Rocky Mountain Widow. Jillian Hart

licked through him like the frigid wind. The doc had sworn he’d keep the woman away from Ham’s body. Haskins was a good man, a man of his word, so what had happened—

      “The deputy saw, too! And I told him what I know. How you’ve been threatening to shoot him in the back one night!” The woman was like a rabid dog, frothing and lost from reason.

      He had to stop her. “Calm yourself, Mrs. Hamilton. I have threatened him a dozen times before this, as he threatened me in return.”

      The truth of his confession boomed like thunder and the chatter surrounding him silenced. Joshua felt time stretch between one heartbeat and the next.

      “I saw the hole in his chest!”

      “You’re overwrought, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said gently, because she had the right to her grief. He was surprised he felt so much pity for her, in spite of the fact she was reminding everyone of the fact that he and Ham had come to blows before over the grazing lands. And the sheep. A fact he didn’t want to remind the deputy of.

      “Doc!” Before he could cast around through the crowd for sight of the only doctor in the entire county, Haskins was there, capable and calm, with medical bag in hand.

      Without exchanging so much as a look, Joshua knew the sawbones was on his side. On Claire’s side. With his quiet courtesy, the doctor took the older Mrs. Hamilton by the elbow and made calming noises.

      Just keep her calm, Doc. Joshua knew they would talk later, but for now, there was nothing more to do.

      “Excuse me.” Joshua touched his hat brim while the woman fell to her knees. He’d help, but he knew it would only aggravate the woman, and that was the last thing he needed or she deserved.

      It wasn’t her fault that her sons had turned out the way they did. There came a time when a man—or woman—had to own up to their shortcomings or hardships in life and take on the responsibility of them. It wasn’t Claire’s fault, either. She could not have forced her husband to walk a straighter path, for in the end, Ham’s actions were his own choice.

      And choices brought consequences.

      All too aware of Claire’s crumpled face, Joshua turned away from her. He could not offer aid, for the deputy was watching closely. Granny was tending to the young widow, whose knees were giving out, and had ordered someone to fetch a chair from inside the church.

      Snow pummeled the world as Joshua looked down at the mantled coffin. It was snowing hard enough, as if heaven were in a hurry to bury Ham’s remains.

       Goodbye, Ham. I’m sorry, but I think you’ll finally get what you deserve.

      The sound of thunder crashed through his head as he remembered the gunshot booming in the dark, the lash of Ham’s whip and Claire huddling on the ground at her husband’s feet. Joshua tipped his cap to the man dead at his feet and felt justice had been served—a rare thing in this world.

      He could leave and draw no one’s suspicions since most of the attention went to the widow and Ham’s mother. Joshua turned his back on the dead and started walking, for he could take no more of it. He did not want to remember that night. Soon, the truth would be buried with Hamilton. It was over.

      There was no reason to suspect him, Joshua hoped, despite the feud between him and the Hamilton family. Ham had plenty of enemies and the deputy had no evidence.

      “C’mon,” he commanded his littlest brother, who was in truth a half inch taller than Joshua. “Stop slathering over a pretty girl and put your mind on business.”

      “What business?” Jordan gave his girl a shrug, as if to say, Who knows what my brother is angry at now? The boy gave her a salute while Joshua pulled him away by the collar.

      “It’s time you learned some family responsibility. When we get home, you and I have tracking to do. Now get the horses and sleigh before I cuff your ears, boy.”

      “Right away, your majesty.” Jordan gave a regal bow before he slouched away in his loose-limbed, carefree manner.

      Someone should have swatted that boy on the bottom more when he was young. Joshua pretended it bothered him to no end and he barked out orders for Jordan to hurry up. If the storm got any worse, they’d have a hell of a time getting home, much less getting to work and to the herd needing his protection.

      But the livestock weren’t the only ones needing him.

      Was Claire Hamilton all right? Worry clutched his chest and he glanced over his shoulder. Granny was holding a flask to Claire’s lips and speaking to her softly. A swallow of Irish whiskey wasn’t likely to cure anything, but she obeyed, choking and gasping. Granny knelt to gather the widow’s hands in her own, speaking low and soft to her.

      Maybe Granny could look after her.

      It was a bracing thought. He felt Logan’s gaze boring into his back. The lawman was staring hard. Did he think he would be able to see Joshua’s secrets if he looked long enough? Troubled that the deputy continued to observe him, he forced a slow breath through his teeth and kept moving easy and slow.

      I’ve got to act like nothing happened. I came to pay my respects, and now I’m dragging my lazy brother home. Like he always did. Surely that was all the lawman would be able to see. Instead of Joshua’s guilt.

      “What’s your hurry?” Jordan grumbled as Joshua gave him a shove in the direction of the tethered horses. “I had Felicity Potter taking a sparkin’ to me. Do you know how long I’ve had to work for that?”

      “You? Work?” That was a laugh. Joshua forced his attention ahead, instead of behind him. “Get the horses ready and don’t complain to me about work.”

      “Golly, what’s put you in a bad mood?” He went about his work, sloppy as usual.

      The boy was gonna have to grow up sometime. Shaking his head, Joshua swept the snow from the sleigh cover. He didn’t mind giving up a life of marriage and restriction for the responsibility of taking over after their father’s shocking death.

      He’d done what he had to do, making sure the land and animals were managed and the family provided for and protected. But it was more than a one-man job these days.

      He sensed the presence behind him a heartbeat before he heard the faint ring of spurs and the pad of a footfall.

      “Joshua Gable.” The words carried on the lethal wind, cold and dark. “You’re a dead man.”

      His blood iced at the sight of Reed Hamilton, a dark presence more shadow than substance in the thick haze of snowfall. He held loaded revolvers in each hand aimed, dead center, at Joshua’s heart.

      Joshua didn’t hesitate. He drew.

       Chapter Two

      Claire Hamilton couldn’t make the nausea go away, nor the way her head kept feeling as if it were swinging to the right and then the left, like a tree branch caught in the clutches of a spring tornado. Not even the burning nastiness of Mrs. Adelaide Gable’s whiskey could clear her head.

      Of course, if she’d known it was liquor, she never would have taken a swig. She’d thought the elderly widow had handed her water.

      “Your color is coming back some, my dear.”

      Mrs. Gable gave a grandmotherly pat on the side of her face, which was more of a slap. Claire’s eyes watered.

      The elderly lady grinned. “That’s more like it. It’s always good to have a bit of fight in you. Now stand up. I’ve got you.”

      Mrs. Gable’s gruff kindness heartened her. She was in agony from being around so many people. From having to accept condolences that did not come across as sincere. How could they? She’d done her best, but surely her bruises could only be so well disguised.

      Anybody who’d met Ham