by Jillian Hart
“Some might say so, but I’ve seen her real side.” The side he was convinced was the true nature of woman. It disappointed him, he realized, that Claire was no different from other women. Not even from his own dear sister. The more she wanted something, the more ruthless and blind she became to all else. “I’ll take her clothes in. You hurry home before the storm breaks.”
“I don’t want to disturb Mrs. Hamilton. If you’ll set the laundry to be done out on the back porch, I’ll come by and fetch it. Or, you can bring it into town with you.”
“You’re determined to turn me into an accomplice. I don’t approve of your business. I’m not going to start making deliveries for you.”
“Then do it for Mrs. Hamilton. Since you’ve seen the real her, then you know she’s the nicest person. I hate to say it, but her husband’s death may be a blessing in disguise for her.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to think so.”
“I’ll get her things. It’s really starting to snow.”
As Betsy hurried away, snow danced around her, tiny dry flakes that spoke of a long snowfall to come. And he’d be stuck here, standing guard, making sure the woman inside the modest plank-and-board cabin remained safe.
Whether she wanted him to or not. Whether she believed he had an ulterior motive or not.
Betsy left the clean clothes, gave him a quick hug and hurried away. She had a long way to go before reaching town. He tried not to think of where she might have been, visiting her fiancé who lived alone in those mountains, now lost in the storm’s veil.
Hours later, after he’d fed the fire in the front room and gratefully gulped down a huge bowl of his grandmother’s Irish stew, he had plenty of time alone with no woman to trouble him. Just the long cold night, where a full white moon peeked between the traveling wisps of torn clouds and brushed silver on the sleeping prairie. No danger could lurk unseen on this night.
With his Winchester at his side, he watched and he waited. Trouble was coming. He could sense it like the flakes on the wind. He’d be ready.
She woke to the final chime of the mantel clock. Not knowing which hour it was—perhaps midnight? Or one?—she sensed it was not the quiet musical ring of the clock that had awoken her.
The fire glowed, burned down to heavy chunks of gleaming coals snapping in the grate, and cast a menacing dark orange shine upon the hearthstones.
A snoring sound came from the wing chair, which stood alongside the hearth where the shadows seemed darkest. Claire tried to remember if the doc had left. She remembered overhearing him say he couldn’t stay. Joshua Gable had stormed out the door. She clearly remembered that.
Then whose leather boots were those on the ottoman pulled before the chair? The size of the man’s riding boots was small—certainly not Joshua Gable’s. And she doubted that either of Ham’s brothers, who surely had bigger feet than that, would have broken in to fall placidly asleep in the chair.
Before fear could take hold, she realized Adelaide Gable had promised to stay and a shadow moved through the far edge of her vision. She snapped her head in that direction, causing a horrible hollow pain and sickening dizziness. She saw only a faint, barely noticeable lightness at the big square of the window. Snowfall.
Had she imagined it? Her heart began thudding wildly in her chest, as panicked as a trapped bird, and that was how she felt. Caught, unable to escape or fight. She was so weak she squeezed her eyes closed and locked her jaw against the nausea rising from her stomach. Leaning back into the pillow helped. Forcing her breathing to slow helped. But now her pulse was thundering in her aching head.
What if she hadn’t imagined a moving shadow? What if it was the Hamiltons come to take what they felt was theirs? Law didn’t matter much to those people. They put no stock in rules and justice. If they came in the dead of night to put her out of her house, how could she stop them in her weak condition? She couldn’t even crawl off the sofa to fetch Ham’s gun to defend herself.
I intend to keep you safe. Joshua’s promise came back to her now. Or, was it more like an offer? One she’d turned down. She remembered how indomitable he’d seemed with those wide logger’s shoulders of his and the dark crop of hair framing his rugged face.
He’d walked so tall, in her view, when he’d stood up to Ham. When he’d met Ham’s brothers’ violence stone for stone. He was a man who looked as if he could have made good on that promise easily.
I shouldn’t have been so blunt with Joshua Gable. Then she wouldn’t be alone with this problem now. Not that she would ever use anyone, but she didn’t have to drive him away. She could have accepted his help. She could have found a way to compensate him. Her words came back to her, hard and shameful. You’re a man, and that means you want something.
What a terrible way to treat a man who’d done nothing but help her. She knew there was a reason behind his offer, but she wouldn’t have minded paying what he wanted. She’d just…looked at him and seen a man, any man. She’d been wrong to malign Joshua so easily. He may have his own reasons for helping her.
Well, as it was, she was now alone with an old woman to protect. Somehow, she had to figure out if trouble was outside her door and, if so, to stop it.
If only she knew how to use a gun. Ham’s revolvers, if she could reach them, were hung across the nail next to the front door. Two of his many rifles were below the elk head. Another—his older, single-loading pistol—sat on the edge of the mantel. She’d be more effective throwing them at Ham’s brothers than trying to shoot them.
Reed and Rick were excellent marksmen. Unless she got in a lucky surprise shot, she’d be far too outgunned to risk it. No, she’d have to defeat them another way. This was her home and her land.
Hers alone now. She had nowhere else to go. She’d been homeless before, cast out with her mother after her father’s death. She’d lived in the back of an abandoned store off of Second Street in a little town in the Dakotas until the fever that had taken Pa had drained the life from Ma as well.
Yes, she knew what it meant to be without a roof over her head. She was no longer a child. She was a capable woman, and she was not about to be bullied around by anyone. Not ever again.
If only she could lift her head farther off the pillow.
Come on, Claire. Try harder. You have to do this. The hollow pounding in her head increased until it felt as if someone was standing behind her with an ax and swinging.
Her temples squeezed with agony and she collapsed back into the pillows. Okay, she wasn’t going to be able to stand upright. But she couldn’t lie here. What options did that leave? Staying here helplessly while the Hamiltons seized her house and put her out into the wintry night?
No, not while she drew breath. All the steel she’d developed from living beneath Ham’s boot had not made her a victim, nor had it made her weak. She hadn’t realized how strong her will had become. Like iron shaped in a forge, she pushed the pillows and thick furs onto the floor and rolled.
More pain, but she refused to give in to the jagged claws of it. She took a moment to catch her breath, but it wouldn’t come. Move anyway, Claire. You have to do this.
She had no choice. Since she couldn’t stand, and her knees were like water, there was only one way to move forward. Her body screamed in protest as she pushed her right arm forward, her forearm scraping against the rough floorboards. With all of her steely will, she dragged her body forward.
One inch. Two inches. Then there was no more strength. She collapsed, her chin resting against the wood. Dizziness tormented her. Nausea overwhelmed her. The hammer inside her skull was breaking through the bone. A cold sweat popped out on her skin and her vision wavered.
I will not lose consciousness. She clawed ahead, hardly moving an inch, but it was progress. She slid her left arm along the cracked grain of a floorboard.
A nail head had popped up and scraped her skin, but she didn’t feel it. Her muscles were trembling. Her heartbeat came so fast, too fast, and the air rushing into her lungs s
eemed to stall.
Keeping fighting, Claire. But her body became fluid, watery without substance. Her fingernails dug into the edge of the braided rug and she pulled with all her might.
But she didn’t move.
Chapter Seven
He knew they would come.
Joshua peeled off his extra layer of woolen gloves meant to keep his hands somewhat warm. He gave his fingers a good stretch. He’d trusted his instincts and that had put him and Claire at an advantage.
The pair of brothers had some skill. It hurt to admit it, since he thought so little of the Hamiltons. Whatever those men were, they knew how to sneak up on a man in the dead of night. Too bad for them he was waiting for them and he knew just how to keep watch. He’d been protecting his animals from rustlers, predators and everything else for more years than he could count.
He drew his rifle into position, supporting the barrel, careful not to make a sound. The brothers were ignorant of his position on the hill just behind the house, elevated enough that he had a bird’s-eye view of the landscape and could clearly see both cabin doors.
He was more than ready. The chambers were loaded, and he had more bullets tucked into place on his .45 holster, strapped to his thigh. Jammed in his left coat pocket, he had extra bullets he’d made to carry a special punch.
That’s right, boys. Come a little closer.
He dusted the snow on the site’s metal rim and slowly swept the barrel’s scope down the hillside until he had both brothers sited in the crosshairs.
They were moving fast. No horses, no packs, just a lot of gun power. They must have left their horses down below, out of sight—no, they would have also brought a wagon mounted on snow skids, he realized, although he hadn’t heard a harness in the resounding silence of the night. Probably used rope instead of proper harnessing. It’s what he would have done.
But keeping to the fence line, using the split rails for cover, was just plain lazy. The brothers assumed they only needed to be quiet enough not to warn Claire of their approach, and to keep out of sight of the windows. They were heading to the back door.
It didn’t take a genius to see what they intended. They probably even knew where the key was hidden, so their trespassing would be quiet. With any luck, they planned to surprise Claire in her bedroom, which was just inside the back door and off the kitchen.
They’d never get that far. Whatever their plans were, it was his job to stop them.
Remembering how quick one of them had been to try to shoot him in the back, Joshua was glad his back was solidly against a fifteen-foot-tall granite bolder that jutted out of the concave hillside. The boys made no sound as they kept low, rapidly moving and using hand signals as the taller one—Reed—took the lead.
The fools weren’t even looking for trouble. Joshua shook his head in disdain. Those men deserved what they got. It would be best if he could just pull the trigger and take care of the situation from here.
But best wasn’t always right, although he thought of the woman inside the cabin, weak and in pain, and how those men’s brother had treated her. He knew that they would not be kind to Claire. Rage built behind his eyes, remembering the tone of her hurtful words.
How badly she must have been treated to hold such an opinion. Not even a woman with a sharp tongue ought to be treated badly by a man. He didn’t much like the gender—thought they were hardly the fairer and weaker sex—but they were smaller against a man’s greater size.
And so he would shed no tear if tonight he sent one or two more Hamiltons to hell where they belonged.
Snow whispered from the dark heavens, making not so much as a hush as it fell on the white iridescent earth. The snowflakes seemed to give off their own light. He knew it was the faint glow from the clouds where the moon hid, and the ice of the flakes reflecting what light there was, making the midnight world shine like a black pearl and giving him enough illumination to see well.
The brothers had reached the fence line closest to the house. The dark silhouette of the leader disappeared as he hunched down behind a thick post, studying the lay of the backyard. The cabin was dark and silent, so why did he hesitate?
Joshua’s heart gave a thump of realization. Maybe Reed could sense his presence. The bastard just couldn’t tell where the danger was lurking. Joshua fought down a grin. Now it was going to get interesting. He didn’t mind the challenge. He was ready, and he wanted a little justice. The gun in his hands remained steady and sure, camouflaged well in the shadows.
Come on. Just try to take her. His finger leaned against the trigger, ready as Reed lifted up like a gopher out of its hole to get a better peek at his surroundings.
One wrong move and you’re mine, boys. He willed them to move, but they stayed low and looked to the road, as if they were expecting someone else. This would be a hitch to his plan, but he was prepared for that, too. He lowered his rifle a notch so he could scan the landscape freely.
No sign of anyone. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. He waited, neck prickling, straining his senses to hear, see, scent approaching danger.
It came in the form of the shadow moving in from the north, crossing the driveway and ducking between the rails. The deputy. Reed raised a hand in a show of welcome and the pair hunkered down, heads together, repeating rifles held handy and ready.
Three to one. Not the best odds, but Joshua would take them. He waited, determined and focused. Watching to see how the men intended to proceed. Waiting to see how he could use that to his advantage.
They broke up and moved in three different directions. The deputy headed back to the road—maybe to the barn, Joshua figured.
Now, wasn’t that interesting? He hadn’t noticed anything of interest or value in that unkempt place. Maybe he ought to have looked a little harder. Surely there was something that had brought the lawman out tonight—and it was important enough to trespass for.
The brothers broke up. The tallest headed to the front, the other came up the draw between the house and the hillside, moving as if he didn’t expect anyone to be pulling a gun on him. Rick wasn’t the smartest brother, but he was the meanest. At least I get to take him out of the bet first.
Joshua waited, knowing his steps before he made them. Moving like lightning, fast and silent, he drove the barrel of the Winchester into the back hollow of Rick’s neck. “Move. Go on. Give me a reason to pull this trigger.”
Rick froze. “Gable. Might have known it was you.”
“Might have. Should have done some scouting first and you might have noticed the extra horses in the barn.” An owl’s hoot broke the silence, sounding on the other side of the roofline, and Joshua cocked his head, listening. The signal that the other Hamilton brother was in place, maybe?
Rick remained silent, perhaps his signal in return that something had gone wrong. He continued to clutch his rifle, his tension palpable. He didn’t so much as blink.
“You’re disappointin’ me, Rick. I was sure hopin’ to send you to your just reward. Drop the gun. Do it.” He drilled the Winchester’s nose harder into vertebrae. The gun thudded to the ground, the sound low but distinctive enough to bring the other brother running.
“On the ground. Hands behind your back. Now.” He caught Rick’s upper arm and helped him along, kneeing him to the snow and snapping the fencing wire into place around one wrist, then the other. With his free hand, he wound the man’s hands tight.
Joshua dug his boot heel into the man’s upper spine. “Make a sound, and I’m coming back to quiet you for good.”
Satisfied he’d stopped the man from entering Claire’s house, he raised his rifle and sensed the danger before his eyes could discern it from the thick shadows near the corner of the cabin. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he raised his gun, ready to fire, meeting trouble head-on.
Stretched out on the floor, Claire struggled to make her quaking limbs move. Her fingertips were curled into the edge of the carpet, but no matter how much she commanded her arms to pu
ll, they disobeyed. Her muscles remained slack.
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t move any part of her. It was as if her bones had lost their substance. Her head cracked with a strange, bone-splitting pain and her vision dimmed at the edges, so that it was as if she were looking through a glass at the hearth.
Not a promising turn. The glowing coals writhed and brightened as if mocking her, for they were so infinitely far away.
Don’t give up now.
But her vision dimmed at the edges. Just four more feet. A distance she’d crossed easily this morning. The iron poker hung from its metal hook too far away to do her any good. It may as well have been on the opposite side of the earth for the chance she had of reaching it.
You can’t give up. She thought of what she had left to lose. It wasn’t nearly equal to what she’d lost, not by a long shot, but she had to keep trying. She rested a moment, gathered the shards of her strength and pulled with all her might. The rug stretched beneath her grip, and a hot sweat broke out across her face.
She’d given it every bit of will and might she had, but her chin was still resting solidly on the plank floor. Her fingers were caught in the edge of the rug and she hadn’t moved an inch.
I can’t do it. Pain telegraphed through her like electricity, snapping and searing. She’d lost so much blood that she could feel the strange galloping drum of her heart, fast and shallow.
As much as it shamed her, she had to admit she needed help. All she could see of Adelaide was her boots on the ottoman. She hadn’t moved at all, slumbering in the corner. The tough woman’s kindness had been unexpected but appreciated and she hated now to disturb the older woman’s sleep.
What if she’d imagined the sound? Then how would she explain this to the elderly lady who’d done so much? Then again, what if I didn’t imagine it? That realization sank like a stone to the bottom of her stomach. How was she going to defend herself, an older lady and the home, from men every bit as ruthless as Ham had been?