She scooped up the small body—so light it was almost nothing in her hands—and gently lowered it into the basket. The cat didn't struggle, didn't try to escape; it simply curled into a ball, tucking its nose under its tail, and let out a long, contented sigh.
Poor baby.Ivy closed the lid and latched the top, her hands trembling slightly. She was about to arrive at a new position, in a new town, knowing no one but Cora and Rose Collier—and now she'd have to explain why she'd brought along a stray cat that no one wanted.Mr. Rees might refuse to hire me,she thought as she hurried toward the train.He might take one look at the cat and decide I'm not sensible enough to care for his daughter.
Ivy climbed aboard just as the train began to move, finding her seat and settling the basket carefully on her lap. Through the woven willow, she could hear purring—that same thunderous rumble that had first captured her heart. “You need a name,” she said softly.
After unwinding the reticule strings from her wrist and tucking it into her satchel, Ivy slightly opened the lid and rubbed between its ears.
“Something that suits you. I don’t even know if you’re a boy or girl. So maybe a neutral name.”
The cat tilted up its chin for more scratches. The poor thing had survived despite everything—the cold, the hunger, the cruelty of people who saw no value in its small life.
“Brave,” Ivy decided. “Your name is Brave.”
The purring seemed to grow louder, as if in approval.
She leaned her head against the cold window, watching the wilderness roll past. In a few hours, she would arrive in Sweetwater Springs. She would meet Torin Rees and his daughter Jewel. She would learn whether he’d allow her to have a pet—whether this gamble, this desperate leap across a continent toward an uncertain future, had been wisdom or folly.
But for now, with a sleeping cat in her lap and the Montana mountains growing ever closer, Ivy allowed herself to hope. Perhaps they could save each other—the unwanted cat and the lonely woman and the special child and the reclusive father.
4
The closer the train drew to Sweetwater Springs, the more Ivy's excitement built until she thought she might burst from anticipation. Like a child, she pressed her face to the window, watching the Montana landscape unfold in all its rugged glory—pine forests climbing steep hillsides, snow-capped peaks piercing a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at, and in the distance, a toy town in a wide valley.
But it wasn't just the scenery that made her heart race. Somewhere, waiting on the platform, was her dearly beloved and deeply missed best friend.
Cora.
After Ivy accepted Mr. Rees’s invitation to be a governess to his daughter, she and Cora had sent each other a barrage of letters making plans. Sometimes, two of Cora’s would arrive at the same time, even if sent a day or two apart. Once they’d settled on what she should bring along, both for herself and her pupil, they turned to planning Ivy’s arrival.
The arrangement with Mr. Rees was unusual, to say the least. He'd been very specific in his requirements: Ivy's arrival must be kept secret. No announcements, no fanfare, no gossip spreadingthrough town about the young woman come to live with a previously unknown widower and his daughter.
Cora had assured her that her fiancé, Brian Bly, would help with the plan. They would pick Ivy up in a surrey borrowed from Dr. Angus Cameron, load her trunks, and drive her up the mountain road before anyone was the wiser. The station-and-postmaster, Jack Waite, was an elderly man whose rheumatism kept him confined to his warm office during the cold months. With any luck, he wouldn't even notice her arrival.
The train began to slow, its whistle announcing their approach. Ivy gathered her satchel and the basket, her hands trembling with anticipation. Through the window, she caught her first glimpse of the Sweetwater Springs depot—a charming building painted brown with cheerful yellow trim. There, standing on the platform with her hand on a man’s arm, was Cora, bundled up against the winter cold.
She spotted Ivy, and, with an enormous grin, began waving madly, bouncing on her toes like a girl half her age.
Ivy laughed, tears already pricking at her eyes. She waved back through the glass, not caring if she looked foolish, not caring about anything except that she was finally,finallyhere.
Jostled by the movement, Brave let out a plaintive mew from inside the basket.
“We’ve arrived, sweet girl. You don't have to hide anymore.”
The train lurched to a stop. Ivy grabbed her satchel and the handle of the basket and pushed her way toward the exit, her heart pounding.
She hurried down the aisle and onto the platform steps, so eager she nearly tripped in her haste. But she caught the railing and descended safely, her gaze fixed on her friend's beaming face.
Cora didn't wait. She let out a squeal of pure joy and ran toward Ivy with her arms spread wide.
Ivy barely had time to drop her satchel before Cora launched herself into a hug. She kept a firm grip on the basket handle with one hand and wrapped her other arm around her dearest friend, and then the tears came in earnest—streaming down her cheeks.
“You're here!” Cora sobbed against her neck. “You're finally here!”
“I've missed you so much!” Ivy squeezed her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and wool. How many nights had she lain awake in her bed in New York, dreaming of this moment? How many times had she feared the reunion would never happen? That her father would discover her plans and lock her in her room for the rest of her life.
But she was here. And Cora felt warm and real, and they were cryingtogether.
A throat cleared politely behind them.
