Page 2 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“Just say it.” Thomas leaned against the wagon, crossing one boot over the other in a show of casualness to hide the clenching in his gut.

“We’ve, um… We thought… That is, Enoch, Robert, and I discussed it, and we felt…”

“Spit it out, James.”

His brother’s shoulders straightened, taking on that older-brother-knows-best posture Thomas despised. “You’ve been different since the knighting ceremony. Restless. Taking more risks than usual.” James held up a hand before Thomas could protest. “Don’t deny it. That business with that three-year-old stallion last month? You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” He kept his voice level, though it took everything inside him. “I broke the horse, and now he’s bringing a good price from that rancher in Helena.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, James?” He spat the words. “You brought me all the way to Butte to lecture me about my horse training methods?”

Rose stepped from the mercantile, a wrapped parcel in her arms. Her face blanched when she saw them, and the look she and James exchanged stoked the fire burning in his chest.

This had nothing to do with horse training.

James turned back to him, and his voice dropped to a no-nonsense tone. “We’ve arranged something. Something we think will be good for you.”

Arranged something.

Thomas could count on one hand the number of times his brothers had arranged anything for him that turned out well. Usually their planning involved more responsibility at the ranch, more reasons to stay put, more ways to keep him from the life he actually wanted. A life in California.

“What kind of something?” He clenched his jaw to keep his anger in check.

“A bride.”

The world tilted sideways for a moment. He had to have heard wrong. “A what?”

“A mail-order bride. She’s arriving on the afternoon stage.”

The words burned in the cold air between them.

Thomas stared at his brother. He had to have misheard.

The sounds of Butte filtered through—a wagon rattling past on the street, someone shouting about fresh deer meat, a hammer striking metal at the smithy.

Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds.

But James had said something impossible.

Thomas finally forced out words. “A bride?”

“A mail-order bride. For you.”

A mail-order bride. What in the Bitterroot Mountains were they thinking?

His brothers had summoned a woman all the way out here, presumably from back East, and hadn’t bothered to ask him first?

Heat flooded through him, flaring hot and fast. The nerve of them. The absolute gall.

“No.” The word came out flat. Final.

James stepped closer, hands raised in that placating gesture that made Thomas want to hit something. “Just listen. We’re worried about you. Ever since you came back from Fort Benton with that new title, you’ve been⁠—”

“Been what? Myself?” Thomas pushed off from the wagon. “Sorry if that’s inconvenient for you all.”

“Marriage settles a man.” James glanced at his wife. “Gives him something to live for. Something to⁠—”