Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Widow - Jillian Hart - Страница 10

Claire didn’t know where she was or if the horses had been able to find the way, for the snow was falling so hard she couldn’t see the tips of Thor’s ears. She only knew the storm was worsening. And so was the pain knifing from her womb and radiating down her inner thighs. Unbearable ripping pain.

I’m just tired, that’s all. She clung stubbornly to that thought as tightly as she gripped the leather top of Thor’s shoulder harness. She needed to get home and lie down. Rest, just like the doc said. And then she’d be fine.

She was up too soon after losing the baby, that was all. She willed the pain to stop. Willed it with all of her strength, all of her being. The rock of the giant horse’s gait lanced through her midsection. If she could make it home, that’s what she needed. But how far?

The prairie stretched out around her, lost in the blinding whiteout. She couldn’t tell exactly how far she’d already come. The snow scrubbed like ice at her eyes as the storm worsened. Gradually she could see nothing but endless white, whirling snow. Not even her own mittens in front of her face.

Thor will get me home. The thought sustained her. Time had passed—how much she didn’t know, but enough that they had to be nearly home. And that meant rest.

Her bed was waiting, the feather mattress would feel like a cloud after this hard ride, and the flannel sheets and thick goose-down comforter as warm as melted butter. She’d lay her head on her feather pillow and let her heavy eyelids drift shut.

Thor’s pace seemed to pick up. Maybe he sensed her need. That would explain why the pain came more quickly. And if the pain changed from hurt to agony, from agony to killing, then it was because she was tired. And if she felt warm instead of cold and then hotter, it was her desperation.

We’re almost home, she thought, surprised at how hard it was to breathe. Her pulse drummed in her ears and her head seemed to throb with it. Air rasped into her lungs. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.

Maybe it was the storm. Or the cold. She didn’t know. Or the shock of seeing Joshua Gable at the funeral. Of having him act as if nothing had gone on between them, as if he hadn’t roped Ham like a steer and berated him for his cruel treatment of her. He hadn’t deserved Ham pulling a gun on him, and he’d defended himself. He’d defended her.

Joshua Gable’s gunshot had been the cause of Ham’s death, but she wasn’t going to tell that to anyone.

Thor’s gait became horribly jarring. It couldn’t be the pain was getting worse. No, she couldn’t allow that thought. Because she had to hold on. She’d lost her baby, she didn’t want to lose her life.

A pain clamped like a vulture’s claw and then squeezed. Talons dug deep into her insides, tearing. Ripping. Warmth slid from her body. No, after all she had survived—Ham’s treatment and beatings and the wagon accident, her miscarriage and now this, she would not give up now. She buried her face in the horse’s ice-caked mane and gritted her teeth, hanging on with all her might.

She tried to hold back the next pain, but it was too strong, an enemy too big to fight or to placate. A sickening wave of nausea washed through her and she fought that down, too. She would not give in. She’d will the contractions to stop, the warm seep of blood to cease. She was going to be okay. She had to be.

Agony seized her from the inside, the talons turning into something more monstrous. It was as if her entire abdomen was being vised from the inside out, and the torture blinded her. Seemed to enter every inch of her body until she was screaming helplessly.

She was slipping, her arms and hands clutched Thor’s harness but her muscles turned watery. Her strength drained away and she was sliding down the horse’s flank, falling like the ruthless snow, tumbling until she hit the unforgiving ground.

Someone help me. The vise within her twisted hard. There was only the bright flash of white sparks before her eyes and then she felt the vising gain strength. She lay helpless on the ground, shrouded by snow. Alone.

The physical pain tearing like a hungry predator at her flesh was nothing, nothing at all. Her heart was shattering, and that pain was why she cried out in the worsening storm, why the icy crust of snow beneath her or the dangerous cold did not hurt her.

Unable to move, lost and alone, feeling the life’s blood drain out of her, she listened to the storm rage on, cruel and lethal, as if there was no more hope in this bleak and bitter world.

Joshua cursed the timing of the storm. No, it couldn’t blow over, not on this day when responsibility weighed like an anvil around his throat. The blasted storm seemed to be gathering speed for an all-out blizzard.

It was too early in the year. He’d prepared for bad weather early. This was Montana Territory, and unforgiving storms were a possibility every year. He considered himself a top-notch rancher who accounted for every possibility, but not today. He had some things to say to Claire Hamilton and they needed to be said now. Today. Before Logan or Ham’s brothers decided to make good on their threats to find the truth.

The truth would stay buried with Ham, and Joshua would make damn sure of it. But nothing had been that simple. Ham’s brothers had made it clear they didn’t like him, yet how did either of them know he’d been out Ham’s way that night? Claire. He had to talk to her. He had to know what she might have said—either intentionally or by mistake.

The widow wasn’t his only problem. As Joshua pulled his hands out of his coat pockets to shake the thick layer of iced snow from his muffler and hat, he figured his brother and grandmother ought to have reached the shelter of home by now. His brother—that troubled Joshua, too.

The boy had taken one of the horses, leaving the mare of the matched team to pull Granny’s sleigh to the family ranch. But his younger brother knew something was amiss.

“I thought you had a fire beneath your britches to get chores done,” Jordan had observed, slouched as usual in the seat. “Now you’re headin’ off and orderin’ me to drive Granny home?”

He had been too irritated, Joshua realized in hindsight as he jammed his fists back into his pockets. “I have things that need seein’ to.”

“Things.” Jordan had sounded doubtful as he’d exerted enough effort to shake the snow from his hat brim. “Why in the hell are you watchin’ the road to the mountains? Maybe you could enlighten me, oh lord and master.”

“At least you acknowledge my supremacy,” Joshua had ground out, his fury rising at his brother’s pesky questions. Of course he was in charge. Where would they be if Jordan had taken over the reins of the family? They’d all be starved, homeless and slouching. “Just follow orders and take Granny home. There’s something I gotta do.”

“What? We’re heading into the mountains, eh? Agggh!” Jordan slugged the dashboard in frustration. “I can’t believe you’re doin’ this! I know where you’re going.”

I should have left the conversation there, Joshua thought as he nudged his left spur gently against General’s flank, keeping him on the road that was nearly impossible to see. I should have let him think what he wanted instead of tipping my hand. And now…

A hard gust of wind lashed against him, driving ice through the layers of fur, wool and flannel. Joshua shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. If Jordan guessed any of the truth, then an innocent woman would go to jail, for the simple fact of defending herself. For what other reason could gentle Claire Hamilton have killed her husband?

He remembered the image of that night, when Ham had first come into sight with his arm back holding a whip ready to strike the fallen woman. Why, he should have killed the man himself and saved her the trouble.

Bile filled his throat. Father had always been one to look the other way, not to get involved in other fools’ problems, and look where it had gotten him, shot in the back and left to bleed out in the far grazing fields. Playing it safe had not protected Father one bit. And yet, matters could not have been worse if he had taken aim and pulled the trigger instead of Claire. It was a mess.

But like this blizzard, it would soon pass and be forgotten. What he had to do was make sure of it.

General had veered off the road again, fetlock-deep in drifting snow. It wasn’t fair to drag the horse out in this. He’d put in a hard day hauling yesterday. Riding into the brunt of the storm was wearing on him. Joshua took his hand out of his pocket to pat the gelding’s neck, encouraging him. He’d make sure the horse got warmed mash as soon as they got home.

“We gotta keep going, fella.”

When the gelding didn’t respond to knee pressure or a flat edge of the spur, he lifted the reins from the saddle horn, shook off the caked snow, and added pressure to the bit.

General sidestepped to a halt. His opinion was clear. He didn’t like the storm any more than Joshua did.

“Sorry, buddy, we gotta—”

Was it his imagination, or did the wind have a strange keel to it? He stopped and cocked his ear. There was something in the wind, a low note to the eerie howling of the wind. A horse? A rider in trouble? “General, you are a fine horse. You take me to ’em.”

He gave the gelding his head, and the big animal stumbled in the drifts of snow and hidden clumps of dead buffalo grass. As if the storm were a living thing, determined to hold them back, the wind pummeled them, driving the snow horizontal, closing them off from the world.

While he knew the grand rise of the Rocky Mountains ought to be jutting straight up from the prairie floor directly ahead, he could see only an endless curtain of gray-white that fell around him, draping him from the rest of the world.

It was damn dangerous letting General wander off the road. More good men than he could count had become lost in weather like this. The sounds of the wind and the thickly blowing snow confused a man’s sense of direction and isolated him from every visual landmark. A man would wander off course and freeze to death, sometimes having come within a few feet of his own house or barn.

But one thing was certain—if he didn’t help, then whoever or whatever was in trouble was facing a death sentence.

He did his best to fix in his mind the position of the road. If he could find the road and keep to it, then eventually it would lead him to shelter. If he could survive the below-zero winds.

General was a well-trained horse, a pure Morgan, strong, sturdy and smart as a whip. He had good horse instincts, and they served both of them well as he pricked his ears, listening. The wind seemed to be teasing them with its sound. It had become a living thing, a lethal force, allowing them a hint of sound and then blowing it away.

But General was true—he halted abruptly and stood. Whatever he found was at his feet.

“Good boy.” Joshua dismounted, stiff from the cold, and without a saddle beneath him, slid easily to the ground. He sank into snow well over his ankles. He couldn’t see a thing. “What did you find, boy?”

Then he heard it—a faint nicker. Not a nicker exactly, but it was some animal in trouble. Joshua trudged forward, keeping a hand on General to guide him along. A shadow moved in the endless swirl of snow. A big Clydesdale with his head hung low lumbered out of the shadows and bumped confused into Joshua.

The impact nearly knocked him off his feet. Joshua realized the animal was panicked and suffocating. How long he’d been standing in this was anyone’s guess. And he was not alone. Another draft horse huddled behind him, looking even more frightened.

All it took was a hand to the animal’s frozen muzzle and most of the snow that had iced to his warm nostrils broke away. The workhorse shook his head, his sides heaving in strong currents of air.

I hate to think what would have happened to you, fella. Joshua prided himself on his no-nonsense toughness, but he couldn’t abide the thought of any animal suffering. He caught the Clydesdale’s thick reins and realized they were driving reins. He’d been harnessed to something but was loose now.

With the shadows of the storm and the thick mantle of white on the animal’s coat, he couldn’t make out the color of the big boy’s coat, but there was something familiar. Neck-pricking familiar.

“You’re not out here alone, are you, boy?” In the instant it took for Joshua to puzzle out the possibilities—a sleigh accident, a runaway animal, vandals—none of them felt right. The big horse sank his teeth in Joshua’s jacket hem and pulled.

“Hey!” He lifted his arm to try to pry away, but then he realized the horse was deliberately pulling him along. What a loyal friend this horse was. Instead of running off to find shelter and survive, the big fella had stuck with his master. That meant someone was hurt—

And then realization hit him like the full-force wind, and he stumbled. The horse—that was a star on his forehead, wasn’t it? The horse Claire had ridden off on had the same markings. Claire. What had happened to her? If those brothers of Ham’s had slipped away and followed her…

Fury roared through him until he felt ten feet tall and powerful enough that no storm could hamper him. He followed the horse a few more feet and there, sprawled in the snow, looking as if part of the rumpled prairie, was a form.

Claire.

Frigid shock washed through him and he dropped to his knees. Expecting the worst, already seeing her dead frozen face in his mind’s eye, he gently laid his gloved hand on her snow-covered shoulder.

Was she breathing? Was she alive? Agony twisted through him as he wrestled with his glove. Ice crackled, and he finally sank his teeth into the loose wool around his fingertips and yanked. The instant his warmed skin was exposed, the vicious cold sank into it. He ignored the pain as he slipped his fingers beneath the layers of her wraps and felt along the cool satin of her neck for her pulse.

Nothing.

Hell. He didn’t know if his fingers were too numb to feel her pulse, or if there wasn’t one to feel. He suspected it was the latter, and sorrow cleaved through him. He had to cover his face, had to take a breath before he could try to figure out what to do. What had happened here? She’d been pale and weak, he’d remembered that from the funeral. But Granny never would have let her go if she’d been truly ill.

Had it been the Hamiltons? Had they done something to her? Did they suspect the truth? Is that why they’d followed her? But how could the boys have gotten ahead of him on the road, when he’d left them behind arguing things out with the deputy? Well, they could know a shortcut.

The road was the long way around—there was no telling how fast they could have caught up with her had they disregarded property lines and ridden their horses through pastures and grazing land? What had those ruffians done? And to a helpless woman? Agony was torn from his chest as he swept the snow from her motionless form. She lay facedown, with her hands clutched beneath her as if she’d died in agony, her legs akimbo, her face turned away, her soft woolen outer wrapping iced stiff.

It took him a moment to realize the sheen of dark crimson staining the skirt and seeping upward through the snow was blood. A whole lot of it.

I’m so sorry, Claire.

She didn’t deserve this. No woman did. To be struck down and left alone to die. Misery coursed through him. I should have been with you. I should have protected you. He’d played a hand in the course of events. And he knew what the Hamilton brothers would do if they figured out the truth.

That made him responsible for her death, too. Sickened, he let the storm’s fury batter him. He’d failed. It had been a long time since he’d failed someone. He put his face in his hands and closed his eyes. I didn’t want this. Grief left him as cold as the blizzard. As the vicious winds rocked him, he vowed to take care of her now. The past couldn’t be changed.

Life once lost could not be brought back. And he couldn’t think of how he’d go on, knowing he’d failed to protect her. Knowing that his suspicions had been right.

The big Clydesdale nickered, nudging his mistress with his nose, an affectionate gesture. His head hung low and stayed there, his sadness palpable.

I can’t leave her here. Joshua gathered his strength. He’d take care of her from here on out. Too late, his conscience mocked him, as he leaned over her and caught sight of her face in profile, her skin nearly translucent, lying as still as an angel. With her dark lashes long and curled and the ethereal cut of her fine cheekbones and chin, she could have been a snow angel taken form. She’d been such a sweet thing, he thought, though he’d hardly known her.

Maybe it was just his wishful thinking that somewhere in this world there could be a kind and gentle woman, instead of one out for her own gain. Maybe it was how vulnerable she’d been that night he’d come to her aid and how small she seemed now as he gathered her into his arms.

Her lifeless body was still supple and as he adjusted her against his chest, he swore he felt a soft exhale of breath against the underside of his jaw, where his muffler had fallen away. But no, that had to be the feathery snow, for the sensation was cold, not warm.

He just couldn’t believe she was gone, that he was clinging to false hope. The Clydesdale lumbered at his side, his nostrils wide and sniffing over his mistress. An eerie trumpet of a neigh sounded from the big boy’s throat—one of pure sorrow.

General stood at attention, the good horse he was, and he did not balk or sidestep at the scent of blood and death. Joshua supposed some men would think it prudent to strap her body to the back of her horse, but he couldn’t bear it.

She’d died alone. She felt as cold as the wind against him, and seemed to seep a deeper cold into him, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave her alone. Hell, he was sick with regrets and grief. He hefted her onto General’s back—she didn’t weigh more than a hundredpound grain sack, and it saddened him as he climbed up behind her.

He gathered her into his arms, her weight falling softly against his chest. He fought a powerful thrust of emotion. His heart felt as desolate as the frozen plains as he turned General and struggled to find their tracks in the wild haze of falling snow.

General’s hoofprints were nearly swept clean. After a few yards, they were gone completely. He was alone with a dead woman and three horses, and no idea which way to safety or the open prairie.

He wasn’t a praying man. He’d lost faith in most things long ago. But a little help wouldn’t be unappreciated, he thought, as he tried to gauge if the wind had a direction—if it was coming from the mountains, west, then he could keep the wind straight at his back and he’d eventually come upon homesteads and, finally, town.

But no, fate wasn’t about to lend him a hand. The wind was twisting and swirling as the blizzard hit its momentum. A clap of thunder echoed overhead—a sure sign the storm was worsening. Even if he could find the road, the temperature was dropping. Well below zero, Joshua figured. He couldn’t sustain his body temperature long enough to reach town.

As for a homestead, there weren’t many on this desolate part of the Montana plains for this very reason. The winters were so brutal few could stick it out.

The only hope he had was to keep going. He’d climb off and walk if he had to. This would keep his blood pumping for a while. But it would only delay the inevitable. If he was as far from town as he figured he was, then he was a doomed man.

Maybe it was justice, he figured, as he brushed snow from Claire’s face, an eye for an eye. One life for another.

She relaxed against his throat and he felt it then, the faintest tickle.

Claire Hamilton was as still as the dead, but one thing was sure. It was impossible. He didn’t believe it even as he ripped off his glove and felt her pulse again—nothing. His fingers were too frozen, that’s what he told himself, even as he figured she had to be gone.

Then he felt it: a weak feathering against his wrist. She was breathing. She was alive.