“Don’t tear yourself up feeling guilty about those men, if that’s what’s eating you. If I hadn’t stopped them, they would have raped you and slit your throat. And that’s not to mention what they would’ve done to your kid afterward.” He shrugged. “I could’ve hauled ass before they came back around, but where would that have left you? You couldn’t jump from the train. Not with a baby to worry about. Leaving you here alone to deal with the assholes didn’t strike me as an option. You understand? It was them or you.”
Maggie couldn’t bear to even think about it.
He pushed more erect. After studying her for an interminably long while, he gently asked, “What are you doing here, anyway? Somehow you just don’t strike me as the type to be riding the rails.”
“What type of person does?” she asked, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
His mouth went hard, and even in the moonlight, she saw a sharp, measuring look enter his eyes. “Lots of types,” he finally replied, “but most of them fall into two categories, crazy or desperate.”
Hoping to keep the conversation centered on him, she retorted, “And which type are you?”
“The type who can take care of himself.”
Maggie conceded the point by averting her gaze. Even though she owed him for saving her life, she didn’t dare tell him her reasons for being there. Judging by his appearance, he probably had very little money, and it would be just like Lonnie to offer a reward for word of her whereabouts. After all, unless Lonnie managed to find her and got his hands on Jaimie, he’d have to return all that cash.
The cowboy sighed. “What’s your name? Can you tell me that much?”
She weighed the possible consequences and decided sharing her first name couldn’t hurt. “Maggie. How far is it to the next town, anyway?”
“I’m not sure of the distance. I think the next stop will probably be in Squire, and that’ll take a few hours.” He drew up his shoulders, which told her the cold was already starting to bother him. “That where you’re headed?”
Maggie had no idea where she was going. She was just—going. “I don’t know. It’ll depend on how large a place Squire is, I guess.”
Long silence. “You mean you don’t know where you’re headed?”
“Sure I do. I’m going where the train’s going.”
“Christ,” he said, half under his breath. And then she could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Why me, God?”
“Is Squire a fairly big place?”
“It’s not so little you’ll miss it if you blink. It’s just this side of the Washington state line.”
Maggie needed to find a good-sized town—someplace where she could easily land a job, melt into the population, and not be traced.
“Who knocked you around?” he asked without preamble.
She stared at him. “Pardon?”
“I didn’t stammer. I know damned well you didn’t get all those bruises on your arm in that tussle tonight. Who beat the hell out of you?” He gave her a slow once-over, for all the world as if he could see through the sheepskin. “It’s obvious someone did. And please, don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that age-old story about running into a doorknob, unless, of course, you ran into it several dozen times.”
If he hadn’t been quizzing her about something so personal, Maggie might have smiled at his dry sense of humor. She was fresh out of smiles, though, and there were some things you didn’t relate to strangers. “We have lots of doorknobs at our place.”
“Who’s we?”
She tried for a vacuous expression as she drew the coat closer.
“How bad are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Looks to me like those ribs of yours are a little ticklish, and maybe other places as well.”
Ticklish didn’t say it by half. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
He huffed, the sound disgruntled. “You nursed the kid since that legion of doorknobs worked you over? When you tried a few minutes ago, it appeared to me that you were having some problems.”
She gaped at him. No man had ever asked her something so personal, and his saving her didn’t give him the right to be the first. She averted her face.
The clackety-clack of the train seemed to grow louder. She could feel him studying her. She wished he’d just lower that filthy hat and go back to sleep.
“Appears to me you’re down on your luck. If you’re that banged up, how do you plan on feeding him? With your good looks?”
Through the sweep of her lowered lashes, Maggie stared at the cowboy’s lean body, dread rising in her throat until it nearly suffocated her. His question rang in her ears. How do you plan on feeding him? With your good looks?
Maybe so, mister, she thought numbly. Maybe so.
Chapter Two
Freezing his ass off was a great way to sober up. It beat drinking coffee all to hell, anyway. Rafe clamped his arms over his chest and drew his knees higher, his body swaying with the boxcar. From under the edge of his hat, he could see the pinkish light of dawn. The temperature wouldn’t rise for about three more hours, but at least there was an end in sight.
He stared into the black void provided by the crown of his hat. Against the darkness, he kept seeing the girl’s pale face and those gigantic, expressive eyes. He’d been a little rough on her. There was something indefinable about her that brought out his protective instincts, and it scared the hell out of him.
For two years, his sole focus had been on his own misery. Now, in the space of only a few hours, a half-pint girl had turned him inside out and tied his guts into knots. This wasn’t like him. Usually he had no trouble at all in ignoring the rest of the world and all its. injustices. In fact, he’d gotten so good at not giving a damn, he’d practically turned it into an art. So why was Maggie getting to him like this?
He remembered his dream and Susan’s entreaties. You’ll see. Was this the second chance she’d been telling him about?
He shoved the thought away, scoffing at himself. The booze must have pickled his brains for notions like that to find a foothold. Maggie with-no-last-name meant nothing to him. Here shortly, he’d say adios and never clap eyes on her again.
Despite his resolve, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about those bruises on her arm. Was her entire body banged up? Where he hailed from, a man didn’t strike a woman, period, not even with the flat of his hand.
Something heavy plopped on Rafe’s legs. He shoved up his hat to see Maggie standing over him. She cradled her sleeping child in the crook of one arm. Pitching her voice to be heard over the train, she said. “You’re freezing. You take the coat for a while.” She cuddled the baby closer, her gaze reflecting gratitude mixed with wariness. “I was thinking maybe we could switch back and forth. Only after you get warm again, of course.”
Settling the Stetson on his head, Rafe pushed himself to a sitting position. The fear of him that he read in her expression didn’t bode well for the suggestion he was about to make. “Why don’t we just share it?”
A frown pleated the skin between her delicately arched brows. “Share it?”
She sounded as scandalized as if he had suggested they have hot sex on a city sidewalk. Rafe felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. That surprised him. Smiling was a rare occurrence for him these days.
He lifted the heavy sheepskin with the crook of his finger. “I’ll wear the coat, and you and the baby can slip inside with me. That way, we’ll all stay warm.”
She shook her head, the movement drawing his gaze to the fall of dark hair that lay over her shoulders. Against the white blouse, the silky curtains made him think of rich chocolate. Dressed in blue jeans and sneakers, she might have passed for a young teenager if not for the slight fullness of her hips and breasts. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“For your baby’s sake,” he quickly added. “No matter how you circle it, switching back and forth with the coat won’t be good. The baby will get cold, then warm. I’ve always hear
d that causes colds. You want it to get sick?”
She dropped a worried gaze to the small bundle cradled against her. His stomach knotted. He was so cold his teeth were damned near clacking, but he wouldn’t wear the coat while she and the child went without.
He nearly smiled again as he watched her struggle to reach a decision. Share the coat? God forbid.
“I have him wrapped in my jacket and sweatshirt. Do you really think he might get sick?”
Rafe was actually more worried about her than the baby. He cocked an eyebrow and lifted the coat higher. “I think it’s a risk you don’t have to take.”
“I suppose it is more practical to share it than to switch back and forth.”
Amen. He watched her take a hesitant step toward him. Not that he faulted her wariness. After what those four bums had tried to do to her, any woman would want to run in the other direction.
He leaned forward to shove his arms down the coat sleeves. “Come on,” he coaxed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to freeze my ass off.”
She took another hesitant step. Then she stopped to stare down at him, looking very like a skittish doe, her lithe body tensed for flight.
Suddenly tense himself, Rafe spread his feet to make room between his bent knees. As he held the front of the coat open in invitation, he felt that odd, achy sensation in his chest again. It was that stubborn little chin of hers and those large, frightened eyes, he decided. The combination packed a wallop. “Come on,” he repeated huskily. “I swear I won’t try anything.”
When she knelt on one knee between his spread boots, she searched his face, her expression so dubious that he nearly chuckled. Instead he faked a shiver. “Hurry, honey. I’m letting in cold air.”
She turned and sat with her back to him. The top of her dark head hit him just below the chin. As she cuddled the baby in her arms, his whiskers caught on her silky hair. He waited, expecting her to relax against him, but instead she kept her spine so straight it could have ruled paper.
Biting back another smile, he drew the front of the heavy coat closed over her and the child, his arms forming a loose circle around them. The chill of her body made him yearn to hug her closer to share his heat, but he didn’t want to scare her.
“You say your name’s Maggie?” he inquired softly next to her ear.
“Yes.”
Maggie. It suited her perfectly somehow. Rafe breathed in the sweet scent of mother and child. “Is your baby a little boy?”
She bent her head and curled her fingers over the edge of blue nylon to reveal the child’s tiny face. “Yes,” she replied, her voice throbbing with love. “His name is Jaimie—with two I’s I named him after my father.”
“That’s a Celtic spelling, isn’t it?”
“It may be. My father was a Scot.”
He didn’t miss the fact that she referred to her father in the past tense. Whoever had beaten her up, it hadn’t been her dad.
She wore no wedding ring. He decided she was probably running from a boyfriend. “My name’s Rafe Kendrick.”
She turned to meet his gaze, her guarded expression making his heart ache. It had to be damned miserable, being trapped inside a coat with a man she didn’t trust. Though she was trying to keep a safe distance between their bodies, he could feel her trembling, and he doubted it was from the cold now.
She lowered her lashes, the long dark spikes casting feathery shadows on her cheeks in the rosy light of dawn. An urge came over him to trace the shape of her mouth with his fingertips. He was relieved when she averted her face.
She continued to sit ramrod straight, which he knew couldn’t be very comfortable, especially with aching ribs. Splaying a hand over the section of coat where he guessed the baby to be, he applied gentle pressure. “I don’t bite, Maggie. At least not hard enough to break the skin. Go ahead and lean back.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
She looked exhausted. He suspected she was running on her last reserves of energy. He forced the issue by applying more pressure. Just as he anticipated, she relented instantly, which he doubted she would have done if he’d pressed his palm against her instead of the child.
Her body felt slight and wonderfully soft where it nestled against him. His breath froze in his chest. It had been so long since he’d held a woman that he’d nearly forgotten how good it felt. He wanted to bury his face in her beautiful hair and inhale its scent. And, oh, God, how he yearned to free his arms from the coat sleeves so he could slip his hands inside and explore her softness—the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the soft fullness of her bottom.
It had been too long since he’d had a drink, he decided. Without the constant infusion of booze into his system, the numbness was wearing off.
Normally he swept parking lots to get a new jug before the old one ran dry. Now that his most recently purchased bottle had been shattered, he’d have no choice but to go all day without a drink until he earned the money to buy more. What if he got the shakes and couldn’t hold a broom? The thought made him feel frantic.
Rafe felt the girl flinch. He realized that in his agitation he’d increased the pressure of his hand on her and the baby. Concern for her chased away his sudden yearning for alcohol. Leaning around to regard her face, he saw that she was biting her bottom lip.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your belt buckle. It’s poking my back.”
He relaxed his hold. As he reached a hand inside the coat to slide the silver buckle off to one side, she gave a startled jerk when he grazed his knuckles over her lower back.
“I’m not making a move on you, honey. I’m just shifting the buckle so it won’t jab you.”
“There’s no need. I can just sit straight.”
As the train rounded a curve in the tracks, she nearly toppled with the sway. He caught her from falling with the brace of his arm. A faint ray of rosy sunlight came in through the open doorway to illuminate her face. For the first time, Rafe could see her features in detail. What he saw scared the hell out of him. She wasn’t just pale. Her skin had a white, bloodless cast to it, and dark smudges underscored her eyes.
Disturbed by the train’s sudden motion, the baby chose that moment to awaken and emit a weak bleating sound. She murmured soft endearments, parting the windbreaker again. The infant’s blue eyes blinked open, and small fists flailed the air, terry sleeper sleeves flashing yellow against the navy nylon.
An unpleasant odor drifted up to Rafe. He nearly groaned. Any man who’d once been a father knew that smell. Why was it that the odor of baby poop always seemed to drift upward and never sideways? But, oh, no. It was one of those smells that shot straight to a man’s nose.
Rafe glanced around the cavernous boxcar, expecting to see a diaper bag. When one didn’t appear, he scanned the enclosure again, convinced one would materialize. On a rational level, he realized kids weren’t born with a diaper bag attached. But in his estimation, that was a major screwup on God’s part. With a baby tossed into any equation, the absence of disposable diapers and Wet Ones equaled a major disaster.
“Where’s the diaper bag?”
She didn’t glance up as she replied. “I dropped it.”
“You what?” Surely he couldn’t have heard her right. No diaper bag? “You’re kidding. Right?”
She shook her head.
Visions of all the absolutely vital baby paraphernalia in a diaper bag went zigzagging through Rafe’s head. Diapers and wipes were only the half of it. Raising his voice to be heard over the now screeching baby, who was thrashing his little legs and stirring up the odor, Rafe said, “You dropped it? Where at?”
“Back in Prior. It was an accident. I was trying to get on the train, and I couldn’t run fast enough to keep up. I dropped both the bag and Jaimie’s quilt. That’s why I’ve got him wrapped in my sweatshirt and jacket.”
Rafe leaned his head against the wall, racking his brain for a solution. The stink aside, somehow they had to change the kid’s
britches. Left as he was, Jaimie would get a sore bottom.
“I’ll manage somehow.”
Rafe couldn’t imagine how. Then he felt her wiggling. The movements of her soft posterior against the crotch of his jeans brought about a reaction that brought his eyes wide open. His breath snagged, and he sat there for a full five seconds, staring at the back of her head.
Wonderful. Just frigging fantastic. He hadn’t felt a stir in that region in over two years. Even worse than the piss-poor timing was the fact that Maggie might feel it.
He shoved a hand between her butt and his jeans, hoping to escape detection as well as protect himself from further stimulation. At the touch of his knuckles on her rump, she jumped again and jerked her head around to fix him with an accusing look.
“I’m not getting fresh,” he hastened to assure her. “I’m just—”
His voice trailed off. He was just what? The baby’s screams seemed to attain super-baby decibels. He was getting a real bitch of a headache. God, he needed a drink.
She squirmed to put some distance between his hand and her bottom, then resumed her activities. Watching her from the back, it looked to him as if she were unfastening her top. Red alert.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ll have to use my blouse and wear the windbreaker.”
Was it actually possible for a man’s heart to leap from his chest cavity into his mouth? “Use your blouse for what?”
“A diaper.”
“Say what?”
“I have to change him,” she said in a shrill voice, “and my blouse is all I’ve got. I’ll need the sweatshirt later to keep him warm, and the nylon jacket isn’t absorbent.”
He quickly shrugged the coat from his shoulders. “Here, I’ll lend you my T-shirt.” Lend? As if he’d ever want it back. “Without your blouse, you’ll be exposed to the cold. The nylon of that jacket will feel like ice against your bare skin every time the wind hits it.”
He shucked his shirt in record time, then peeled off the T-shirt and handed it around to her. She took hold of it between thumb and forefinger, raising it up to the weak light of dawn. Shocked by the frigid air that washed over his naked upper torso, Rafe quickly slipped his shirt back on. He paused in the buttoning to stare at the undergarment she held up with such delicate but apparent distaste.