Chapter 11
Sunlight.
Kate blinked against the golden glow of morning streaming through the ice wall, so bright after the blue-gray dimness from before.
The storm had passed sometime in the night, leaving behind a world transformed—the frozen waterfall no longer a prison but a glittering cathedral, light penetrating through the ice in a thousand tiny rainbows.
She lay still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. Warmth pressed against her back, solid and steady, and it took her sleep-fogged mind a long moment to remember why.
Thomas.
His arm was draped over her waist, heavy with sleep. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck in a slow, even rhythm. At some point in the night, they’d shifted—or she had—and now she lay on her side, snuggled back against him like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare.
She should move. Should pull away before he awoke and realized how tangled they’d become.
Instead, she turned her head. Just enough to see his face.
In sleep, Thomas Balfour looked younger than his twenty years.
The tension she’d grown accustomed to seeing in his jaw smoothed away, leaving something almost vulnerable in its place.
The bruise on his cheekbone still smudged a dark purple, and the gash above it had scabbed into an angry red line.
But even battered, even exhausted, there was a handsomeness to his features that made her chest ache in ways she’d never let herself feel.
His copper-brown hair had fallen across his forehead, and before she could stop herself, her fingers twitched with the urge to brush it back.
What was wrong with her?
She knew better than this. She’d spent years learning not to want things she couldn’t have, not to trust in promises that people would only break.
But lying here, watching Thomas sleep, the familiar warning felt hollow. Like words repeated so often they’d lost their meaning.
He’d kept her warm through the night. Had shared pieces of himself she suspected he didn’t show many people. Had looked at her across the fire and called her extraordinary.
For one moment, she let herself want. Not just the warmth of his body or the safety of his arms—but him. This frustrating, charming, reckless man, who was planning to move to California and leave his entire life behind.
Then Thomas stirred, and the moment shattered like thin ice.
She squeezed her eyes shut to pretend she still slept.
His breathing changed—the slow, even rhythm shifting to something more conscious. The arm around her waist tensed, then carefully withdrew.
She kept her eyes closed, her own breathing deliberately steady while every nerve in her body tracked his movements. The rustle of fabric as he sat up. The soft hiss of pain that escaped when the motion must have pulled at his ribs. The scrape of his boots against stone as he moved toward the fire.
The cold rushed in where his warmth had been, sharp enough to make her want to pull him back.
She didn’t.
Only when she heard him feeding wood to the flames did she allow herself to pretend to wake.
She stretched, making the movement slow and deliberate—as though she’d been deeply asleep and hadn’t felt every moment of his withdrawal. Her muscles protested the hard ground, her hip aching where she’d lain on the stone despite the coat beneath her.
“Morning.” His voice came from near the fire, his tone flat.
She pushed herself upright, wincing as her body reminded her of yesterday’s ordeal. Every joint stiff, every muscle sore. She must look a disaster—hair falling from its pins, dress wrinkled and stained, face probably smudged with smoke and dirt.
She couldn’t let herself care.
“The storm stopped.” She kept her tone as level as his, as though they hadn’t spent the night wrapped around each other. As though she hadn’t lain beside him while he shared about Charles and the grizzly.
“Hours ago, from the looks of it.” Thomas crouched by the fire, poking at the flames with a stick. He didn’t look at her. “Sun’s been up a while.”
She moved to join him, her legs unsteady as blood flow returned to her feet. “How long do you think it will take to find the others?”
“Less than an hour probably. We should be able to cross above the waterfall, then it’s just a matter of getting back to the main trail. I suspect they all spent the night at the Walton place, about a quarter hour from the river.”
The Walton place. She didn’t know who Walton was—probably some rancher or settler who’d carved out a life in these mountains. But knowing Clara had shelter made the knot in her chest loosen a little.
“We should go then.” She moved toward her cloak, now piled beside their makeshift bed. The fabric had dried stiff, but it would be better than nothing.
Thomas finally looked at her, and something flickered in his expression before his features went guarded again. “You should eat something first. I have jerky in my coat pocket.”
Her stomach clenched—hunger she’d been ignoring. But the thought of sitting here, drawing out this strange intimacy while pretending last night hadn’t happened, made her want to bolt into the snow.
“I’m fine.” She fastened her cloak with fingers that fumbled more than they should. “Clara’s been alone all night. I need to get to her.”
“She hasn’t been alone.” His voice carried an edge now, frustration bleeding through the careful tone. “Rose and James were with her. She’s probably had a hot meal and a warm bed while we’ve been freezing in a cave.”
The words stung more than they should have. She tightened her jaw as she finished with the clasp. “I’m aware your family is taking care of her. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s probably terrified something happened to me.”
Thomas stood, the movement stiff despite his attempt to hide it. “You’re right.” The fight drained from his voice as quickly as it had appeared. “Let me put out the fire, and we’ll go.”
He kicked snow over the flames, the hiss and steam rising between them like a wall. The silence felt different than it had last night—heavier now, weighted with all the things they’d said and couldn’t unsay.
He gathered his coat from the ground and shrugged into it, his face tightening as the movement pulled at his ribs. She looked away before he could catch her watching.
They left the hollow without speaking, stepping between the ice curtain and the rocky cliff. Ahead, the blinding white of sun on snow glared so sharp, she had to raise a hand to shield her eyes.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they rounded the frozen cascade. Thomas moved ahead of her, his shoulders hunched against the cold, breath forming white clouds in the crisp morning air.
The world had transformed overnight. Snow blanketed everything in pristine white, unmarred except for the tracks of some small animal that had ventured out at dawn. The river stretched ahead, its surface a solid sheet of white where yesterday’s break had already been covered by fresh snowfall.
A horse’s whinny cut through the stillness.
She snapped her head toward the sound. There—at the river’s edge, perhaps twenty strides downstream—sat a man on horseback. Dark coat. Expensive by the cut of it, even from this distance. The horse beneath him was a fine bay gelding, the kind that cost more than most families earned in a year.
Recognition slammed into her chest.
Edmund Hartwell.
“Who is that?” Thomas had stopped beside her, his attention following her gaze.
She couldn’t answer. Her throat had closed around the words as Mr. Hartwell turned his horse toward them. Even across the distance, she could see the moment he recognized her—the way his posture shifted from casual observation to rigid attention.
The horse picked its way through the snow, each step deliberate as they came closer.
Kate’s pulse hammered against her ribs. What was he doing out here?
Mr. Hartwell reined his horse to a stop a few strides away, his gaze sweeping from Kate to Thomas and back again.
His silver hair caught the morning light, perfectly styled despite the weather, and his dark coat showed barely a wrinkle.
Even his gloves looked pristine—expensive leather that had probably never seen a day of real work.
“Miss McKinney.” His voice carried the same cultured tone it had when he spoke during the stage ride. But underneath it ran something cold. “I must say, this is quite unexpected.”
She forced herself to stand straighter, to meet his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Hartwell. What brings you out in this weather?”
“I might ask you the same question.” His attention shifted to Thomas, lingering on the bruised face and rumpled clothes with obvious distaste. “Though I believe I’m beginning to understand the situation.”
The implication in his words made her stomach dip. She opened her mouth to explain—the storm, the broken ice, the cave—but the expression on Mr. Hartwell’s face stopped her cold. Their wrinkled clothing. The cave behind them. The complete absence of any chaperone.
He’d already decided what this looked like.
“Mr. Balfour and I were caught in the storm,” she said anyway, keeping her voice level. “The river ice broke. The rest of our party made it across, but the blizzard grew worse. We took shelter until it passed.”
“I see.” Mr. Hartwell’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “And this gentleman is...?”
“Thomas Balfour.” Thomas stepped forward, extending his hand. “Of the Balfour Ranch, about a day’s ride north of here.”
Mr. Hartwell made no move to take the offered hand. His gaze traveled over Thomas again. “The Balfour Ranch. Yes, I’ve heard of it.” His tone suggested he’d heard nothing favorable. “And you were escorting Miss McKinney to this ranch?”
“Her sister is traveling there.” Thomas’s tone had gone flat. “Miss McKinney was accompanying her.”