Vincent Dunhill.
CHAPTER 26
The cold bit through James’s coat as Thomas pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the livery, but the chill in his gut had nothing to do with the mountain air.
He’d pushed his brothers hard to get here, the wagon rattling over frozen ruts fast enough to jar his broken leg with every bump. The laudanum had worn off an hour into the journey, leaving nothing but raw pain and sharper fear.
Robert had offered more of the bitter medicine, but James refused. He needed his mind clear, needed to think past the fog that would come with another dose.
Rose was out here somewhere. Alone. In the cold.
And Vincent could be too.
Thomas jumped down from the driver’s seat and moved to help James, but he was already reaching for his walking sticks. The splint caught on the wagon’s edge, sending a bolt of fire through his knee that made his vision gray at the edges. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand.
The livery owner stepped out to meet them, wiping his hands on his leather apron. “Evening, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”
James forced his voice to remain steady despite the way his pulse hammered against his throat. “We’re looking for a woman. Red hair, green eyes. Would have come through sometime this afternoon, probably on foot.”
The man’s weathered face creased with thought. “Can’t say I’ve seen anyone matching that description. Been pretty busy today.”
The words twisted in his belly. She hadn’t made it here yet. Either that, or she’d avoided the livery entirely, found some other way out of town. Or?—
He couldn’t let himself finish that thought. He couldn’t envision all the possible dangers Rose might have met with.
“You’re certain?” Robert’s voice came from behind him.
“Pretty certain.” The livery owner scratched his jaw. “Though I did step out for a spell earlier. Helped old Henderson fix a wheel on his buggy. Could’ve missed someone then, I suppose.”
James’s grip tightened on his walking sticks until the wood bit into his palms. Every second they stood here talking was another second Rose was in danger.
“We need to search the town.” He turned to Thomas and Robert, ignoring the way the twist sent fresh pain lancing up his leg. “Split up. Check every building.”
“Think it’s better we stay together? Maybe start at Nelson’s?”
James studied Thomas, trying to work through the fog of pain and exhaustion that pressed against his thoughts.
Nelson’s. The saloon would be crowded this time of day—miners and ranch hands coming in from the cold, looking to warm themselves with whiskey and company. If Rose had somehow made it to town already, she wouldn’t have gone there. Too many eyes. Too many questions.
But someone there might have seen her outside.
“All right.” The words scraped past the tightness in his throat. “Nelson’s first, then we work our way down the street.”
Thomas nodded and turned to the livery owner. “Keep the horses in their harness but unhitch them from the wagon and feed them. We might need to leave in a hurry.”
The three of them started toward the saloon, James’s walking sticks biting into the packed, dirty snow with each step. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the fear coiling tighter around his ribs with every breath.
The saloon’s weathered sign creaked above them, and lamplight spilled from the windows onto the snow-dusted boardwalk. Voices and laughter drifted through the door—the familiar sounds of men seeking warmth and company after a long day’s work.
Thomas pushed through the entrance first, with Robert close behind. James followed, the sudden blast of heat and noise hitting him like an unwelcome force after the quiet cold outside.
The room stretched before him, packed with bodies and thick with the smell of whiskey, sweat, and wood smoke. His gaze swept across the crowded space, searching for any flash of auburn hair, any sign that Rose might have sought shelter here despite how unlikely it seemed.
Nothing. Just miners and ranch hands clustered around tables, their voices rising and falling in waves of conversation.
Then a familiar face emerged from the crowd near the bar. Bill Carter, the man who’d helped bring in the last of their hay before the first big snow. His weathered features were flushed with drink, and a wide grin split his face when he spotted them.
“Balfour boys!” Bill’s voice boomed across the room as he worked through the crowd toward them. “Drinks are on me tonight!”
