Page 36 of Mail-Order Viscountess

He shoved another bite of stew into his mouth and tried to think about California.

They set out within the hour, pushing on to the ranch while the weather held. The wagon had survived intact, the horses were rested, and no one wanted to impose on the Waltons’ hospitality longer than necessary.

The miles passed in near silence. Thomas sat up on the bench beside James again as the familiar landmarks slid by—the split pine where lightning had struck three summers back, the outcropping of granite that marked the turn off the main road toward home, the valley opening up ahead where herds of elk and deer always grazed.

Home. The word sat strange in his mind now, weighted with complications it hadn’t carried two days ago.

James cast sideways glances at him, the kind that said he had questions but was waiting for the right moment to ask them. Thomas kept his attention fixed on the trail ahead.

Behind them in the wagon bed, the women’s voices rose and fell—Clara’s bright chatter punctuated by Kate’s quieter responses and Rose’s gentle additions. Normal conversation. Safe conversation. Nothing about caves or storms or the way two people could share their darkest truths in the night and then pretend it never happened in the daylight.

His ribs ached with every jolt of the wagon. His face throbbed where the bruises had deepened overnight. But those pains felt distant compared to the hollow sensation spreading through his chest every time Hartwell’s words resurfaced.

I believe I’m beginning to understand the situation. The way his face had hardened when Kate hesitated. The careful, devastating way he’d explained exactly what her ruined reputation would cost her.

He gripped the edge of the bench seat. Nothing improper had happened. He’d kept her alive through a blizzard—that was all. Any decent man would have done the same.

But Hartwell hadn’t cared about decency. Hadn’t cared about survival or necessity or the simple fact that Kate McKinney had done nothing wrong. All he’d seen was a woman emerging from a cave with a man who wasn’t her husband, and he’d rendered judgment accordingly.

The injustice of it burned in his chest.

Kate had plans. Dreams.

A future she’d been building with nothing but her own two hands and a talent for needlework. And now, because of a blizzard and a broken wagon and Thomas’s presence at the wrong moment, all of it might be gone.

The sun had climbed a little past the midday mark by the time James pulled the wagon off the trail into a clearing sheltered by tall pines. The spot caught the light in a way that made the snow sparkle like scattered diamonds, and the trees blocked the worst of the wind still gusting down from the peaks. “We’ll stop here. Let the horses rest.”

Thomas climbed down from the bench, his boots sinking into snow that had already begun to soften in the midday warmth. In the wagon, the women were already gathering food from the crate where Rose had packed supplies for the journey.

He and James helped the women down, then James moved to check the horses’ hooves for ice, leaving Thomas standing uselessly in the snow.

He should help. Should do something with his hands besides curl them into fists every time his mind circled back to Hartwell’s insinuations.

“Thomas.”

He turned. James had straightened from examining the lead mare’s front hoof, his expression unreadable in the dappled sunlight filtering through the pines.

“Walk with me.” It wasn’t a request.

Thomas followed his brother away from the wagon, their boots crunching through the crusted snow until the voices of the women faded to a distant murmur. When James finally stopped, they stood at the clearing’s edge where the ground dropped away into a shallow ravine.

“What happened?” James kept his voice low, but the weight behind it pressed hard on Thomas’s shoulders.

“I told you. Storm got worse. We took shelter.”

“And?”

Thomas met his brother’s gaze. James had always been able to read him—a talent that had saved Thomas from consequences more times than he could count growing up…and gotten him lectured just as often. No point in trying to hide what his brother would fish out anyway.

“We had a visitor this morning. As we were leaving the cave.” He tried not to growl the words. “Edmund Hartwell. The copper baron from Butte.”

James’s expression sharpened. “Hartwell found you?”

“Found us coming out from behind the frozen waterfall, looking exactly like two people who’d spent the night together in a cave.” He bit out a laugh. “He drew his own conclusions.”

“Which were?”

“That Kate’s reputation is ruined. That his wife can’t possibly associate with a woman of questionable character, or recommend her services.” The bitterness in his voice came out stronger than he meant. But honestly. The gall of the man. “He was decently polite about it. Very regretful. Made sure we understood that reputation is the only currency that matters out here.”