Chapter 20
Five days.
Five days that could have been a single day if his brothers would have just listened to him.
Thomas shifted in his saddle as the ranch house came into view, every muscle in his body screaming for rest. His hands ached from wielding picks and shovels.
His shoulders burned from hauling rock and ice.
And his ribs—the ones that had only just begun to heal—throbbed with each breath, a constant reminder of every wrong move he’d made over the past week.
Behind him, James and Enoch rode in similar silence, their horses plodding through the churned mud of the trail. Robert had stayed behind a few more hours at the Jenkins’ place to help Samuel move the surviving cattle to fresh pasture.
Fifteen head. That’s how many they’d saved.
Three dead when they finally broke through the wall of snow and debris. Three animals that might have lived if they’d taken the back trail like Thomas had suggested. If his brothers had trusted him enough to consider his plan instead of dismissing it outright.
The familiar bitterness rose in his throat, sharp as bile.
He’d worked alongside them without complaint. Dug until his hands bled through his gloves. Taken the night shifts when the cold cut deepest.
And through it all, not one of them had acknowledged that maybe—just maybe—he’d been right.
The ranch yard spread before them now, smoke curling from the main house chimney in lazy spirals against the gray afternoon sky. Home. Though the word felt hollow in his chest.
“I’ll take the horses.” James’s voice came out rough with exhaustion. “You two go on inside.”
Thomas dismounted without answering, his boots hitting the packed earth with a jolt that traveled up through his knees. He handed his reins to James and headed for the house, not trusting himself to speak.
Enoch fell into step beside him. “You did good work out there.”
“Did I?” The words came out a bit too sharp. “Didn’t feel like it mattered much.”
His brother’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Just climbed the porch steps and pushed through the front door, letting a wave of warm air wash over them both.
The great room stood empty save for the fire crackling in the hearth.
The familiar scent of Mrs. Wang’s cooking drifted from somewhere deeper in the house—beef stew, maybe, with that hint of ginger she always added.
His stomach clenched with hunger, but the rest of him didn’t care about food right now.
He needed to find Kate. Needed to tell her what he’d decided during those long, cold nights of digging through snow while his brothers pretended his ideas didn’t exist.
California.
The name had become a drumbeat in his mind. Constant. He was done waiting. Done hoping things would change. Done being the youngest brother whose voice didn’t matter.
He needed to talk to Kate about the plan. Should he go ahead to California now, get things established, then come back for her and Clara in the summer? Or would they want to go with him right away?
Either way, he couldn’t stay here. Not as an afterthought. Not as someone whose judgment would never be trusted simply because he’d had the misfortune of being born last.
“You’re back.” Mrs. Wang stepped from the dining room with a tray in her arms, but halted when she saw him and Enoch. Her sharp gaze swept over them both. “Go wash. Both of you. Then come and eat. Where are James and Robert?”
“Robert stayed to help Samuel.” Enoch pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket. “James is seeing to the horses.”
Her expression softened. “The cattle?”
“Three lost. Fifteen saved.” Enoch’s voice carried the weight of those numbers—the cost of decisions made and time wasted.
She nodded, then turned to Thomas. Something in her gaze made him want to look away—that particular knowing she’d perfected over the years of raising them all. “You need rest more than food, I think.”
“I’m fine.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t believe him, of course. But she simply gestured toward the stairs. “Your wife is in her sister’s room. Clara is not well.”
The words cut through his fog of exhaustion and frustration. “Not feeling well? What’s wrong?”
“A fever. Started yesterday.” Mrs. Wang’s tone had gone matter-of-fact, though concern flickered beneath it. “Nothing serious yet, but Kate has stayed with her.”
He started toward the stairs.
“Take this to her.” Mrs. Wang held out the tray she’d been carrying.
But when he shifted his direction to take it from her, she frowned. “Do not make dirty.”
Despite it all, he managed a tip of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
The tray felt heavier than it should have as he dragged himself up the stairs, each step an effort that made his ribs protest.
As he moved down the hallway, the door to Clara’s room opened. He slowed when Kate stepped out.
She pulled up short when she saw him, her hazel eyes widening. He let himself take in the sight of her.
She looked tired. Dark circles shadowed her hazel eyes, and her hair—usually pinned in that neat chignon she favored—had come loose in places, dark strands falling around her face. Her dress was wrinkled, as though she’d been sitting in the same position for hours.
His insides twisted.
“Thomas.” Her voice carried relief and something else he couldn’t quite name. “You’re back.”
“Just now.” He stopped a few feet from her. He should have washed before he came upstairs. What with the dirt ground into his clothes, the week’s worth of stubble on his jaw, and his stench…she probably wanted to back away from him.
Too late to change that now.
He held out the tray. “Mrs. Wang sent this up. Is Clara all right?”
“She’s sleeping. The fever seems to be holding steady.” She reached for the tray, her fingers brushing his as she took it. Even that brief contact sent warmth up his arms. “I was just going to get more blankets. I can’t seem to get her warm.”
Her eyes swept over him again—taking in the mud caked on his boots, the exhaustion weighing down every part of him. “You look terrible.”
A laugh slipped out. “I’ve been told.”
But she didn’t smile. Instead, she stepped closer, and her hand rose as though she might touch his face. Then she caught herself and let it fall. “Did it go well? The rescue?”
A new rush of frustration surged. “We saved fifteen head. Lost three.”
“Oh.” Something flicked across her expression. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” He tried to keep his voice light, but bitterness crept in anyway. “Might have saved them all if we’d taken them out the back way. But what do I know?”
Kate’s eyes sharpened. That look she got when she was reading past his words to the truth underneath. “Thomas—
“I need to talk to you, Kate.”
Her brows rose. “About?”
He inhaled a breath to rein in his words. “About California.”
Her face went pale. “What about it?”
“I’m going.” Maybe he shouldn’t have been so abrupt.
He worked to soften his tone. “I can’t stay here anymore. Not like this. Not when they—” He broke off, swallowing back the tide that rose too strong. “I’m done being treated like I don’t know anything. Like my ideas don’t matter because I’m the youngest.”
Kate’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.
“We lost three cattle out there.” He couldn’t get the edge in his voice to ease.
“Three animals that might have lived if they’d just listened to me about that trail.
But no. Thomas is reckless. Thomas takes too many risks.
” He laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet hallway.
“I’m so tired of proving myself to people who’ve already decided I’m not worth hearing. ”
“Thomas—”
“I want you and Clara to come with me.” He refocused on her face…one that seemed to be going paler with each breath.
She took a step back. “You want us to leave? Now?”
“Not necessarily now.” He dragged a hand through his filthy hair. “I could go ahead—get things established, find us a place, come back for you both in the summer. Or...” He paused. “Or you could come with me when I leave. We could all go together. Start fresh somewhere new.”
The color had drained from her face entirely. “Thomas, Clara is sick.”
He was making a muddle of this. “I know. I’m not saying we’d leave tomorrow.” Though part of him wanted exactly that—to saddle his horse and ride until Montana was nothing but a memory behind him. “But soon. As soon as she’s well enough to travel.”
Kate shook her head. “I don’t—I need time to think about this.”
Time. The word landed wrong, scratching against his already raw nerves. How much more time did she need? They’d talked about California before. She’d known this was something he wanted.
Though maybe she hadn’t realized how much he needed it.
He studied her face, doing his best to read what she wasn’t saying. Her knuckles had gone white where she gripped the tray. Her jaw was set in that stubborn line.
“How much time?” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. Hopefully he mostly succeeded.
“I don’t know.” Her voice had gone brittle.
“But Clara is sick. I can’t—” She shook her head, and he caught the shimmer of something in her eyes that might have been tears.
“I need time to think about it. I can’t make a decision like this right now, Thomas.
Not with Clara lying in there, unable to keep down anything more than tea. ”
He was a heel. The grandest of heels.
He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs from his half-witted mind. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He glanced toward the closed door. “What can I do to help?”
“You can rest.” Her voice softened, though tension still held her shoulders rigid. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrowed—that look that said she saw right through him. “When was the last time you slept? Really slept, not just collapsed for a few hours between shifts?”
He couldn’t remember. The days had blurred together into an endless cycle of digging and hauling and trying to prove something that apparently couldn’t be proven.
“Thomas.” She shifted the tray to one hip. “Go wash. Eat something. Sleep in an actual bed instead of frozen ground. Once Clara’s better, we can talk about...everything else...when you’re not dead on your feet.”
The practicality in her tone should have irritated him. Should have felt like another person dismissing what he needed.
But something in the way she said it—the concern beneath the brusque words—made the fight drain out of him.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he was too exhausted to have this conversation properly. Too raw to explain without letting bitterness poison every word.
“All right.” He took a step back. “But come find me if I can do anything to help.”
She nodded. “I will.” Though whether that was a promise or just a way to end the conversation, he couldn’t tell.
He turned toward his room—their room—but paused at the door. When he looked back, Kate still stood in the hallway, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
Worry, maybe. Or a deeper emotion that his exhausted mind couldn’t process.
He wanted to go back to her. Wanted to pull her close and bury his face in her hair and let the solid warmth of her presence chase away the cold that had settled into his bones over the past five days.
But Clara needed her. And he had to wash off a week’s worth of grime before he could think about anything else.
So he just offered her a tired nod and slipped into their room.