Beau followed Miss Southerland’s lead and stood, as well. But as his gaze captured her closed-lipped expression, something dark in him shifted and realigned itself. What had previously been anger and frustration now gave way to guilt.

      Feeling like a fiend, he knotted his hand into a fist at his side, sucked in a harsh breath and then relaxed his fingers. Because of his own arrogance, Miss Southerland was wary of him.

      Understandable, under the circumstances.

      “Follow me,” he said, accepting that he would get very little warmth from her now.

      He’d unfairly judged Miss Southerland because of the hours he’d spent with Jane Goodwin. Setting aside his own prejudice now, he studied the woman walking beside him with fresh eyes. Her clothes were elegant and fashionable, her carriage graceful and refined. She was everything clean, unblemished…pure. No one in their right mind would mistake this woman for a prostitute.

      Except, of course, a preacher too caught up in his own grief and frustration to see the truth standing before him.

      Beau was reminded of a verse from the book of James. The tongue is also a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body.

      He’d spoken from the bias of his own circumstances, not with the compassion of a minister. What sort of preacher did that make him?

      Lord, forgive me my bold, outspoken words. Help me to make amends to this woman properly in a way that will bring You glory and her peace.

      The moment they exited the hotel, cool mountain air slapped him in the face and shimmied under his collar. Beau immediately steered Miss Southerland back inside. “Wait in here, out of the wind, while I find us suitable transportation.”

      As he turned to go, he shot a quick glance at her over his shoulder. She stood gazing at him with a quiet, clear-eyed look that held far too much worry in it.

      A muscle locked in his jaw, and he let out another quick hiss of air. Why hadn’t he focused on easing her concern for her sister, instead of allowing his own worries to influence his behavior?

      Returning to the curbside, Beau blew into his cupped palms and silently reviewed the harsh words he’d used with Miss Southerland.

      His delivery had been insensitive, to be sure, but he didn’t believe he’d been wrong in warning the actress of the life she could find herself leading if she didn’t take care. She might be pure and innocent. Today. But she was only a few bad choices away from becoming another Jane. And then men would flock to her for all the wrong reasons.

      Everything in Beau rebelled at the notion. The responding growl that came from his throat sounded almost primitive.

      Men could become blind idiots, often treacherous, around the sort of devastating beauty Miss Southerland possessed. Although she believed otherwise, she wasn’t safe traveling by herself in this part of the country.

      Beau shouldn’t have left her alone in the hotel.

      Far too impatient to wait for a carriage to pass by, Beau informed the doorman of his transportation needs and went inside to retrieve Miss Southerland.

      She stood along the edge of the lobby, hidden slightly in the shadows. As before on Market Street, he found himself no longer able to walk, to breathe, to…move. He simply stared at her like an idiot. The impact of her beauty hit Beau like a punch thrown straight to his heart.

      Separate from the other patrons, Miss Southerland looked incredibly sad. And with her arms crossed over her waist, her eyes blinking rapidly to stave off tears, she captured the image of a tragic heroine. Beau had the sudden urge to wrap her in his arms, to protect her against the ugliness he knew was in the world.

      If Miss Southerland’s sister was half as beautiful and delicate as she was herself, it was no wonder Tyler had snatched her up and run away as fast as he could. Tyler was selfish, to be sure, but the man wasn’t stupid.

      No. That line of thinking was senseless and dangerous.

      Beau could not start feeling compassion for his brother or the heinous act the man had committed. A stop at Charity House would restore his own priorities and remind Beau of the dangers both Miss Southerland and her sister faced if either ended up alone in this harsh land.

      Lord, not that. Use me as Your instrument to prevent such a tragedy.

      With his mission in mind, he forced his feet to move. “Ready?” he asked.

      She nodded, the wary expression in her eyes cutting him straight to the bone.

      Had he betrayed this woman’s trust before he’d earned it?

      Perhaps the damage wasn’t permanent. Through Christ all things were possible. Yes. Yes. All was not lost.

      His steps were lighter as he led her through the hotel’s front door. Once outside, a burning cigar stump arced in the air and landed near Miss Southerland’s feet with a thud. Beau took her elbow and circled her in a wide berth to avoid the glowing ember. Still holding her arm, he offered his other hand to assist her into the waiting carriage the doorman had summoned for them.

      She looked at his outstretched palm as though she didn’t want any further physical contact with him. He waited as a myriad of emotions ignited in her eyes. Finally, she relented with a soft sigh and placed her hand in his.

      Palm pressed to palm, Beau liked how her warmth passed through her gloves and straight into him. With an odd sense of reluctance, he released her, gave the driver the address of their destination and climbed into the carriage, as well.

      He settled on the bench opposite her. In the ensuing silence, he took the opportunity to study his surroundings. The blue upholstery had seen better days. It was faded in places, frayed at the edges and missing several buttons. The air hung thick and heavy, carrying a musty, unpleasant odor.

      At least the wooden floor was clean.

      Once the carriage began moving, Beau could no longer remain silent. “I apologize for the harsh tone I used earlier. I have no excuse. My mind was on other concerns, but that doesn’t mean I had the right to judge you so quickly.”

      She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s forgotten.” But her guarded eyes and distant tone told him otherwise.

      Accepting momentary defeat, Beau shifted the conversation to the reason Miss Southerland had sought his assistance in the first place. “Charity House has a school connected to it. The headmistress’s husband is a U.S. Marshal.”

      “Do you think this man will help us?” she asked, her voice filled with a weariness Beau had missed until now.

      Stunned at his own lack of insight, Beau took note of the purple circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue surrounding her mouth. “When did you say Tyler and your sister left Chicago?”

      She blinked at him, but kept her lips tightly clamped together.

      He softened his tone and touched her gloved hand. “How long ago, Miss Southerland?”

      “Three days,” she said, pushing out of his reach.

      “How much sleep have you had since then?”

      Sighing, she turned her head to look out the carriage window. “I’ve had enough.”

      “Miss