One word that was her name. And it was a prayer, to her, for her.

And then, as if God had heard his calls, Myrtle stepped out from behind one of the passengers.

Disbelief rocked Val, nearly knocking him off his feet.

The hood of her familiar cloak had fallen back, revealing a dark plait. At some point during the melee, several strands had come loose and hung about her shoulders.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move, afraid if he did, she’d vanish from his life and this earth, leaving him empty and lonely once more.

Myrtle cocked her head in that way that was so very her; joy propelled him forward. Slowly, and then faster, he churned snow up as he went. “Myrtle,” he bellowed, his feet flying as relief melded at last with fresh anger at her for leaving and putting herself in harm’s way. He was going to shake her.

And then kiss her.

Mostly kiss her. But shake her, too.

He was reaching for her before he even got to her. “What in hell were you thinking?” he begged, squeezing her arms lightly to prove to himself she was standing here, alive and real, before him.

“It is fine,” she murmured in soft tones that managed to penetrate the horror of that accident. “It looks worse than it is. We hit a patch of ice and skidded, and the trunks were not secured properly, and it looks terrible, but it is just a mess. I’m fine.” She held his eyes. “I am fine.”

She was fine. She was not hurt. She would not die.

And in this instant he knew—even if one day life tore her from him, if he lost her, it would be worth it for a single moment more spent with her.

And perhaps this was one of the Christmas miracles that had long been written of and handed down through time. Myrtle, who with her song and spirit and the purity of her heart, had given him faith again to laugh, and love . . . and live.

His hands spasmed upon her arms, and Val’s eyes slid shut. When he opened them again, he took in the detail he’d previously failed to note.

The tall, frowning gentleman who flanked her shoulder, standing protectively beside her, his fingers twined with Myrtle’s, his hair dark, those brown eyes familiar.

Familiar because they were Myrtle’s eyes.

Val instantly released her.

Dumbfounded, he lost all the words in his head, along with the ability to speak.

Frowning, he looked from Myrtle . . . to the man at her side.

It had better be a brother, because if some stranger dared twine his hand with hers, Val would sever it from his person with a blunt blade. “Who is this?” he clipped out between his tightly clenched teeth.