Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) (9 page)

She crouched down next to Claire and took her by the arm. One surprisingly strong tug and Claire was on her feet, wobbling and dizzy. The blood in her veins rushed downward, and her vision circled to blackness. Before she could gasp her next breath, she was on the couch. Adelaide gave her a push backward onto the pillows and grabbed hold of her ankles and plopped them on the high armrest.

“Now in my day,” the older woman continued as she retrieved the blankets and furs from the floor, “the frontier made a woman out of ya, no doubt about that. You learned to make your own soap, spin your own thread, protect your livestock and shoot rustlers alongside your man. Those were the days.”

She shook the blankets over Claire with a no-nonsense efficiency and turned her attention to the fire.

Breathless, Claire struggled to keep the darkness at bay. The room spun in a sickly swirl and she squeezed her eyes shut. I will not get sick, she chanted to herself, not sure if her will alone would keep her stomach from revolting.

Slowly, the nausea and dizziness eased a notch. Breathing came easier and the tinny pulse in her ears slowed to the sounds of Adelaide stirring the hot coals with the poker, laying on kindling and retrieving wood from the lean-to at the back door. The comforting scent of wood smoke filled the air and heat radiated from the hearth once more.

“You stay put.” Adelaide returned to tower over her. “If you need something, you holler. Don't try and get it yerself. I like you, Claire Hamilton. And I don't like a whole lotta people. You let me know if you need somethin'.”

At the surprisingly comforting brush of Adelaide's hand at her brow, smoothing away her stray, sweaty hair, Claire's eyes filled. Kindness. It was such a rare thing. “Thank you.”

“Just sleep, my girl. I've got to check on those no-good Hamilton boys. Give 'em a kick or two if they deserve it. Don't you worry. I've got my gun. I'll keep you safe.”

I'm not worried about me, she thought as the slim, fragile-looking lady moved with feminine grace and retrieved her gun from the lamp table.

“You close your eyes and rest now.” Adelaide pulled her wool coat from the peg by the door, lit a lantern and disappeared into the night.

The rapid pop of gunfire, muffled by the falling snow, came from the barn. Joshua. Unable to so much as lift
her head, all Claire could do was hope with all her being that he was safe. That whatever danger he'd gone out to stalk in the night hadn't found him first.

More gunfire followed, and she hated being stuck unable to move. She wanted to be out there, defending what was hers. She hoped it would not cost her more than she could pay.

Somehow Joshua's presence remained in this room—or maybe it was with her. Indomitable. Capable. Heroic. If he was harmed or killed this night, the cost of his life would not be worth her keeping the land, no matter how much she wanted it.

 

What in the hell is that bastard doing?
Joshua had spent long, cold minutes stalking Logan. Creeping on his hands and knees sometimes to keep to the shadows, to stay out of the sharp-eyed man's sight.

And for what? So the fool could perch on the rise behind the barn and fire off enough shots to send livestock into a stampede?

Pressed against the iced boards of the barn, Joshua hated the crunch of snow beneath the ball of his foot. He froze, waiting, but the son of a bitch kept firing off shots like it was the Fourth of July.

What on earth is wrong with that man?
Joshua would have liked nothing more than to storm up to the fool and wrestle him to the ground, but he was standing out in the middle of a rise with no cover, no shadows, nothing. Joshua wasn't so fond of getting shot, so he pressed against the frigid corner boards and peered cautiously around the edge.

He saw it all in a flash—the cattle leaping up from their sleep on the prairie floor below, the bull in charge of the herd pacing to the rear to challenge the danger. Logan on horseback charging down the slope, the flash of his revolver like a lightning burst over his brutal, determined face.

The idiot was stampeding the livestock on purpose? Joshua wondered if there were more men on the valley floor, disguised from his sight by the storm. As if in answer to his thoughts, distant gunfire popped below. The herd's panicked bellows drowned out the sound and Joshua found himself standing on the rise, watching the fading darkness of Claire's cattle disappearing.

A bullet whizzed past his left shoulder and he dropped to the ground.
Hell!
Another shot zipped overhead and plowed into the barn wall. He waited, breathing hard, rage rising until the night around him shone red.

I should have seen that one coming.

Furious at himself, he crawled on his elbows until he was able to see over the ridge. Too late. There was nothing but night snow and the dark smudge of the herd racing away on the dark sheen of the open prairie.

At least one mystery was solved. Joshua debated riding after them—but he'd be outnumbered and outgunned. He'd be easy to spot on the plains, with the way the snow gave a soft purplish glow to the landscape. He'd be easy to pick off with a single shot.

Plus, the only lawman on this side of the county was one of those gunmen. Not odds Joshua was interested in. But that didn't mean he was done fighting.

He ducked into the barn and hitched up Granny's team. The family's surrey, mounted on runners for winter, was just what he'd need to haul the Hamiltons all the way back to town. He'd let the town sheriff deal with the Hamiltons. At least the last time he looked, trespassing, horse thieving and cattle stealing was a damn serious offense.

It was snowing harder when he drove the team out from the barn. Great, it was going to be a cold, miserable drive. Just what he needed to top off his day. He'd been cold since the moment he crawled out of bed at four this morning. And there was no end in sight.

So, he wasn't in the best mood when he found the Hamiltons tied up like pigs for a roast and left alongside the cabin like yesterday's garbage. Frostbite was setting in, but he didn't care so much. Not when the square of light of the front room window caught his eye, and he saw, between the hemmed halves of the brown curtain a tiny slice of the sofa where Claire rested. Her hair was fanned out in a soft cloud on the pillows, hardly more than a small bump beneath the thick blankets.

He remembered finding her in the snow, thinking she was dead, and the feel of her weight in his arms. He thought of the iron will he'd seen in her eyes when she'd been facedown on the floor, all fight when she couldn't even move.

Her terse words, her suspicion, all of that paled next to the unexplained thump of emotion in his chest, emotion he didn't want to think about or analyze. Because if he did, it would do neither of them any good. He didn't want a woman. He didn't want complications. His life was demanding enough.

He turned away from the window, but not before his grandmother caught him looking. He tossed the furious Hamiltons, bound and gagged, into the back of the surrey, keeping far away from the reach of the window.

But even as he drove away into the night and the storm, he welcomed the bitter cold. Because half-frozen, he couldn't feel anything. Not his fingers, not his feet.

And not his heart.

G
unfire ripped Claire awake.

As the sunlight cut into her eyes, the echoing thunder of bullets faded with the wisps of sleep. Night was over, and the morning sounds of a crackling fire and the clink of the ironware cup against its saucer reminded her.
It was only a dream.

As the brightness of sunshine stung her eyes, she realized it wasn't early morning. It had to be at least ten o'clock with the way the light burnished the window.

How long had she slept? She came fully awake and was sitting up before the pain slammed her back against the pillows.
Oh, I hurt.
She squeezed her eyes shut, realizing the night had passed, but what of Joshua? Was he all right?

“Good morning, missy.” Adelaide rose from a chair at the table. “Been keepin' some vittles warm for ya. You feelin' any better?”

“Some better.” Last night had seemed unreal. “Let me try to get up. You needn't trouble yourself anymore for me.”

Adelaide glared in disapproval before she disappeared farther into the kitchen. “You stay where you are. You got up more than you shoulda last night.”

The gunshots echoed in dream and memory as she struggled to sit. Those gunshots had been real, strange on this peaceful, quiet morning. The curtains at the table were pulled open to the sun, letting in the south light, and what she could see of the house looked perfectly tidy, as if there had been no trouble last night.

As if Joshua hadn't stood in the doorway with snow falling in all around him, drawn rifle and revolver in hand. How inestimable Joshua had seemed, midnight-dangerous and heroic. Her whole being still tingled and last night, after she'd collapsed, was hazy. A galloping panic rushed through her veins. “What happened to your grandson?”

“Oh, he's around here somewhere.” Adelaide ambled into sight, carrying a breakfast tray. “He was in for a cup of coffee not too long ago.”

For some reason the image of Joshua Gable, his big body dominating her tiny kitchen, a cup cradled in his rough hands made that tingling feeling intensify within her.

“There he is. Joshua, Claire's awake.” Adelaide's affection was as warm as the radiant fire as she smiled into the kitchen.

Joshua. She could hear the steady knell of his gait, coming closer through the kitchen and then rounding the corner. He had on a blue flannel shirt that turned his eyes into a striking gray-blue. Ironed denims hugged the long lean muscles of his legs.

“That's good news.” He kissed his grandmother's forehead and lifted the tray from her solid grip. “Give this to me. I'll serve Claire. You go back to your dime novel.”

“Not
my
dime novel. I just found that old thing layin' around. Get away with you.” While she feigned annoyance, there was no mistaking the bond between them. The kitchen chair scraped as Adelaide settled back down to her coffee cup and her book.

“Apparently you and my granny have similar reading preferences.” He came closer, and he was all she could see. A hero of a man she didn't want to believe in, but he came to her anyway and knelt on the floor at her side. “You are looking better. You gave us a pretty bad scare.”

“I'm fine.” She might not be so sure she ought to be sitting, for her body strained with the effort and she felt as weak as an infant. Pride held her up.

He slipped the tray onto her lap as competently as he'd handled his guns last night. A simple act, bringing him so close she could smell the wood smoke clinging to his shirt and the woolly, woodsy scent of a man's clean skin.

This close, she could see the individual stubs of his whiskers shading his jaw. And the fall of his thick hair, which fell past his collar and had a wave to it. It wasn't black, as she'd first thought, but a bold shade of brown.

Why was she noticing? There wasn't a man she'd looked this closely at since she was a naive girl who believed herself in love. And never a man who made her
feel
. His presence roared through her like a fire's heat,
making the numb, iced-over places in her heart crack painfully.

“Granny's the best cook in Bluebonnet County, when she has a mind to do it.” He winked, not exactly friendly, but as if he were trying hard to be. “Is there anything else you need? Butter? Sugar for your coffee?”

She shook her head, unable to look away. Whatever was on the tray was fine. She didn't want to disturb Adelaide, who'd done so much for her already.

“Someone's coming.” He shot up with a male predator's grace, pure strength as he crossed the room. He kept to the side of the window and peered through the slit in the curtains. He seemed to take in the lay of the land and wait for the approaching traveler to crest the rise of the hill.

I'm lucky he was here last night.
She couldn't bear to think where she would be and what terrible consequences would have befallen her without him. The suspicious part of her wanted to ask why. But in truth, it didn't matter. He'd saved her, and he was still protecting her. For his own reasons, and that was all right. She was here, she was safe, and she had a fighting chance, because of him.

It was simply gratitude that she felt. The overwhelming flood of feeling filled her up like rainwater in a barrel. Heat flushed her face when she realized she was staring at him like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush. It took all her dignity to tear her attention away from the rugged cut of his face. But that didn't stop her mind from holding his image or halt her from shivering when she heard the sound of his intimate, rough-velvet voice.

“It's only Jordan.” He pushed the curtains apart to let in light. Brilliant rays danced over him and into her eyes, blinding her to him as he moved away. His gait rocked faintly on the wood floor until he was in the kitchen. She turned her head and this time the light could not steal him from her sight.

“I can't believe the lazy bum is here before noon.” Joshua didn't sound all that harsh, but rather fond of his brother. “And I wasn't there to kick his arse out of bed.”

“Will wonders never cease? Now move, boy, you're in my reading light.”

“I thought you said that was some old thing laying around.” A twist of his mouth almost made it look as if he could smile.

Claire tried to imagine that severe mouth of his breaking into a tantalizing grin. Would his eyes sparkle, too? Did he have dimples? She couldn't see anything that soft in him, so why did she hope? A man who'd defeated both Hamilton brothers single-handedly was no soft and tender man, but one to be wary of.

And yet, how he teased his grandmother, kindly, by stepping between her chair and the window again until she swatted his arm and told him to stop it or she'd take a belt to him.

“Go ahead,” he said and didn't budge.

It was apparently an old joke between them, because Adelaide's chuckle was warm and lenient. There was no arguing, no orders given and received, no telling looks of anger between them.

What a rare gift, she thought, remembering how close she'd been with her own grandmother when she
was just a little girl. One couldn't help what family one was born into, and she'd found that real bonds and real ties of affection among family were rare and all the more precious.

It was what she'd been hoping to find since she was nine years old.

While Joshua grabbed his coat from a wall peg and jammed one arm into it, she stared at the breakfast he'd set before her. She'd never had a man do such a thing. Not her father. Certainly not her husband.

Even when she looked away from him and studied the plate before her, she didn't see the food. She saw how his big calloused hands had set the tray on her lap. Serving her.

A cool puff of air rolled into the toasty room as Joshua opened the door and shut it quickly behind him. The cheerful sun was deceptive; it hid dangerously cold air. Through the window she could see the spread of clean snow frosting the trees and hillsides and the endless span of prairie butting into the gleaming mountains. The mantle of snow sparkled like fallen stars for miles, giving the land a haunting beauty.

“Eat up, girl!” Adelaide called from the table. “I don't wanna have to beat Jordan away from you. That boy'll eat everything including what's on your plate.”

The older woman seemed cantankerous, but Claire recognized that it was only an act. She couldn't help liking Adelaide a little bit more. “I'd hate for you to have to hurt him. I'll eat.”

“Good girl.” Adelaide's sparkling green eyes beamed approval.

Not that she was the least bit hungry. Claire did appreciate the generous plateful of scrambled eggs, buttery biscuits, hashed browns and crisped bacon. The steaming cup of sweetened coffee was at least a place to start. She cradled the mug in her hands and let the heat warm through.

When she sipped deep, the bold taste was simply heaven. She'd made coffee every day since she was nine years old, at her aunt and uncle's house. Every morning she ground and measured the beans and put a pot on to boil. And every morning of her marriage had been the same.

No one, ever, had made coffee for her. Somehow it tasted ten times better, although it was the same beans from the crock in her cupboard. Perhaps it was Adelaide's kindness that made the difference.

She could see Joshua through the window. A large, expensive sleigh sat in the driveway, just outside the front door. The man who wasn't quite grown into his frame yet must be the lazy Jordan. He didn't look so bad with his smiling face and relaxed manner. She remembered the young man from the funeral. Joshua clapped him on the shoulder, as if in approval, and then pointed toward the sleigh.

As she munched on a strip of bacon, crispy and done just right, she watched him join his brother in lifting things from the sleigh. What were they doing? She couldn't make out what they were lifting, probably because she kept watching the man who'd saved her.

The wind tangled through his shaggy hair, but it didn't diminish the granite might of the man as he dis
appeared from her sight. The door sprang open. It wasn't Joshua's dark woolen sleeve she spotted, but a light brown one. The younger brother's.

“Gran, you want this anyplace in particular?” Jordan Gable had his brother's velvet-rough baritone, but it wasn't as deep and rumbling. He ambled into sight with a heavy sack on his shoulder.

A sack that read Flour on the side in bright red lettering.

Claire's mouth dropped open. What was going on?

“Try the pantry, smarty.” Adelaide looked up from her book. “Did you remember my tobacco?”

“How could I forget?” Jordan paced out of sight. There was a bump as the sack met the floor. “It's gonna cost ya.”

“What are you up to, boy, trying to skin an old woman?”

“Yep.” The young man bounded into sight, tipped his hat in Claire's direction and held a red packet high above his head, the promised tobacco. “There's the trouble of getting up before sunlight. That's gotta cost somethin'. And then the delivery charges for me comin' all the way out here.”

“I'll give you delivery charges.” Adelaide grinned, as if she enjoyed the arguing. “Cascara bark in your mornin' cup of coffee oughta be payment enough.”

Claire bit her lip. Bark from the mountain tree was an excellent laxative.

“Yikes! I say, what delivery charges? A package of the best tobacco at the mercantile for you. I'll just finish up bringing in the stuff. And don't trouble yourself, Gran. I'll get my own cup of coffee.”

Jordan slammed the door behind him good-naturedly.

“You gotta know how to motivate a man.” Adelaide chuckled as she opened her package. “It never hurts to have a wicked knowledge of local medicinal herbs to use as punishment. With men, you gotta be ruthless and keep 'em in line. Cascara bark is the secret to a good marriage.”

“Not for the regularity?”

Adelaide laughed heartily. “The threat of it works wonders. There was a few times my dear husband suspected I'd doctored his coffee, and it kept him respecting me. Think I'll leave a few pieces of bark in your cupboard. Just in case you decide to get yerself another man right away. You can't let 'em get the best of ya. If he makes you mad, then make him pay.”

She was kidding, right? Claire couldn't imagine such a thing. “I'm not marrying. Ever again. One husband was enough for me.”

Jordan clambered back in, carrying smaller sacks, one on each shoulder.

“That's exactly how I felt.” Adelaide pulled a cigarette paper from her skirt pocket. “After I buried my dear love, I didn't want to bother with training another husband. They're like mules. They're stubborn, but they can learn. You just have to be disciplined with their training.”

The faraway look that gentled Adelaide's face made Claire wonder how long she'd been a widow, and if the marriage had truly been good enough to justify that amazing look. Or more likely, time had softened the truth, making Adelaide's memory better than the reality.

The back door banged open. Claire was used to the sound, for Ham liked to slam doors. But already she
knew the rolling, confident rhythm of Joshua's gait. She felt his approach like spring on a February wind even before he turned the corner.

“Got the coal bin stocked full.” He slipped off his hat, respectful and polite. “Claire, the doc said you're gonna be taking it easy for a while. I hope you don't mind we took it upon ourselves to stock up your pantry, since you won't be up for a long ride to town and back.”

It was charity, she could see that in his eyes, not hard or demanding or calculating. This made it harder somehow to accept his kindness. “I am obliged to you. It will be a while before I can get to the bank, but I know Ham always left a little cash under the tablecloth. Perhaps you can take that as part payment.”

“Why don't you hold on to that money? Finish up your breakfast and then you and I have to talk.”