by Jillian Hart
A storm of hardship was coming, and she would not have the Hamiltons thinking that she could not stand against them on her own. Because she could stand on her own two feet just fine. She didn’t need Joshua Gable’s charity.
She didn’t need any man.
Joshua didn’t recognize the pair of fine-stepping bays. Two figures were tucked beneath blankets on the front seat, but he couldn’t make out who they were. Not until they pulled to a stop behind his vehicle and he recognized one of the town’s most prominent lawyers and his wife. Annabelle Hamilton Clise.
Trouble. The feel of it brewed like a blizzard in his gut as he strolled out into the road. The horses drew to a stop in front of him, and there was no missing the irritated look on Clise’s doughy face. That told Joshua everything he wanted to know. The fancy lawyer was expecting him. And was already dismissing him.
Good luck, Clise. I’m not so easy to beat. Joshua pulled his unbuttoned jacket open enough so that the lawyer could see the double Colts holstered, one to each thigh. Silent, he stood blocking the road. Actions spoke louder than words.
“Gable.” The attorney gave a brief nod, but his handlebar mustache couldn’t hide his sneer of contempt. Just as his fancy wool jacket and tailored clothes could not disguise the lesser quality of the man.
Joshua despised men like Clise. “I expected the vultures to start circling. And that you’d be leading them.”
“I oughtn’t to be surprised to find you here. I suppose there’s a whole crop of you ignorant country boys who think in order to come to own this land, all you must do is marry for it.”
“No worse than you city boys thinking they can get hold of this place by strong-arming a woman.”
“This is my place now.”
Joshua cocked a brow, his fingers itching for the smooth walnut handle of the .45s. Clise’s place? “Claire Hamilton doesn’t seem to think so. I agree with her.”
“Go herd your sheep, Gable, and leave the legal matters to those educated enough to understand them.”
“I understand plenty, Clise. And I know a thief when I see one.” Some folks just thought themselves so fine, when they were anything but. What kind of man would steal land from a widow? “Ham is barely cold in his grave and you people are already flocking like vultures. First the brothers and now you.”
“Get out of my way, or I will run you down.”
“Go ahead and try.”
Dark anger narrowed the lawyer’s features, making him look like the crook he was. This only fueled Joshua’s certainty more. His right hand covered the cool grips of his revolvers, ready to draw. One thing Joshua had learned a long time ago. Fancy city boys were no match for a hardworking country boy.
Clise snapped the thick reins on his bays’ rumps with an audible whack, but the horses did not leap forward. They stayed in place, sidestepping in their traces.
“Be a good boy, Clise, and turn around. Save yourself some trouble and head back to town.”
Joshua watched the effect of his words. They hit like a snowball’s icy punch right in the middle of Clise’s face. Bull’s-eye.
Clise puffed up inside his expensive clothes and reached for the whip sitting primly in its socket. “This is no game. I’ll come back with the sheriff if I have to. Toss the lot of you in the county jail. Would serve you right for trying to swindle a grieving widow.”
“It takes one to know one,” Joshua said.
He heard the soft whisper of footsteps on the snow behind him a few seconds before Annabelle Clise’s eyes hardened beneath her black hat. Her chin shot up, and Joshua knew the woman wasn’t reacting to his brother coming to add his weight to the argument. Jordan’s bold, careless gait could never be mistaken for the featherlight pad coming closer.
It was a woman, but not Granny. She wasn’t one to tread softly. But could it be Claire? It had to be. He could feel her approach like a winter’s dawn, and it troubled him that she pulled at his concentration. He’d never had that problem before, and it was as if all his senses were straining to pick up a hint of her—the rustle of her skirts, the rose scent of her hair and her skin.
He forced his attention to Clise, refusing to let his focus stray from the man who held a whip and probably hid a firearm, although it was as if Joshua’s eyes ached for the sight of her.
Probably because he was worried about her health, he told himself, because that was the only reason he wanted to get a look at her. Because she wasn’t well and he was used to taking care of everyone around him. It was what he did. It seemed like all he would ever do. It wasn’t a personal thing. It wasn’t attraction.
Now you’re lying to yourself, Gable.
“Thad Clise, put down your whip.” She rewarded him with the sound of her voice in no way he’d ever heard before. A formidable alto came, not sharp or shrill, but muted and certain.
This was Claire Hamilton? Sure enough, there she was, at the edge of his vision, wrapped in a huge wool shawl over a flannel calico dress. Her hair was brushed and lustrous as it tumbled down her back, stirred by the wind.
His hand nearly slid off the Colt’s grip. He’d seen the quiet, mousy wife in town in the company of her husband, but she’d been background, for Joshua wasn’t in the habit of noticing other men’s wives. He remembered her battered and in pain. The pale widow at a snowy graveside.
But not this woman.
This woman met Clise’s eyes with a challenge. “Thad, you heard me. Put down that whip, turn your horses around and get off my property.”
“All right!” Clise slid the whip back into its socket and held up his hands, the reins having fallen to the dashboard, as if to prove he meant no harm. “This is family business, Claire. Send Gable on his way, this is none of his concern. You and I need to go over Ham’s paperwork. There are documents you must sign.”
What paperwork did Ham have with him? The question troubled her as she fought to keep her knees from wobbling with weakness. She knew with a woman’s instinct, along with the gleam of greed in Annabelle’s hard black eyes, that Thad wasn’t here for her best interests. “As far as I know, Ham hated you. He would not have had legal dealings with you.”
“No, but he did trust me to make sure you were taken care of in the event of his death.” Thad projected concern now, his voice dipping down like that of a tender patriarch. “We all want what’s best for you now, when you must be ill with grief. Look at you, my dear. Trembling and ashen. Should I send a rider for the doctor?”
“No, a doctor won’t be needed.” She disliked his pretense. Thad Clise had never been concerned about her in the three years he’d looked down his regal nose at her.
He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, come for his own gain, but what? Whatever it was, she knew he was sly enough to get what he wanted if she wasn’t careful. Perhaps he thought himself so fine with his education and expensive horses and sleigh and clothes. Next to Joshua, he seemed even more false. A shallow imitation of what a man should be.
She couldn’t help the way she naturally turned toward Joshua. He stood warrior-strong at her side, his gaze unbroken as he stared hard at Thad, as if waiting for his next move. How could she not be grateful for Joshua, who not only stood up for her, but also at her side.
He could have been a legend, like the heroes inked on the front of her beloved dime novels, and the breadth of his shoulders and the way he stood like justice personified, why, it tempted a woman to believe, beyond common sense and experience and hard lessons learned.
She was fortified to know that a man like Joshua was on her side. At least that’s the way she explained the rush of warmth building in her chest.
Appreciation, and nothing more.
There was no sense letting Thad have the upper hand, so she made sure her voice was condescending and she looked him dead in the eye. “Give me the papers.”
“These are legal documents, honey.” Thad’s soothing tone rang false. “You’re a simple country girl. That’s why I’m here. To explain everything to you, so you
can understand.”
Did Thad really think she would be that easily misled? Or fooled by the fact that this was only the second attempt by the Hamiltons to get what they thought was theirs. This land. “Get off my property.”
“Technically, it’s not your property.”
“It’s not yours.”
Joshua stepped forward, a towering figure of granite. Formidable. “Clise. Hand over the papers.”
“But I—”
“Or go.” Joshua drew one of his revolvers. “It’s your choice.”
Thad’s grimace was more like a warning. “I wouldn’t start moving my livestock over yet, Gable. She’s not worth what you think.”
“She’s worth more than a quarter section of rocky, high-country foothills. Where are the papers?”
The controlled boom of command startled her. In that moment, his handsome rugged face turned dark and threatening, like a storm cloud churning in the sky. Clise blanched and, although he looked down on both her and Joshua with derision, he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a thick fold of long, legal-looking papers.
What business could Ham have had with Thad? Claire shivered as the blood chilled in her veins. Was it possible the house and land wouldn’t go to her? What if Clise was right, that this was his property after all?
“Claire?” Joshua was calling her. “Here.”
He thrust the folded papers her way, not turning from the lawyer who, she now realized, had a repeating rifle tucked beside him on the seat. Between him and his wife. Joshua did not seem intimidated, no, not in the slightest. He seemed to swell up with more fearless power.
She’d never known a finer man. She took the paperwork, freeing up his hand in case he needed his other gun.
“Time to go, Clise.” Joshua caught hold of the lead mare’s bridle and steadily pulled her in a tight circle, drawing the second horse who was harnessed to her and the sleigh along with him.
An amazingly efficient way to get rid of unwanted company. Claire heard the sharp buzz of Thad’s words, low and muffled, and then only silence. She felt the change in the air and looked over her shoulder. There on the hillside above, stood a tall, powerful man with his hands on the handles of his holstered revolvers, shoulders wide, feet braced, his silence an undeniable warning.
Thad must have decided not to tangle with the Gable brothers because the mares took off at a gallop and the sleigh disappeared down the slope of the hill. Thad was leaving without getting his way. Without threats or a scene or worse.
He’ll be back. That single thought shot like ice down her spine.
“I’ll make sure he leaves.” Joshua stayed where he was, gun ready to fire, as alert as a soldier on point. “You might want to head on back to the house. Unless you want me to carry you back.”
The thought of his arms around her one more time, to have her cheek resting against the hard plane of his chest…why, the memory lingered with her and she could not purge it from her mind. She knew exactly how unyielding his upper chest would feel and how safe she’d been in his arms.
A tinkle of desire fluttered low and deep within her abdomen. Desire that she’d thought her wedding night had destroyed, so why did it seem to remain, a slow liquid beat?
If she were to lay her cheek on his chest again and hear the intimate rhythm of his heartbeat, then this physical response to him would intensify. And her lonely heart would begin to make foolish wishes that could never be found.
Just walk away, Claire. It was the sensible thing to do, and heaven knows she was a sensible woman. Or at least, it was her intention to be from now on. She was not a young girl. She was a woman widowed and wise to the truths of men.
You’re better off alone, she reminded herself firmly and turned away from the flesh-and-blood man. He was not a hero out of her dime novels where right always conquered evil, where heroes were always heroic and true love prevailed.
Fiction, only.
She had to make decisions for her life based on what was real. What was and not what could never be. “I’ll head inside under my own steam, thanks.”
“Well, you’re starting to look gray again. You go inside, warm up and rest. Take good care of yourself, Claire. Something tells me this isn’t the end of it. Only the beginning.”
You have no idea how right you are. She could feel the truth of it in the meat of her bones.
Winter blew callously on dark clouds that whisked over the sun. In the shadows, on snow dull like ice, she ambled up the graceful slope of her driveway and into the house where Adelaide waited and watched at the window, her gun in hand.
She was grateful for this family that had come into her life, for however brief and for however kind. Maybe she would take Joshua’s advice. She’d rest up. She had today and tomorrow to regain some of her strength so that come Monday morning she’d be able to endure the trip to town and whatever fate awaited her.
As she shut the door behind her and leaned on the wall for support, she couldn’t say why her gaze skimmed the slope of the hillside down to where Joshua kept guard. If her heart winced with want, she ignored it. There would be no more dreams of romance. Of love. Of believing a man so strong and fierce with his enemies could be tender to a woman, or have the heart to do so.
She shut the door firmly and did not look upon Joshua Gable again.
“What did Clise want?” Jordan said, his revolvers back in their holsters.
Joshua was proud of his little brother. He might make a good man yet. “He brought some papers for Claire to sign.”
“Makes you wonder why he’d drive out all this way on a Saturday, doesn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Joshua was wondering about a lot of things. What the Hamiltons wanted with this rocky, hard-to-till earth. What was on this property that mattered so much? Nothing that he could see. But then, some people just wanted anything they could get their hands on. “He’s gone for now. You fed the cattle?”
“Made sure their haymow was full and pumped some water. Should keep them until nightfall.” Jordan knelt to scoop his hand through the snow. He came away with a loose palmful and began to pack it. “What’s the deal with you and the widow?”
“What deal? I found her in a storm and helped her.”
“You’re helpin’ her still. Not that I mind getting my toes frostbit for the sake of a pretty lady, but I’d like to know the reason.”
“Some things aren’t for you to know, little brother.”
“I noticed a change about the time you shook the little widow’s hand at the funeral. Next thing I know, you were in a brawl with the Hamilton boys.”
“They threatened me.”
“No, they threatened her.”
“Don’t speculate on what you don’t understand.”
“Whatever you say, big brother. I’ll be headin’ over to the ridge, to keep a good sharp lookout in case Clise decides to double back. Or those Hamilton boys come callin’ again. They could be outta jail by now.”
“Anything’s possible. Thanks, Jordan. You did good.”
“Hey, I’m just lookin’ to protect my future sister-in-law.” With a wink he was gone, loping quick to get out of earshot.
“You’ve got that wrong, too, dumb ass!” he called, but he couldn’t summon up enough ire for a good hot anger.
It probably looked that way to everybody. A helpless widow on her own, against the law and her vicious in-laws. Of course a man might step up to help a woman he cared about. Except for two things. He didn’t care about her, and Claire Hamilton was no helpless widow. She might be down, but that was only temporary. The way she’d lit up like a prairie wildfire, all tough and bright and fearless, had surprised him, but only initially.
He’d never bought the image of a helpless woman, subservient and demure. If the women in his family were anything to go by, men were far more likely to be henpecked and browbeat. A woman was like a donkey. Not as big as a horse, but tougher, more stubborn and long lasting. And packed one hell of a kick.
/> If he felt attracted to the pretty widow, then it was only a physical thing. And passing. He’d been attracted to women before and it had gone as quick as it had sparked to life.
Attraction was a physical need, quickly relieved by a trip to the seedier parts of town. He was too smart to get involved and tied up and tied down by a woman looking for a man to henpeck, browbeat and provide for her.
Not that Claire Hamilton seemed to have a mean bone in her body. No, but she was strong. She was tenacious. And she’d put a bit of fear in the lawyer. Women just got their claws into a man, they couldn’t help it.
It was up to the man to be smart enough not to be caught.
And if that meant turning his back and walking away, then that’s what he’d do—as soon as he’d done what he was here to do. It was his overdeveloped sense of responsibility, as tough as a wild plains mustang.
He hadn’t put the fatal bullet in Ham’s chest, but he’d left Claire to do it in self-defense, something no woman should have to be forced to do. He’d set things to right for her and she’d be fine.
She’d probably have a husband by the end of the month, and rightfully so—a woman needed a man to provide for her. Then his conscience would be clear.
His conscience was the only reason he was here.
Or that’s what he told himself as he paced the hillside, keeping watch. When at last he heard the faint squeak of runners and the dulled clomp of horseshoes on the iced-over snow, he began to pack up. His brother Liam was here. He’d keep watch on things for a spell.
Joshua saddled up General. When he rode away, he didn’t look back. He refused to acknowledge the tug in his cold heart or the heat building in his loins as he remembered Claire, with her hair loose and tousled, standing against the wind and ready to fight.
It was an image that did not fade, not during the long cold journey home or throughout the exhausting day of hauling hay, feeding animals and mending fences.
It lingered into the night while he lay awake staring at the ceiling in his room and followed him into his dreams where it was not cold, but warm as fire and Claire’s long hair tumbling everywhere, in his hands, over her shoulders, against her creamy bare skin.