Rocky Mountain Widow. Jillian Hart

of horse and rider, confident and powerful as he rode closer, and then he was beside her, dusted with white, and flesh-and-blood real.

      What a man. How he had sneaked up on her, she didn’t know. She could feel his nearness like a summer’s wind against her skin. And now she could sense him like a whisper in her soul—a whisper she didn’t want.

      Like that night, he came to her out of a storm, and although she was free from her marriage, she was not free from her fear. Joshua Gable wanted something. He was a man. She’d learned the hard way there were no heroes left to believe in. True love did not exist except in fairy tales.

      She was no longer a girl of eighteen. She was a woman who’d learned the truth about life and marriage. She was a widow with experience and hard lessons learned. She would never believe in a man again.

      Not even in Joshua Gable, who was hardworking and sincere and had shown her kindness on a night without mercy.

      But that was over now, and they could never speak of it again. Before he could say another word, she shook her head, stopping him from saying whatever he’d come to her to say.

      With a twist of the reins, she guided the horses down into the fallow field siding the road and nosed them toward home, grateful for the storm that whipped around her in a swirl of white and haze, stealing her from Joshua’s sight.

      She didn’t look back.

       Chapter Three

      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