Rocky Mountain Widow. Jillian Hart
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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 vultures, 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.
At least she could go home now. The thought of her own bed and the soft flannel sheets made her moan with longing. Exhaustion settled like lead into the marrow of her bones. She had to escape, not only her relatives, but everything.
Sadness overwhelmed her, and to her disappointment, there was no quick escape. Already the swarm of the funeral crowd was buzzing close to the streets, and she drew Thor and Loki to a halt.
Why was everyone stopping? She strained to see over the big covered surrey in front of her. A sled had skidded off the road into the ditch at the crossroads that made up the trading post, the only civilization aside from the church on this remote corner of the county. The vehicle and team had caused a blockage on the only place where the two main roads through the county intersected. They were already receiving help from others nearby, although the traffic wasn’t likely to begin moving anytime soon.
Of course. Annabelle was still shouting, and she sounded closer. Claire didn’t have the energy to spare to look over her shoulder and in truth, she didn’t care. They could have the sleigh, but these were her horses. Hers alone.
And my friends, she thought as she ran her gloved hand along Thor’s sleek neck.
The warmth of him permeated the wool, reminding her of what mattered. She had survived. She was still here. Ham had not harmed the deepest part of her. Three years ago on a day more bleak than this, she’d become a bride and naive enough to believe she would be starting a wonderful new life.
Looking back, it was hard to believe she could have been that dreamy girl. She closed her eyes, and she could almost see the young woman who had worked a double shift every day for two months at the boardinghouse, cleaning and doing laundry to scrape enough money together to buy fabric and notions for a beautiful wedding dress.
That dress was the nicest thing she’d ever owned in her life or in her marriage since. She’d loved the delicate sage lawn with the tiniest little embroidered rosebuds of matching sage that looked as fine as anything the wealthier ladies in town wore. And the dainty pearl buttons hadn’t been real mother-of-pearl, but they’d looked as if they were. And that had been enough. She’d worn it for Ham, to mark the momentous honor of becoming a bride, his bride.
As that young woman spoke the vows in the echoing chill of the sanctuary, she’d meant them with all her heart. She fully intended to love and cherish, honor and obey her very dashing husband.
Obey—she hadn’t realized the impact of that one four-letter word until later. In the church holding Ham’s hand, her entire being had shone with happiness and hope for a good future.
When the minister had proclaimed them man and wife, she’d nearly floated to the ceiling. She’d been an orphan and little more than a servant in her uncle’s home, but now she had a family. A home. A fine man to love.
Claire’s heart wrenched with sorrow so deep and dark she could no longer see the present, only the past. The memory of that happy young woman seemed to ride by like a ghost and then became forever lost in the tenacious downpour of snow. If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the joyful music of that doomed bride’s laughter.
“Claire.”
She instinctively