Jillian Hart - Rocky Mountain Widow

Wait—that wasn’t his teeth making that sound. It only seemed that way. That’s a whip. Striking flesh. A horse’s panicked neigh rang through the vast night, a hair-raising human sound of agony and terror.

Trouble.

His hand fisted around the reins and he was digging in his heels before it was a conscious thought. The pinto cannoned into the dark, hooves striking the frozen earth.

What mad men are out here tonight? Joshua bowed his head into the frigid wind and pressed his mount harder. He was glad he had his .45 strapped to his thigh and loaded. And, in case he needed it, his repeating Winchester strapped in its holster to the saddle.

Faster. Whatever trouble lay ahead, the coyotes began to howl somewhere nearby. The womanlike screams of the horse rose in pitch, shattering the night, tolling across the vast reaches of the prairie like an echo without end, and when the terrified scream ended abruptly, the silence spoke of death.

I’m too late. Remorse ripped like razor-sharp talons through his chest. He hated an animal’s suffering. Which was why his rage was fueled tonight. He’d come to stop Ham.

And if that no-good bastard was abusing another animal… Joshua felt the pressure build beneath the top of his skull. That horse better be all right, or I’ll —

A flash of lightning stabbed from the heavens, and in that brief instant of white, eye-burning illumination, he saw the motionless body of a horse sprawled dark against the crusted white rise. A shattered wagon. A beefy man with his arm uplifted and the sinuous lash snaking back for another strike, but it was not directed at the horse.

Is that a woman?

The skin prickled at the back of Josh’s neck with a horrible foreboding. As the flare faded into impenetrable black, he made out another shadow on the ground, but the darkness came too swiftly for him to recognize it.

And then his mind latched onto the image, and rage burned so hot he became like the night. Like the clap of thunder, he struck, uncoiling the lasso at his saddle horn. And as Ham’s whip snapped in the indecipherable shadows, Joshua felt destiny begin to unravel like his coiled rope. Fate was set when the noose fell and caught.

Got ya. One jerk was all it took to disarm the lowdown varmint who wasn’t even fit to be called a man. He vaguely registered the foul cursing of a drunk—yep, it sure sounded as if Ham was liquored up good.

Joshua hauled in his noose, coiled up the lariat for later use and seized the captured whip in his left hand. This left his right free in case he needed to draw.

“Hamilton, you coward. Are you always gonna pick on women and animals? Or are you ready to take on someone who’s your own damn size?”

“I could take you down with one hand tied behind my back, you son of a bitch. Get the devil off my land.”

“Or what? You’re gonna throw me off? I’m a man, not a helpless sheep.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Ham growled like a rabid dog ready to fight. His teeth were bared as another bolt of lightning knifed overhead in warning.

“It means I’ve found one carcass too many. How long have you been killing my sheep now? One month? Almost two? It’s not gonna drive me off the grazing land. And since the deputy won’t do a damn thing, I’m gonna make my own justice.”

The mare that lay like a hump at the side of the road became more visible as the clouds churning in the sky gave off a blue-black glow from the lightning. There was movement—not only the ripple and toss of mane and tail in the rough wind, but her sides rising and falling—short and uneven, but the mare was breathing.

He remembered the animal’s tortured screams and his guts clenched so tight he could taste the bile on his tongue. She was a greater concern, but Joshua knew if he mentioned the helpless woman as equally still on the ground, then Ham’s temper would go.

And Ham was much closer in proximity to his wife. He’d hurt her first, the vicious bastard. Joshua gripped the leather until the braid’s pattern bit into his palm, scenting the metallic smell of blood in the air and sour fear on the wind. The boiling rage that had first coursed through his veins turned to ice. Not from fear, but determination.

“When you kill my livestock, you’re taking from me. From my family,” Joshua growled.

“I didn’t kill those sheep. Not last week, not a month ago. Not today. Besides—” Ham’s voice rose in volume and acidity. “This is cattle county.”

Joshua didn’t miss the muted rasp, although Ham pitched his voice high enough to try to hide it. Ham was sneaky, but Joshua had learned long ago how to deal with sneaky varmints. And he knew exactly what Ham planned to do next.

As the blackness closed around them, thunder cracked overhead. Joshua let the rolling crash from above hide the snap as he sent the whip snaking through the darkness. It struck with a vengeance before Hamilton could draw.

Victory. Joshua tasted it as Ham cursed in pain and the gun thudded to the earth.

“I need three things from you, Hamilton.” He aimed his .45 at the drunk’s chest. “Restitution for the sheep you killed—”

“That’s what happens when those worthless varmints are too stupid to stay where they belong.”

“I leased the grazing lands fair and square. They’re mine, and they belong there—” Joshua paused as the woman moaned. He waited. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

“She’s about as dumb as one of your lambs. Too stupid to live. I—”

“Shut up, Ham. This is a matter for the law.”

I’m not dead. Claire tried to concentrate, but the voices faded and then returned. The pain in her head boomed like a firing cannon inside her skull. She tried to move, but pain paralyzed her and she realized that something warm was trickling down her face.

Blood. She also realized Ham towered over her, jerking and trembling like he did in a rage, right before he became lethally violent.

Her thoughts were fragments. What had happened? Was the baby safe? Who was shouting at Ham? She couldn’t recognize the man’s voice. Couldn’t he understand the danger? Ham had to be talked to quietly, steadily until he calmed. It was the only way. She had to get up and intervene. Groggy, she tried to sit up.

I can’t move.

Panic crowded into her throat and she shoved at something hard. Something wooden. A piece of the broken wagon pinned her hips to the ground. Her fingers gripped the broken edge of board and she gritted her teeth, heaving. She felt as if a razor blade sliced through her low abdomen.

The baby. She collapsed onto the ground, dizzy as the heated voices rose in volume and threats. What was going on? She could only see an upward slash from the ground to the sky until lightning blinded her.

Ham’s furious bellow. It was going to be even worse for her as soon as Ham got her home. “I ain’t takin’ this from a sheep man!”

“The deputy is your good buddy, I know, but listen up good—”

Claire caught a glimpse of the intruder as the rolling thunder drowned out their argument. He sat on horseback, a big bold cut of a man as dark as the night, as powerful as the thunder, and as lethal as the fierce lightning that pounded overhead.

Ham’s fingers inched to his revolvers, ever present in their holsters, strapped to his thighs within easy reach. How many times had he threatened her with those guns?

Claire closed her eyes, trying to find strength where there was none. Hope when she’d given up. Whatever tiny drop of relative safety she’d been able to forge for herself in her marriage was about to be gone, but she couldn’t let Ham hurt this man, she couldn’t—