Montana Man. Jillian Hart

where she was. Maybe they still believed she’d jumped and given up their search. Maybe.

      But memory of the bounty hunter’s flat dark eyes frightened her. He was a ruthless one, the leader of determined men. She’d been eluding him for the last six months.

      He was smart enough not to be fooled by a bonnet in the snow.

      Lights glowed like faint beacons through the shroud of the storm, calling her out of the corner and toward the closed door. She caught her toe on an edge of a trunk and her shin slammed hard into another piece of luggage as she fell. Pain felt far away—she feared her feet were frostbitten.

      Just as her hands were. She couldn’t feel the edge of the door as she tugged it free, but she could hear the creak of steel as the opening widened. Driving snow fell like a veil, obscuring even the platform from view.

      Thank heavens for this storm. It folded around her as she stepped out of the car, isolating her from the rest of the world. Ice scoured her face as she hunched into the wind. The wind beat against her, but she gritted her teeth and stumbled forward. Pain shot up her too-cold legs in fast, knifelike slashes.

      The faint glow of light at the edge of the platform seemed too far away.

      Just keep going. She concentrated on that light, and it guided her across the confusing world of wind and snow. The world was one icy blur, and she felt alone even though there had to be other travelers struggling against the storm.

      You’re safe, Miranda. Keep walking. You can’t quit now. A gust of wind blew her backward.

      When she turned around, the train was nothing but the faint glow of lit windows in the dark cold night. It looks like you’ve escaped them. For now.

      Suddenly the wind eased, and she stumbled against the protective wall of the ticket booth, closed tight for the night. The snow thinned, and she leaned against the frozen board, struggling to catch her breath.

      The shrill train’s whistle blasted apart the night. Heart pounding, she waited to see if anyone was following her. The wind died in a sudden gust, leaving the snow to fall in graceful swirls to the ground and illuminating her to anyone who stood on the icy platform.

      Panicked, she stumbled deeper into the shadows. The train shuddered, and the engines roared. The glow of lighted windows shadowed both the falling snow and the edge of the platform where a shadowed figure stood, surveying the night.

      The whistle blasted again and he hopped back aboard, his predatory movements familiar. The bounty hunter.

      Had he been fooled after all? She pressed deeper into the shadows and held her breath. The clackety-clack of the churning wheels made the whole platform rumble as the train slid into the dark, taking away her adversary.

      For now. Relief sliced through her, hard as the blizzard’s wind. She’d escaped him again.

      “I’m awful cold, Uncle Trey,” a thin voice belled above the howl of the tireless wind. “Where’s your house?”

      “Not far at all,” Trey’s whiskey-warm voice answered. “You hold on to me tight and before you know it, we’ll be sitting in front of a hot fire and maybe, just maybe, I’ll warm up a cup of hot chocolate.”

      The veil of snow hid all but the shape of the man and child from her sight. Her chest ached and she wished she could step out. But he’d met the Pinkerton agent face-to-face. He’d seen the bounty hunter. He must have heard she was an heiress and that her father had offered a small fortune for her return.

      The sweetness she’d felt with him and Josie remained in her heart. She would not forget them. She would not forget the man who’d made her laugh.

      “Miss Miranda? Miss Miranda, is that you?” Josie called out above the sounds of the storm.

      What should she do now? Through the curtain of snow and darkness Miranda watched as Trey strode closer. Brushed by darkness, touched by a flicker of light, he held Josie in one steely arm. His Stetson kept both the shadows and the snow from his face.

      She couldn’t hide any longer. Miranda stepped out of the darkness. “Hello, Josie. Trey.”

      “It is you.” He fought the urge to reach out and touch her, to see if the silk of her hair and the smooth angles of her face were real and not a dream. “The Pinkerton agent saw you jump from the train and—”

      Miranda stepped farther out of the shadows, courage and grace. She was caked with ice and snow and shivering so that her teeth chattered. Her skirt was torn beneath the hem of her cloak and blood dotted her sleeve.

      He still couldn’t believe it. “We all thought you’d jumped to your death.”

      “No, I just made them think I did.” She brushed the snow from her eyes with one mittened hand. She glanced over her shoulder where the train had disappeared, the platform now empty, sheened with thick ice. “Are you going to contact them?”

      “Not on my life.” His throat ached. “You’re the woman who gave Josie her good-luck charm.”

      The wariness in Miranda’s eyes changed, and she bit her bottom lip. She looked vulnerable, lost in the storm. She brushed a mittened fingertip beneath Josie’s chin. “See? Didn’t I tell you that locket was magic? You’re safe and sound, just like I promised.”

      “Your locket sure worked real good.”

      Pleasure lit Miranda’s face, and as the storm swirled around her, she looked like an angel, not a ghost, alive, not part of the shadows. “Every time you’re afraid, you just make a wish on that locket, and everything will be fine. I promise.”

      She gazed up at him with eyes so wide, his heart stopped beating. “It was good seeing you again, Trey. You take good care of Josie.”

      She eased back into the unlit shadows, choosing the darkness to the light. Again she glanced over her shoulder into the darkness, where the tracks stretched unseen for mile upon mile.

      Snow tapped to the hard ground, veiling her as she vanished from his sight.

      “Wait!” He hurried after her, but the platform felt empty. He couldn’t see anything in the storm.

      She was gone, just like that, just as she’d done on the train when he’d thought her dead and lost forever. His chest balled up tight.

      “Miranda! Miranda, don’t go.” Josie’s distress keened in the harsh night. “Uncle Trey, you gotta find her.”

      “Did you see where she went?”

      The wind slammed hard, driving him back a few steps. The blizzard curled around them, dimming the already faint lights of town.

      There. He caught a shifting shape and headed down the street, where the livery barn shadowed the wind. “Miranda.”

      Her shoulders stiffened. She kept walking. The wind tangled her skirts around her ankles, and she stumbled, but caught herself before he could reach her. “You’re following me.”

      “Usually the pretty women chase after me, but in the dark it’s hard to be swayed by my good looks and charm, so I have to chase you.” He held out his free hand and the two bags—his medical bag and her satchel. “I have something of yours.”

      “My clothes. Thank you.” She smiled sunshine as the blizzard howled around them. Her gloved fingers brushed his and heat snapped up his arm.

      She took her satchel with a flourish. “I figured the Pinkerton men would confiscate this.”

      “I just didn’t tell them I had your satchel. It didn’t seem right. We thought you were dead, and those agents were mourning the loss of a fat bonus. I just didn’t have the heart to interrupt their grief.”

      “So, I guess you know about the reward.”

      She might shine like a rare diamond, but she was lost, alone and afraid. His heart tumbled. He’d always been a soft touch for anyone in need. “Is there a reward? For returning