Page 38 of Mail-Order Viscountess

A question lingered there. The fear she was trying to hide behind that careful, guarded expression. She knew something was coming. Could probably guess what it would ask of her, of them both.

He had to look away first.

He wasn’t ready to face what he saw in her eyes. Wasn’t ready to face what stirred in his own heart when he looked at her.

Stay or go. Run or commit. Keep pretending he was fine, or admit that something changed in that frozen cave—something that couldn’t be unchanged.

The decision waiting at the ranch felt close enough to touch.

And for the first time in his life, he had no idea which way he would—or should—choose.

CHAPTER 13

The Balfour ranch house rose from the darkness like something out of a dream—lamplight spilling golden from every window, smoke curling from the massive stone chimney into the pitch-black sky.

Kate’s chest tightened as the wagon rolled to a stop in the yard. After two days of cold and fear and uncertainty, the sight of that solid log structure felt almost too good to be real. Like it might dissolve if she blinked too hard.

The front door burst open before James had even set the brake. An older woman emerged—petite, dark-haired, moving with the kind of quickness that spoke of years managing a household. Behind her came two men, both tall and broad-shouldered—Balfour brothers for sure.

“Thank the Lord.” The woman’s voice carried across the yard, rich with relief and something that might have been a slight accent. “We watch for you since the storm cleared. Come, come—inside, all of you. There’s hot food and warm fires.”

Kate let one of the men help her down from the wagon, her legs unsteady after hours of sitting. Clara pressed close to her side, and having her there helped settle the racing in Kate’s chest. Something solid to anchor to while the world tilted and re-shaped around them.

The older woman descended the porch steps with surprising speed for someone of her years, her dark eyes sweeping over both sisters with an assessing warmth that tightened Kate’s throat.

“You must be frozen through.” She took Kate’s arm on one side and Clara’s on the other. “I am Mrs. Wang—Bea. I keep house for these boys since they were small. Come now. Inside with you both.”

They were shepherded up the porch steps before Kate could form a protest.

The warmth hit the moment they crossed the threshold, wrapping around her like a blanket. She squinted as her eyes adjusted from the darkness outside to the golden lamplight filling the great room.

Polished wood floors. A massive stone fireplace with flames crackling behind an iron screen. Furniture that looked both sturdy and somehow refined—not the rough-hewn pieces she’d expected in a frontier ranch house, but something that spoke of care and taste.

Movement near the fireplace caught her attention. A young woman rose from a rocking chair, a bundle of blankets cradled in her arms. Dark hair pinned up in a simple style. A face that carried a delicate, almost ethereal beauty despite the shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

“You made it.” Relief laced her voice. She moved closer, and Kate caught a glimpse of the infant’s face—tiny features slack with sleep, a tuft of dark hair visible beneath the blanket’s edge. “We’ve been so worried. I’m Mandie—Enoch’s wife.”

Enoch. That would be the oldest brother Thomas mentioned.

Mandie offered a tired smile. “I’m so glad you’re all safe. When the storm came through yesterday, we feared the worst.”

Kate managed a nod, though exhaustion made her mind sluggish. This room held so much warmth and light and so many people suddenly surrounding them. She’d expected...what? A cold reception? Suspicion? Instead, these strangers looked at her and Clara with something like genuine concern.

One of the men who’d helped them from the wagon stepped forward—taller than Thomas, with darker hair and gentle brown eyes. “I’m Robert Balfour. The middle brother.” His gaze moved between Kate and Clara. “You’ve had quite an ordeal.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Thomas’s voice came from behind them as he and the other brother entered, carrying the trunks. His tone held that same careful lightness she’d come to recognize as his usual cover.

Robert’s attention fixed on his youngest brother, and something passed between them—a question in Robert’s expression that Thomas didn’t quite answer.

Instead, Thomas set down the trunk and moved toward the fire, his movements stiff enough that his ribs were probably bothering him more than he’d admit.

Mrs. Wang clucked her tongue, her sharp gaze taking in Thomas’s bruised face and careful movements. “You look like you wrestle bear. Sit. I bring food.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Wang⁠—”

“Sit.” The command left no room for argument. She pointed at a chair near the fire. “Get warm. No one argue with me tonight.”

Kate almost smiled. This feisty housekeeper didn’t seem daunted by anything.