Montana Man

“Now you think you’re an expert on a woman’s love life, is that it?”

“Well, I have observed quite a few situations—”

“It’s not like that.” Irritation sliced through her, and she frowned at him. It was her experience in life that men took a very cynical view of love, and it bothered her to no end, as if women were made to love and care for others but did not deserve great affection and esteem in return. “Lewis is an awful man. He’s charming and—”

“Debonair and dashing?” Trey cocked one brow, attempting to tease her away from her anger.

Well, she wasn’t about to be cajoled out of anything. “Yes, that’s right. He thinks he’s handsome and intelligent and so very fine, but he’s the worst sort of man.”

“Just like me?” Trey’s brow crooked higher.

Oh, she would not grin. She wouldn’t. “As a matter of fact, he’s exactly like you.”

“Surely a man any beautiful woman ought to run screaming away from.” He might be humoring her, but the light in his eyes was fading, as if he sensed what she was about to say.

She pushed aside her soup, no longer hungry. The man, who’d stepped into the car earlier, settled into the table behind her. Aware, she lowered her voice. “I did run away screaming.”

Her palms prickled and every muscle in her body began to quake. The pleasant dining car faded away until memory dominated her senses. She saw again the parlor’s drapes pulled tight against the midday sun and smelled the fragrance of freshly blooming roses.

She closed her eyes, hoping to stop the memory, but she still heard the click of the big double doors closing, locking her in with the man she’d given her heart to. She’d escaped him before he could rape her, but he’d blackened both her eyes, and when she’d leaped out the window running, she’d believed her father would protect her.

But Father only handed her back to Lewis, his words destroying every illusion she’d had about her life.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Trey’s words rumbled low like thunder, as powerful as a storm, more comforting than any man’s voice had the right to be. “Is there—”

“No.” She stopped him before he could offer more than she could endure. She didn’t want to go back, she didn’t want to dwell on what could never be changed. Or remember more of that day, of what she could not face again.

“I’m fine, really. I got away before he could take from me what no man should have by force. I—” Her voice wobbled, and she hated it. She hated that he could coax secrets and wounds from her heart with such ease.

“He’s the one after you?” A muscle jumped in Trey’s jaw, and there was no longer even a glimmer of humor. His gaze was as harsh as any bounty hunter’s and twice as determined.

She shook her head. “My father. He’s a powerful man. He’s dead set on this marriage. Lewis is his protégé, a young doctor he’s groomed in his own image. He wants him for a son-in-law.”

“Your father thinks so little of you, his own daughter?” Trey’s words came low, but his anger boomed.

“My father is a man just like you.” She lifted one brow and waited. “Charming, debonair…”

“Aw, but he obviously lacks my kinder nature toward the fairer sex.”

“Obviously.” She almost smiled, their gazes latching together.

She felt it like light to her soul. She saw past the dark brown of his eyes into a deeper place, where his concern gathered with a quiet strength she’d known in no other man. A strength of character and heart, not of brawn and force. Her hand trembled, and she was glad she wasn’t holding the spoon, because she would have dropped it.

The train jerked, breaking the motion, and the renewed howl of the storm slammed into the north side of the car with inhuman force. Josie cried out, tears rising, the trauma of the wreck and losing her parents stark against the other passengers’ gasps of concern.

The brief smile was gone, the fears of an orphaned and injured girl returned. Trey wrapped his arms around the girl, holding her close, reassuring her. The door at the end of the car banged open and the bounty hunter strolled in.

Fear ran like ice water through her veins, and Miranda eased from her chair. She knew Trey was armed, but he was holding a child. There would be no confrontation, no risk to Josie or anyone else in the car. There would be no gunfight, no bullets firing wild.

The hired gun’s gaze fastened on her and she felt the impact, cold and lethal, as cutting as a blizzard’s wind. The train shuddered again, doubling the sound of Josie’s cries. Trey, busy with the child, hadn’t noticed the man behind him, and maybe it would stay that way.

She took a quick breath, gathered her courage and stood from the seat.

“I need to excuse myself,” she whispered, so he would think she was headed to the water closet. It was better to repay him this way for his kindness. She wanted him safe. After all, he had Josie to protect.

She’d never wanted her freedom to come at the price of anyone else coming to harm. Her days of dreaming dreams and wishing on first-stars-of-the-night were past. There was no sense in running. She would give herself up before the bounty hunter decided to fire his gun again.

As if reading her mind, the ruffian slipped one gun from his holster, the smooth glide of steel against leather lost in the noisy car. Cocked, then aimed.

Her chest felt so tight, it was impossible to breathe. She couldn’t let Trey face down an armed man. She couldn’t! Her knees wobbled and her throat was dry, but she managed to keep breathing and put one uncertain foot in front of the other.

“Hold on a minute.” A man’s voice—it wasn’t Trey’s—boomed with heated fury and cold threat. The well-dressed man seated at the adjacent table now towered behind her, gun drawn, his aim steady on the threatening man. “I’m a Pinkerton agent, and she is my quarry. Back down, bounty hunter, if you value your life.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda saw Trey set Josie in a vacant seat. He rose, a man of might who stole her breath and made her heart stammer. He wrapped his hand around the Colt’s handle and drew, standing between her and the bounty hunter, as strong as legend, as powerful as myth.

She did not doubt that he would protect her. But it wasn’t protection she needed.

It was her freedom.

It was all she wanted.

“Put down the gun, bounty hunter.” Trey nodded toward a neighboring table, where diners turned with gasps and exclamations. This was not the kind of behavior they expected to see in their first-class dining car.

Miranda took one step toward the door, afraid to draw attention to herself but longing—how she longed—to escape.

“We’re being robbed!” one woman cried, her hand flying to cover the flickering diamonds at her throat, more gemstones flashing on her fingers.

Cries of fear and outrage exploded like dynamite in a tunnel. Miranda ran. Chaos reigned as the men in the car banded together against the bounty hunter, whose shouts for her to stop were drowned by the cries of outraged women. Above it all Trey’s voice lifted, in control, determined to keep his word.

At the threshold, Miranda risked one glance back. Josie sat at the table, hugging Baby Beth tight, tears glimmering like stars. There was no time to say goodbye, not if she wanted to escape. And it tore at her heart that all she could offer the girl now was a wink and a wave. Then she was gone, dashing through the door.

A flimsy roof overhead hardly protected her from the force of the blizzard as she pushed open the door that led into the first-class cars.

She hurried through them, not knowing if another Pinkerton agent could be watching. Heart pounding, she hurried down the aisle as the train bucked and groaned. The blizzard outside was worsening.

Where should she go? She couldn’t jump. They were in the middle of the Rockies and there were no more stops, not with the way the train was creeping along, at least not for a long while.

As she pushed open the door at the front of the car, a man in the back stood, pulling his well-cut jacket over the gleaming handle of a revolver. Heavens, there were more of them.

She slammed the door shut and stood facing the sleeping cars. No, she wasn’t likely to escape in here. Besides, she’d rather not be captured by an armed man within reach of an empty bed. Not after what she’d learned of human nature.

She faced the ice-cold wind that sliced right through her. Sandlike pellets of ice scoured her, stinging her face and unprotected hands as she gasped for breath. The bitter, vicious wind drove the air right out of her lungs. Lord, if she jumped she wouldn’t survive ten minutes in this.

But the door behind her was kicked open and a man filled the threshold, dark and deadly, the nose of his gun swinging toward her. She would not go back, not on her life.

But what should she do? She wouldn’t let him catch her. She wouldn’t. She climbed up the waist-high steel barrier. The wind battered her face and the snowy banks whipped by at an alarming rate.

Jump? No, it was far too dangerous. But surely there was a way…

Inspiration struck. As fast as she could, she swept off her bonnet and, on a prayer, leaped out into the storm.

“Miranda! Come back.” Josie’s wail brought Trey around as he tried to stop the Pinkerton agent from taking off after Miranda.

“I’m in my perfect legal rights,” the man bit out as he shoved past Trey.

“Did that young lady do something wrong?” the woman with the diamonds wondered, as the security guard barreled into the car and Trey scooped Josie out of her seat.

“Miranda left. And w-we d-didn’t even get to f-finish the crackers.” The girl buried her face in his neck, holding on with all her strength.

Trey could feel her need, and he knew all that Miranda had done for them, for no reason other than her caring heart. She loved children—it had shone in her eyes as bright as the apology when she’d fled the car.

She’d made the decision to leave his side, when he could have protected her, damn it. He kicked open the door and bounded down the aisle of the next car, the news of the supposed robber buzzing in the air. He didn’t see Miranda, so he kept going. She wasn’t in the next car, but up ahead, the door slammed shut. A bad, bad feeling curled around his spine, and he started to run.

“I’m scared, Uncle Trey,” Josie whispered against his neck. “Where’s Miranda?”

Alone and afraid and needing my help. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew she had no one else. It was his job, he’d spent many years helping women who slipped into his clinic on the run from their husbands, unable to pay for the broken bones he set and splinted or the lacerations to their head and face he stitched.

Maybe it was because as a very small boy he’d seen his own mother treated this way during her second marriage. Finally his stepfather had had enough of Trey and sent him to an orphanage. The horror and shame still lived with him, that his mother had endured a hellish existence in order to provide a home and meals for her children. As if by helping a woman with fear in her eyes and a man on her trail, he could make a difference now.

No, it was more than that this time. Miranda wasn’t a stranger who’d knocked at his office door. She’d shown him a part of her he’d forgotten existed in this world sometimes without hope and mercy. In a world where a little girl as sweet as Josie could lose her parents. In a world where people grew ill and died and he could do nothing to save them.

He wanted to know he could make a difference somehow, make a small piece of the world right again for a woman with gentle eyes and a smile as bright as an angel’s. It didn’t hurt that she’d been the first woman in a long time to make him feel every inch a man and forget his profession, to feel need and excitement and warmth.

He knocked the door open and nearly collided with a man in the small passageway between the first-class cars. The Pinkerton agent.

“She jumped. I saw her hit the snowbank.” The same agent he’d overpowered in the dining car shouted to be heard above the howling wind. “That’s why we were quietly following her. Why we didn’t want a scene. Now she’s dead, and there goes my damn bonus.”

She’d jumped? She’d been so desperate that she’d choose death? I failed her. Trey’s stomach turned, and he laid a hand on Josie’s back, keeping her safe in the shelter beneath his chin.

Emotion twisted through him, a mix of fury and grief so sharp he didn’t think he could control it. It quaked through him and he fisted his hands, gritted his teeth. Josie needed him. He couldn’t go leaping out into that storm. Yet every part of him screamed to do it.

It killed him to turn around and seek the shelter of the snug passenger car, safe from harm and the weather. Conversations littered the air. He paid no attention as he slumped into the first seat he came to, no longer able to stand. His knees shook, his legs shook, even his arms were trembling. He couldn’t believe she was gone. Just like that, she would choose death over relying on him—on anyone—for help.

He bowed his head as the storm outside the train worsened, forcing them to a slow crawl. There was speculation if they would have enough speed to crest the mountain peak, or if they were in danger of crashing, just as the train had done last month.

Josie’s locket caught the light, and he lifted it from the front of her wool dress, felt the light weight and warmth in his hand. Filled with a mother’s love, Miranda had said.

And he’d failed to protect her.

Chapter Four

T he train jerked to a stop. Miranda sat up and pushed her way off the extra baggage piled in the corner. Was it safe? Had they reached a town?

Light splashed through the unsealed cracks in the car. She eased through the darkness, leaned against the uneven painted boards and squinted through the narrow slat.

Yes, it looked like a train platform. Relief shivered through her. If she slipped off now, the men after her might never know where she was. Maybe they still believed she’d jumped and given up their search. Maybe.

But memory of the bounty hunter’s flat dark eyes frightened her. He was a ruthless one, the leader of determined men. She’d been eluding him for the last six months.

He was smart enough not to be fooled by a bonnet in the snow.

Lights glowed like faint beacons through the shroud of the storm, calling her out of the corner and toward the closed door. She caught her toe on an edge of a trunk and her shin slammed hard into another piece of luggage as she fell. Pain felt far away—she feared her feet were frostbitten.

Just as her hands were. She couldn’t feel the edge of the door as she tugged it free, but she could hear the creak of steel as the opening widened. Driving snow fell like a veil, obscuring even the platform from view.

Thank heavens for this storm. It folded around her as she stepped out of the car, isolating her from the rest of the world. Ice scoured her face as she hunched into the wind. The wind beat against her, but she gritted her teeth and stumbled forward. Pain shot up her too-cold legs in fast, knifelike slashes.

The faint glow of light at the edge of the platform seemed too far away.

Just keep going. She concentrated on that light, and it guided her across the confusing world of wind and snow. The world was one icy blur, and she felt alone even though there had to be other travelers struggling against the storm.

You’re safe, Miranda. Keep walking. You can’t quit now. A gust of wind blew her backward.

When she turned around, the train was nothing but the faint glow of lit windows in the dark cold night. It looks like you’ve escaped them. For now.

Suddenly the wind eased, and she stumbled against the protective wall of the ticket booth, closed tight for the night. The snow thinned, and she leaned against the frozen board, struggling to catch her breath.

The shrill train’s whistle blasted apart the night. Heart pounding, she waited to see if anyone was following her. The wind died in a sudden gust, leaving the snow to fall in graceful swirls to the ground and illuminating her to anyone who stood on the icy platform.

Panicked, she stumbled deeper into the shadows. The train shuddered, and the engines roared. The glow of lighted windows shadowed both the falling snow and the edge of the platform where a shadowed figure stood, surveying the night.

The whistle blasted again and he hopped back aboard, his predatory movements familiar. The bounty hunter.

Had he been fooled after all? She pressed deeper into the shadows and held her breath. The clackety-clack of the churning wheels made the whole platform rumble as the train slid into the dark, taking away her adversary.

For now. Relief sliced through her, hard as the blizzard’s wind. She’d escaped him again.

“I’m awful cold, Uncle Trey,” a thin voice belled above the howl of the tireless wind. “Where’s your house?”

“Not far at all,” Trey’s whiskey-warm voice answered. “You hold on to me tight and before you know it, we’ll be sitting in front of a hot fire and maybe, just maybe, I’ll warm up a cup of hot chocolate.”

The veil of snow hid all but the shape of the man and child from her sight. Her chest ached and she wished she could step out. But he’d met the Pinkerton agent face-to-face. He’d seen the bounty hunter. He must have heard she was an heiress and that her father had offered a small fortune for her return.

The sweetness she’d felt with him and Josie remained in her heart. She would not forget them. She would not forget the man who’d made her laugh.

“Miss Miranda? Miss Miranda, is that you?” Josie called out above the sounds of the storm.

What should she do now? Through the curtain of snow and darkness Miranda watched as Trey strode closer. Brushed by darkness, touched by a flicker of light, he held Josie in one steely arm. His Stetson kept both the shadows and the snow from his face.

She couldn’t hide any longer. Miranda stepped out of the darkness. “Hello, Josie. Trey.”

“It is you.” He fought the urge to reach out and touch her, to see if the silk of her hair and the smooth angles of her face were real and not a dream. “The Pinkerton agent saw you jump from the train and—”

Miranda stepped farther out of the shadows, courage and grace. She was caked with ice and snow and shivering so that her teeth chattered. Her skirt was torn beneath the hem of her cloak and blood dotted her sleeve.

He still couldn’t believe it. “We all thought you’d jumped to your death.”

“No, I just made them think I did.” She brushed the snow from her eyes with one mittened hand. She glanced over her shoulder where the train had disappeared, the platform now empty, sheened with thick ice. “Are you going to contact them?”

“Not on my life.” His throat ached. “You’re the woman who gave Josie her good-luck charm.”

The wariness in Miranda’s eyes changed, and she bit her bottom lip. She looked vulnerable, lost in the storm. She brushed a mittened fingertip beneath Josie’s chin. “See? Didn’t I tell you that locket was magic? You’re safe and sound, just like I promised.”

“Your locket sure worked real good.”

Pleasure lit Miranda’s face, and as the storm swirled around her, she looked like an angel, not a ghost, alive, not part of the shadows. “Every time you’re afraid, you just make a wish on that locket, and everything will be fine. I promise.”

She gazed up at him with eyes so wide, his heart stopped beating. “It was good seeing you again, Trey. You take good care of Josie.”

She eased back into the unlit shadows, choosing the darkness to the light. Again she glanced over her shoulder into the darkness, where the tracks stretched unseen for mile upon mile.

Snow tapped to the hard ground, veiling her as she vanished from his sight.

“Wait!” He hurried after her, but the platform felt empty. He couldn’t see anything in the storm.

She was gone, just like that, just as she’d done on the train when he’d thought her dead and lost forever. His chest balled up tight.

“Miranda! Miranda, don’t go.” Josie’s distress keened in the harsh night. “Uncle Trey, you gotta find her.”

“Did you see where she went?”

The wind slammed hard, driving him back a few steps. The blizzard curled around them, dimming the already faint lights of town.

There. He caught a shifting shape and headed down the street, where the livery barn shadowed the wind. “Miranda.”

Her shoulders stiffened. She kept walking. The wind tangled her skirts around her ankles, and she stumbled, but caught herself before he could reach her. “You’re following me.”

“Usually the pretty women chase after me, but in the dark it’s hard to be swayed by my good looks and charm, so I have to chase you.” He held out his free hand and the two bags—his medical bag and her satchel. “I have something of yours.”

“My clothes. Thank you.” She smiled sunshine as the blizzard howled around them. Her gloved fingers brushed his and heat snapped up his arm.

She took her satchel with a flourish. “I figured the Pinkerton men would confiscate this.”

“I just didn’t tell them I had your satchel. It didn’t seem right. We thought you were dead, and those agents were mourning the loss of a fat bonus. I just didn’t have the heart to interrupt their grief.”

“So, I guess you know about the reward.”

She might shine like a rare diamond, but she was lost, alone and afraid. His heart tumbled. He’d always been a soft touch for anyone in need. “Is there a reward? For returning your satchel?”

“You know I meant something else.” She brushed snow from her lashes.

“Right. You’re afraid I’m going to turn you in. Now, I could hand you over to the sheriff, if you turn out to be a dangerous felon, but it’s a bad storm. In another minute all three of us are going to be icicles. So why don’t we just find a diner and have supper.”

Could it be true? Maybe some good luck finally was catching up with her. “Are you saying you’ll forget I’m on the run if I buy you a meal?”

“No. I’m the man. I’ll buy.”

Even in the dark, his grin dazzled. Though he was half frozen in the wind, humor sparkled in his eyes. The strong line of his shoulders and chest blocked the wind and most of the snow. He’d saved her on the train, just like he was doing now.

“Goody!” Josie managed to say, despite her chattering teeth. “I’m real hungry, too. Miranda, do you like fried chicken when it’s really crispy?”

“Absolutely. Trey, she’s cold. You should get her inside.”

“Then come help me. There’s an inn just a few steps from here.”

Miranda hesitated. What should she say? She needed to find a room and keep quiet. Make sure the bounty hunter hadn’t sent one or two of his men to check out the town. “I can’t.”

“Not even for fried chicken?” Josie’s teeth chattered again. “It’s my very favorite.”

Miranda hadn’t wanted anything this much in a long time. “I am looking for a place to stay, and I don’t know where to start. I suppose I could go with you.”

“Then the locket you gave Josie is working.” Trey leaned forward, his chin grazing her cheek, speaking so only she could hear. “Because it brought you to us.”

A roaring fire crackled in the inn’s dining room and drove the ice from her bones. Miranda shrugged out of her cloak, startled when Trey caught the garment by the collar and helped her out of it.

He hung her cloak on a peg by the hearth. Other jackets lined the wall, collecting heat for the other diners in the room.

I shouldn’t be here. She could feel it. She should stay hidden. She may have fooled the bounty hunter, but he would be back. As Trey led them to a table near the hearth, every one of the six customers waved greetings.

This was a close-knit community where a stranger would be noticed.

“Let me.” Trey pulled out her chair, towering over her, mountain-strong.

The breath stalled in her chest. Her skin tingled as she slipped past him. She sat down, knowing he was behind her. Having a meal with him was a very bad idea.