Montana Man. Jillian Hart

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ