A Big Sky Christmas by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone

on a much smaller scale, but no less passionate. The two of them had gone around and around about it for more than a week, and finally it was too late. The troupe had left the day before, continuing on to the next stop on their tour—Nashville.
    But Gillian had a plan, and the final confrontation with her father convinced her that she had no choice but to go through with it. She wished that she could tell her mother she was leaving, but she knew if she did, the older woman would just try to talk her out of it.
    Gillian couldn’t blame her for that. She wouldn’t have wanted to be left alone with William Thorpe, either.
    Her father always retired early. He had very lucrative interests in a shipping concern, a bank, and a number of warehouses, and he liked to be at his office before anyone else in the morning. That way he could see when all the employees arrived . . . and the ones who made a habit of being later than William Thorpe thought appropriate would pay for their tardiness.
    Gillian knew that if she waited until her father was asleep, he wouldn’t be aware of what was going on until it was too late to stop her. She had already checked the railroad schedule and knew there was a train for Nashville leaving at ten o’clock.
    She packed a bag, taking as little as she thought she could get by with, then slipped stealthily down the rear stairs and out of the house.

C HAPTER N INE
    It was frightening to walk to the train station in the darkness. Her heart was in her throat the whole way. But people who never took risks never accomplished anything worthwhile in life, she told herself, and she clung to that thought for strength as she made her way to the depot.
    Once she was there, she ran into an unexpected obstacle. She had plenty of money, but there were no compartments available on the train. She had to purchase a ticket that allowed her to sit up in one of the regular passenger cars.
    It was a frightening ordeal, and it lasted a lot longer than the walk to the station had. Several of the male passengers leered at her as she made her way to her seat, and she knew what they were thinking. An attractive young woman, traveling alone . . . well, there was only one sort of woman she could be, as far as they were concerned. She sat stiffly and avoided their eyes, hoping that her chilly demeanor would be enough to keep any of them from approaching her.
    Atlanta, Chattanooga, the whole trip was just a blur to her. She didn’t dare let herself go to sleep so she was utterly exhausted by the time the train pulled into Nashville in the middle of the next day. But she had made it, and all she had to do was find the hotel where she knew the acting troupe was staying.
    Hansom cabs were lined up outside the station, and she had brought enough money with her to afford one. The driver knew the hotel, and when they got there Gillian was surprised to see that it was rather rundown. She would have thought the troupe would stay somewhere better.
    She went inside and inquired at the desk for the number of Mr. Flanagan’s room. The clerk gave her a smug, knowing smile that irritated her, but he told her the number. Gillian climbed to the third floor and knocked on the door.
    At first she thought Terence must be out, perhaps at the theater, because no one answered. But then a thick voice said, “Whass . . . who . . . hold on.”
    That was Terence, or at least she thought it was. She heard him muttering curses under his breath as he approached the door.
    Then abruptly he jerked it open and stood there wearing only the bottom half of a pair of long underwear. His hair was in disarray, his face was puffy and flushed, and his eyes were bleary. Obviously, he had been sleeping, and before that he’d been drinking . . . a lot.
    But he recognized her and exclaimed, “Gillian! My God. I’d given up on you. Finally worked up the gumption to run away from the old goat, eh?”
    Before Gillian could answer, a