Gabriel's Heart. Madeline George

to happen. That meant she was single and unattached—and free to admire handsome men when they happened along. She smiled, pleased with her decision.

      She saw her father’s puzzled look but ignored it, as usual. He shook his head, then went out to the platform, leaving her to catch up on her own. She took her time, trying to think of some reason to speak to the handsome stranger. She could pretend to recognize him from a social function in Denver. That usually worked quite well. He would tell her his name and perhaps even be interested in a conversation sometime during their journey.

      “Trina! Are you coming?”

      “Yes, Papa, I’m coming.” Mercy. It was so bothersome to rush.

      Outside, the conductor came to the railing of the first car, squinted when the wind stung his eyes, then cupped one hand around his mouth and shouted, “Silver Falls! Board! All aboard!”

      Gabriel paused to allow several ladies and a couple of children, flushed with the cold and chattering like a flock of magpies, to enter in front of him. He dug into his pockets for his gloves and pulled them on. Their rabbit-fur lining eased the sting of the wind. His fingers tingled with warmth. The handrail, colder than the air and rough with rust and flaking paint, wasn’t touchable in winter. Likely as not, a bare hand on that rail would leave skin behind.

      The acrid stench of coal smoke and fumes stung his nostrils and left a bad taste in his mouth. After one last look around, he went inside the car, surveying the group of milling, babbling passengers. Pushing his way past a gentleman with a bristly mustache and a rotund belly, he slid into the third seat on the right, all the way over next to the window. To kill time, he stared out into the rail yard.

      Cattle milled about in a nearby pen, awaiting transfer to the slaughterhouses in Chicago. The stink of them invaded everything, but Gabriel hardly noticed. There’d been a time when that herd might have been his, but those days were long gone. Only one animal occupied Gabriel’s mind now—a two-legged, one-eyed animal he aimed to slaughter personally.

      The grimy window glass barely allowed him to see outside the train. Soot coated everything. The sun, had it been able to burn through the cloud cover, could not have penetrated to the gloomy interior of the passenger car. But that hadn’t dimmed the enthusiasm of the ladies and children finally getting settled in their seats.

      Gabriel had waited a long time to board this train. He’d ground his teeth in expectation of catching the man who’d laughed when he slaughtered Hannah. Blackburn wouldn’t laugh when Gabriel caught up to him in Silver Falls. No, that would be the last thing he’d do.

      “Ticket, mister?”

      The conductor bumped his shoulder, then held out his hand.

      Gabriel handed over the ticket, waited for the pale writing to be scrutinized, then took it back and stowed it in his inside coat pocket. The conductor moved on down the car, asking to see tickets as he went. Gabriel watched him for a moment, then stared out the window again, impatient to leave the station. Silver Falls was just about a day from Denver. Now that the winter snows had started collecting in the passes, keeping the tracks cleared had become a constant battle and made train schedules a joke. They’d be there when they got there, snow and slides permitting.

      “Excuse me, sir?”

      Gabriel heard the woman’s voice, but didn’t think she was talking to him. She tapped his arm.

      “Sir?”

      He stared at her for a minute before answering. The lady with blue feathers. Dressed in such finery, she had to be rich. Blue dress to match the feathers. Fancy toilet water. And, he’d guess, miles of that thick, red hair cascading down her back from under that boxy hat. The young man who’d kissed her cheek didn’t seem to be with her.

      “Ma’am? How may I be of assistance?”

      Old habits died slowly. Service had been his job—his life—for too many years. Years after ranching. Years after facing every upstart in the state of Texas eager to try his luck at beating the fastest gun in the territory. Or so they’d thought.

      “I know we’ve met before. Aren’t you—”

      “No, ma’am. We haven’t. And I’m not.”

      “I see. Well. I must be mistaken.”

      “Trina! Over here!” The man with the brushy mustache motioned for her to join him, then held up his hand in greeting. “Sheriff Hart? Good to see you again.”

      Gabriel nodded.

      Trina smiled. Sheriff Hart. Her mind whirled with the possibilities of this revelation. She went to the seat where her father had already made himself comfortable, pulled a hankie from her sleeve and dusted the seat before perching on the edge.

      “Let’s go back to the Pullman, Papa.”

      “Not yet, Trina. I have some business to tend to.”

      Well, that was that. She’d have to wait to question her father about the handsome Sheriff Hart.

      Gabriel recognized Senator Amos McCabe after a bit of thought. The redhead must be his daughter. And the young man in the depot…His son-in-law?

      Gabriel’s brow wrinkled. He’d never met her before today. He would have remembered. He settled into the seat, squirmed until he’d attained the best possible position for dozing, and pulled his hat down to his eyebrows to catch a snooze. It was a long way to Silver Falls. He intended to be fresh when they arrived tomorrow afternoon. Later, he’d go on back to the Pullman. Now, though, he had to be alert and observant, in case one of Blackburn’s men was on board, heading for a rendezvous with his miserable boss. A pain in his back prompted another adjustment in his position. He’d pretend to take a nap and study each man in the car. Memorizing a face now could mean the difference between being dead and alive in Silver Falls.

      Trina was also squirming. There wasn’t a way to get comfortable in these hard contraptions they called seats. She glanced around to see if everyone else was having the same trouble. Of course, she wasn’t actually interested in everyone. Just a certain man her father called Sheriff Hart.

      Trina couldn’t decide how to continue her conversation with this sheriff. She listened surreptitiously to her father’s conversation. Boring. Glancing back at the sheriff, she fanned her face with one hand, warding off some of the cinders floating around, feeling warmer just from thinking about speaking to him again. She’d have to come up with an excuse, though.

      The train pulled out of the station, throwing her off balance. She struggled against the jerking motions of the lumbering locomotive, watching Sheriff Hart shifting position in the rigid seat, trying to get more comfortable. Didn’t he know it would be impossible to sleep in all this confusion? He’d likely choke to death and never wake up again if the air didn’t clear up soon.

      She pulled the lace-edged hankie from her sleeve again and covered her mouth and nose with the side she hadn’t used to dust the seat, filtering some of the smoke and cinders clogging the air, but it was no use. By the time they reached Silver Falls, she’d have succumbed to asphyxiation, too.

      If the atmosphere didn’t improve soon, she’d have to retreat to her quarters in the Pullman car, with or without her father. He was still talking to someone about that business matter he’d mentioned. Her first thought had been to suggest he invite the man to their quarters, but, after taking a good look at the man—dirty face, dirty clothes, bad teeth, something in one of his eyes making him blink constantly—she thought perhaps her father was right to speak with him here. Whew! The stench of cattle penned up too long permeated the air. She fanned her face and let her eyes wander across the car.

      Sheriff Hart’s eyelashes had to be as long as hers. His beard, dark brown, had been neatly trimmed, probably with sharp scissors. And his mustache didn’t curve over his top lip into his mouth, like some she’d seen. His neatly trimmed beard and mustache said something about the man. And his hair didn’t seem to be matted and dirty, the way some men seemed content to tolerate theirs. His thick hair had a bit of curl to it and lay nicely