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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.
