The lamp in the front room glowed against the pink calico curtain, casting a pearled light on the shimmering curtain of falling ice pellets.

He'd never before missed being with a woman. Never thought he'd regret not being in a front room
with her while the fire crackled, he read his ranching journals and she knit with the lamplight, contentment between them. On a wintry night like this, how snug it would have been. Homey.

He'd never thought he could thirst for a woman like this. For the chance to lie beside her at night, to love her body and soul. To wake up with her tucked against his chest, her long lustrous hair tickling his chin and bare chest. To love her until she grew round with their child…

Joshua willed his thoughts to stop right there before the regrets seeped out of him along with the rest of his blood. He'd never let anyone into those vulnerable places within him.

Claire had changed him, after all.

He coughed again and tasted the blood. Scented it. Saw the dark stain of it across his hand and his shirt. On the snow in front of him. He didn't have much time. Now that he knew she was at home safe and sound, there was one more duty to see done before he passed from this earth.

With the same determination as he'd clubbed off the coyotes, he crept onto his feet.

He didn't have to go far to find Logan. There was a soft slosh of a boot on icy snow and then the click of a revolver's hammer.

It seemed Logan had found him—unarmed.

“Y
ou killed my father.”

“Gable. I can't believe my eyes. You're alive, damn it, but barely, judging by the look of you.” Coop Logan braced his feet apart, the rifle he held aimed in the dead center of Josh's chest. “What does it take to kill you? Apparently, one more bullet than it took to kill your old man.”

Red hazed Josh's vision. The bastard was saying it so blandly, as if it were nothing, as if a good man's life lost was nothing. “He discovered your rustling route through the mountains, didn't he? The one that passes by our land.”

“I gotta give you credit, Gable. I didn't think you were sharp enough to figure that one out, else I woulda shot you before this.”

I'd give anything for a gun right now.
A knife. Even a rock. But the freezing rain coated the snow layered on the ground in an impenetrable sheet. There wasn't a single thing nearby he could use as a weapon. He wanted Logan brought to justice, so bad he could taste it.

On a good day, and without being shot and bleeding, he could take the deputy in a fistfight, no problem. But today? Well, he'd just have to see about that. He was bleeding and weak, but he felt like steel. Will and determination held him up. He hadn't come this far to fail now.

Another shadow came out of the storm and Reed Hamilton halted at Logan's side. “I don't believe it. See? I shoulda pumped another bullet into him.”

“He killed Ham.” The deputy's lie sounded like victory. The storm surged around him, hail plunging like daggers. “You want to do the honors, Reed?”

“You know I do.” Like a starving man salivating over a big meal, Reed licked his chops at the idea and drew his revolver.

This isn't good.
“Hey, Reed. I didn't shoot your brother in the back.”

“You were here that night. I saw you!” Reed aimed and cocked.

“Then you saw me carry Claire to the house and leave to fetch the doc. Right?”

“You came back with the doc!”

“I didn't see Ham again. Someone else did. Who was with you that night? You weren't alone, right? It was Logan. Think about it.”

“I don't have to think about it.
You killed my brother.”

Joshua counted the seconds as Reed began to shake and his gun tremble. He began to realize. “Reed, were Logan and Ham arguing?”

“Hell, don't listen to him!” Logan turned to his so-called friend, his gun swinging away from Joshua and
toward Reed. “You know Ham and I argued about money all the time. It was nothin'.”

“You wanted a bigger cut of the cattle sales. And you killed him for it? Why, you bas—” A gun fired, and Reed looked surprised as he clutched his chest, gaping for air that did not seem to come.

Then he slid to the ground, already dead.

Damn. Joshua couldn't believe his eyes. Logan had killed a lifelong friend, just like that. Over keeping his crimes secret.

“You're next, Gable. On your knees.”

Joshua didn't move. He wasn't sure if he could. “You wanted to frame Claire for Ham's murder. That would have been easy. Everyone would have believed she did it.”

“You had to go and confess. I'm gonna have a hell of a time trying to convince the sheriff you and Claire were in cahoots. Having an affair. Killing Ham. And how you broke out and attacked poor Reed here. I had to shoot you.”

It was all making sense. And that meant Claire wasn't safe, after all. She would be in even greater danger once Logan pulled that trigger.

“And Claire, poor Claire,” Logan chortled, a low, mean sound as lifeless as the falling ice. “She's got to be a good time. Ham wasn't cold in his grave before you lifted her skirts. I've always wanted to get my hands on her pretty little body—”

Rage beat through Josh's veins like a speeding locomotive. With a war cry, he lunged, full speed and full strength, filling up with blinding savagery. Claire was his woman. And protect her he would with his dying breath.

He heard the thunder of Logan's rifle and saw the flash of powder igniting, but it became distant as seconds began to slow and stretch and his feet left the ground.

Deep primal anger overtook him as he felt the bullet pound into his chest. He tasted blood even as he knocked the rifle aside when it fired again, and he landed with his hands around Logan's neck.

Then they were falling, rolling together over the slick sheet of ice, until Joshua slammed into a fence post. Pain exploded across his back and he felt something give inside him. A fresh, warm wash of blood streamed down his spine.

“You and your woman are gonna pay for this!” Logan scrambled to his feet and pulled a knife from his boot.

 

“Sounds like Logan's signal. You got that stew hot?” Rick pushed away from the table, licking his fingers. “I want more of them cinnamon rolls and more coffee.”

How long did it take before Adelaide's secret weapon would take effect? Claire placed the last of her dishes in a crate before moving over to snatch the coffeepot from the stove. She didn't trust a Hamilton. She knew the kind of cloth they were made from. But if this could save Joshua from them, then she had to try.

She grabbed the coffeepot and kept the length of the table between them as she poured. “I signed over the deed to you. That means I'm leaving tonight as soon as the storm lets up.”

“Maybe we'll ride back to town with you. Just to make sure you get there safe.” Rick had the same smile
Ham had when he was up to something. “After all, a woman alone has to be careful.”

She knew what his leer meant, too. Would she ever make it to town, or did the brothers have something else planned for her? She shuddered with revulsion and turned away just in time to avoid his hand reaching out to grab hold of her fanny.

Disgusting. She was wasting time here. She had to incapacitate Rick before the others came. While she still had a chance to escape. Joshua, wherever he was, needed her. The place he held in her soul was oddly silent.

She plunked the coffeepot back on the trivet with an angry clatter and considered adding more of the cascara bark to Rick's food, when she heard it.

The rumble of his guts, like fast-moving thunder. He bolted from his chair and his feet hit the floor already running. He jerked open the door and disappeared into the bitter storm.

Thank you, Adelaide.
Finally alone, she rushed to her bedroom. The room was dark and chilly and the tap of ice against the window seemed to whisper
hurry, hurry!
as she dug the revolver from her top dresser drawer.

A peek out the back door told her that the outhouse was occupied. Rick's tortured groan of agony echoed along the hillside.

Maybe I used a little too much.
It was hard to feel guilty about that. She yanked her wraps from the hook and darted outside, sliding on the icy sheet that had adhered to the hard-packed layer of snow.

There was no way she could ride hard in this. Getting back to town and making sure Joshua was all
right—if she could convince the deputy on duty to let her into the jail—was going to take half the night.

Another cry of anguish rose like a death knell above the drum of ice and howl of wind. Claire turned toward the horrific sound, but it wasn't coming from the Hamilton brothers. There, at the bottom of the hill, were two figures, groping and fighting. A flash of steel oddly glinted in the shadows, catching the light from the window. She saw a sharp blade, a man lunge.

And a man fall, his strangled gurgle lost as the storm surged, ice hailing down as if from the leading edge of a twister. The man with the knife stood the victor. Slowly, his gaze found her on the crest of the hill.

Joshua? Even before he stepped into the swatch of light, her spirit knew him and she started running, slipping and sliding. Joshua. He was here! He was all right.

Thank God.
Heart filling, sobs ripping through her, she ran, slipping and sliding down the hillside. Relief beat through her, and then she was in his arms, her huge grizzly of a man, wet and bloody and sweaty. The man she loved more than her life. More than anything.

“Claire.” His voice came strangled and strange. The knife in his hand clattered to the ground.

Something was wrong. This was her Joshua, but she didn't recognize this huge grizzly of a man, hair dripping, face ruddy with a primal savagery. Two lifeless bodies lay at his feet and he was coated with blood.

It was everywhere, smeared on his face, staining his shirt, streaming down his left leg to mix with the ice and snow sluicing off him. But it was her man, her Joshua. So injured. His eyes seemed dazed, his skin translucent
and ashen. Blood sputtered across his bottom lip when he exhaled.

She skidded to a stop before him.
Oh, Joshua.
She hurt in sympathy. He looked as if he'd gone through hell and worse to come to her.

What a man.
She splayed her palm against the bruised cut of his jaw. His day's growth rasped against her skin, his sweat and blood and the melting ice from the storm wet her hand. It felt so good to touch him, to feel this blinding connection with him again. “Believe it or not, handsome man, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Me? You don't know how deep I had to dig to find the strength to make it here. Sheer will, Claire. That's what you mean to me.” He gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes shut, in obvious horrible pain. “But it was worth it. To see you one more time. They didn't hurt you? You're not harmed? Hell, I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you.”

“That's the way I feel about you.” Love fierce and overwhelming surged through her, warming all the cold places within, drowning all doubts. Some men were honest and mighty and righteous. Good of heart, strong of soul. This man standing before her was one of them. And the chance to be with him was worth any cost. “I signed away my land so they wouldn't hurt you. It's the only thing I could do to try to save you.”

“You gave them your land?”

“For you. Can you believe it?”

“No. No, I can't.” Joshua couldn't make his mind accept her incredible words. Her land. The home she'd
fought so hard for, worked so hard to keep. She'd given it up for him.

He'd never heard of such a selfless act from anyone, from any woman. She stared up at him with the clearest eyes he'd ever seen. “Those men left me to die. Baby, you didn't get your money's worth.”

“Oh…” Her face crumpled as she studied his chest and his face. Hell, he had to look like a monster; he didn't feel half human. But the way she looked at him, with absolute concern, he'd never seen the like. Never before in his life.

He needed and loved her beyond measure. He felt the certainty of it land in his soul as she pressed her lips against the bruise on his jaw. Then next to the gash on his cheekbone. On the swelling lump of his left eyebrow. Healing, comforting.

Giving.

Her lips brushing the sensitive spot in front of his ear. “Having you right here is worth anything. Everything.”

He could see all the way through her, into her heart and past her soul to the truth beneath. A truth there was no denying. Not anymore.

Don't pass out yet, man.
His knees sank to the ground. He wasn't done talking with her. He had to tell her the things that mattered now. Because his life was draining out of him with each beat of his heart. But his life didn't matter. Only hers did. Only hers.

“Joshua? Oh, we have to get you into the house. I have to tend these wounds—” The concern soft on her lovely face changed as her gaze focused behind him. She tensed with what could only be terror.

Was it the other Hamilton brother? Joshua cast around for one of the fallen guns, but they were too far away. He had to defend her. He had to save her. He had to—

Claire pulled a .45 from her skirt pocket, thumbed back the hammer and fired off two bullets with the ease of a gunslinger. He heard the thud of two bodies hitting the ground. He twisted around, groaning in agony, and saw a pair of wolves motionless on the snow.

What a woman.
Fierce hot love welled up, overtaking him. A longing in the dark center of his being pounded to life with the same strident, mind-numbing demand as if he'd been cut off from air. The virulent need to breathe drove him, but it wasn't air he sought or his instincts fought for.

It was the right to love her. To take her as his wife. To spend his life at her side. To trust her with all he was, with everything he had. But there was no time. There was no way for them to be together, not now. He was dying. There was no getting around that. He doubted even Gran could work her healing magic on him and save him.

Nothing could save him. Not even the love he felt for the woman before him, with silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

He held out his hand, palm up, for her.

The instant her gloved fingertips settled lightly on his, a lightning bolt of certainty ravaged his chest. His love for her blazed so true nothing could ever snuff it out. Not even death. “If I could, I would make you my wife.”

Her eyes darkened with realization. She swallowed hard, and her chin came up, all strength and steel and soft, beautiful woman. God, he loved her.

She knelt before him, as if they were in a church sanctuary and not the wild Montana Rockies in the middle of an ice storm. “Do you mean you'd marry me?”

“I am so in love with you.” He choked on the truth; words could not describe or measure the love he felt for her.

“What a coincidence. I love you, too. Honestly love you. I can see the man you are, Joshua Gable. Are you sure you would want to marry a simple country widow like me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then I'm not about to let you use death as an excuse to leave me. You proposed, I'm going to make sure you keep your word.”

“I'm d-dying.”

“Then I intend to save you.” She felt the power of her promise, a vow meant to be kept for all time. And as if the night agreed, the storm broke, leaving only silence and the soft sheen of moonlight peering through flinty clouds.