The cold had seeped so deep into Rose’s bones that even the memory of warmth felt like something from another life.
She pressed herself deeper into the shadows across from the livery, clutching her carpetbag against her chest. If only it could shield her from more than just the wind. Three hours of walking through snow had left her legs trembling and her feet numb inside her boots. The single bag she’d arrived with—the same one she’d carried from Virginia City all those weeks ago—felt heavier now than it had when she’d left the ranch.
Left James.
The thought speared fresh pain through her chest, sharper than the bitter wind cutting down Walnut Springs’s main street.
She’d done the right thing. She had.
James deserved better than the constant reminder of how her mother had brought his mother’s killer into their home. Better than looking at her face every day and remembering that awful truth.
Even if leaving him felt like tearing out her own heart.
Across the street, the livery remained frustratingly busy. Two men stood near the entrance, their voices carrying as they discussed horse prices. Another emerged from inside, leading a gray mare by the reins. She needed them all to leave. Needed just the proprietor alone so she could buy a mount without drawing attention, without anyone else remembering the red-haired woman who’d come through Walnut Springs on foot.
The memory of hoofbeats thundering down the trail behind her hours ago still made her pulse quicken. She’d barely had time to throw herself into the trees before the rider had passed—Thomas, she’d recognized him even at a distance by the set of his shoulders, the way he rode like he’d been born in the saddle. His horse had been running hard, foam flecking its neck, heading toward town with urgent purpose.
Coming after her, most likely.
The thought should have made her feel special. Wanted.
Instead it only twisted the knife already lodged in her chest. One of the brothers had come after her, yes. But her heart craved for that brother to be James.
Of course he couldn’t ride with a broken leg though.
The ache in her chest intensified until she had to press her gloved hand against her ribs. She could still feel the warmth of his arms around her in the barn yesterday, still taste his kiss. The way he’d looked at her, like she was something precious and worth protecting?—
She’d destroyed all of that by telling him the truth.
The image of his face this morning haunted her. The way all color had drained from his skin, the terrible stillness that had settled over him as her words sank in. She’d watched something die in his eyes, watched the warmth that had always been there for her flicker and go cold.
He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t told her to leave or stay. Just stood there gripping that letter while she apologized and fled like the coward she was.
A gust of wind whipped down the street, spiraling snow devils across the packed dirt. She hunched deeper into her coat, but the cold had already worked its way through the wool. How much longer could she stand here waiting?
The boarding house down the street beckoned with its promise of warmth and shelter. She could see lamplight glowing in the windows, could almost smell the coffee and hot food that would be served in the dining room.
The temptation to slip inside, to rest her frozen limbs and warm her numb fingers around a cup of hot coffee, pulled at her with almost physical force. But she didn’t dare.
Not when Thomas was in town searching for her.
And the longer she lingered in Walnut Springs, the more likely someone would remember seeing her. Maybe even connect her to Vincent’s missing person notice.
She couldn’t risk it.
A figure emerged from a building down the street, and she shrank deeper into the shadows. Just a miner by the look of him, his coat dusted with dirt or rock powder. But her heart hammered anyway, her body coiled tight and ready to run.
The miner passed without a glance in her direction, his boots crunching through the snow as he headed toward the saloon. Her pulse began to slow, but her muscles remained taut, ready to bolt.
Another man appeared, this one dressed like he lived in town, walking with purpose down the boardwalk toward her. She fumbled with the clasp on her carpetbag, ducking her head as though searching for something inside. She’d done this several times over the past hour—pretend to be occupied, avoid eye contact, wait for them to pass.
But this time, the footsteps slowed.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
She forced herself to look up. The middle-aged man stood a few feet away, concern etched across his features. His clothes marked him as a shopkeeper, maybe, or a clerk. The kind of man who noticed things. Who remembered faces.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She tried to smile, though her frozen cheeks made it hard to tell if she’d succeeded.
