The Stranger's Secrets by Beth Williamson Page B

and sat up straighter.
    “I wasn’t staring.”
    Sarah barked out a laugh. “Damn right you were staring at me. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”
    His surprise widened at her words.
    “No ladies you know let loose and cuss? Well, too damn bad, because cussing is allowed in this compartment, like it or not.” She pointed at him, ignoring the slight tremor in her hand. “Are you going to stop staring at me?”
    Whitman opened his mouth to answer, then, instead of speaking, started laughing. Gut-busting, knee-slapping laughing. Sarah couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d stripped himself naked and run from the train.
    She expected him to act like a normal person, but he didn’t. Then again, she didn’t either. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons she was drawn to him.
    “What’s so funny?”
    When Whitman smiled at her, Sarah could have sworn the train jumped the tracks beneath her. She trembled at the impact. It was a beautiful, wide grin that lit up his entire face, hitting her with the fact that Whit was more than handsome—he was breathtakingly gorgeous.
    “You are. I’ve never met someone who could surprise me, confound me, and keep me on my toes. You, Sarah Spalding, are amazing.”
    His words washed over her like a warm waterfall on a cool day. Not many compliments had been thrown her way for a long time, certainly not from a handsome man. She tried to capture the moment, hold it as if it were a precious gem to put in her pocket and take out to admire again and again. Sarah didn’t believe herself to be a ninny or a scatterbrained fool. Men told women anything they wanted, which didn’t always mean the truth.
    However, the sincerity in Whitman’s eyes, and her own instincts, made her want to believe him.
    “Do you want some breakfast?” He pointed to the basket beside him on the seat. “Since I figured you didn’t have time to eat before we left the hotel, I had the waitress pack some food.”
    This time it was Sarah’s turn to struggle for something to say. He was handsome, kind, and charming. Shit, Whitman was nearly perfect. She could fall in love with him.
    Now she was more than scared—she was terrified. What she wanted to do was throw the basket and Whitman off the train. Instead, she retreated back into her shell.
    “No, I’m not hungry. Thank you anyway.” Her traitorous stomach took that moment to yowl like a coyote.
    Whitman cocked one dark eyebrow. “All right, then, if you do get hungry, I’ll set the basket next to you.”
    It tortured her. The basket sat there innocently enough, the smell of biscuits and possibly bacon wafting toward her. Self-control was hard to maintain under the onslaught of such culinary delights.
    Yet Sarah didn’t want Whitman to feel as though he was taking care of her. She would accept his help in leaving the train, and maybe getting to the hotel. But no more carrying her up the stairs and damn sure no more food.
    And certainly no more kissing.
    The thought trapped in her head, Sarah stopped herself before she reached for a biscuit.
    Kissing?
    Who’d been kissing whom? She hadn’t done any touching other than to hang on while the man carried her. There had been no kissing whatsoever.
    Whether or not she’d dreamed of kissing him was another story. One she refused to even crack the cover of.
    With a yowling stomach and a firm will, Sarah opened her book and tried to ignore the handsome, charming, considerate Yankee across from her.
     
    Whitman dreamed of Sarah. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep but the lull of the train grew too much and he nodded off. It had been a rough night of thinking way too much, so it wasn’t any wonder he lost the battle with wakefulness.
    She was standing on a hill, without a cane, near a huge tree whose arms spread at least thirty feet wide. The grass below her feet sparkled like emeralds in the bright sunshine while the whisper of the leaves spoke to the breeze caressing them.
    The day was warm, but not overly