Page 20 of Mail-Order Viscountess

But standing here in this ice cave with Kate—this was a different problem entirely.

The cold bit deeper now that they’d stopped moving. His fingers had gone numb inside his gloves, and his toes felt like blocks of ice jammed into his boots.

He needed to do something. Standing here like a useless lump while the cold worked its way deeper wouldn’t help either of them.

He scanned the hollow’s depths for anything that might help them survive however long this storm trapped them here. The back corners lay in shadow where the light filtering through the ice couldn’t reach.

He moved toward one back corner, his boots scraping over stone. Something dark showed against the gray rock—debris of some kind. He crouched, ignoring the protest from his ribs, and fingered sticks. A small pile of them, twisted and weathered, some no thicker than his thumb.

Wind must have blown them in during warmer months. Or maybe some animal had dragged them here to build a nest.

He gathered a large handful, testing each piece. Most felt dry despite the dampness of the cave. Brittle enough to snap between his fingers. Good kindling, but they’d burn fast—maybe fifteen minutes if he was lucky.

“What are you doing?” Kate’s voice carried from where she still stood at the back wall.

“Found some wood.” He moved to the other corner where another small cache lay. More sticks, these longer but just as thin. He added them to his collection. “Going to try to get a fire started.”

“You have a way to light it?”

He reached into his coat pocket. His benumbed fingers could barely feel the small tin case he kept there. The tinder box was old—a gift his father had sent for his thirteenth birthday—a reminder of the man he’d never really known. But the tin had proven useful countless times over the years.

He pried open the lid with stiff fingers. The char cloth he’d replenished in Butte looked intact, protected from moisture by the sealed container. He had flint and steel too, though striking a spark with frozen hands would test his patience.

He carried the tin to the center of the hollow where the ground leveled out, then arranged the thinnest pieces of wood into a small pile. His hands shook as he worked—whether from cold or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell anymore. Probably both.

Before he lit the fire though, he needed to find more wood. Anything that came from outside this cave would likely be wet, and his only chance to get it to light would be for the wood to be exposed to the heat while this dry kindling burned.

He worked himself back up to his feet, the movement sending fresh fire through his ribs, and turned to the entrance. The wind’s howl promised misery the moment he stepped back into it. But they needed fuel if they were to survive this blizzard without losing toes or fingers.

“I’m going to look for more wood.” He stepped toward the opening, already dreading the bite of wind against his face.

“I’ll come with you.” Kate’s voice stopped him.

He glanced back. She’d moved away from the wall, her posture rigid despite the exhaustion that showed in every line of her face. Snow still clung to her hair where it had escaped her scarf, and her lips had taken on a bluish tinge that made his chest tighten.

He shook his head. “Stay here out of the wind. I’ll be back soon.” Then he ducked out of the shelter before she could speak again.

CHAPTER 8

The silence pressed against Kate’s ears worse than the storm’s howl had.

She stood near the back of the shallow cave, wrapping her arms around herself to hold in whatever warmth remained. Blue-white light filtered through the ice over the opening, giving everything an otherworldly glow that should have been beautiful.

She couldn’t appreciate it. Not with Clara on the other side of that frozen river, probably terrified and wondering if Kate had drowned.

She curled her fingers tighter around her arms. It’s a good thing she hadn’t forced Clara to walk across the ice.

Yet where was Clara now? Was she safe, out there in the blizzard?

Having her so far away… Being so out of control of the entire situation…

She paced the length of the hollow, counting her steps to keep from going mad. Seven steps to the ice wall. Seven steps back. The movement helped ward off the worst of the cold, but it did nothing to quiet the fear twisting in her chest.

How long had Thomas been gone? Ten minutes? Twenty? The storm still raged beyond their shelter, the wind shrieking like something alive. What if he’d gotten lost? What if he’d fallen through more unstable ice and there was no one to pull him out?

She shouldn’t care. He was practically a stranger—one who’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the arrangement his brothers had made. Of course she didn’t want him to die though.

The thought twisted in her middle.