Chapter 31
The rope burned against Rose’s fingers as she pulled it tight around Vincent’s wrists.
His body slumped against the cabin’s central support post, dead weight that would have toppled sideways if not for the beam at his back. The chloroform had done its work—his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his face slack from unconsciousness.
But Rose didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust him.
She wrapped another loop around his wrists, then another around his entire body. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, making the simple task so much harder. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she couldn’t stop moving.
She couldn’t let herself think about what might have happened if James hadn’t found her. If he’d arrived even minutes later. Only God could bring rescue at that exact moment she’d needed it most.
The moment she’d finally trusted the fight into God’s hands.
“That’s good.” James’s voice came from somewhere behind her, rough and strained. “He’s not going anywhere.”
She forced herself to tie off the knot, making a double—no a triple knot, then stepped back and studied her work.
“He’s not going anywhere.” James repeated the words, but this time his voice dragged.
She glanced over at him, slumped against the cabin wall where he’d collapsed after helping her drag Vincent to the post. His face had gone gray beneath the grime and blood, his breathing labored.
The splint on his leg had broken, and it was impossible to tell how much damage had been done to the bone beneath.
Dark stains spread across his trouser leg that she desperately hoped were mud and not blood.
James. Her heart swelled with so much love for this man, she might not be able to contain it all.
She’d spent years convincing herself she didn’t deserve this—that no man would love her enough to set aside his own happiness for hers.
That she didn’t deserve a man who would risk everything to save her, who would break himself trying to reach her in time.
Who would look at her not with blame or disgust, but with a love so fierce it broke down every one of her defenses.
“We need to get you warm.” She moved toward him and lowered to her knees at his side. “And that leg—”
“I’m fine.” The words came out rough. Unconvincing.
He wasn’t fine. Not even close. But arguing with him would waste precious energy neither of them had to spare.
His eyes met hers, green and clear despite the pain etched into every line of his face. The way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something worth loving—made tears blur her vision.
“How did you find me?”
He shifted against the wall, grimacing with the movement. “As soon as we realized you were gone, Robert, Thomas, and I went after you.”
Her heart clenched at the thought of all three brothers charging after her through the cold, snowy wilderness. “You shouldn’t have come. Not with your leg—”
“Don’t.” His voice came out sharp enough to make her flinch. He softened his tone immediately. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have come for you. There’s nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t follow.”
The comfort of those words settled into her chest, warm and solid despite the bitter cold around them. She reached for his hand, her fingers still trembling as they closed around his.
His palm was ice against hers. Was he not wearing gloves? Actually, neither of them were. When had she lost hers? During the struggle with Vincent? She couldn’t remember.
“We need to get you warmer.” She looked around the wretched cabin, cataloging what little resources they had. The fire in the tin stove still burned, throwing weak light and weaker heat into the frigid space.
“There are blankets in the wagon. We should fire a shot, too, to signal my brothers if they’re still close enough to hear.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She pushed herself to her feet, her legs protesting the movement. Every muscle felt bruised and battered from the struggle with Vincent, and her throat still ached where his fingers had squeezed.
She scooped up the rifle where it still leaned against the wall by the door.
Her fingers closed around the metal, the feel of it awkward in her grip.
She’d never fired a gun before—never had the chance to learn with Vincent’s endless smothering—but she couldn’t tell James that.
Not when determination had replaced some of the gray pallor in his face.
“Fire twice in the air away from the cabin.”
“Two shots.” She nodded and turned toward the door, forcing her feet to carry her back into the frigid night.
She managed to fire the rifle, though her ears still rang from the blasts and her shoulder ached from the way the gun slammed back into her.
It wasn’t hard to find the wagon and retrieve the blankets.
The horses seemed safe enough still hitched to the wagon.
Not comfortable perhaps, but not in danger or pain.
She had no warm barn or mound of hay to feed them.
They all just needed to settle in and wait—until Robert and Thomas came…
until morning…she had no idea what would come first.
James opened weary, pain-filled eyes when she sank down beside him again.
Seeing him like this made her own eyes sting. “Is there anything I can do to ease the pain? Maybe…would a whiff of that chloroform help?” Though her insides twisted at the thought of being left alone here if Vincent woke while James lay in a drugged sleep.
He kept his head resting back against the wall, but rolled it side to side. “Just sit with me so we can both get warm.”
His best idea yet. She scanned the room once more to make sure she didn’t need to attend to anything else before settling in for the night. The fire was stoked, and Vincent still slept where he was tied.
She settled in beside James, spreading one blanket over their legs and the other covering their upper bodies. He slipped an arm behind her, pulling her close to him.
She turned in so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
He wrapped both arms around her, tucking her as close as their bodies would allow.
Her forehead pressed into the curve of his neck, her breath warming the small space between them.
Little by little, his warmth, the security of being held in his arms…
She’d never felt so safe—so loved—in her entire life.
Even the bitter wind seeping through the cabin walls couldn’t touch the heat spreading through her chest as James held her like he would never let her go.
His heartbeat thrummed steady against her ear—a little too fast perhaps, but strong. Real.
She closed her eyes. Let herself settle, sinking deeper into his embrace. Let the rhythm of their breathing flow together. The rough wool of his coat scratched her cheek—a reminder that this was real, that she was here, pressed close.
His scent closed around her, sweat and leather, and beneath that, something richer, something purely his. Not new to her but woven into her earliest memories. The best memories.
A scent that spoke of adventure. Not the kind that frightened. The kind that promised possibility. She let herself feel it, all of it, letting the comfort and excitement and memory wrap around her as surely as his arms did.
They should talk about what happened.
Talk about the letter even, and what Vincent had done to his mother. She should explain why she’d run. Apologize. But the words tangled in her throat, knotted together with exhaustion and fear and this warmth that felt so much like home.
Finally she forced herself to speak. “I thought you’d hate me.” The words slipped out barely more than a whisper against his chest. “When I told you about Vincent and your mother—the way you just stood there, not saying anything, I was certain you blamed me.”
His arms tightened around her, and his voice rumbled through his chest before the words reached her ears.
“I could never hate you. Never.” His chest lifted in a sigh.
“I was in shock. Trying to process that my mother might have been murdered, that Vincent had done it. But not once—not for a single second—did I think it was your fault or your mother’s. ”
The tears came then, hot and fast, raging past her defenses and spilling down her cheeks. Years of carrying guilt for what Vincent had done—the power of it crashing over her until she could barely breathe. But James’s arms remained steady around her, anchoring her through the storm.
James’s hand moved to her hair, his fingers tangling in the matted strands. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
But it wasn’t just about being safe. It was about being seen—truly seen—and still being loved. Still being wanted despite everything Vincent had twisted and broken inside her.
“I should have stayed.” The words came out thick, choking her. “Should have trusted you to—”
“You were protecting yourself.” His voice held no accusation, only understanding that made her chest ache. “After everything Vincent put you through, of course you ran when you thought I might turn you away. When I stood there like a rock instead of telling you what you needed to hear.”
She pulled back, just enough to look up at his face. The firelight from the stove caught the planes of his features, throwing shadows across the bruises already forming on his jaw. “What did I need to hear?”
His green eyes held hers, clear and steady despite the pain that must be tearing through his broken leg. “That I love you. That nothing Vincent did, nothing your mother did or didn’t do—not even anything you could do—would ever change how I feel about you.”
His hand rose to cup her face. His thumb brushed across her aching cheekbone with a gentleness that spilled fresh tears down her face. “You’re the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you how much you’re worth loving.”
The words poured into her heart, filling spaces she hadn’t realized were empty until this moment. She’d spent so long believing Vincent’s lies—that she was nothing without him, that no one would want her once they knew the truth of what she’d been.
But James looked at her like she hung the stars, like her scars made her beautiful instead of broken.
“I love you too.” The words rose from the deepest parts of her. “I think I always have. Even when we were children.”
A smile crept over his battered face, brightening his gray exhaustion. “Then marry me. Not because you need rescuing or because you have nowhere else to go. Because you want to build a life with me. Because you choose this—choose us.”
Marriage. A real life with James.
Not as his employee or his ward, but as his wife. His partner.
She searched his face, scanning for any hint of doubt or obligation.
The only emotions there were warmth. Certainty.
Love so fierce her tears started to well again.
How could this man be so good? And how could he possibly be hers?
Only God could give her a gift this overwhelming.
Broken years could not be returned—but maybe they could be redeemed.
“Yes.” She could only whisper the word. So much love, so many years of longing. Finally finding their home in him. “I would love to marry you.”
His smile overwhelmed even the pain creasing beneath his eyes, and he pulled her closer.
His lips found hers. So gentle. A caress that wove all the way to her soul. A hint of blood flavored this kiss—his or hers, she couldn’t tell—but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except this moment, this promise, this man who’d broken himself trying to reach her. And the God Who’d brought them back together.