Page 86 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Yet. Kate clung to that word. They haven’t made noise yet.

If Thomas knew, he would care. The problem was, he wouldn’t know until too late. Until she was forced to become a bargaining tool.

Help me, God. Please.

“Good.” Gray Beard moved toward his horse. “Then we ride. Get to our positions by dusk, then hit just after dark.”

At dusk. That was...possibly three hours from now. Maybe two, judging by the position of the sun through the clouds.

Two hours to find a way out of this.

CHAPTER 29

The drag marks led through the alley and out the back, where they disappeared into a churned mess of hoofprints and wagon marks in the snow.

Thomas’s chest constricted until he could barely breathe. Were any of these from the men who’d taken her? Or just the usual town traffic?

Impossible to tell.

He scanned the tracks, then shifted his focus to the edges of the street. His best chance might be to follow this road and watch for prints that left the main route. He turned northward. This back alley would join up with the main road at the edge of town, then continue on the winding trail to Butte—almost a day’s ride away.

But they wouldn’t go nearly that far. Probably, they would circle around town to the west and find the road that led to the Balfour ranch.

As he strode forward, he scanned both sides of the street, especially the far right, as the buildings fell away near the edge of town.

There. A set of tracks—men’s boot prints—branching off toward the northeast. Recent, judging by the sharp edges that hadn’t yet been softened by wind or fresh snow. Two pairs of tracks actually, now that he looked closer.

He followed the trail into the trees, striding as quickly as he dared while keeping his steps quiet. The snow here lay deeper, undisturbed by wagon wheels or regular traffic. The prints stood out clearly—two men heading northeast, their path winding between pines and around rocky outcroppings.

Away from town. Away from help.

He couldn’t lose Kate. Not now. Not ever.

The trail curved around a rocky outcropping, and he slowed. Voices drifted through the cold air—low, masculine, too far away to make out words but close enough to set every nerve on edge.

He crept forward, using boulders and scrubby pines for cover. Thankfully, the snow muffled his footsteps.

The trees thinned ahead to reveal a small clearing. His heart nearly stopped.

A group of horses was tethered in a row, and on one sat a rider.

Kate.

From this distance, he couldn’t see more than the rigid set of her back and that rich hair he loved to thread his fingers through when he kissed her. Was she injured? He couldn’t see anything clearly.

She was alive though. Thank You, God.

He had to force his focus away from her to check for her captors. A cluster of men stood in a loose circle near the horses, passing something between them—a flask, probably.

Five.

Jake stood among them, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from this distance. And there—the other man from the mercantile. Three others he didn’t recognize completed the group.

Five armed men against one. And Kate bound in the middle of it all.

Could he pick them off one by one? He had a rifle, but they would scatter before he got them all. Probably grab Kate and take off with her.

He’d have no chance to keep up with them on foot.