Rocky Mountain Widow. Jillian Hart
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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, keeping 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 others 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