Montana Man. Jillian Hart

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.

      “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,