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Montana Man
Jillian Hart
Miranda Mitchell wasn't looking for a hero. In fact, this eastern miss was well ahead of the bounty hunters until she saw handsome doctor Trey Gatlin coaxing his reluctant niece onto a departing train.But the man's tenderness tugged at her heart like a thousand midnight dreams and Miranda knew that she had to help. Trey's warmth and caring made her wish for the impossible, and, for the first time since leaving Philadelphia, Miranda found herself telling him her secrets. Yet, when Trey promised to protect her, would Miranda finally have the courage to face her family and risk losing the man she loved…?
“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 (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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.”
