Page 10 of Mail-Order Lady

Not a question. A statement, delivered with the sort of gentle certainty that made disagreement feel like petulance.

Clara forced herself to dip her chin. “One o’clock.”

“Wonderful.” Mother’s smile reached her eyes—or seemed to. The pleasure looked real. Made her doubt her own instinct to pull away. “Good night, dear one.”

She swept toward the lobby doors with the grace of someone who’d just won a negotiation without appearing to try at all.

The knot in her middle pulled tighter with each step her mother took. When the door finally closed behind her, the lobby felt both larger and smaller at once.

“Shall we?” Robert’s voice hummed beside her.

She turned toward the stairs and forced her legs to carry her up, one step and then another.

Robert stayed close enough that she could hear his footsteps behind her. Not hovering—he was too careful for that—but present. Watchful in that way that made her feel protected.

The hallway stretched ahead, dim and quiet.

Robert opened her door, then checked inside before stepping back to let her pass. The same routine as earlier. The same careful attention to details to keep her safe.

Maybe Mother simply wanted to talk tomorrow. Would she try to force Clara to return to South Carolina with her? Clara had intentionally brought only a few dresses on this journey to meet her in Fort Benton, so she would have a reason to say she couldn’t just leave the Montana Territory. All her belongings were back at the Balfour Ranch. The place that already felt more like home after a few months than Columbia had in nineteen years.

“Thank you.” She stepped past Robert into the room.

“Clara.” His voice stopped her two steps in.

When she looked back, he stood in the doorway with that expression he got sometimes—the one that said he was working through a problem and didn’t like any of the solutions he’d found.

“You don’t have to meet with her alone.” His voice was low. Careful. “The parlor isn’t private. I can be nearby. Or Mrs. Wang can⁠—”

“She’ll know.” The words came out too flat. “She’ll know you’re watching, and she’ll...”

What? Make Clara feel like a child who couldn’t have a simple conversation with her own mother? Make her feel guilty for doubting a grieving widow’s intentions? Both, probably.

His jaw tightened. “Then she can know I’m watching. I want her to see that you’re protected.” Something hard narrowed in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Clara. I will not allow her to manipulate you into something you don’t want.”

The words settled between them like a promise. Like a solid hold she could cling to when the ground quaked. The weight on her chest eased. Not loosened exactly, but shifted. Making room for something else alongside the dread.

“I know.” She managed to keep her voice steady. “I know you won’t.”

He studied her another moment, like he was seeing more than she wanted to show. The fear she was trying to keep hidden. The way part of her still wanted to believe her mother had changed, even though the rest of her knew better.

“Three knocks, then two,” he said finally.

“Three knocks, then two.”

He stepped back into the hall, and she closed the door. Turned the lock. Pressed her forehead against the wood and tried to slow her breathing.

Tomorrow at one o’clock. If Robert was nearby, she could face her mother.

CHAPTER 3

Robert had barely slept.

He’d tried—spent an hour lying on the narrow hotel bed, staring at the ceiling while his mind worked through scenarios. What Margaret McKinney wanted. What she’d say. How Clara would respond when her mother applied pressure in ways Clara couldn’t defend against.

At four-thirty he’d given up and dressed. At five he’d been on the street, watching the first gray light creep over the Missouri.

Now it was half past nine, and he stood in Nash’s Mercantile placing an order for supplies the ranch didn’t urgently need. Flour. Coffee. Salt pork. Things they could have picked up in Butte on the next supply run.