“Does your family 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.

“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!

Praise for Jillian Hart’s previous titles

COOPER’S WIFE

“Well-crafted and poignantly funny…this is a feel-good story for both veterans and newcomers to the genre.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

LAST CHANCE BRIDE

“It will touch you deeply.”

—Rendezvous

“The warm and gentle humanity of Last Chance Bride is a welcome dose of sunshine after a long winter.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Montana Man
Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

Montana Territory, 1884

P lease, don’t let them find me. Miranda Mitchell glanced over her shoulder at the snow-covered town street that stretched out behind her. Breathing hard, she kept running. She might not be able to see them, but she could feel them coming closer. A crowd surrounded her, blocking her view of the street. She was still safe. For now.

Driven by fear, she swiped at the snow gathering on the brim of her bonnet and kept running, her shoes tapping on the slippery ice toward the train at the end of the platform. The conductor’s last call to board rang in the crisp morning air, carried by the bitter wind that knifed through her clothes as she picked up her skirts and sprinted across the slick platform, her ticket crumpled in one hand.

Dark smoke plumed into the air, ash mixing with snow, and the train gave one long departing whistle. Miranda kept running. The platform seemed to go on forever. Well-wishers crowded next to the train, waving to loved ones safe inside, blocking her way.

Determined, she shouldered through a break in the crowd only to see the doors shut tight, the train ready to leave. Her faint hopes tumbled, and she simply stared. It couldn’t be. She had to make this train. Her entire life depended on it.

“They’re still taking passengers down there.” A kindly woman touched her elbow and then pointed with one gloved hand. “Maybe you can still make it aboard.”

“Oh, thank you.” Miranda gathered up her hopes and her skirts and ran, barreling down the edge of the platform with all her might. She still heard no commotion on the street, but wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the deafening roar of the train’s engine. If they saw her, would they shoot? No, not in a crowded place. Surely even a bounty hunter would have that much sense.

Then again, the man who’d tracked her down didn’t have the look of wisdom about him. Hard-eyed and ruthless, he’d kicked in the back door of the boardinghouse, both guns already drawn. The sound of wood breaking had given her enough time to grab her satchel and run out the front. Without this warning, she would be in his custody now, enduring Lord knows what kind of treatment.

Her stomach turned to ice, and she skidded to a stop at the end of the line. A conductor was helping an old man board, and the train waited impatiently, engines rumbling. Miranda glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see the street. There were too many people. She eased up on tiptoe, but still couldn’t see much more than an array of hats and a slice of the icy platform. The bounty hunter and his men could be out there, maybe as close as the ticket window, and she wouldn’t be able to see them, wouldn’t even know they were near.

Fear tasted cold and metallic on her tongue, and her heart thudded so hard in her chest, it hurt. The line in front of her was growing shorter, but not fast enough. Please, hurry, she prayed, her fingers curling around the tiny gold locket at her throat. Please, keep me safe.

“No-o-o-o. No train.” A little girl’s voice cut above the din of voices, the rumble of the engine and the clang of baggage being loaded, her heartbreak and terror keening on the wind.

Miranda turned and noticed a man, not three paces away, kneeling on the platform before a fragile child, holding her tenderly in his solid arms. He had the look of a lawman—broad shoulders and intelligent eyes, strength and a hint of danger. He radiated might and competence. But there was no badge on his chest and nothing more than a six-shooter strapped to his muscled thigh. Two train tickets peeked out from his jacket pocket too fine to be bought and paid for with a sheriff’s salary.

She shuffled a step forward in line, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the handsome man made stronger by his tenderness for a child.

He brushed at the layer of snow that clung to the girl’s wool cap. “Josie, if you and I don’t board this train, then how are we gonna get to my house?”

The girl’s brow wrinkled as she thought. “We can walk right on down the road, Uncle Trey. Then we don’t gotta take no train.”

“You want to walk all the way to Willow Creek?”

“I won’t complain none. Not once.”

“But it’s a hundred miles from here to there.”

“I ain’t afraid to walk.” Josie tilted her head to one side, pure fight.

A sharp, high sound split the air. Miranda jumped, ready to bolt, expecting to hear the clatter of galloping horses on the frozen ground or shouted threats from the bounty hunter and his men. When the sound shrilled again, she realized it was only the train whistle. Goodness, she felt foolish.

The conductor reached down to help a frail old woman onto the bottom step. She moved carefully, and while Miranda didn’t want the woman to fall, she wished the line would move a little faster. The back of her neck started to prickle—she could feel those dangerous men gaining ground. She couldn’t let them find her, she couldn’t—

“Well, now, Josie.” The man’s voice, deep and tender as twilight, again cut through Miranda’s thoughts and the noise surrounding them. She turned just enough so she could see him lean closer to speak with the small child in his arms, forehead to forehead. “I got a confession to make. I’m afraid to walk all that way.”

“You ain’t afraid of nothin’, Uncle Trey, not even the train.”

Miranda couldn’t help herself. Unable to tear her gaze away, she peered past the brim of her bonnet at the man’s profile and the charming grin that turned his chiseled face from handsome to breathtaking. She felt drawn toward his tenderness, something she’d seen so little of in her own life or in her years volunteering at Children’s Hospital.

And she was amazed that this man, so big and strong, didn’t seem diminished, less masculine, for his gentleness. It tugged at her heart like a thousand midnight dreams. The anxiety cold in her veins felt small when compared to the warmth of this man’s treatment of the child he held—a niece, not a daughter of his own.

“Suppose we do decide to walk through the mountains all the way to my house. Now, there’s all sorts of dangers to a man on foot,” Josie’s Uncle Trey confided. “A wild buffalo herd could trample me. A bear could decide I’d make a fine supper. I could develop a bad case of bunions from walking in these new boots. You wouldn’t want that, now, would you, Red?”

“Yes.” Josie looked up at the train, tears pooling in her big green eyes. Fear lived there—true as a spring morning, fresh as rain.

“Now, how am I going to do my job with bunions?” He tried to keep his voice light, but he glanced up at the diminishing passenger line and the sound of the engines ready to go. Miranda saw his panic and more, much more. “If I get a whole lot of bunions, I won’t be able to do more than limp. How would I make house calls? When Mrs. Watts gets another rash, I’ll have to say ‘Sorry ma’am, I won’t be able to limp over and ease your misery.’ C’mon, do your old uncle a favor and get on the train.”

“But the tr-train m-might c-crash again.” The little girl laid her cheek against his wide chest and sobbed. “That’s how Ma and Pa died.”

“I promise it won’t happen again.” Deep lines of anguish matched the choked sound of his voice. “Honey, there’s no other way to get to my house. Not this time of year. There’s a storm coming up, and the mountain passes are closed—”

“I don’t wanna new home.” Although the little girl’s voice was quiet, hardly more of a sound than the wind, the suffering in her voice rang as loud as the biggest bell—sharp, pure, true. “I want my ma.”

“All aboard!” the conductor’s call pierced like a knife, and Miranda realized everyone had boarded the train except for her and this man and child.

“I don’t want to force her.” The doctor’s voice drew her gaze and she realized he’d noticed her watching them—it was hard to miss. She was standing with her back to the train, her hands to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes when she should be safely hidden on the train. Standing in plain sight like this—

Her toes slid forward, bringing both feet and all of her closer. What was she doing? Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, that this wasn’t any of her concern, that she had her own life-and-death problems.

And yet deep in her heart, the little girl’s words resonated over and over. That’s how Ma and Pa died. All her life, she’d never been able to walk away from a child who needed help. Not one.

“I could use a hand.” His gaze flickered with relief, and she could see the anguish in those eyes as dark as a moonless night, deep like shadows. “This train is about to roll down those tracks, and I’ve got to find a way to get her aboard. I hate to force her after the accident.”

Miranda saw the brace wrapped around the child’s stick-thin leg, the steel still shiny and new. She remembered the train wreck of a month ago—twenty-seven days, to be exact.

She’d disembarked from that fated train here on that same day. She’d been asking the ticket clerk directions to a respectable boardinghouse when she’d heard the crash in the distance. Minutes later, a ball of fire rose on the western horizon.

Thirty-six people died and many more were injured. This little girl had been one of them. Agony twisted through her, her goal to escape unimportant. She turned her back on the street.

“Don’t be afraid.” Miranda took a step nearer, unsure if there was anything she could do for this frightened, hurting child. She had to try. “Your uncle is right. Trains don’t always crash.”

The little girl didn’t look up. She clung to the strong doctor, her light red curls shaking with each tortured sob.

“Josie is a very brave little girl.” Grief darkened the uncle’s eyes, revealing a steady substance that drew Miranda closer, and she lowered her defenses just a little.

“I can see that. But the train is starting to move.” Her heart gave a little jolt when she saw the wheels turn once, and then again. The creak of steel upon steel and the groan of the loaded cars on the tracks filled the air.

“Looks like I’ll have to carry her on—” Regret laced his voice as he straightened, holding the girl captive in his arms.

“No-o-o-o, Uncle Trey, don’t m-make me.” The sobs came, genuine and sharp with fear. “I don’t wanna get hurt again.”

“Hurry.” Miranda’s hand tightened around her satchel’s grip, not sure how best to help the frightened child. She saw a black bag alone on the platform and grabbed that up, too. “We still can make it.”

“We have to. I’m sorry, Josie.” Anguish drew deeper lines across his face as he began jogging with the child, who struggled in his arms.

Miranda saw his remorse in the pinched lines around his expressive eyes and the fine cut of his mouth, drawn tight with worry for the child. He ran along the edge of the platform toward an open door.

As the long line of cars continued to slide away, one by one, Miranda saw in her memory the train wreck, surging back like the leading edge of a Montana blizzard—harsh and swift and without mercy. She smelled the acrid scent of smoke, imagined the stillness after the world-altering screech of steel impacting steel, heard the passengers crying out in grief and fear and pain.

She’d hurried to help those she could then, and she ran to the uncle and niece now, her hand brushing the hard, lean curve of the doctor’s upper arm. She felt a flash of heat through his wool coat and her kid gloves where they briefly touched. But her gaze was only on the child, a little girl so fragile it looked as if the wind could blow her away as easily as it drove delicate snowflakes to the ground.

“I know what you need.” Miranda heard an explosion of gunfire behind her, pivoted, and saw the band of men riding hard down the nearby street.

The train continued snaking away, car after car lumbering by as Josie’s Uncle Trey stopped running and turned to study her with eyes dark with hope. “What you need is a good-luck charm.”

“Ain’t no such thing.” The child’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Sure there is. I have one hanging around my neck right now.”

“It’s just a locket.”

“Just a locket?” Her hands trembled as she heard the approaching thunder of horses growing louder and closer. She lifted the chain over the knot of hair pinned at the crown of her head and the peak of her bonnet.

“Sounds like some trouble’s headed this way.” Trey straightened his broad shoulders and gazed quietly toward the street, where a handful of rough men drove lathered horses through the crowd of departing people straight toward the platform.

Trouble? It was the end of her life. Her instincts told her to run, but it wasn’t the right thing to do. She placed the gold chain over Josie’s strawberry blonde curls and laid the small locket against the placket of the girl’s fine dress. “I promise, Josie, this will keep you safe. It’s always worked for me.”

“Really?” Doubt-filled eyes blinked away tears.

“I’ve ridden on probably fifty trains, and look at me, I’m as safe as can be.” She might be trembling and might be looking danger in the face, but she had to help this child. It mattered more to her than she could explain. “I promise, if you wear this, you’ll be safe.”

“Looks like this is the last car.” The doctor’s voice sounded gruff, raw with emotion, as he started running. “C’mon, hurry. We can still make it.”

Miranda heard the drum of shod hooves on the platform and felt the boards quake with the force of the galloping horses. She took off at a dead run as the caboose ambled past and caught up with the doctor as he handed his niece to the conductor inside the train.

“Hurry. You can do it.” He held tight to the metal bar at the open door and reached out for her with the other.

Gunfire pierced the air, a warning shot from not three feet behind her. Fear drove her forward and she caught the tips of the doctor’s fingers.

Strong and sure, he clamped on and pulled her to him. She pitched into his arms and somehow the toe of her shoe caught the bottom step. She stumbled, but the strong man’s grip on her shoulder guided her into the car.

She looked back to see the caboose slipping away from the edge of the platform, leaving the armed bounty hunter and his men at the edge.

Gaining speed, the train eased around a slow curve, breaking away from the bustling town toward the steep peaks of the Continental Divide.

Trey closed the door behind him, gazing at her with eyes wise and wondering, with a hint of a smile touching the left corner of his mouth. “Looks like your friends didn’t make the train.”

“They weren’t friends I wanted to travel with.”

“Then you’re in luck.” He reached past her to heft Josie up into his arms. “Those bullets could have hit someone. Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think they would have actually shot me.” She righted her bonnet and tried to take a step back, to put distance between them. “Thank you.”

“Well, I want to check on the caboose. Those might have been warning shots, but bullets fired up in the air have a way of coming right back down. I want to make sure no one’s hurt. Would you do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

Steady warmth snapped in his eyes, drawing her closer even when she wanted to escape. “Would you stay with Josie? Josie, would it be all right if our mystery lady stays with you for a few minutes?”

“I’m no mystery, believe me.” Miranda dropped her eyes to the child’s peaked face, pinched with worry, and tried hard to ignore Trey’s measuring gaze. “My name’s Miranda.”

“No last name to go with that?” His grin dazzled, carving twin dimples in his left cheek. “Or are you on the run from the law?”

“That’s right. I’m fleeing from justice and it’s best for both of you if you don’t know my last name.” Her chest tightened, for that wasn’t far from the truth. She was an heiress, not a fugitive, but she was fleeing and from far more than the price on her head.

Remembering her pursuers, she glanced out the window at the heavily falling snow and saw nothing but rangeland, the town and the bounty hunter left far behind.

“I would love keeping an eye on your niece.” She was safe, for now at least. The men who hunted her would wire ahead to the next major town, she had no doubt of that. But somehow she would figure a way out. She’d been doing it all the way from Philadelphia.

“Miranda.” Josie tilted her head to one side, fear still glittering in her emerald eyes, but at least the panic was at bay. “Wanna see my baby doll?”

“Sure I do.” She stepped forward to lift the child out of her uncle’s protective hold. The scent of him enveloped her, leather, wood smoke and man, the blend attractive and pleasing, making her wish…well, for things that she could never have if she were caught.

Miranda knew it was a risk to speak with anyone who would remember her, especially to tell them her first name, but she knew what it was like to be a child, defenseless and alone, with a broken heart and a sorrow big enough to drown in. She cradled Josie close, careful of her braced leg. “Let’s go find your seats.”

“First class.” The doctor handed her the tickets, and she noticed for the first time as their fingers brushed how well shaped his hands were, thick and strong, but sensitive. Healer’s hands.

Just like her father’s.

Her stomach snapped tight at the memory, pain and regret gripping her hard. She nearly dropped the tickets as she spun away, closing her mind off from a past she’d vowed never to remember again.

Chapter Two

“N o one was hurt.” Trey Gatlin knelt down beside the plush seats where the mysterious Miranda cradled his little niece. “Lucky that bullet hit the caboose. The men after you didn’t hesitate to fire a gun near a train full of people.”

“I never should have—” Miranda closed her eyes, and a dark lock of hair tumbled down from her bonnet to caress her porcelain cheek, but her softness and beauty paled next to the concern and regret that gleamed in her eyes when she opened them. “I just wanted to get away. I thought I would have enough time.”

“And you would have.” Trey slipped his black bag under Josie’s seat. “If you hadn’t stopped to help us, you would have been safely on the train and out of sight. Who were they?”

She bit her bottom lip, indecision on her face warring with regret. “I don’t know them personally.”

“The West is a rough place for a woman alone.” He’d noticed only the single satchel she carried. What kind of trouble was she in? In his profession he’d seen far too much of the hardship that could befall a woman, and he’d always done his best to help.

With an angel’s face and the way she’d comforted Josie, Miranda wasn’t running from trouble with the law, he knew that. But who was she running from?

The train jarred. Josie gave a cry of alarm, and he dropped to his knees to take the child in his arms. All fear and fragility, she fit against his chest, under his chin, and clung to him.

Trey’s heart cinched tight, and pain sheared through him. He missed his sister. But his loss, as painful as it was, did not equal Josie’s. “The train is just slowing down because of the storm, that’s all.”

Her tears fell hot and wet against his shirt. “Th-that’s what happened last time.”

“Just hold on to your good-luck charm,” Miranda advised above the rustle of her skirts as she stood. “Do you know why my locket is special?”

Josie shook her head, not quite willing to believe.

“Because it’s full of my mother’s love. And you know that a mother’s love will always keep a little girl safe.” She smiled up at him, a slow, shy curve of her pretty mouth that drew his gaze and made him measure the fullness of her bottom lip. She had a sensitive mouth, shaped like a cupid’s bow, and his chest clamped tight as she slipped past him.

“I don’t know what to say, Miranda.” Trey cleared his throat, unable to lift his gaze from this woman who spoke like an angel. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She smiled, and all the air fled from his lungs. “Take care of little Josie,” she told him, her voice resonating with a hollow sound that made him wonder again who she was and what she was running from.

Not a family—no woman that compassionate could leave a child behind her. Not a husband—no ring marked her fourth finger, not even the imprint of one was visible as she grabbed the sides of her skirts to better maneuver in the aisle.

“Miranda.”

She turned. The train bucked again as the swift edge of a blizzard hit. The car rocked as the light drained from the windows. Alarm widened her eyes, and she looked vulnerable and young. He remembered the men racing to the edge of the platform, the dangerous ruffians who’d fired loaded six-shooters, trying to intimidate an innocent woman.

Josie sniffled against his chest and held him with bruising force. He had a child to comfort, and he knew next to nothing about children. He had his own problems back home. But something about Miranda drew him, and he wanted to pay back her kindness to Josie. Or maybe he simply couldn’t bear to let her go.

“Come sit with us.” He held out his hand.

“No. I have my own ticket.” She turned, chin set, her knuckles white around the walnut grip of her expensive satchel. There was no mistaking the softness of her hands; they bore no calluses from hard work or redness from lye soap. She was a gentlewoman, city bred, and she was alone. A young woman of means did not travel this rugged land without an escort.

Again, Trey thought of the men following her. The train crept along the tracks as the furious north winds and icy snow battered it. He figured if a man was determined enough, he could race a horse down the tracks and catch up to the now slow-moving train.

Judging by the look on Miranda’s face, the same thought occurred to her.

Trey took another step, leaving his hand outstretched, waiting for her touch. “This storm has both me and Josie scared. We could use a little of your good luck up here with us.”

“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.”

“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.

“Do they have mashed potatoes here, too?” Josie gazed up at her uncle, as if she had to make sure. “And not the lumpy kind?”

“The smoothest in the entire town.” He tucked her into the chair beside Miranda. “Does Baby Beth like potatoes, too?”

“She’s a baby, Uncle Trey. She’s got a bottle.” Josie rolled her eyes.

Trey’s grin flashed, sending shafts of heat straight through Miranda’s heart.

The waitress appeared to take their order, on friendly terms with Trey. When she left, Trey leaned across the table, the candle flickering between them, and caught hold of her left hand.

He turned her palm over in his to study a gash, puffy and darkened by dried blood. “Let me bandage this for you. You could use a few stitches.”

“It’s not that deep.” She slipped away from his touch. “I’ll tend to it myself.”

“You’re the independent sort. I noticed that.” He brushed his finger against the edge of her sleeve. “That’s a bad bruise on your wrist. Let me look at it. Did you do that escaping from those agents?”

Fire scorched across her skin, and she hauled her injured hand beneath the table. Out of his reach. “I cut my hand on the rail when I pretended to jump.”

“What did you really do?”

“I swung over to the ladder on the side of the car. It was within reach.”

“Pretty dangerous.” But judging by the light in her eyes, she’d taken pleasure outwitting those Pinkerton agents. “I’ve never met a woman who could climb up the side of a moving train.”

“It wasn’t moving very fast.” She dipped her chin enough to hide the shadows in her eyes.

He wondered what injuries lay within, ones he couldn’t see. “You stayed on the roof the entire train ride?”

“No, I climbed down into the baggage car and took shelter there.”

“Did you hurt your wrist on the ladder, too?”

“You’re relentless, do you know that?”

He pushed back his chair. “Just add it to my list of character attributes.”

“Flaws, you mean. All right, I was crawling across the roof of one of the passenger cars and a gust of wind pushed me into the metal lip on the roof.”

She shrugged, as if she’d done nothing unusual. She didn’t fool him, she was a woman of courage and grit. A combination he admired.

He knelt beside her and cradled her injured hand in his. Her wrist was delicate, the skin like silk. She still felt cold, oh so cold.

“I don’t need a doctor’s help.” She tried to wrestle her arm from him, but she lacked strength.

She was injured. “You could have a fracture, Miranda.”

“I can move my fingers just fine.”

He unbuttoned her sleeve and ran his fingertips across the inside of her wrist. Her skin was purple-tinged, but her wrist wasn’t broken. “Remember what I said on the train?”

“You said a great deal on the train.” Her skin seemed to burn beneath the gentle stroke of his finger.

“I’m your good-luck charm for as long as you need one. So relax and let me take care of this.” He grabbed his medical bag from beneath the table, then worked with efficiency.

Swabbing the wound stung a little. Then he wrapped the white muslin around her palm and between her thumb and forefinger, then around again. His fingertips grazed her skin. She burned and tingled from the contact.

He was strength and gentleness. He was bold and caring. He deftly knotted the last bit of muslin into place and then moved away. It felt as if the heat drained from her body and she thirsted for more of his touch.

She’d never had this reaction to a man before. Why was she feeling this now?

Throughout the meal, Miranda watched the windows. The blizzard beat against the panes with inhuman force. Once, she saw a shadow against the glass but couldn’t be sure.

She tried to relax and enjoy the meal while Trey teased smiles from Josie and tried to do the same to her. But her stomach was twisted so tight she could barely eat. She couldn’t shake the feeling the bounty hunter was out there, even though she’d seen him reboard the train as it departed.

Any number of his men could have disembarked during the storm, as she had. The snow had been so thick, she never would have seen them. What if they are out there looking for me?

Earlier, she felt certain she’d evaded them. But instead of quietly finding a room and staying hidden, she was here in plain sight in the light and the warmth. Anyone could see her through the glass.

This was a bad idea. And growing worse every time Trey flashed her a charming grin. Had she ever seen a more handsome man? She couldn’t think of one. The square cut of his jaw, the strongly chiseled face, the jaunty grin and sparkling eyes, that was just for starters. His shoulders looked sculpted from pure bronze, his personality glittered with humor and radiated compassion.

Every time he flashed that one-sided grin, she felt hotter. More aware of herself as a woman. Sure, she was lonely. But she would have to be in a coma not to respond to this mesmerizing man.

She didn’t even get the chance to pay her share of the bill. The waitress didn’t even bring it. Apparently Trey was a frequent patron because he was billed monthly.

“I never have time to cook,” he explained, draining the last of his coffee cup. “I’m always working.”

“A doctor’s life.” Miranda knew it well. “How long have you been practicing here?”

“Five years. A small-town doctor isn’t a rich man, but I like what I do.” His voice rumbled with affection. “Josie, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Time to get you home.”

“Can Miranda come, too?”

“Well, she’s certainly welcome.” Trey quirked one brow.

“No.” She saw right through that look of his. “I’m not staying in your house, Mr. Dashing and Debonair.”

“I guess there’s the small matter of your reputation.”

“Exactly.” Heat flushed her face and a flicker at the window caught her attention. Someone on the boardwalk? Or just her imagination?

Trey watched her carefully. “The wind is getting worse. If this keeps up, the whole town will shut down. It’s almost there now. Look, there’s the sheriff.”

A definite shadow moved outside the window. The door swung open. Frigid wind drove through the dining room. The rugged lawman shouldered the door closed and crunched through the ice thick on the floor. The waitress hurried to speak with him.

Maybe it had been the sheriff outside, and not a bounty hunter.

Trey circled the table and wrapped one hand around the back of her chair. She stood, and she tingled from head to toe. “Are you going to stay here? This is a good inn.”

“I might.” She gazed at the window, remembering the frigid walk from the train depot. “I don’t want to go out again. I just got warm. Do you and Josie have a long walk home?”

“Not far at all.” Trey scooped the little girl up into his arms.

She stifled a yawn. “We don’t hafta go outside again.”

“Sorry, Red.” Trey’s affection came light and gentle. He settled the girl on his hip. “That big yawn is a sign. I’d better get her home and in bed.”

Now that it was time, she didn’t want them to go. For a little while, the loneliness in her heart had fled. But it was creeping back again. And a long lonely night stretched ahead.

Miranda followed Trey through the empty dining room. The lawman left with a bang of the door, and the waitress announced they were locking up early. Sheriff Kelley was closing down the town.

“You’ll be comfortable here. I know the innkeeper.” Trey reached for his jacket. “Rest easy, Miranda. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

She almost told him not to bother but held back the words. Why complicate things? She had her life to fight for. He had Josie to protect.

Trey shrugged into his coat. “Let’s get you wrapped up, Red.”

“Baby Beth needs her cloak, too.”

“She sure does.”

Miranda watched as Trey patiently sorted through the bundle of wool, found the doll’s matching cloak and handed it to Josie. He knelt down beside his niece and helped her into her heavy cloak. With care, he wrapped the scarf around her neck and worked the cap over her head.

His tenderness wasn’t feigned, but came from the heart. As Josie snuggled in Trey’s strong arms, sheltered and safe, Miranda’s arms felt empty, and she couldn’t help dreaming. Couldn’t help wishing that one day there would be a child of her own she could hold and comfort and make the world right for.

“I didn’t see any of those men following you get off the train. I thought you might like to know.” Trey faced the door. “Do you want me to watch over you? I can stay.”

“Not necessary.” She was better off alone. “Good night, you two.”

“’Night, Miranda.” Josie peered over Trey’s shoulder as he pushed out the door.

The night and storm enfolded him, stealing them away from her. The door clamored shut, snow drifted to melt on the floor, and once again she was alone.

“This is your house?” Josie stood in the dark, clutching her doll tight, her voice wobbly.

“It looks better if you can see it.” He felt through the dark for the match tin and lit a lamp. Light danced to life, illuminating the log walls and sparse furniture.

Not a home for a child, that was sure. He’d have to do something about that. First thing tomorrow.

“For tonight, you’re going to sleep in my room.” He didn’t mind the sofa. He swept the girl onto his hip, knowing her leg had to be hurting.

“Don’t I get a room?”

“Sure. But we’ve got to get it all ready for you. I can take you shopping as soon as the storm breaks.” He shouldered open the bedroom door. “You like to shop, right?”

Josie nodded, her fine red curls catching on his whiskered chin.

Already, he’d disappointed her. In truth, he hadn’t been prepared when his sister’s lawyer contacted him. His work occupied every spare moment of his life lately and he’d barely had time to make full-time arrangements with Mrs. Stoltz. Now he regretted not doing more.

He pulled back the dark green quilt. The clean flannel sheets smelled of soap and winter sunshine. “C’mon. Climb in.”

“I’m still wearin’ my clothes, Uncle Trey.” Josie rubbed her eyes, tired and sleepy. “I need my nightie.”

“We don’t have it yet. Your trunks are still at the train station because it’s too dangerous to have someone deliver them tonight. You can sleep in your long underwear. They’ll keep you warm.”

“Okay.” Josie sounded weary, and he knelt to pluck at the row of buttons marching down her back.

In no time the dress and her shoes were off and laid on the seat of the nearby chair. He carried her and Baby Beth to the waiting bed, unlatched her brace and helped her settle between the sheets.

“I could read to you for a while, if you want.” He reached for one of the books on the nearby shelf, looking for one appropriate for a little girl. “I know you like being read to.”

“I’m tired.” Josie rolled on her side, her arms wrapped tight around her doll. “G’night, Uncle Trey.”

“Sleep tight, sweet one.” He pulled the quilt up to Josie’s chin. Wetness dampened his fingers.

“I miss my mama.” Her words came muffled by the covers. “I miss her so much.”

“Me, too, honey.” Trey laid his hand on her back and felt the shake of her sobs. She didn’t want to be held, but stayed huddled in a ball until sleep claimed her.

When he reached to turn down the crystal lamp’s wick, Miranda’s locket caught the light, burning steady and bright. When the wick sputtered and the flame died, the locket held a reflection for just a second longer, then darkness filled the room.

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