Page 35 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“I am sorry.” Mr. Hartwell met her eyes, and what looked like genuine regret pooled in his gaze. “Truly. You seemed a capable young woman, and Audrey was looking forward to your work. To helping you succeed with your plans. But you must understand—reputation is the only currency that matters out here. Once lost, it cannot be recovered.”

He tipped his hat—still maintaining the form of civility even as he destroyed her future—and turned his horse toward the trail.

Then he was gone, picking his way down the ridge, leaving Kate standing in the snow with her ruined reputation and the man who had inadvertently destroyed it.

CHAPTER 12

The Walton cabin sat squat and solid against the white landscape, just as Thomas remembered it. The smoke curling from its chimney held the promise of warmth.

The door flew open before he and Kate had crossed half the yard. Clara burst through it like a shot from a cannon, skirts clutched in her fists, her honey-blonde braid streaming behind her. “Kate! Oh, thank God—Kate!”

She collided with her sister hard enough to make Kate stumble, arms wrapping around her in a grip that looked almost painful.

Thomas hung back, taking it all in as Kate’s composure finally cracked—her face crumpling as she buried it in Clara’s shoulder, her hands fisting in the back of her sister’s coat.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The raw relief pouring off them both said everything words couldn’t.

Something twisted in his chest. This was what Kate had meant in the cave, when she’d talked about Clara being the only one who truly saw her. This fierce, desperate love between them—it was a bond he recognized. The kind he had with his own brothers, even when they drove him mad with their meddling.

James appeared in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. His eyes swept over Thomas with the assessing gaze of an older brother who’d spent too many years worrying. “You’re all right?”

Thomas nodded, but something in his expression must have given him away. James’s eyes narrowed. At least he didn’t voice his question. Not yet.

“Come inside.” Rose poked her head around James. “There’s food and a fire. You both look half-frozen.”

He’d never been inside the Walton place, though he’d stood in the yard getting to know the family a few times. As he followed the women inside, he had to squint against the dimness.

The interior matched most of the other cabins in this wilderness—a single large room that served as kitchen, eating space, and parlor all at once. A fire crackled in the stone hearth along one wall, and the smell of something savory made his stomach clench with sudden, desperate hunger.

Mrs. Walton stood at the stove, a woman in her middle years with graying brown hair tucked under a simple cap. She turned as they entered, her weathered face creasing into a smile. “Come and warm yourself by the fire. There’s plenty of hot porridge ready for you.”

He let himself be ushered to a ladder-back chair near the hearth, his body sinking into it with relief he didn’t want to show. Kate took the chair beside him, Clara hovering close like she feared her sister might vanish if she moved too far away.

Mrs. Walton pressed a bowl of porridge into his hands, steam rising from the thick mush.

The first bite scalded his tongue, but he didn’t slow. After a night of nothing but jerky and cold, the warmth spreading through his chest felt like salvation.

James moved to stand against the wall nearest Thomas, his arms folded across his chest in that way he had when he was working through a problem. Rose stepped to Kate’s other side and rested her hand briefly on the younger woman’s shoulder—a gesture of comfort Kate didn’t quite flinch away from.

“We waited at the river as long as we could.” James’s voice carried the weight of a man who’d spent the night second-guessing every decision. “But the storm was getting worse, and the horses were panicking. I had to get Rose and Miss Clara to safety.”

“You did the right thing.” He swallowed his bite. “We took shelter in the cave behind the waterfall. Made it through fine.”

James nodded. “I figured you had.” He slid a glance to the sisters. “It’s the only reason I didn’t go back out after you.” He pushed off from the wall. “We were praying for you both. Thankful God brought you through. I’m going out to check on the horses. Once you two get warm and your bellies full, we’ll head out.” He clapped a hand on Thomas’s shoulder as he passed toward the door.

Thomas did his best not to let his mind wander through the last day as he spooned his final bite of mush.

Clara kept up a steady stream of chatter—how worried she’d been, how James had assured her they’d find shelter, how she’d barely slept for fear of what the morning would bring.

Kate listened and nodded and made soothing sounds, but she didn’t offer much about their night. Didn’t mention the cave or the fire or the conversations that had stretched into the dark hours.

Didn’t mention waking up tangled together.

He forced his attention to his bowl. Every time he looked up, Kate was carefully not looking at him. As if by unspoken agreement, they’d decided to pretend the intimacy of those hours hadn’t happened. That they were still the same strangers who’d snipped at each other in that Butte café, suspicious and defensive and miles apart.

Except they weren’t. And pretending otherwise felt like a lie.

The memory surfaced unbidden—Kate’s voice in the darkness, cracked with vulnerability she’d never have shown in daylight. His arm around her waist, pulling her close against the cold. The moment he’d called her extraordinary and watched something shift in her eyes.