Chapter 32
The sound of hoofbeats pulled James from the edges of sleep where he’d been drifting, his body pressed close to Rose’s warmth beneath the scratchy wool blankets in this freezing old cabin.
He forced his eyes open, though every muscle in his body screamed to stay exactly where he was—Rose warm against his chest, her breathing steady and even in sleep.
But those hoofbeats meant rescue—hopefully. Meant getting Rose somewhere safe, reaching help for his leg that had swollen to twice its normal size during the night. Would Doc Morrison still be at the ranch helping Mandie with the birth?
Probably. It was hard to believe all of that had started less than a day ago. His life had changed in these last twenty-four hours.
For the better. Definitely for the better.
Voices sounded outside. Thomas’s raised shout cutting through the pre-dawn stillness, then Robert’s lower reply. Hopefully his brothers would realize the two shots together meant they were safe.
His brothers had found them.
He shifted carefully, trying not to wake Rose, but she stirred anyway. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them for a heartbeat before awareness settled.
“It’s all right.” He kept his voice low, though the effort scraped against his raw throat. “My brothers are here.”
She pushed herself upright, and the blanket fell away from her shoulders. The bruises on her throat looked darker in the gray morning light filtering through the gaps in the cabin’s walls. A new round of anger twisted beneath his ribs at the sight.
Vincent still slumped against the post where they’d tied him, his head lolled forward. The chloroform had worn off hours ago—James had heard the change in his breathing around midnight—but the ropes held.
Boot steps crunched through snow outside, approaching the cabin door.
“James!” Thomas’s voice cut through the morning quiet. “You in there?”
“We’re here. Rose is safe.”
The door burst open, and Thomas filled the doorway, concern masking his face. It shifted to relief the moment his eyes landed on them.
Robert stepped behind him, his expression harder to read but no less relieved.
Thomas’s gaze swept the cabin—taking in Vincent tied to the post, the broken splint on James’s leg, the bruises marking Rose’s face and throat. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his skin.
“We heard the shots last night and came back, but didn’t see where the wagon turned off until dawn.” Robert moved past Thomas, his eyes logging every detail of the room.
James tried to push himself up, but his leg refused to cooperate. The swelling had made the limb feel like it belonged to someone else entirely—hot and tight and pulsing with every heartbeat. “Vincent drugged Rose to make her sleep. Tried to take her back to Virginia City.”
Thomas’s expression turned cold in a way James had rarely seen from his youngest brother. He crossed to where Vincent slumped against the post and nudged him with his boot—not gently. “Still out?”
“No.” He had to clear his raw throat to make the words come out loud enough. “He woke hours ago. Just hasn’t moved much.”
As if on cue, Vincent’s head lifted. His gray eyes—clearer now than they’d been last night—swept the cabin before settling on James with a look that slid down his spine.
No fear there. No remorse. Just cold calculation, like he was already planning his next move.
“Gentlemen.” Vincent’s voice came out smooth despite the circumstances, that cultured eastern accent perfectly intact. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
James’s fingers curled against the rough wool blanket. That voice—smooth as silk, reasonable as a judge—was the same one that had charmed Rose’s mother years ago. The same one that had twisted contracts and threats into chains.
Thomas’s hand went to the knife at his belt. “The only misunderstanding here is you thinking you’d get away with this.”
Vincent’s mouth curved into something that might have been a smile on a different face. On his, it looked like a blade. “I have a contract. Legally binding. Miss Prescott is obligated to fulfill the terms of her employment, and I was merely—”
“Save it for the law.” Robert’s voice cut through Vincent’s words like a sharp ax through rotten wood. “You’re going to answer for what you did to Miss Prescott, to her mother, and to our own mother.”
Vincent didn’t respond, just glared at the two men standing over him.
Robert’s focus shifted from Vincent to James, his gaze sweeping over the blanket, though he probably couldn’t see anything.
“Can you ride in the wagon back to town? We need to get you to the doc, but he’s probably still at the ranch with Mandie. ”
“Mandie?” Rose straightened beside him.
James shifted his hand to find hers beneath the blanket. “The baby started coming yesterday morning. That’s why it took us so long to realize you’d left. I had to ride out to fetch my brothers from the high pasture.”
She wove her fingers between his. “Then we should get back as soon as possible. She’ll want help.”
If he weren’t hurting so bad, he might have chuckled at her need to care for others, even after what she’d been through.
He squeezed her hand. “We will.”
Robert moved closer, crouching to lift the blanket from James’s extended legs. His brother’s expression tightened as his gaze traveled from knee to ankle, taking in the torn splint and the dark stains that probably weren’t sweat.
The scrutiny made him want to pull away, to insist he was fine, but the swelling spoke for itself.
“This needs proper attention.” Robert straightened, his jaw set with that Balfour determination. “Thomas, help me get him to the wagon. We’ll tie Vincent to his horse and lead him back.”
The next few minutes blurred in waves of pain. His brothers lifted him—careful as they could be—but every movement sent fire shooting through the broken bone.
Rose hovered close, holding his splinted leg steady as Thomas and Robert maneuvered him through the cabin door and into the pale morning light.
The cold air bit at his face, sharp enough to clear some of the fog from his head.
The wagon sat where he’d left it, the horses blowing clouds of steam in the frigid air.
After the others eased him into the bed, Rose climbed up with him, settling herself so his head could rest in her lap. Her fingers found his hair, her touch soothing even as his leg screamed.
At last, his brothers had Vincent draped over the back of his horse—apparently the way he’d made Rose ride out here, like cargo—and tied securely in place.
Thomas climbed onto the wagon bench and guided the team in a slow back-and-forth to turn the rig around in the cramped space.
At last, they faced the trail back to Walnut Springs, and Robert climbed up into the wagon bed with James and Rose.
He sat facing the three saddle horses tied to the back of the wagon, including the one bearing Vincent, and kept his rifle in his lap where it would be easy enough to lift and shoot should a threat arise.
The wagon lurched forward, and James bit hard on his lip to keep from crying out. He forced his breathing to stay even, forced his face to remain still despite the sweat dampening his collar. Rose had been through enough. Watching him fall apart wouldn’t help her.
Her fingers wove through his hair in gentle strokes, and he focused on that instead of the pain. On the warmth of her lap beneath his head.
On the fact that she was alive, safe, and had agreed to marry him despite everything.
After what felt like hours, Rose lowered her head to speak quietly in his ear. “We’re coming up on Walnut Springs.”
He wanted to sit up, to see the town for himself, but his body refused to cooperate.
The pain in his leg had settled into a constant throb that made even the smallest movement feel impossible.
He settled for turning his head a little, just enough to catch a glimpse of the buildings above the wagon’s side rails.
The familiar shapes of Walnut Springs emerged from the morning fog—the mercantile’s weathered facade, the saloon’s hanging sign, the boarding house where Vincent had found Rose.
His chest tightened again. How close he’d come to losing her again—maybe even forever.
Thomas guided the team down the main street, and a few townspeople braving the cold morning stopped to stare. Word would spread fast—the Balfour brothers returning at dawn with one of them laid out in the wagon bed and a man tied to a horse like a criminal.
Let them stare. Let them talk. Rose was safe, and that was all that mattered.
The wagon rolled to a stop in front of the jail, and Thomas spoke from the bench. “Robert, I’ll tell the deputy what’s going on if you want to see if the doc’s in town.”
Robert vaulted over the side of the wagon, his boots hitting the packed snow with a soft crunch. He strode toward the doctor’s office, his long legs eating up the distance in seconds.
James tried to focus on something other than the fire in his leg—the way Rose’s fingers still moved through his hair, the cold morning air against his face, the muffled voices of Thomas and the deputy as they discussed Vincent’s crimes.
But the pain kept pulling him under, waves of it that made his stomach churn and his vision blur.
Rose’s hand stilled in his hair. “James?”
“Still here.” The words scraped past his raw throat.
Her expression softened, but worry creased the corners of her eyes. He wanted to tell her he’d be fine, that this was nothing, but the lie wouldn’t form.
Boot steps approached the wagon, and Dr. Morrison’s lined face appeared above the side rail. His sharp eyes took in James’s splinted leg, the torn trousers, the swelling that had turned the limb into something barely recognizable.
“Let’s have a look.” His tone was matter-of-fact, kind even, but the way his jaw tightened told James everything he needed to know about how bad it looked.
Still, before they did anything, he needed to know about… He pushed the words through the rocks in his throat. “Mandie? And the baby?”
Doc’s expression softened, just a fraction, and some of the tension eased in James’s chest. “Mother and baby are both well. A healthy little girl, born just after midnight. Enoch was near useless through the whole thing, but Mrs. Wang kept everyone fed and calm.”
A girl. Mandie had delivered a girl, and both were safe. The relief that washed through him felt almost as powerful as the pain radiating from his leg.
“That’s good.” He almost managed a smile. “Real good.”
Dr. Morrison nodded, then turned his attention back to James’s leg. “Now let’s see what you’ve done to yourself this time.”
The next hour or so passed in a blur. His brothers and the doctor carrying him in, laying him in the exam room.
Doc must have given him more laudanum, for his head turned to that foggy mud he had to fight to pull a thought through.
At least the throbbing in his leg faded to a dull ache that was almost bearable compared to what it had been.
Voices drifted around him—Thomas’s low murmur as he spoke with the deputy, Rose’s soft replies to questions someone asked. He caught fragments of conversation, pieces that didn’t quite fit together into a coherent whole.
“…broken in two places now…”
“…stay off it completely…”
“…weeks, maybe months…”
The words should have alarmed him, but the laudanum wrapped everything in cotton, softening the edges until even bad news felt distant and unimportant.
Another voice drifted in with the others. Was that…Bill? His surname wouldn’t come. The man who’d stayed on their ranch, helping with the hay. The last time James had heard that voice…he’d been…drunk.
Now his tone sounded so very sober. Maybe even desperate.
James forced himself to focus on the words.
“…if I’d known, I would never…so sorry… said her family just wanted her back safe…” Bill’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know he was hurting her. Didn’t know about her mama or—” He broke off. “I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. More sorry than I can say.”
James blinked and shifted his head to see the cluster of figures. Rose stood with Thomas and Robert flanking her. The deputy. Bill.
The latter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad—bills, folded and crumpled. “You take the money. What’s left of it.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I promise.”
Rose’s expression shifted—that gentle steadiness he loved so much making her smile look almost serene.
“I don’t want the money, Mr. Carter. Keep it, or use it for something good.
” She slid a look toward James. Just a glance, but it fed his soul in ways he’d craved for years. “I have all I need here.”
She turned back to Turner, whose hand had started to tremble.
His throat worked as he swallowed, then he nodded and stuffed the wad back into his coat. “I’ll do that, ma’am. You have my word. And I’m so sorry again. If there’s anything I can do. Ever. You just tell me.”
“I appreciate that.” Rose’s voice carried the weight of everything she’d been through, but also something lighter—hope, maybe, or the beginning of healing.
James let his eyes drift closed again, the laudanum pulling him back toward the depths where the pain couldn’t quite reach him. The voices continued around him, distant now, like he was underwater and they were speaking from the surface.
Then a hand closed around his—small, familiar. Rose’s soft, cool fingers threaded through his, and even through the haze of medicine, the touch anchored him.
He let himself relax, let himself rest in her hold and the peace that only God could bring. The last thing he felt was the sweet brush of Rose’s kiss on his forehead.