Free A Cowboy Unmatched by Karen Witemeyer Page B

passage in a sleeping car, as much as he wished he could give Clara that luxury. Still, she never complained. She leaned against the window using his coat as a pillow and slept as much as she could manage. When darkness fell and the cabin grew chilled, however, Neill gathered her into his arms and urged her to rest against him, where it was warmer. He tended Harrison while she slept, and when she awoke and took over, he grabbed what rest he could, knowing he’d need all his wits in the coming hours.
    Mack was on their trail.
    He’d said nothing to Clara. She already looked behind her enough as it was. She didn’t need more worry heaped on her shoulders. He’d tell her when the need arose, but until then, he’d carry the burden on his own.
    He’d spotted Mack Danvers in Amarillo. And worse, Mack had spotted him. Clara, thank God, had already been onboard the train with Harrison. Neill had been seeing to the trunk when he heard a shout from down the street. Mack Danvers stood in front of the livery, kicking up a fuss and gesturing wildly at the gray mare and worn buckboard the owner had just purchased. From Neill.
    Clara had insisted he sell the wagon and gray mare, not knowing when or if they’d return. She’d encouraged him to use the funds to purchase their tickets, but when she wasn’t looking, he’d slipped the money into her handbag. Should she decide not to marry him, he wanted to make sure she had a bit of money to make her own way. But with Mack so close, he wished he’d just turned the old mare out to pasture somewhere outside of town. Somewhere void of people so no one could give out his description or point Mack in the direction of the train station. He’d been careful not to mention their travel plans, but when a stranger wandering through sells his horse and wagon in a railroad town, there was only one logical conclusion to make.
    He’d hurried onto the train after that and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving when the final whistle blew. The train started its slow chug out of the station as Neill made his way to his seat. But halfway down the aisle, he spotted a man on horseback racing to catch the train. Neill bent low to peer out the window, his gut telling him the man’s identity before his eyes confirmed it.
    Mack .
    The horse came alongside the car, and Mack’s gaze bored into his. There was too much noise to hear what he yelled, but Neill had no trouble reading Clara’s name on Mack’s lips or the threat raging across his features.
    Mack Danvers hadn’t been able to pull them from the train, but Neill knew the man wouldn’t be far behind. There was another departure on the Amarillo schedule, slated for the afternoon. He and Clara had a few hours’ cushion at best.
    Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Neill peered over Clara’s head to the window, his bleary eyes drinking in the sight of pine trees zipping past. Home wasn’t far now.
    â€œHave a biscuit, Neill. It’s a little stale but still filling.” Clara held the golden roll out to him with a tired smile.
    He glanced down at the burlap sack in her lap. The thing was pitifully flat. He shook his head. “You take it. You and Harrison need it more than I do.”
    â€œI ate while you were resting,” she said. “Please, Neill. You’ve barely slept and hardly eaten. I promise I won’t waste away if you have the last biscuit.”
    Neill exhaled a heavy sigh at the same time his stomach let out a lusty growl. Clara’s eyes widened, her mouth twitching suspiciously. Suddenly they both erupted in quiet laughter.
    â€œGive me that thing,” Neill groused between chuckles. He took it from her hand and bit into it with comical relish. Clara grinned at him with such affection that it was all Neill could do to swallow the biscuit bite without choking as a new hunger emerged. Only their lack of privacy kept him from leaning forward to