Montana Man

“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.