Chapter 33
At Rose’s first glimpse of the ranch house through the pines, so many emotions flooded her, tightening her throat so she couldn’t have spoken if she tried. Those familiar log walls and steep-pitched roof rising against the mountain backdrop looked more like home than any place she’d ever known.
Two days ago—was it really only two days?—she’d run from this place, convinced James would blame her for Vincent’s poison seeping into his family. Convinced she didn’t deserve the life spreading before her. A gift she had no right to accept.
Now, beside her in the wagon bed, James squeezed her hand. She met his gaze, letting herself sink into that smile—tired as it was—and the love shimmering past the hint of pain that still lingered in his eyes.
They’d stayed one night in Walnut Springs, giving his body a rest before this final leg of the journey home.
This was home. These people her family.
The wagon rolled into the yard, and movement on the porch pulled her attention. Bea stepped out first, her small frame wrapped in a thick shawl against the cold. Then Mandie appeared behind her, and Rose’s chest expanded with so much relief.
Mandie looked wonderful—pale perhaps, a little unsteady on her feet as she gripped the door.
But whole. Alive. The round swell of pregnancy had diminished, replaced by the soft curves of a woman who’d just brought new life into the world.
Where was the babe?
Thomas reined the team to a stop, and Rose was already moving, climbing over the side of the wagon before anyone could help her down. When her boots hit the packed snow, she stumbled—her legs stiff from the cold ride—but caught herself.
And then Bea was there, pulling her into a fierce hug that smelled of bread and wood smoke and safety.
“Foolish girl.” The words came out rough against Rose’s hair. “Running off like that. Had us all worried sick.”
Her eyes burned as she let herself sink into the embrace, breathing in that familiar scent of comfort and belonging. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” Bea pulled back just enough to cup Rose’s face in her weathered hands, her dark eyes scanning every bruise, every mark Vincent had left behind. Her expression shifted—softened and hardened all at once—and her thumb brushed across Rose’s cheekbone. “You’re home now. That’s what matters.”
That word again. Home. How could four little letters mean so much?
“My turn.” Mandie touched her shoulder.
Bea pulled back with a chuckle as Mandie closed in.
Her arms came around Rose in a careful hug, gentler than Bea’s fierce embrace, but no less meaningful.
“Thank God you’re safe.” Mandie’s whisper warmed Rose’s ear. “Now that I finally have a sister, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”
Sister. Rose had to blink hard against fresh tears. She’d never had family beyond her mother, and even that had been stolen away too soon. Now so many people she would soon call family.
Behind them drifted the sounds of Thomas and Robert helping James down from the wagon. His sharp intake of breath cut through her overwhelming emotions. He needed to be inside, resting that twice-broken leg.
She pulled back and sniffed to rein in her composure. “Where’s the babe? And Enoch?”
Mandie turned to the front door, which stood ajar. “Come in and see them. It’s so cold out here, Enoch didn’t want her in the wind.”
Rose almost chuckled. She could certainly imagine Enoch would be protective of his new daughter.
James was already hobbling up the porch steps, a brother helping on either side. She waited to enter with him. She wasn’t even real kin to Mandie’s baby, so she shouldn’t be the first to see her.
But James motioned for her to step in before them, the corners of his eyes creasing in a smile that said he knew how much she wanted to hurry inside.
The warmth of the great room wrapped around her. The familiar scents—pine logs and wood smoke and something baking in the kitchen—settled into her lungs, and another wave of emotion threatened to undo her completely.
Mandie crossed to her husband, and the sight of him nearly stopped Rose’s breathing.
The big rancher—Lord Enoch Balfour, heir apparent to the Duke of Clarence—cradled a tiny bundle against his broad chest, his large hands supporting the infant with such reverence, such tenderness. Something warm and bright unfurled through her chest.
He looked down at the baby with an expression she’d never seen on his usually guarded face—a wonder so raw it trembled in the lines around his mouth, tangled with the fierce protectiveness that was Enoch to the core.
This wasn’t his child by blood. James had told her that much during one of their conversations at the ranch, explained in careful words about the awful thing that had been done to Mandie before she’d ever found her way here, before she ever met Enoch.
But the love shining in his eyes now could only belong to a father gazing at his newborn daughter.
Maybe blood didn’t matter as much as everyone always said it did. Maybe family was built out of love, sacrifice, and being there when it mattered most. Not simply born—it was chosen.
Behind her, James’s walking sticks tapped against the floor as his brothers helped him inside. He came to a stop beside her, and she glanced up at him. His eyes glistened as he took in his brother.
What a perfect family they made. Enoch and Mandie and the babe that was theirs to treasure.
James nudged Rose forward, and Enoch shifted a little, angling the babe so she could see.
The infant’s face was perfect—round and pink, with a dusting of dark hair peeking from beneath a knitted cap. Her eyes were closed, her tiny mouth working in sleep, and one miniature fist had escaped the blankets to curl against Enoch’s chest.
That tiny fist, so impossibly small it could barely wrap around one of Enoch’s fingers. How could anyone look at such perfect innocence and not want to protect it with everything inside them?
“Would you like to hold her?” Mandie’s voice came out warm with an invitation that made Rose’s throat close up again.
She wanted to say yes. Wanted it so badly her arms ached with the emptiness. But her hands were still trembling from the cold ride. And… “I…I’ve never…”
Mandie’s smile deepened, and she reached out to squeeze Rose’s arm. “She’s practically begging for her auntie to hold her.”
Enoch moved closer, and Rose found herself accepting the precious weight as he transferred his daughter into her arms. The baby settled against her chest, warm and solid despite her tiny size, and Rose’s throat tightened until she could barely breathe.
She’d never held an infant before. Never had the chance, locked up so tight in Vincent’s grip.
The baby shifted a little, her tiny face scrunching up before relaxing back into sleep.
Something inside Rose shifted too—cracked open and spilled over with an emotion so powerful it freed her tears once more.
She moved carefully toward the settee where James was settling himself, his brothers helping ease him down. They lifted his splinted leg to rest on the table before him.
She had to share this moment with him, needed him to see what she was feeling, even if she couldn’t find words for it.
Once he was situated, she lowered herself beside him, angling the babe so they could both see her tiny features. The firelight caught the downy dark hair, made her skin glow golden and perfect.
“We named her Catherine.” Mandie said from where she stood with Enoch. “After your mother, James, Lady Balfour.”
The name pierced straight through Rose’s already fragile composure.
Catherine. Lady Catherine Balfour, the woman who’d shown such kindness to a common nine-year-old girl all those years ago.
The woman whose gentle grace had left its mark on all her sons, teaching them what love looked like even when the world grew hard.
The tears flowed hot down her cheeks as she gazed at the tiny face nestled in her arms. This precious child would carry forward that legacy of kindness and strength, would grow up knowing she was loved and wanted and cherished.
James’s hand found hers where it supported Catherine’s small body, his fingers threading through hers. Anchoring her.
She looked up at him. He was watching the baby with such tenderness, such wonder—his battered features softened, the pain lines around his mouth easing as he studied his tiny niece.
Then his gaze lifted to meet hers, and the love shining there reached so deep inside her chest she could barely contain it. Whether she deserved it or not…this love was real.
And it was hers.
God had given her all these gifts—given her James, this family, this future she’d never dared to imagine during all those dark years.
“Would you like to hold her?” She kept her voice soft so she didn’t wake the sleeping infant. But James needed to experience this weight in his arms. This promise of what their own future might hold.
His smile reached all the way to his eyes despite the exhaustion pulling at his features. “I’d love to.”
She helped transfer the tiny bundle into his arms, careful not to jostle his injured leg.
He settled Catherine against his chest with a natural ease that surprised her—this man who’d spent his life working cattle and breaking horses somehow knew exactly how to cradle an infant like she was made of spun glass.
The sight of him—her strong husband-to-be, her best friend in all the world—holding his tiny niece with such gentleness stirred something deep and warm through her chest. Something that felt almost too big to contain.
One day, Lord willing, they would have their own babe. Maybe several of them, filling this house with laughter and noise and the beautiful chaos of family. She’d never let herself imagine such a thing before.
But God was proving His love wasn’t conditional. Wasn’t dependent on what had happened to her or how she’d responded. He simply loved her—the way James loved her—completely and without conditions.
Rose leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as they both gazed at little Catherine. The warmth of the fire reached her now, seeping into her bones after the cold journey.
The familiar sounds of the ranch house settled around them—Thomas speaking with Enoch in low tones, Bea’s footsteps moving toward the kitchen, Mandie’s soft laugh at something Robert said.
The sounds of family. Of home.
This future—this life—she would treasure every single day for as long as God gave her breath.