Wyatt lurched across the platform to the next car. The rushing wind slid under the awning and attempted to steal his hat. He grabbed it before it took flight, holding it tightly to his head as he entered the car. The warmth from the stove hit him, and he relaxed.
He had no intention of finding a wife on this trip, despite his moment of insanity when he noticed the stunning Miss Owen’s eyes. No, thank you. He’d take his father’s anger. He didn’t need the family money or the name. He definitely didn’t need Miss Periwinkle either, despite her willingness to answer any question he asked. Her desperate friendliness had him asking a few rapid-fire questions so he could escape her obvious desire for a husband.
He strolled through the swaying car. Happy excursioners filled all the seats. He might as well return to the one he’d left. He resolved to ignore the green-eyed beauty and watch the scenery go by.
He turned to go back. The train had slowed. That wasn’t right. He glanced out a window. Snow still fell, but that shouldn’t affect the train. What was happening? The reporter’s blood raced through his veins. He smelled a story brewing.
He took off toward the engine where he could get answers. Thoughts of his father, marriage, and money dissipated with each step he took.
“Aunt Cora, what a dreadful man.” Why had they sat so near the stove? Mary traced her cheek close to her hairline, making sure no perspiration made an appearance.
“You’ll have to get used to those who are a bit rough around the edges if you want to see the world. If you’re serious about missionary work, you’ll stand in front of bulls who don’t wish you to be in their community.”
Mary handed her aunt a cookie. “Will one be enough, do you think?”
“I suppose we’ll find out. It is an odd thing that eating keeps me on my feet, or in this case, on the seat.” Aunt Cora sniffed the cookie. “I do love the smell of butter and sugar. Many times while in Europe, I longed for a bit of an American cookie.”
“Their treats are quite delightful, but I understand. Do you feel it is because it’s a memory of home more than the cookie itself?”
“Perhaps.”
Mary kicked her hem out in front of her a bit to inspect the damage left by Mr. Cross’s boot. A parade of dusty sole marks marched across the bottom. She would have to brush the skirt when they stopped for the night. The realization crushed her hope of an evening of leisure. “Do you encounter many like him on your travels?”
“A few, and sometimes the ones I thought were the worst of scoundrels turned out to be the nicest of gentlemen.”
“Tell me about one of them, please?” She patted her aunt’s arm. She loved her stories. While at boarding school, she’d retold her roommates the stories over and over. They all dreamed of living like her aunt, though they knew they would not. All of them were destined to marry a man who would improve their families’ positions or coffers.
All except her. She intended to live a rich and exciting life, the way her aunt did. She refused to be sent away to a loveless marriage to lose herself because her father deemed a union more important than who she was.
“There was a young man in Spain. Why is the train slowing?” Aunt Cora wrinkled her forehead.
“We aren’t to our stop yet.” Mary tried to peer around her aunt to judge the reaction of the others.
The murmur from the passengers built. A woman clung to Mr. Cross. She held on to him as if she’d known him for a long time. Mary fisted her hands tightly enough for her fingernails to bite her palms.
Mary sucked in a breath as Wyatt slid back onto the bench across from her. “It appears there is a problem up ahead.”
“Why aren’t you sitting with your friend?”
“Miss Periwinkle? We are acquainted but not friends. I prefer to be here where I can have the entire seat to myself. As I was saying—”
“What’s happening?” Mary couldn’t keep her hands still, plucking at her skirt and then her hair. “Are we in danger? There aren’t train robbers, are there?” She peered through the window and saw little but snow.
“Seems the snow has caused a problem farther up the line.” Wyatt spoke loudly and intentionally.
“How do you know?”
He put his finger to his mouth as if to shush her, then stood to address the car. “I’ve talked to the engineer. We have to stop at the next town because something happened to the snow plow.”
“Do they have a place for us to stay?” Aunt Cora leaned over to Mary. “And so your adventure begins. We shall see how you stand up to changes in plans.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s quite exciting to have things go off the rails. I mean having to stop, not the train itself. I wouldn’t care for that.” Mary peeked under her eyelashes at Mr. Cross. He stood there, acting important, talking to the gentleman next to them. His voice bounced around the car like a child’s ball. “I know this stop. There isn’t a place for everyone to stay.”
He turned from her and lowered his voice. She couldn’t pick up the words. But she knew enough to know she and Aunt Cora needed a plan for the night. Maybe they could sleep in their seats. Not comfortable at all, but what other choice would there be? She intended to find out as soon as Mr. High-and-Mighty sat down.