Rocky Mountain Widow (Historical) by Jillian Hart Page A

were so brutal few could stick it out.
    The only hope he had was to keep going. He’d climb off and walk if he had to. This would keep his blood pumping for a while. But it would only delay the inevitable. If he was as far from town as he figured he was, then he was a doomed man.
    Maybe it was justice, he figured, as he brushed snow from Claire’s face, an eye for an eye. One life for another.
    She relaxed against his throat and he felt it then, the faintest tickle.
    Claire Hamilton was as still as the dead, but one thing was sure. It was impossible. He didn’t believe it even as he ripped off his glove and felt her pulse again—nothing. His fingers were too frozen, that’s what he told himself, even as he figured she had to be gone.
    Then he felt it: a weak feathering against his wrist. She was breathing. She was alive.

Chapter Four
    A live. Barely. Joshua cursed the Hamiltons. Who else would have done this to her? The fierce weather would reveal no clue of where they were.
    What was the good in finding her if they were lost? Already, he knew she was too cold. She might very well die before General could take two more steps. And the realization forced fear into his veins, then a calmer determination.
    He’d not failed her yet. Strong with purpose, he gave General his head. The gelding had good horse sense. “Shelter,” he told the animal, although he knew the wind snatched the words away so that the horse could not hear them.
    Cold coiled tight in Josh’s guts as he cradled the widow against his chest. He’d will warmth into her cold body if he could. He’d will life. If they could find a place to weather the storm, perhaps he could save her. Warm her up and tend her wounds and… Who was he kidding?he thought bitterly as General came to a dead halt. They were lost on the open prairie.
    Now what? Joshua looked to his right and then his left. Saw only a gray-white shroud. Ahead he could not make out the General’s head—his dark neck rose up into the swirling whiteness and disappeared.
    Behind them, he knew Claire’s Clydesdales were there, obediently following their mistress, but he could see nothing of the great animals. If the wind stopped, then they’d have a fighting chance. But as the blizzard raged, there was no change. No way to be sure of a direction.
    Their survival was up to him. The horse was confused, and that had been Josh’s last hope. Now, he had to pick—right or left, not knowing if it was north or if it was any other bearing. It won’t matter, he thought sadly, as he lifted one hand from Claire’s limp body to break away at the ice massed over his muffler.
    As he rewrapped his muffler, he was intensely aware of the woman in his arms, her weight almost as nonexistent as her life. He brushed the accumulating snow from her head, shoulders and face, and turned the horses right. These efforts might be in vain, Joshua figured as he urged General to a faster pace, but he would not be like some who curled up into the snow to let the blizzard win. He would not go without a fight.
    His will was iron strong as he bowed his head into the wind.
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    Awareness came to her in small pieces.
    Claire heard the wind first, the eerie, alive sound of a winter wind at full force. This was the vicious windthat came from the far north and rode the glaciers of the rugged Rocky Mountain Range and swooped down gaining speed on the prairie below.
    She recognized, too, the wild shriek of the blizzard as it drove snow in an impenetrable shield. Snow pellets hammered into the ground. The sounds confused her, because she could not remember where she was as she struggled toward consciousness.
    But it was too far a length to reach, caught as if in a dreamlike place she feared Ham would find her. The wagon had broken apart, she remembered that clearly enough. The falling. The ruthless pain as she struck the earth. The lash of a whip against her flesh.
    That must