by Jillian Hart
Almost free. Standing in the doorway, the punch of wind and snow struck her. The downfall came quick and thick, with an icy sting on her unprotected face. Her muffler had sagged low, but she didn’t take the time or effort to worry about that now. She turned her shoulder so most of the gale struck her in the side and back, shielding her daughter from the worst of it. She went to step off the train.
“Hold on, there! Sheriff, this isn’t right. She pays for her passage or the company presses charges.”
“Throwing a young mother in jail isn’t right and you know it.”
Her attention wavered. Press charges? She thought of all the hobos and wanderers who’d caught rides in the freight cars when she’d been at the train station in Minot. Well, more accurately, tucked away in a row of abandoned boxcars trying to get up the courage to steal a ride. It’s not hard, and most never do get caught, several of the more gentle-seeming hobos had told her. She’d never thought to ask them what happened on that rare occasion when one was caught.
Now what? She could run away and be lost in the thick curtain of snow in no time—unless the sheriff came tracking her. It was tempting, because as she held her daughter against her heart, she had so much to lose and so much at stake.
But it was not in her to run. Even as her gut instincts urged her to go, she planted her feet and sought out the steely lawman and his hollow gaze. “I’m sorry to have stowed away, but you have to understand that I was desperate.”
“Are you running from someone? From some harm?” There was a note of hope in his voice. As if there was a legitimate legal reason for her to be fleeing at all.
“No.” She could have lied—but that wasn’t in her, either. “Since the train was heading west, I’d hoped it might take us to a better situation.”
The lawman—Mac was his name—stood with his feet braced, shoulders straight, as unyielding as a mountain peak. Her last hopes fell like the snow at her shoes. Whatever faint chance she’d had to escape this situation had already passed.
Too late, she stepped onto the platform where snow was already accumulating. The night seemed heartless and desolate as the wind began to howl, and the thick shroud of snow twisted and whirled, hiding all but the boxcar from her sight. The light of the lantern the sheriff held traveled toward her.
As well as the uniformed man radiating with anger.
Chapter Two
Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. One moment the woman hopped onto the platform as if ready to escape into the night. And the next, Bose leaped out after her, his beefy hands reaching as if to grab her by the shoulders.
Oh no, you don’t, man. Mac shoved the lantern at a surprised Jed and bounded into the blinding snow. He nearly broke his neck when his boots hit the iced platform, but rage held him up and kept him going. Rage was all he noticed, all he felt and all he saw as he caught the brakeman by the collar just in time.
“Let go of me, Sheriff!” Bose howled like a trapped bear. “This is railroad business.”
“This is my business.” Fury burst out of him like cannon fire. He struggled to hold the man back, to keep him from grabbing the woman who’d planted her feet and stood her ground. Bose was more than het up; he was like a rabid dog. “We’re gonna let this one go, man.”
“Over my dead body, Mac.”
“I can’t arrange that. But I can toss you in a cell.”
“Me? She’s the thief!”
“What’ll it be? Back down, or it’s jail.” Mac watched the realization dawn in the engineer’s eyes.
The violence went out of him but not the attitude. “I want restitution. I have to do right by my employer.”
“Do right? How could any part of this be right?” Mac let go of the bastard. “She’s a woman.”
“So? The company’s got a right to charge her and the kid.”
Disgust left Mac reeling. Shaking his head, he rubbed the snow out of his eyes, aware of the woman quietly watching, a willowy figure even with a child in her arms. Gilded with snow, it was a beautiful thing the way the gleam of white haloed her. Snow clung to the round of her hood to frame her face, and dusted her shoulders. Stardust clung to each flake that fell and added a glow of the softest blue-purple haze. And the sheen of it enveloped her, and made his heart hammer hard.
Mac felt his boots pulling him toward her, as if he had no choice. Who was this woman who did not make excuses or cry or blame? “Are you all right, ma’am?”
She didn’t answer or blink. She didn’t appear to so much as breathe. She was deciding if he was friend or foe.
He was good at reading people. Wouldn’t be much of a lawman if he wasn’t. She was no trifling woman, for there was an air of quality about her. Not hoity-toity, but genuine decency. Her gaze was honest.
Not the usual stowaway.
Since she was such a small thing and he was towering over her, he kept his voice subdued. “I’m here to help, ma’am. You’ll see that soon enough. Let’s get you and your little one someplace safe and warm. How does that sound?”
“Are you pressing charges?”
“I don’t want to, ma’am—”
“That man wants me to pay. What if I can’t?”
“Well, I suppose that’s a problem.”
Exactly. Carrie waited for the answer she knew was coming and refused to shiver or bat away the flakes clinging to her cheeks and eyelashes. The sheriff stood as if made of stone, more of an impression than anything in the shades of night.
They wanted to press charges? Fear burrowed deep within her. She was in big trouble. As she listened to the snow tap everywhere around in quiet symphony, she felt nothing but the cold heartlessness of a world she knew too well. There would be no mercy from the sheriff or the railroad men.
They were arguing with one another, their low angry voices rising. The wind’s gust tore apart their words, but the man in uniform was gesturing violently at the sheriff. Lots of money. Of course that’s what was so important to them; it was what they wanted and the one very important commodity she was short on. She doubted that these men who stood between her and a jail cell, who had eaten a good hot supper until they were full, could understand. How could they?
They continued to argue, and she saw her fate as easily as the tumble of snowflakes freezing to the platform at her feet. Inevitable. They were right—she had been taking use of the train without paying for it. And while she had no notion of what passenger fare for the two of them would be, from the Dakotas to the middle of the Montana Rockies, she knew it was far more than the handful of coins tucked safely in her pocket. So, if they took her to jail, what would become of Ebea? Would they take her child?
She could run. Now, while the men were busy. The uniformed man had worked up into a frenzy, and it would take them some time to notice that she’d slipped away. But even as she took a few steps slowly back, silent as the snow, she knew the tracks she would leave could lead them right to her, wherever she ran. And so what do I do now?
As if in answer, the brush of snow against her cheek felt like a touch, like an unseen presence, and she knew. There was one thing left, one item worth nothing of great monetary value, but it was all she had to pay with. She slid the mitten from her right hand and the gold band off her finger.
She chose the sheriff because he seemed like a decent enough sort, for a lawman. For a stranger. “Sir. I know this is far from enough, but it’s all I have. At least, for now.”
The sheriff’s sharp gaze told her he’d not been surprised by the ring she held. Maybe he had been watching her more carefully than she’d suspected. But there was no harshness when he spoke. “Perhaps it’s best you keep your wedding ring.”
No, this was not her ring. Her wedding band had been the first thing she’d sold when hard times hit. “No, take it.”
“Ma’am, I don’t want your ring. Bose, you can see she has no way to compensate the railroad. It’s Christmastime—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s the holy night. She’s a stowaway and I�
��m under strict orders. I don’t like it, but there it is. That ring, is it gold? What else have you got?”
Was it her imagination, or had his voice dipped with lust? She couldn’t keep her disgust out of her voice. “That’s why we borrowed a ride on the train. Because I could not afford anything else. If I had the money, then I would have paid for a passenger fare.”
Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t any of them? Perhaps the sheriff did. She saw a hint of pity in his eyes. She couldn’t stomach pity.
The uniformed man, Bose, as the sheriff called him, snatched the ring from her fingers. Carrie couldn’t believe how he looked over the ring as if it was far below his expectations, when it was so much. It was a symbol of love that meant far more than its weight in gold. She saw delight in Bose’s gesture and her blood turned cold. What if he was going to keep the ring and arrest her just the same?
Panic squeezed the blood from her heart, the air from her lungs. Time slowed down as she watched Bose’s delight turn to a twisted smile. Carrie, you should have run while you had the chance. But where? And how to escape with a small child in tow?
Bose weighed the ring in the palm of his hand. “This ring isn’t much. Hardly worth the trouble of melting it down. I’m gonna need more. Why don’t you go on home, Sheriff? It’s late and it’s cold. This is likely to turn into a blizzard soon. The woman and I can take it from here. As long as she’s willing to deal. This is a start.”
Her fury came colder than the arctic winds, icier than hell frozen over. “I do not deal. The ring will have to be enough.”
“This isn’t worth more’n a quarter of what passenger fare is worth.”
“This is not a passenger train. We did not enjoy a warm nor comfortable ride. I say it is enough.”
“The lady is right, Bose.” Mac fisted his hands, careful not to act on his rage and break the laws he upheld. What was the engineer thinking, propositioning this woman? “Take the ring as payment or leave it be.”
“I can’t do that.” Bose’s gaze traveled over the length of the woman, and it was an ugly leer that flashed briefly across his face. “It’s my way or jail.”
You are a bastard, aren’t you, Bose? Sometimes Mac hated what he saw of humanity, the underbelly of the wrong side of decency, and it was all he could do to keep his fury in check. There was no mistaking the mother’s protective stance.
In the lantern light, even shadowed by the falling snow, he read the resignation in the cut of her jaw and the challenge in her eyes. She was ready to wage battle and well aware of the hardship she was in. There was nothing he could do about that, he thought. Unless…
Mac snatched the ring back from Bose. “I can’t stomach the sight of you. Get back on your train and out of my town.”
“You’re gettin’ soft because she’s a woman. Or maybe you’re gonna make a different arrangement with her behind my back.”
“Enough! Do you want me to toss your ass in jail?”
“The company accountant will be expecting the money.” Bose backed toward the waiting train. Other company employees hurried away from him, their loading of the freight cars complete, and a long warning toot from the engine hurried all of them along. Bose headed toward the front engine. “I’m writing up a report on you.”
Instead of rising to the man’s bait, the sheriff lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad sort, Carrie thought—he was doing his job. She knew he had responsibilities to his town and to the businesses that supported it. She knew how things worked in the world. She wasn’t so sheltered, not since she’d become a bride, to know the hard truths.
The sheriff held out the ring to her. “Well, ma’am, I suppose you’ll be wanting to keep this.”
“It won’t keep me out of jail?”
“No.”
So much for small hopes. Not in these long dark night of winter. Carrie accepted the ring he returned to her, the gold tarnished and worn but more dear for it. She slid it into place on her finger and pulled the mitten over it.
“Mama, I’m s-so c-cold.”
“We’ll get warm in a moment, baby.” Carrie pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and tucked the blanket more tightly to keep out the wind that was stubbornly batting at the blanket.
“I don’t think a widow ought to have to sell her wedding ring,” the sheriff was saying kindly, and somehow that made the shame inside her all the worse.
“It’s my mother’s.” Her throat closed tight and a revealing gasp of pain slipped out and only embarrassed her more. Her death was still too new to think about, but to feel the ring again on her finger was a comfort. If there was comfort to be had on this bitter night.
“You lost her recently?” He gestured toward the darkest part of the platform as the train behind them began to chug and grind.
She could only nod as she followed him down some icy steps and onto a snow-covered boardwalk. Some losses were too deep to talk about, and so she said the only question left to be asked, since her fate had been sealed the moment she climbed aboard that train. “When you lock me up, what will become of my child?”
“There is no orphanage in this area to take her. You’re afraid of losing her.”
“I am.” She could not give name to the terror. Every hour of every minute since she’d been on her own, she’d feared nothing more. Her sweet, good girl alone and helpless, without anyone to take care of her, to protect and defend and provide for her—she couldn’t stand to think about it.
Panic began to claw in her chest, like a wild trapped creature struggling to escape. “She has no one else. Is there any way I could do work of some kind—decent work? Anything? I’m not afraid of hard work. I can cook. I can clean. I have a strong back. Please, sir.”
And, as the town buildings came into sight and the jail had to be among them, she heard the sheriff’s silence and all he didn’t say. There would be no escape. His hand brushed her shoulder as if to catch her in case she slipped or ran. They stepped down onto the street and down a dark lane, and the wind howled and became cruel, shoving her along as if to hurry her to her fate.
Carrie pressed a kiss to her dear Ebea’s forehead, but only kissed ice on her hood. “You did not answer my question. What will happen to my child?”
“Your daughter can’t stay the night in a cell meant for prisoners.” He stopped and seemed to check his bearing in the blinding storm. “Follow me.”
“I overheard you when you were speaking to that man, Bose. You said that throwing a mother in jail isn’t right. Could you let me go? Could you say I ran and you couldn’t find me? I won’t cause any more problems. I’m not a thief, not at heart. And I—”
“I can’t do that, ma’am. A blizzard is blowin’ in. I can’t in good conscience leave you to become lost in it. Think of your little one.”
Ebea’s teeth were beginning to chatter, her little body shivering despite the layers of flannel and wool. I’m so sorry, baby. Carrie pressed a kiss to her child’s forehead again and put a wish in her heart that somehow, someway, there would be some good coming their way.
Buildings rose up to shadow the brunt of the wind and snow. Carrie’s grip tightened even more, her fingers clutching the blanket so that the backs of her knuckles burned. How had it come to this? Everything she had done, every thought and every action Carrie made had been to protect her little girl. To keep her safe. And I’ve failed.
As if in disgust, the snow slapped and stung at her face between her muffler and her hood. She’d never felt such cutting snow. There would be no help from above or from the sheriff. Carrie wasn’t looking for a handout. Just a touch of grace.
There would be no mercy. Why did she hope there would be the chance of it? I’m not yet that bitter, she thought, wishing, just wishing she could rub out the last few years like a mathematical problem on a child’s school slate, wipe it away until it was as if it had never been. A clean slate, and she’d never have known her husband’s decline and her mother’s death. She never would have
been here, following a sheriff up a set of steps to the jailhouse.
This was it. As she watched him unlock the door, and the blizzard hit full force, stealing all of the night shadows so that she saw nothing but black. Then a golden spear of light appeared, growing ever wider as the door opened. There was no escape.
She stood trembling for a long moment, letting the lethal winds pierce like a thousand sharp teeth into her skin. The warm light and safe harbor of a lit hallway beckoned, and she could not resist.
Carrie followed him through the narrow hallway and through an arched door where there was no light. The drum of shoes on the wood floor did not tell of a cold, empty jail cell. She had to be imagining the faint whiff of lemon polish and fresh, sweet pine.
The embers in the fireplace centering the room were too low to cast more than the faintest shadows over a braid carpet set between what looked like two deep-filled sofas. Sofas. She watched while the sheriff knelt to poke the embers to life. “What is this place?”
Wicked orange light writhed and twisted on the hard, unforgiving planes of his face. But there was forgiveness in the rumble of his baritone. “This is my mother’s house.”
“A house? I don’t understand.”
“Do you want your child to spend the night in a jail?” He added wood to the fire, the greedy flames flaring and lashing waves of light across his face.
It was kindness she saw. Kindness she did not believe in. He meant to leave Ebea here with his mother, but she’d come to know the way of many men. “And what do you want for this? You don’t mean to make the same offer as that railroad man?”
Her blood turned cold as he turned and straightened. He rose over her, all six feet of raw, powerful man. There was no mistaking his strength; the room vibrated with it. Her nerves tingled with it.
“No, ma’am. I aim to do the right thing. Now, why don’t you sit and warm by the fire. I’ll see if the kettle in the kitchen is still hot for tea.”
The right thing? Whatever she’d been expecting from this man, this stranger, it was not this. As she watched him shoulder past her and disappear through the archway, she felt the fear drain out of her like water from a leaky bucket. She slid onto the corner of the nearest sofa cushion. He could not have shocked her more if he’d reached out and struck her.