Montana Man. Jillian Hart
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shake the uneasy feeling as Trey tucked her hand against his elbow.
It was too hard to talk. Trey led her the few blocks to town, where the boardwalk provided scant shelter from the storm. Storefront windows gleamed with light. The boardwalk was nearly empty.
With every step she took, he was beside her, towering over her, protecting her from the wind and snow. His arm felt iron-dependable hooked in hers.
Trey pushed open the inn’s front door, but her hand caught the wooden frame, too. She would hold her own door. She would take care of herself from here on out. She wasn’t looking for someone to shoulder her problems.
Trey swept off his snowy hat. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye.”
“Yes, it does.” She couldn’t forget the sight of him and Josie kneeling before the trunk, haloed by lamplight, surrounded by love. She was glad they had each other.
“Thank you for joining us.” Trey turned to her in the foyer, where the dining room stretched behind him, empty and bright with lamplight. “You don’t know it, but you made my first day as Josie’s guardian a good one.”
“That’s what you are, a guardian?”
“According to the lawyer.” He unbuttoned his icy coat, ambling toward the potbellied stove in the lobby. “But truly, I’m not sure what I am. I just know that she’s my sister’s daughter, and I love her.”
“Believe me, love is enough.” She heard the ghosts of the past in her voice, and she bit her lip. Those ghosts were best left behind and forgotten. But this day would linger in her heart a long while. “You’ll do just fine, a dashing and charming man like you.”
He nodded once, slightly, his smile slow as he faced her. “What about you, Miranda? The train will be running by the end of the week, and you’ll be short one good-luck charm.”
“I’ll manage. Josie needs it more than I do.” Miranda paused. “Will her leg improve?”
“According to the specialist? No, but then, I’m an optimistic man. There’s no telling what the future holds.” But his eyes said it all, shadowed with quiet grief. Josie might never walk without a brace again.
Miranda’s throat ached. She wished…no, she’d given up wishing on first stars of the night, in believing there could be fairy-tale endings in this cold world. “Maybe her new good-luck charm will help.”
“Maybe.”
“And if not, then she has you.”
“Me?” He shrugged one brawny shoulder. “I’m not sure she got a good bargain in gaining me for a parent. But I’m going to try to do right by her.”
“Try? You’re going to do fine.” What was this man, with the saucy humor and charm, who’d stood up to an armed bounty hunter on the train, that he sounded uncertain now? “You’re wonderful with her.”
“I’m a good uncle. I don’t know how good a father I’m going to be.”
“Probably the best one in the territory.” She waited until a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Be careful heading back. The wind’s rising.”
“I’m an old hand at handling blizzards.” He caught her gaze, intimate as a touch, as tangible as a breeze to her face. “Josie and I won’t forget your kindness. Remember, you have a friend if you ever need one.”
His words rang in her heart. She couldn’t speak as he stepped out into the storm. The wind roared, fierce and brutal, and the darkness stole him from her sight.
The staircase curled up into the dark, the polished banisters gleaming in the parlor’s light. The boards squeaked beneath her step. Her stomach felt tight, her chest fluttery. She’d find another inn. Just in case. It never hurt to be careful.
She packed her satchel and checked out. She’d noticed a quiet hotel just a block away. Lucky for her, they had an available corner room with two big windows and a fireplace to chase away the winter’s cold. It would be her home for the duration of the storm, and she was grateful for it.
Alone, she pulled the book out of the mercantile’s brown wrapping and settled down beside the fire to read. Alone, the minutes passed slowly. The hour hand on the clock crept across the small etched face.
She ate in her room and went to bed early, reading until her eyes were heavy. But the minute she closed her book, Trey materialized in her mind. His saucy grin, his twinkling eyes, the tender way he’d given Josie her parents’ picture.
She lay in the dark a long time, listening to the howl of the storm, hearing its loneliness.
“Uncle Trey?” It was the faintest whisper.
He looked up from his medical journal, blinking. The lamp at his elbow cast only enough light to read by; he couldn’t see anything else but darkness in the room. Then a ghostly wisp of pink flannel shivered through the deep shadows.
He rubbed his tired eyes and pushed back his chair. “Josie? What are you doing up?”
“Nothin’.”
She sniffed once, and his heart broke. It simply broke. How was he going to make her world right again?
Determined, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “You’ve got to be awake for a reason. Don’t tell me you’ve developed a bad rash on your big toe and it itched so much it woke you up.”
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