Page 80 of Mail-Order Viscountess

But Thomas’s family faced death too. Immediate, violent death at the hands of hired killers.

She forced herself to take another sip of tea, though it had lost its comfort. Through the window, the street remained quiet. A few townspeople—mostly men—moved about their business, bundled against the cold.

If only she could see the saloon doors from here. How long would those men stay inside? An hour? Two? And when they emerged, would they ride straight for the ranch, or linger and make other preparations?

Movement caught her eye. The doctor’s buggy rolled down the street, aiming toward the hitching rail in front of his office.

Relief flooded through her. She set down her cup and rose, already pulling on her gloves.

“Can I get you something else, Mrs. Balfour?” Mrs. Patterson looked up from the desk in the corner, where she looked to be writing a letter. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes—I mean, I need to go.” Kate fumbled for coins, then left more than necessary on the table. “Thank you for the tea. The doctor’s returned, and I need to catch him.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

The cold wrapped around her as she stepped onto the boardwalk, sharp and biting after the warmth of the cafe. She wrapped her cloak tighter and turned toward the buggy.

Dr. Morrison was just tying the horse as she approached. He looked exhausted—dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his movements carried the weight of someone who’d been awake far too long.

He glanced up at her, squinting against the winter sun. Recognition flicked across his weathered features. “Mrs. Balfour. I thought I might see you today.”

“Clara’s medicine.” The words tumbled out as she reached him. “You said it would be ready⁠—”

“Yes, yes. Come inside.” He unlocked the door and ushered her into the cramped front room. The smell of herbs and antiseptic filled her nose as she followed him to the counter along the back wall.

“How is your sister faring?” He set down his bag and began rifling through a cabinet of small bottles and paper-wrapped packets.

“Much improved.” Kate clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “The fever broke yesterday morning. She’s staying in bed, regaining her strength. The rash is still there, but I think it’s no longer spreading.”

“Excellent.” The doctor pulled out a brown glass bottle and examined the label. “The tonic did its work, then. This next round should help rebuild her. A tablespoon three times daily, with meals, or at least a little broth.”

He wrapped the bottle in paper, then handed it to her. “Now then.” He picked up his bag again, already moving toward the door. “I’m afraid I must rush off. I only came back for a few supplies to help the new babe. The birthing was hard on the wee one.”

“Of course.” Kate gripped the package. “Thank you, Doctor. Truly.”

He held the door for her, and they stepped out onto the boardwalk together. If possible, the cold stung sharper now, and the wind whipped harder, creeping under the edges of her coat.

“I’m glad you caught me, Mrs. Balfour. Give my regards to your husband and the others.” Dr. Morrison turned to lock his door. “And tell that sister of yours to rest. I know women always want to do too much too soon, but⁠—”

He straightened and stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixing on something over her shoulder.

“Gentlemen. Can I help you?”

Kate turned.

Two men stood a few paces away on the boardwalk. Both were dressed plainly—work clothes that might belong to any ranch hand or drifter. The one on the left stood broad-shouldered, with a nose that looked like it had been broken recently. The other was leaner, a little taller.

“We’re fine, doc,” the thinner man said. “Just passin’ through.”

“Very well then.” Dr. Morrison tipped his hat to them, then turned back to Kate. “I really must be going, Mrs. Balfour. Send for me if you have more trouble.”

He moved past her toward his buggy, leaving her standing alone on the boardwalk with two men whose gazes hadn’t shifted from her.

She should leave. Should turn and walk back to the cafe, to Mrs. Patterson and safety.

But her feet wouldn’t move.

The doctor’s buggy rattled down the street, and the sound of it faded too quickly into the wind.