Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) by Jillian Hart

indomitable he’d seemed with those wide logger’s shoulders of his and the dark crop of hair framing his rugged face.
    He’d walked so tall, in her view, when he’d stood up to Ham. When he’d met Ham’s brothers’ violence stone for stone. He was a man who looked as if he could have made good on that promise easily.
    I shouldn’t have been so blunt with Joshua Gable. Then she wouldn’t be alone with this problem now. Not that she would ever use anyone, but she didn’t have to drive him away. She could have accepted his help. She could have found a way to compensate him. Her words came back to her, hard and shameful. You’re a man, and that means you want something.
    What a terrible way to treat a man who’d done nothing but help her. She knew there was a reason behind his offer, but she wouldn’t have minded paying what he wanted. She’d just…looked at him and seen a man, any man. She’d been wrong to malign Joshua so easily. He may have his own reasons for helping her.
    Well, as it was, she was now alone with an oldwoman to protect. Somehow, she had to figure out if trouble was outside her door and, if so, to stop it.
    If only she knew how to use a gun. Ham’s revolvers, if she could reach them, were hung across the nail next to the front door. Two of his many rifles were below the elk head. Another—his older, single-loading pistol—sat on the edge of the mantel. She’d be more effective throwing them at Ham’s brothers than trying to shoot them.
    Reed and Rick were excellent marksmen. Unless she got in a lucky surprise shot, she’d be far too outgunned to risk it. No, she’d have to defeat them another way. This was her home and her land.
    Hers alone now. She had nowhere else to go. She’d been homeless before, cast out with her mother after her father’s death. She’d lived in the back of an abandoned store off of Second Street in a little town in the Dakotas until the fever that had taken Pa had drained the life from Ma as well.
    Yes, she knew what it meant to be without a roof over her head. She was no longer a child. She was a capable woman, and she was not about to be bullied around by anyone. Not ever again.
    If only she could lift her head farther off the pillow.
    Come on, Claire. Try harder. You have to do this. The hollow pounding in her head increased until it felt as if someone was standing behind her with an ax and swinging.
    Her temples squeezed with agony and she collapsed back into the pillows. Okay, she wasn’t going to be able to stand upright. But she couldn’t lie here. What optionsdid that leave? Staying here helplessly while the Hamiltons seized her house and put her out into the wintry night?
    No, not while she drew breath. All the steel she’d developed from living beneath Ham’s boot had not made her a victim, nor had it made her weak. She hadn’t realized how strong her will had become. Like iron shaped in a forge, she pushed the pillows and thick furs onto the floor and rolled.
    More pain, but she refused to give in to the jagged claws of it. She took a moment to catch her breath, but it wouldn’t come. Move anyway, Claire. You have to do this.
    She had no choice. Since she couldn’t stand, and her knees were like water, there was only one way to move forward. Her body screamed in protest as she pushed her right arm forward, her forearm scraping against the rough floorboards. With all of her steely will, she dragged her body forward.
    One inch. Two inches. Then there was no more strength. She collapsed, her chin resting against the wood. Dizziness tormented her. Nausea overwhelmed her. The hammer inside her skull was breaking through the bone. A cold sweat popped out on her skin and her vision wavered.
    I will not lose consciousness. She clawed ahead, hardly moving an inch, but it was progress. She slid her left arm along the cracked grain of a floorboard.
    A nail