Montana Man

“I thought your niece said that you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“She lied.” Dimples cut into his cheeks, a grin hinting at the corners of his mouth.

But it was his gaze that drew her—the steady, warm concern that made him feel so substantial. That made her palms turn moist and her heart knock against her ribs.

She was on the run—the men hunting her would be watching the train routes, would question passengers, one could even be in this very car.

Of all the people she’d come across since she’d fled her father’s home with only the contents of one small satchel and her savings, she’d never told a single soul, living or dead, her name. She had a better chance eluding her father’s men alone and unnoticed. How could she accept Trey’s invitation? Even if the hardship of six months on the run and the loneliness in her heart tugged at her.

Her gaze strayed to Trey’s outstretched hand, palm up, offering more than someplace to sit on this slow-moving train. He’d seen the men after her. He must have been able to read the panic in her eyes. Even in the dim lamplight the revolver holstered to his hip gleamed.

“Come on,” his rum-rich voice soothed, a contrast to the fast rat-a-tat of her pulse and the brutal howl of the blizzard battering the north windows. “Josie and I need a little more of your good luck, don’t we, honey?”

The little girl tucked safe in his arms nodded fiercely, scattering strawberry blonde curls around her pale face. How vulnerable she looked, how needy.

Everything lonely and hurting in Miranda’s heart ached. She had a weakness for children—a gigantic pillowy soft spot that had always been the reason she’d worked so hard in her father’s hospital. She’d done what she could for the sick and suffering children when her friends were busy counting up the number of their beaus, attending parties and filling hope chests with fine lace, linens and dreams of happy marriages.

Regret slammed so hard into her chest it might as well have been the gust of bitter wind that rocked the car. How she missed the children. Even now, that sadness filled her.

“Please, Miranda.” Tears glistened in Josie’s emerald eyes, as precious as those rare gems. “I’m awful scared.”

She couldn’t do it. Every instinct she had screamed for her to head back to the third-class cars, the cheapest ticket available. She had to be alert. The blizzard could mean the men after her had given up. It also meant the train was now crawling blindly, making a diligent bounty hunter with the hopes of a substantial cash reward more determined and bold.

One of those men had been without enough of a conscience to shoot at the train to stop her—not caring whom he might injure. Could she be a danger to everyone on this train? To the very people she sat beside?

“Josie, please, don’t be scared.” Miranda ignored Trey’s steady hand, offering her much more than she could accept, and traced her fingertips across the etched roses in the center of the polished locket. “You have my mother’s necklace to keep you safe.”

“But what will keep you safe, Miranda?” Trey asked, his words resonating with a blend of concern and knowledge that slashed through her defenses and her arguments.

It had been a long time since she’d felt anyone’s concern. “I’m not a little girl. I’m old enough to make my own luck.” She stubbornly took a step back, watching tears spill down Josie’s face, torn. She hated that she had to go. She wished she could do more to stop this child’s pain.

“I admire that.” Trey lowered his hand and squared his shoulders.

Of all the men she’d come across in her life, she’d never seen a man more mesmerizing and captivating. Trey was sure of his strength, and he created a presence so strong that the light and noise in the car faded until all she could see was him. His gaze latched onto hers.

“I’m armed.” He laid his well-formed hand over the gleaming wooden grip of the Colt. “Are you?”

She shook her head. She could not tear her eyes away from the breadth of his thigh, where the holster hugged what looked like rock-hard muscle.

This was a man who didn’t spend his life indoors away from the sun and wind, his body growing soft with leisure and time. No, Josie’s Uncle Trey looked like a man who rode the range for a living, from the hard ridge of his shoulders down to the tips of his well-worn but polished riding boots. Every inch looked as tough as nails, like the lawman she’d first figured he might be.

“Then stay with me. You’ll be safer.” He laid one hand on her shoulder. “I doubt those men would be foolish enough to brave this storm, but if they do, they could catch up with us in no time. I don’t know what you’re running from, Miranda, and it’s none of my business.”

“Then why—”

“Because where I come from, a man worth his grit protects a woman. He doesn’t fire a gun at her on a crowded platform with a train full of people behind her.” His grip tightened.

Miranda instinctively tried to brush him away, but stopped when she realized his hold on her wasn’t bruising or possessive, like Lewis’s had been. Nor was it controlling like Father’s. Trey’s touch was firm and binding, but as respectful as a promise made and kept.

“I could put you and Josie in jeopardy—”

“Don’t you worry about that. We’re tough, aren’t we, Red?” He gave the little girl wrapped in one arm a slight squeeze.

“That’s right. We’re real tough.” Josie bobbed her small chin once despite the heartbreak in her eyes.

“So am I.” Could she stay? Should she?

For the first time in months, Miranda felt the mantle of fear slide off her shoulders, leaving her weak and tired and strangely at ease. The longing in her heart spurred her. She stepped forward, twisting away from the burn of Trey’s fingers curling into the rise of her shoulder.

She was lonely, after all. Miranda eased along the seats flanking a window made dark by the brutal storm. “I usually travel alone, but just this once, just for you, Josie, I’ll make an exception.”

She avoided Trey’s gaze, but felt it heavy on her back as she grabbed her skirts and slid across the plush velvet.

“Wait.” Again, his touch stopped her, leaving a hot, aching feeling where the weight of his hand settled on her forearm. “I’ll take the window. It’s colder.”

“I’m no delicate female.” She turned her shoulder and settled into the seat, brushing off his concern as if she didn’t need it.

But in truth, it had been so long since anyone had known or cared if she were warm or cold, safe or in danger. Her chest squeezed tight. She felt grateful as this man settled beside her. She tingled deep inside when his broad shoulder brushed hers.

Surely, she wasn’t making a mistake in staying. In trusting that the bounty hunters, or their hired men, couldn’t follow in this storm. But as Trey dug Josie’s doll from his bag, Miranda didn’t relax, or stop fearing the ruthless men on her trail.

The lamplight, meager in the first-class cabin, played across Miranda’s face, highlighting the soft slope of her nose and the rosebud softness of her lips. She turned from the window to answer something Josie had asked.

Miranda’s voice was like music, like melody and harmony, and flowed as sweet and quiet as a Brahms lullaby. Low and spellbinding, the sound moved through him. The clack of the wheels on the track and the scouring blast of the blizzard faded into the background until all he could hear was Miranda’s alto sweetness as she agreed to braid her doll Baby Beth’s hair.

The door swung open in front of them and, propelled by the severe wind, crashed against the wall with force enough to shake the car. Miranda jumped with a look of panic, and her pupils became big black disks. Her slim body tensed, ready to run or fight, he didn’t know which. When the conductor stepped into the car and pulled the door back into place, Trey watched the relief soften Miranda’s face, but the tension squeezed tight in her shoulders and spine did not ease.

“Don’t worry.” Trey laid his hand over hers, felt the cold, silken texture of her skin and the bone-hard tension of muscles bunched, ready to fight. “He isn’t armed.”

“Oh, really?” She lifted one brow, the sardonic twist of her mouth somehow endearing. She was afraid, but she wasn’t cowering. Or, he guessed, willing to admit it.

“This is one threat I can handle.” He winked at her, pulling out the ticket cards from his breast pocket.

“I’m not here because I need protection.”

“Of course not. A woman traveling alone is an even match against six armed ruffians.”

“I’m not helpless.” Her chin shot up. “And those brutes may be armed, but so far I’ve been able to outwit them.”

“Until you stopped to help us.”

“It was torture, but someone had to do it.” She flashed him a quick smile, wavery but true.

He was dying to ask what she was running from, who the men were on her trail—bounty hunters, by his practiced eye—and why they wanted a woman with eyes as gentle as dawn. She was from money—he’d learned to read a person at a single glance in his line of work—her hands were as smooth as watered silk and her face appeared as soft as morning. The cut of her gray cloak was simple, but the worsted wool was of a high quality. Every stitch, every garnish, every button, no matter how sedate, spoke of her station in life, one high above his.

Women well born and gently raised were never found alone on a Montana mountainside. Curiosity burned, but he’d learned patience in his profession, too.

He explained Miranda’s absence of a first-class ticket to the conductor and offered quietly to pay the difference. But the kind-eyed man only waved his hand, his gaze falling on Josie’s brand-new leg brace and moved on, the understanding quiet but unmistakable.

The train inched along through the towering peaks of the Rockies, invisible from the window where the gray and white of the unrelenting blizzard blocked everything from their view.

“We’re going so slow, will we be able to climb through the mountains?” Miranda pocketed her ticket stub, directing her attention away from the doors to Josie, who held out her doll’s miniature hairbrush. Despite the interruption and the storm, Baby Beth still needed to look her best.

“Hard to tell. They may take us only as far as Pine Bluff.” Josie shifted on Trey’s knee, and he felt the stiffness easing from her little spine. He watched Miranda take the brush and begin grooming the doll’s flyaway hair. “The telegraph wires could go down in a storm like this.”

Miranda dropped the brush. It clattered to the floor with a thud, but the sound was lost in the friendly noises inside the car as passengers talked. She shrugged one slim shoulder. “I can only hope those wires are down.”

“I doubt the telegraph people would share your hopes, but then, sometimes modern inventions can work against a person.” With one hand on Josie’s shoulder to balance her, he reached with his free hand just as Miranda bent forward at the same time.

Their foreheads brushed. He could feel the wisps of a few rebellious tendrils, breezing across the skin of his brow as brazenly as a lover’s touch. His body reacted hot and hard, but he didn’t move away even as the blood thundered through his veins and his breath grew short and choppy.

“I can’t reach it.” She didn’t blink, and a small frown tugged down the soft corners of her mouth, drawing his gaze and making him wonder just what her soft, bow-shaped lips would taste like if he kissed them. Her grin grew. “Your big head is in the way.”

“My head is big?”

“Bigger than mine.” A wicked smile teased at one dimple, and his stomach felt as if it were falling straight down to his tailored boots. “In my experience, the amount of charm a doctor exudes is in direct proportion to the arrogance he’s trying to cover up.”

“You have a lot of experience with doctors?” Now he had to know. He had to get a little more personal with this woman who made even an affirmed bachelor like him feel more hot and bothered than he’d been in a decade. “You look healthy to me.”

“My father is one.” The words popped out of her mouth before she thought, and she sat up, forgetting Josie’s hairbrush. “I’m engaged to one.”

“Engaged?” He quirked one dark brow, as if to say, now, that’s interesting, before he knelt a little farther, stretching those magnificent shoulders and arching his broad, well-constructed back to rescue the brush beneath the seat.

Miranda watched as he straightened, nodding easily at Josie’s “Thank you, Uncle Trey.” Curiosity twitched at his mouth. “Does your fiancé know you’re unchaperoned and in trouble?”

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.” She couldn’t believe it. Six long months she’d kept her secrets safe, and in less than an hour, she’d opened up her heart and her life to a man she didn’t know—to a doctor, no less, to the kind of man she was running from. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t stomach her weakness.

She’d been alone too long. She felt starved for someone to talk to, someone with kind eyes, or a child who needed a little help. She’d just opened up like this, without control, without consideration to what would happen to her if those bounty hunters found her.

They would drag her back to Philadelphia, to a wedding she did not want, and to a father she could never stand to look at again.

“I know how to keep a confidence.” Trey—she didn’t even know his last name—flashed her a wink. The devil shone in his eyes and in the cut of his one-sided grin. “I’m a doctor.”

“I know what you are.”

“Handsome, charming, debonair. Kind to children and damsels in distress.” Twin dimples danced and beguiled, and he was far too sure of himself. Yet with those wicked eyes and the mesmerizing cut of his muscled body, he was that and more.

“See?” She tugged at her bonnet strings. “I knew the arrogance was in there somewhere.”

“No man is perfect.” He winked a second time. He was humoring her. Or maybe he could feel it, too—the way the train slowed.

They must be approaching the next station. A whistle blared faintly above the blast of ice, muted by the ever-present howl of the wind.

Was she in luck? Had the vicious storm knocked down the telegraph wires? Or would someone looking for her board this train? Her palms turned clammy and her fingers felt wooden and stiff as she began French-braiding Baby Beth’s hair in accordance with Josie’s careful instructions.

Beside her, Trey turned in his seat to watch as the station eased into sight, the storm broken by the shelter of tall buildings.

Snow still swirled, but Miranda could see the faces of the waiting passengers blur on the other side of the frosted glass. Men, women, children. Trepidation curled around her heart, cold and foreboding.

Somewhere in the crowd was a man searching for her. She knew it. She could feel it.

“Miranda, use this barrette.” Josie’s grip was warm against the back of Miranda’s knuckles.

She turned to see trust as true as the shine on her mother’s locket. “This is mighty pretty for a dolly to wear.”

“It matches her traveling dress.” Josie tugged at the buttons on her coat, revealing a dark dress made of the same beautiful fabric.

A fancy doll, fine clothes, barrettes made of lustrous mother-of-pearl and gleaming gold. It smacked of her own childhood, one where a housekeeper polished the furniture daily, according to Father’s instructions, in a house ruled by decorum and not by love. Miranda’s heart twisted. She did not regret for a moment her flight from home and all the privilege she’d left behind.

What she hated was leaving now.

“You take good care of Baby Beth.” Miranda pressed her hand briefly against the side of Josie’s cheek, the skin child-soft and precious. “Goodbye, dear heart.”

“Where you goin’?” Josie tipped back her head as Miranda stood, her lower lip beginning to quiver.

“Remember my mother’s locket.” Miranda pressed the child’s hand to where the gold winked in the lamplight. “Thank you for keeping watch over me, Trey.”

He stood, scooping the child up easily in one arm. “There’s no need for you to leave. Your ticket was for Missoula, which is a long way from here, on the other side of the Rockies.”

She’d developed quite a skill for slipping off a train unnoticed while hired guns climbed on. “This is where I intend to get off.”

“I don’t think so. You’re not going to leave like this.” Trey towered over her, one-hundred-percent might, blocking her way. “From here on out, until this train reaches Willow Creek, I’ll be your good-luck charm.”

The ability to speak seemed to flee as Miranda tilted her head to get a thorough look at the man who stood between her and doing the right thing—getting off this train when violent men were after her. They might not care whom they hurt. But she did, she cared.

The door at the rear of the car banged open, propelled by a hard gust. Miranda jumped, her gaze darting around Trey’s well-hewn upper arm to the dark-jacketed man striding down the aisle. Two holsters hugged his denim thighs, and both beefy hands were poised above the handles of the battered revolvers.

A bounty hunter. There was no mistaking the determined, ruthless gait or the emotionless set to his eyes. She eased back, trapped between the window and Trey.

“I’m not only a dashing traveling partner—” he leaned close to murmur, his breath hot against the outer shell of her ear “—but did I mention I was a fantastic dinner companion?”

“No, you failed to list that as one of your many flaws,” she whispered past a dry throat. Fear trembled through her, leaving her cold and shaking. “Fortunately for you, I have a sudden urge to leave this car.”

“Me, too.” Shielding her from sight with his body, he backed out into the aisle.

Miranda slipped ahead of him, pushed open the door. She knew the bounty hunter, still searching the faces of the seated passengers, was close, but he hadn’t noticed her.

Yet.

She stepped into the next car, and Trey’s hand settled against the small of her back, guiding her through the dining car and toward the table tucked away in the back. “Wait.” Trey’s hand guided her to a stop. He stepped close so the hard curve of his shoulder and the plane of his chest pressed against her back.

Heat scorched her as they touched. Her skin felt ready to blister, but Trey didn’t move aside. She heard the door behind them slam as the bounty hunter strolled into the car. She stiffened, but Trey held her steady.

“May I seat you?” a waiter appeared.

“Please.” Trey’s rum-smooth voice warmed her, gave her hope. “My wife would like a window table.”

“This way.”

Miranda held her breath as the bounty hunter prowled past. He barely even looked their way. Josie reached out for her, and she took the child into her arms. Trey’s deception had worked. The hired gun was looking for a woman alone.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he left the car.

“Am I a genius or what?” Trey winked, his grin jaunty.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She thanked the waiter, who pulled out a chair for her. “But you did good. Thank you.”

“Why, anything for my wife.”

She laughed and couldn’t remember the last time she had. It had been before her father’s betrayal, before she left a world she’d loved, never to return again.

Chapter Three

“R elax.” Trey handed the menus to the waiter, who hurried away with their order. “The train’s pulling out. That no-good hired gun could have scouted the cars and climbed right back onto that platform. He could be wiring ahead to his cohorts that you weren’t on this train.”

He’d meant to comfort her, but the worry lines slashed deep in her brow remained. “Or maybe he did see me. Maybe he’s just biding his time—”

“No, men like that don’t like to wait. He would have tried to get you off the train before it started to roll.”

“Then I have a lot to be thankful for.” Her voice wobbled, and above the tinkle of silverware and the clinking of china, her gratefulness rang like the sweetest vibrato, rich and rare. “You kept him from finding me. You kept me safe.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything.” Her eyes darkened and she looked away, ready to change the subject.

Josie leaned close, asking Miranda to retie Baby Beth’s bonnet strings. With a gentle smile, one that chased the anxiety from her eyes and softened the stark set to a face too beautiful to be so afraid, Miranda tied the tiny ribbons into a plump bow.

There was an innate kindness in her that shone like the first brush of dawn, like new light upon a dark land. Pure and true, she was the kind of woman a man prayed for.

Not that he was in the market for a wife, no sir, he was busy enough with his work. He’d given love a try once and it hadn’t been to his liking. He didn’t have the time for a woman’s demands, no matter how fine the woman. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate one.

“He must be a real jackass.” Trey thanked the waiter who returned with a hot pot of steeping tea.

“Who?” Miranda reached for the gleaming pot.

“Your fiancé.” He scooped up the dainty gold-rimmed cup for her to fill. “You mentioned him, remember?”

“I hoped you might forget all about that.” She poured, but the stream of fragrant tea that spilled into his china cup wasn’t steady or even.

“Did I mention in addition to all my other attributes that I have an excellent memory?”

“You’re also conceited. Another flaw.” A hint of a smile tugged at the tight line of her mouth, but when she lifted the teapot, his cup full to the brim, she miscalculated and hot liquid plopped onto the back of his hand.

He jerked back, tea sloshing over the rim and onto his other hand. He cursed mildly, the burns hot and stinging. He set the cup in its saucer, already nearly full with spilled tea, and reached for his napkin.

She was faster. Heat stained her face as she dabbed at the mess. “I can’t believe I was so clumsy. Are you hurt?”

“Not a bit. Nothing lasting, anyway.”

“This time I didn’t do it, Uncle Trey.” Josie, pleased because she excelled at spilling drinks at the table, clapped her hands. For an instant she looked more like the little girl he remembered, eyes bright and sparkling, the smallest pleasure alight on her pixie face.

For a moment, it was as if the past had returned, that Madeline could be alive and well, and this child’s heart whole. His chest tightened as the moment passed. The train rattled, shuddering against the steep slope as they climbed in elevation. The gladness drained from Josie’s face and she climbed into his lap, quiet and subdued.

Miranda noticed as she added cream and sugar to her own cup, took Josie’s vacant seat between them, and offered the girl a sip. Trey’s heart squeezed a little tighter. He was grateful to this woman, a stranger, who’d taken the time to comfort a frightened little girl.

He wondered what road lay ahead for him and Josie. He didn’t think he could keep her, despite his sister’s wishes. There was so much he couldn’t give a child, even though he wanted to.

The waiter arrived with their first course, steaming clam chowder garnished with bits of green onion and tiny oyster-shaped crackers. Their server had the foresight to bring a small bowl of those special crackers just for Josie.

“I hate to admit it, but you were right.” Miranda dipped her spoon into the thick chowder. “He is a jackass.”

Oh, yes, the fiancé. “He would have to be to let a pretty lady like you run off on him.”

“I never said—”

“Did I mention I also read minds?” His dark eyes glimmered, full of mischief. “Just another one of my many talents—”

“Flaws, you mean.” She startled when the door opened at the end of the elegant car.

A well-dressed man, distinguished in a black suit, stepped inside, and she relaxed. “Lewis wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Ah, the real truth of love relationships.” Trey scooted Josie closer to the table, so reaching the bowl of crackers wasn’t such a long stretch for her. “One day the fantasy wears off, and you’re left with reality—a plain man with flaws and failures, not some shining hero of your heart.”