by Jillian Hart
That’s when she heard it. The blast of gunfire on the other side of the kitchen wall. She hadn’t imagined it.
The Hamiltons. They’d come. To take her land and her animals, her home and everything inside it. That only left one question. What did they intend to do to her? They were men in their prime, and even before her pregnancy, she could never have fought one Hamilton brother and won, let alone both of them.
And now, she was helpless. Her mouth opened to shout, to scream, but no sound came out. Her voice was gone. Adelaide lay undisturbed and silent.
That’s when she felt the faint vibration of a man’s step on the other side of the door. Then she heard a muffled thud of what could only be a man’s boot on wooden planks, a sound she barely could make out above the loud rush of blood in her ears.
I can’t stop them. She rolled her focus toward the door. It was too late. The doorknob began turning. There was nothing to do but face her enemies.
The door swung open, revealing a slice of the black night and the snow falling like slivers of opal. She felt the gust of icy wind roll through the opening and across the floor to freeze the sweat beading on her face. She tasted the grit of dread on her tongue and felt a bottomless fear as she fastened her gaze on the threshold. The door swung wide to reveal a bulky man, wide shouldered and tall.
Much taller than Ham’s brothers. The snow dusting the wide brim of his hat, the fall of his storm-dark hair and the impressive line of his shoulders shone in the faint light. He held a drawn rifle in one hand and a revolver in the other with the ease of a gunslinger.
This was no stranger. This was no renegade come to bring harm. The air rushed out of her chest. What a man.
He lifted the .45 to push his Stetson a few inches higher and the faint shadows from the dying fire brushed over his square-cut jaw and unyielding mouth. An uncompromising blade of a nose and high, granite-hard cheekbones. Eyes as fathomless as a midnight sky met hers.
And she felt the impact unspool through her. Joshua Gable.
What was he doing here? She’d made him angry and he’d gone home, hadn’t he? But judging by the slight crackle of his outer garments as he took a step into the room, he’d been outside for a long spell. And not riding, judging by the snow clinging to him.
Had he been outside all this time? Had he been responsible for the gunshot? Had there been trouble after all?
His eyes stroked over her like a flame’s hot reach. “Do you need any help?”
“Uh-uh.” It was a sound low in her throat that kept her from actually having to try to speak. She had her pride.
“I don’t think you’re telling the truth.” A wry twist of his hard mouth softened his fierce eyes. “Granny, you awake?”
The silence in the corner became significant. Adelaide had stopped snoring a while back, Claire realized, as the older woman answered from the shadows. “I am. You got those two troublemakers?”
“Trussed up like ornery cattle. One’s bleeding, but don’t hurry out to tend him. Let him suffer a little.” Joshua backed into the night. “I’ve got one more to secure. You’ll keep an eye out?”
The horsehair cushion creaked as Adelaide moved, placed her feet on the floor and stood. “I will. Fire two quick shots if you get yerself into trouble, boy. I’ll come rescue ya.”
“Not every man I know would consider his grandma coming to rescue him a boon.” He tipped his hat, studied her one long last time and backed away into the darkness and storm, his shadow merging with the night.
But his presence lingered, as substantial as the man and as impossible to explain. Why had he stayed to protect her land when she’d insulted him like that?
“What are you doin’ down there, missy?” Adelaide stepped over her to close the door. The air had turned frigid and her breath rose in clouds as she set a polished Colt revolver on the lamp table. “Not to worry. I like a girl with spunk. Not many’ve got it these days. Life’s gotten too easy. You can buy soap in town or order it from that newfangled catalogue.”
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.
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.
Chapter Eight
Gunfire 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 trut
h, 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.