Chapter 2

J ack doffed the hat, aware that Morris might be looking out the train window. But his focus had shifted from the man somewhere behind him to the beautiful woman in front of him.

This was the long-in-the-tooth spinster that the young groom had been worried about meeting?

Her groom was a fool.

He glanced around quickly—maybe it wasn't too late for the young man. Jack could give back his hat and coat, explain the mix-up…

But the young man was nowhere to be seen. Was he hiding on the train somewhere?

The platform was filled with travelers, some pushing through the crowd to rush onto the train. Brakes hissed as they released.

Someone passed behind the schoolteacher, bumping into her in the same moment that the train whistle blasted.

Off-kilter, she started to stumble and extended one hand—at the same moment that Jack reached out to steady her.

She was wearing gloves, while he was bare-handed.

And yet he still felt a beat of shock at the moment their hands connected and clasped—like the roar of dynamite biting into the mountain near those mines in Colorado.

Her eyes searched his face, as if she'd felt it too.

He dropped her hand and the moment ended. He flexed his hand and felt a phantom echo of that hand clasp.

A gust of wind blustered through and pushed her skirts against her legs. She touched the back of her hair as if making sure her pins were still in place.

It was cold out here.

And high time he went about making his escape. He glanced back toward the train as it chugged once and then twice more.

"You must be hungry after such a long journey. I've reserved a table for us at the hotel dining room."

It wasn't a question.

"And Mrs. Stoll has your room ready at the boardinghouse. I checked with her this morning."

She glanced around him, her brow furrowing suddenly. "Where's…do you have a trunk?"

The missing groom probably did, but all Jack carried was his satchel. He patted it now. "I've got all I need right here."

A shadow passed through her eyes, followed by the tiniest squint.

"Hey, you!"

A shout from the train turned Jack's head, though he tried to be discreet.

Morris was there, standing in the open doorway of the train, which was pulling out of the station.

He wasn't looking Jack's way, though. His glare was aimed at someone talking to one of the porters, across the platform.

But then he turned his scowl in Jack's direction.

"John. John?"

As Jack turned back to the woman before him, heart thrumming in his ears, he realized she'd said his name—or what she thought was his name. John was the groom?

He needed to get off the platform before Morris caught sight of him and jumped off the slow-moving train.

He slipped his hand beneath the teacher's elbow and nudged her toward the stairs he could see not far away, effectively turning both their backs to Morris.

"Jack." He corrected her before he'd thought better of it. "Call me Jack."

Her eyes searched his face. There was a tiny pinch at the top of her nose between her brows, and for one wild moment, he imagined pressing a kiss there.

What had come over him?

Two minutes of pretending to be some lovesick groom and he was imagining a closeness with this woman—this stranger—that didn't exist.

Maybe he'd fallen asleep on the train and this was simply a strange dream.

He didn't even know her name.

He realized it as their boots hit the wooden boardwalk at the base of the stairs. Like everything else, it was dusted with snow.

"The hotel is serving roasted chicken tonight. I know that's one of your favorites."

She was nervous, though she hadn't shrugged away from his touch.

She'd put on a good show on the train platform, with that raised chin and confidence behind her statements, the plans she'd made.

But experience had taught him to see past her bluff, and he could feel the slight tremor that ran through her when she glanced at him as they walked.

And he wasn't a cruel man. The words to tell her the truth, that there'd been a mistake, were right there on the tip of his tongue.

"Evening, miss!" A man sweeping the boardwalk planks in front of the grocery stopped to wave at them.

Moments later, a boy of fifteen or so, toting boxes down the boardwalk, actually stopped to tip his hat. "You finished your Christmas shopping?" he asked the schoolmarm.

"All done. How about you?" she answered sweetly.

And in the big glass window of a dress shop, the woman arranging a lace shawl over the shoulders of a mannequin stopped her work to wave.

Did the schoolmarm know every single person in town? She must.

The sense of community in the interactions, in the warm smile she had for everyone, made Jack uncomfortable. It was so…cloying.

He never stayed anywhere long enough to put down roots. And he liked it that way.

As they passed by a saloon, two men stomped out of the swinging doors. They were arguing loudly, and even from here Jack could smell the whiskey.

The schoolmarm's nose wrinkled. "You'll have to excuse that. It's a disgrace to have four saloons in one small town."

"You don't think a couple of cowpokes like those deserve to let loose on their night off?"

She blinked at him, her brow wrinkling. She gave a slight head shake and said, "I'm not one to judge, but I am friends with the local marshal. The instances of unruly behavior and public drunkenness have become overwhelming. The saloons should take their business elsewhere."

I'm friends with the marshal . If there were any words she could've said to doom an instant camaraderie, those worked.

Her highfalutin vocabulary was like drawing an offsuit when one almost had a flush. Maybe the young groom had been right to abscond. If Jack could have been sure Morris had stayed on that train, he might've slipped away this very moment.

But the truth of his identity, the words to excuse himself, stayed locked behind his teeth as they walked down the sleepy main street. His stomach grumbled. He'd sit through supper, then tell her the truth and get outta here.

The town was still as small as he remembered, though there was another saloon around the corner from the bank, piano music and light spilling out into the quiet street.

The hotel was warm inside, and he surrendered his coats—both of them—to the front desk attendant. The lobby was decked out with red ribbons and bows and even a swag of pine across the wide front desk.

Seated at the cloth-covered table, the schoolmarm was even prettier in the lamplight. It gilded the edges of her eyelashes gold.

I'm friends with the marshal . The reminder echoed inside him.

She was also prim, folding her hands in her lap when he would've slouched in his seat.

"I'll walk you to the boardinghouse after supper. We'll meet with the preacher tomorrow evening. There are a few things he wants to go over. I know he wants to meet with you privately a time or two before the wedding."

She barely drew a breath before going on. "Since my students will be on Christmas break, we'll have several days to settle into the house before I have to go back into the classroom." A blush pinked her cheeks. "My teaching contract expires in May, and the school board won't hire me back once we are married. Of course, you already know all this…"

Her nervous rambling stopped, and she finally looked up at him and he winked. "Why don't we make it through supper before we plan the rest of our lives?"

Her brows pinched again as the waiter, a young man in a starched shirt and dark trousers, brought two mugs of steaming coffee.

His companion thanked the man in a quiet murmur. He caught her distracted glance to the side and turned his head to see what she was looking at.

Two little girls sat on their knees at a nearby table as they peered above the chair backs to watch the schoolmarm. A man and woman—their parents?—were eating and conversing, not paying attention.

"I trust your journey was favorable."

He blinked and brought his gaze back to the schoolmarm, who seemed determined to ignore the other table.

He shrugged.

She frowned, just a little. "Will you miss being at home for Christmas?"

The innocent question hit a soft spot in his underbelly. "There's nothing for me there." His words sounded sharp, a perfect pairing with the way he felt inside.

He'd thought he could playact his way through supper, but this was more than he'd bargained for.

A giggle from nearby drew his eyes, and now the two little girls were even more obvious in their wide-eyed stares. Their parents still hadn't noticed that they were almost falling out of their seats to watch Jack and his companion.

"Friends of yours?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She was clearly torn between smiling and frowning.

"Two of my students." She settled for a pinched smile. "As I mentioned in my letters, there's not much privacy for a schoolmarm in such a small town." She grimaced slightly and played with the napkin in her lap. "I'm afraid my students discovered one of your letters just this afternoon and…well, they were distracted for the rest of the school day."

He tipped his head toward the table with the girls. "You want to invite them over to say hello?"

He didn't wait for her answer, heard her soft noise of protest when he turned in his seat and waved the two girls over.

Their eyes grew big in their faces, and they glanced at each other before scampering over.

"Hello, Miss Harding!" two girlish voices chorused.

Miss Harding. He had a surname.

"Hello. I'm Jack—" He covered for the way he'd cut off his sentence by extending his hand for them to shake. He'd almost introduced himself with his real name.

The first little girl, two inches taller than her sister, shook his hand while looking gravely serious.

Miss Harding sighed quietly. "This is Ellie and Lillian Kilman. Two of my best students."

The younger girl, who was pumping his hand up and down, was beaming at him. "She says that about all of us. Are you Miss Harding's new husband?"

"Not yet."

A glance across the table revealed Miss Harding's cheeks stained with a rosy blush.

"Mr. Crosby has only just stepped off the train," she told the girls.

"It sure is nice to meet two of the prettiest young ladies in town. Almost as pretty as your Miss Harding."

The woman was looking past the girls to wave at their parents, but at his words, her gaze snapped back to him.

If anything, her blush grew more pronounced.

Some boyish urge inside him wanted to see it again.

Ellie and Lillian giggled.

"We've been practicing for our Christmas pageant," Ellie said. "You're going to come to watch, aren't you?"

"Everyone in town will be there," said her younger sister.

Miss Harding was the first to speak. "I'm sure Mr. Crosby has seen his share of pageants and played his part when he was your age."

She'd be wrong about that.

For a moment, he was kicked back to his childhood—a time he didn't like to think about. Going to bed hungry at night. Chores all day—backbreaking work. Never knowing when he was going to get switched for something he'd done wrong—or something she imagined he'd done.

His guardians hadn't believed in schooling, not for him. After he'd left the orphanage at eleven, he hadn't seen the inside of a school building.

"We'll see," he said.

He wouldn't be in Calvin when the pageant rolled around. But he hadn't said an outright lie either.

Miss Harding was watching him, and for once, all his skill at reading people failed him. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but that little furrow above her nose was back.

* * *

Merritt placed her fork across her half-full plate and folded her hands in her lap.

The nerves she'd felt since the first moment she'd come face-to-face with John—Jack—hadn't dissipated one bit.

Food gone, he sipped his coffee across the table. The waiter had already taken his plate.

He ate like a man who worked long hours of physical labor, like her cousins. Or like a man who'd grown up not knowing when he'd eat his next meal.

It didn't fit with what she knew of John through his letters.

Everything about the man was incongruous with what she'd imagined.

He was quiet. Not once while they'd eaten had he rushed in to fill a silence. He watched the people around them.

But she'd also felt the intensity of his attention. Never once while she'd chattered had he looked bored or uninterested.

As pretty as your Miss Harding .

She hadn't expected the compliment.

Or how his very presence, sitting across the table, seemed larger than life somehow. As if he wasn't quite real.

He was too handsome. Maybe that was the reason her stomach was knotted.

His eyes changed color in the low lamplight. Sometimes blue. Sometimes hazel or green.

She'd expected him clean-shaven, but the stubble at his jaw somehow made him seem more rugged. The slightest crook in his nose should've ruined the visage but somehow only enhanced it.

This was all wrong.

The beat of her pulse, which hadn't steadied all evening. The flutter of her heart when he turned his gaze on her.

This was supposed to be a transaction . A signature on a piece of paper, an amiable, friendly affection. She'd hoped for a simple, pleasant sense of camaraderie. Someone to provide companionship on lonely prairie winter nights that stretched long.

But what she felt for John—Jack—this instant attraction…it felt dangerous.

She scooped up her coffee cup and held it with both hands in front of her, a sort of protective measure.

"You told me about your business deal in your last letter," she said. "Were you able to complete it satisfactorily?"

A shadow chased through Jack's eyes. He set his coffee mug on the table and smiled that dangerous smile at her. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about all that later."

There was something about the slight hesitation behind his words that unsettled her.

Or maybe it was the man himself.

Suddenly, thinking through all her carefully laid plans made her feel the slightest bit claustrophobic. Should she delay the wedding?

Was she having second thoughts? Or simply nervous that the time had finally come?

She shored up her smile. "That's right. After we're married Sunday morning, I'll have the pageant on Monday evening, but school will be out of session for a week. We'll have a lot of time to get to know each other after that."

She'd thought they'd gotten to know each other through the letters they'd exchanged.

But the virile man in front of her was nothing like the dry, fact-filled letters she'd received.

"Look, I need to tell you—" He glanced around. The dining room had emptied some as the evening had worn on, other diners wanting to get home to their warm houses or go to bed. But there were still several couples and a businessman or two sitting nearby. "Do you want to take a walk?"

Take a walk? She'd imagined sitting in the warm dining room for hours, getting to know each other. She had so many questions about his family, his business, his thoughts. Was he already bored?

"We can walk to the boardinghouse," she said, infusing her words with a smile she didn't feel.

"I don't?—"

But Jack's words were cut off when a shout came from outside. A shadow passed by the window overlooking the street, and then someone burst through the front doors of the hotel lobby.

"Fire!"

The shout was enough to send her heart racing.

Jack jumped up from the table as quickly as she did, and they raced into the lobby. He had the presence of mind to grab his coats and her cape, and as they dashed outside into the icy wind, she was grateful to put her arms through the sleeves and button it up.

"Where?" she asked as she bumped into a man—Will from the livery, rushing down the boardwalk.

Will's grim expression brought on a shock of terror. "The school, I think."

No!

She glanced at Jack. "You don't have to—but I must go."

She didn't even know what she meant to say, only knew that she had to reach the school, had to help.

She was dimly aware of him pressing close behind her as she made her way through the crowd toward the school. It was only a block away, around two corners, but time had slowed somehow and she couldn't breathe…

Everyone in town seemed to have come out. At least, that's what the press of bodies felt like.

She saw the flicker of orange against the cloudy sky before she was close enough to see the building.

Smoke burned her nose and brought tears to her eyes.

She pushed as close as she could, joined a bucket brigade, and passed bucket after bucket of water with icy fingers. Time seemed to crawl, but she also felt the pressing urgency. Could they save the school? More buckets passed, each one growing heavier and heavier as her arms tired. She bumped shoulders with the man at her side—the doctor, she realized belatedly.

Keep going .

Ash rained down on her bare head, swirling amongst the snowflakes on the breeze as her mind pinwheeled. Her hands were numb from the cold. Her thoughts whirled.

Had she closed the stove's ash pit after she'd set things in order for tomorrow morning?

Had she doused the two lamps they used when cloudy winter weather blotted out the natural light from the windows?

There was a tin pail full of kindling and twigs near the stove. Had a spark somehow jumped out of the stove when she'd been closing things down?

She would've sworn she'd completed her routine as usual, but in the chaos of her own excitement and the children's finding out about Jack…had she missed something?

Was this her fault?

The flames licked higher. She was stationed next to the restaurant, two dozen yards away from the school building, yet she still felt the frightening heat from the fire.

Was there any way the building could be saved?

"Stop for a minute."

A man's voice interrupted her frantic movements as she tried to pass the next bucket along.

"Miss Harding. Stop."

But she couldn't?—

And then two strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, and she was bodily moved out of the bucket-brigade line.

"Miss Harding!"

She fought against the hands holding her, moving her away from the chaos of those fighting the fire.

It was Jack, she realized through her overwhelming emotion.

"Stop! Miss Harding!"

She shoved against his chest as they stopped several yards away from the bucket brigade, on the boardwalk across the street. "Why don't you call me Merritt?" she demanded. Her chest heaved on the words.

She hadn't realized she was crying until he pressed a handkerchief in her hands.

"Merritt." Her name was spoken in a tender drawl.

The moment she stopped fighting, her energy flagged. Her knees gave way but she didn't fall. Because Jack pulled her in close against his chest.

His coat was open, she realized, as the warmth of his body slowly seeped into her skin. The small heat bit her skin, almost frozen from the air outside and drenched with water.

"You'll catch your death," he chided her, one hand running up and down her back.

When had she let her cheek press against his broad chest?

She couldn't seem to summon the wherewithal to straighten, to move away from him.

He brushed at her cheek with one hand, fingers cold, as more tears ran silently down her cheeks.

"My school," she said with a sob.

His jaw pressed into the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The skin on her hands and wrists pricked and burned where she was tucked beneath his coat, feeling returning painfully to what had been numb extremities. How long had they been out in the elements?

"Over an hour," Jack murmured into her hair.

Had she said the words aloud?

An hour that the school building had been burning. There was no saving it.

"No," he said, and she must've been speaking her thoughts aloud again. "The wind picked up, and the men are trying to keep the fire from spreading."

Oh.

She thought of all the books and papers, lost. The slates, the chalkboard.

"The pageant backdrops," she mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"The children will be devastated. They've worked hard to get ready for the pageant."

And what would they do without a classroom when school was meant to resume?

Her thoughts tumbled like one of the snowflakes tossed about on the wind.

"They could still perform the pageant without the backdrops, couldn't they?"

It wouldn't be the same.

But she appreciated his attempt at comforting her.

She pushed back from his embrace, brushing at the hair that had fallen from its pins. Cold slithered at the neck of her cape.

She was a mess. No doubt her face was streaked with soot and she was a soggy mess.

But Jack was looking at her in the flickering light in a way she couldn't understand.

She swayed nearer and he frowned. "You've got soot…" His voice trailed off as his thumb brushed her jaw.

And then he was the one who took a step back, leaving her off-balance and wobbly.

Someone called out, and she became aware of several men at the corner of the boardwalk. Was that why Jack had stepped away from her? He must've been more aware of their surroundings than she had been in her upset. Had Jack been protecting her reputation? Keeping the men from seeing the private moment between the two of them?

She watched his profile as his eyes tracked the men.

Jack was a surprise in every way.

But as her gaze took in the last of the dying flames and the skeleton of what had once been her beloved classroom, she was glad for his presence. Glad that she wasn't standing on the boardwalk alone with this awful hopelessness swamping her.

How was she supposed to finish out the school year without a classroom?