Montana Man

“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.