Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) by Jillian Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

muzzleand 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.
    â€œYou’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.
    â€œHey!” 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. Hefollowed 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.