Page 75 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Kate’s eyes searched his face, and something flicked there—disappointment, maybe, or resignation.

She stepped back, pulling out of his hold. “I won’t be long.”

She walked away, spine straight, shoulders squared against whatever the world might throw at her. Even upset with him, she moved like a woman who wouldn’t be defeated.

You’re going to lose her.

The thought struck like a fist to the gut. If he pushed to go west, would Kate refuse to accompany him?

California had felt like the answer. A fresh start. A place where nobody knew about the title he hadn’t earned, the man who’d died because of his mistake.

But standing here on this frigid street, watching Kate’s figure grow smaller down the boardwalk, certainty felt like a stranger.

He shook himself and turned to the mercantile. Supplies first. He could figure out his future later. If he changed his mind about California, they could use everything he purchased on the ranch. But at least he’d have things ready.

The bell over the door jangled as he stepped inside. Holbrook’s smelled the same as always—a mixture of leather, coffee, pickles, and the mustiness of dry goods stored too long. Mrs. Holbrook stood behind the counter, deep in conversation with a woman he’d not seen before.

“—sheriff won’t be back until Thursday at the earliest,” the woman was saying. “My husband saw him off himself. Some business with the territorial marshal’s office in Butte, apparently.”

Mrs. Holbrook clucked her tongue. “Well, let’s hope nothing exciting happens before then.”

Thomas tipped his hat to them and headed for the aisle on the back wall that held building supplies. He needed more nails in case he couldn’t find access to them where he settled. A chisel too, and an extra ax head. And more lamp oil and wicks.

The familiar act of scanning shelves and making mental lists settled his racing thoughts. Practical tasks with clear solutions.

As he examined a selection of rope, the door jangled again. That shouldn’t be Kate so soon, but he kept an ear tuned to the sounds, just in case.

The footsteps sounded heavy. More than one person. And men, most likely.

“Mrs. Holbrook?” Definitely a man—his voice rough, with an accent Thomas couldn’t quite place. “We need to send a telegram.”

Something about that voice…

“Of course.” Mrs. Holbrook’s lighter tones carried easily through the store. “Just come down to this counter and write out your message.”

Thomas moved deeper into the aisle, positioning himself behind a shelf of canned goods. Through the gaps between tins of peaches and jars of preserves, he could see the counter. Mrs. Holbrook had emerged from the back room, and two men stood before her.

His blood went cold.

Those men.

The one on the left was Jake—the same Jake whose fist left the bruise that had only just faded from Thomas’s cheekbone. The man who’d been holding that girl in the Butte saloon, whose friends had tried to beat Thomas into the sawdust floor.

The other man…what was his name? He’d been in the fight too. The one whose nose Thomas had broken with his elbow.

What were they doing here? In Walnut Springs?

“We ain’t good with letters.” Jake’s voice grated like gravel. “You’ll have to write it for us.”

“That’s no trouble at all.” Mrs. Holbrook pulled out a slip of paper and a pencil. “Where would you like to send it?”

“England. A place called Cumberland.”

Thomas’s hand tightened on the rope he still held.

“To Viscount Balfour,” the second man added.

The world narrowed to a single point.