Wild At Heart (4 page)

Thank goodness she’d had the wisdom to pack most of her money and jewelry in a secret compartment in her trunk, just like the heroine in
The Perils of Jane Bolin.

The annoying cowboy seated across from her jumped to his feet and pulled out his gun faster than she could sneeze. For a second, Mariah thought he was going to attack the masked robber and save them all, but he slowly turned the pistol on her seatmate. “Throw down your gun, real slowlike.”

A muscle in the handsome man’s jaw twitched. Ever so slowly, he pulled a gun from his holster using only his fingertips then set it on the floor. The cowboy nudged it with his foot, sending it sliding under their seat. Mariah’s fears increased with her champion disarmed. If she sat still and did as the robber said, hopefully they would get out of this ordeal alive.

“Fork over your valuables.” From under his vest, the cowboy jerked loose a small flour sack and shook it open.

She peeked at the passenger beside her, wondering how he felt at being bested by the man he’d so recently put in his place. Lips pursed, he glared at the cowpoke as if ready to charge into action at any moment.

“Don’t try to be a hero. I’d be happy to give your belly button a back door. Figure I owe it to you.” The cowboy smirked. “Now, pull out your valuables and drop them in the bag.”

Her seatmate looked as if he’d swallowed a quart of vinegar, but he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a wad of dollars. He held on to them as if trying to figure a way out of this predicament. She hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid that might get him shot. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the money into the bag.

“Now the watch.” The cowboy waved his gun at the man’s vest.

He pulled out his pocket watch and rubbed his fingers lovingly over the face, as if it held special meaning to him.

“My trigger finger’s gettin’ mighty itchy, mister.” He jiggled the bag.

The man heaved a sigh and dropped the watch. The sack moved in her direction, sending her heart skittering faster than the train, still barreling down the tracks.

“You, too,
princess
.” His sarcastic tone sent chills down her spine.

With shaking hands, she loosened the drawstring on her reticule and withdrew the two dollars and change that she had left from her traveling funds. Fortunately, she was near the end of her journey. As she dropped the money in the bag, she leaned forward and stared at his pistol.

“What are you gawking at?”

Mariah looked up. She knew she should keep quiet, but the words came out before logic could restrain them. “Do you perchance have any notches on your gun?”

Both men stared at her as if they’d seen a cow fly over a rainbow.

“Hurry up, Slim.” The masked robber in the front of the car glanced their way then shoved his canvas pouch in the face of a plump, red-cheeked man. “Fill ‘er up.”

“Gimme that thing.” The rude cowboy pointed his gun at the broach on Mariah’s shoulder.

She gasped, covering her beloved jewelry. “You can’t have that you… you fiend. Why, that was my great-grandmother’s. It came all the way from Holland.”

He blinked a moment, and then a cruel grin twisted his lips. “Fine then, I’ll just take the whole works.”

Confusion blurred Mariah’s thoughts. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her to her feet. With the pistol, he motioned for her startled seatmate to move over by the window. Mariah’s heart stampeded as the man did as ordered. She knew the West was a dangerous place, but she’d never expected a situation could go from ho-hum to disastrous so quickly.

A half hour ago she’d wanted only to forget about the man who’d harassed her, but now she tried to memorize the thief’s gravelly voice and menacing glare, hoping she could describe the man to the authorities should she be fortunate enough to escape.

As he shoved her across the aisle, her thoughts veered to the heroine of a shocking dime novel that she’d recently read, just to check out her competition. The heroine in
Dancing Under the Brazos Moon
had suffered horribly at the hands of outlaws until she escaped. Mariah wasn’t prepared to suffer like that, not even for the sake of authenticity.

Her mind raced. She had to find a way out of this predicament.

Adam gritted his teeth. He despised handing over his father’s watch even more than his family’s hard-earned money. He didn’t have many treasures in this world, but that watch was top on the list. Fancy Feathers wrestled the cowboy as he dragged her from the seat. Adam wanted to help her but didn’t dare move since the pistol was still pointing at his gut.

He couldn’t believe that woman had the gall to ask the thief if he had notches on his gun. What kind of gal would say such a foolish thing?

Women sniffled all around him, but the feisty greenhorn gal just looked irritated. Didn’t she have the sense to know that she was in serious danger?

He had to do something. As annoying as she had been, he couldn’t allow her to be kidnapped.

He glanced out the window at the cloudy sky.
Lord, You and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms for a while, but I could use some help here.

He turned his attention back to the dilemma at hand. Like a cougar ready to leap on his prey, Adam bided his time, staying alert to the location of both robbers.

The cowboy turned the woman loose, thrust the bag into her hand, and shoved her across the aisle. His gaze darted to the couple nearest to them. “Make a donation.”

The thin passenger scowled but pulled a thick leather wallet from his coat pocket and dropped it in. The woman next to him cowered against her husband’s shoulder and whimpered like a critter caught in a snare. With a shaking hand, she pulled her wedding ring off, tossed it in the sack, and started blubbering.

From the corner of his eye, Adam could see a rider with two spare horses racing toward the train up ahead, waving a rifle. The getaway man. The train didn’t slow, so the thieves would have to jump. Maybe the fast-moving leap would finish them off.

The cowboy shoved Fancy Feathers down the aisle toward the back half of the train. He pointed his gun upward as he passed it quickly behind her back. In the second that the revolver was aimed toward the ceiling, Adam dove at the cowboy. A shot rang out as he plowed into the robber.

Screams erupted all around. He grappled with the cowboy for the gun. They landed in the laps of the couple just robbed.

The woman shrieked. The thin man, much stronger than he looked, shoved at them, causing Adam to lose his balance. He fell backward, grabbing for a handhold, and stumbled into the aisle. At the front of the car, two men were trying to wrestle the pistol away from the other robber.

Adam hit the floor with a hard
thud,
the cowpoke landing on top. The robber suddenly regained his balance, sitting on Adam’s chest and pinning his arms down with his legs. He raised the gun toward Adam’s head, but Adam didn’t look away.

Dear God, help me.

“I knew we’d come to blows.” The cowboy cocked the gun. “Looks like I win.”

Adam bucked and twisted but couldn’t get free. In that instant all manner of thoughts sailed through his mind. His family would never know he’d planned to leave the ranch. Would they miss him when he was dead? Would he go to heaven after what he’d done?

A shadow rose up behind the man, and Fancy Feathers lifted one of her long hatpins in the air. Adam’s eyes must have widened at the foolhardy action because the cowboy glanced over his shoulder. She jabbed the pin downward, impaling the robber’s shooting arm.

“Ahh!” the man yelled as he lurched sideways. Gunfire blasted. A razor-sharp burn radiated through Adam’s upper arm and shoulder. The screams in the railcar dimmed. He shoved away the pain and ringing in his ears and pushed to his feet. A wave of dizziness threatened to buckle his knees as smoke stung his eyes. The acrid odor of gunpowder mixed with the metallic scent of blood.
His blood.

A burly man grabbed the struggling robber and held him to the ground. Vile curses echoed around the car before the captor punched his fist into the cowboy’s cheek, knocking him out. At the front of the car, the masked man roared and threw a skinny youngster off him and dove out the front door. The train whistle screamed a lonely wail.

Bonnet askew, Fancy Feathers sat on the floor behind the unconscious robber. Her face looked as pale as the inside of an apple, but her brown eyes danced with excitement. What kind of crazy woman got excited over a train robbery and a shooting?

He ought to take pleasure that her annoying feather had broken in half, but he just plumb hurt too much. Warm liquid dampened his sleeve. Adam winced and pressed the ball of his palm against the gunshot wound in his arm. His drawing arm.

His vision blurred. It suddenly hit him that he wouldn’t be able to meet his deadline. His gut twisted as he saw his dreams go up in the lingering gun smoke. He fell backward, clutching at a nearby seat. The noise and pain faded as everything went black.

Mariah waved her hand to clear away the smoke and the pungent sulfur odor of gunpowder. A brawny man punched the robber in the jaw, rendering him unconscious. Thank heavens for that.

She heard a ruckus behind her and pivoted toward the front of the train. The other thief flung an adolescent boy off him, glanced her way, then rushed out the door before anyone could stop him. The train hadn’t slowed a speck, and she held on to the back of a seat to keep her balance. Out the side window, she saw the robber fly through the air then hit the ground, rolling. The train quickly passed him and another man on horseback, who was leading two other horses.

Mariah turned back to see if anyone had been hurt. Now that her fear had fled, her creative side kicked into full gear. She sniffed the air, trying to memorize the odor of gunpowder, which still made the inside of the car hazy. Passengers coughed, but nobody opened a window, knowing it would only allow in more coal dust and smoke.

An intruding ray of sunshine poked through the hole in the roof that the robber’s gun had blasted when her seatmate had come to her rescue. Mariah sucked in a gasp, suddenly remembering the man who’d assisted her. She stared through the haze, concerned for his welfare. Her heart jolted when she saw him lying in the aisle. Two curious young boys leaned over their seats, peering down at him.

Holding her skirts, she cautiously made her way past the downed outlaw and his guard to where her champion lay.

Her heart skittered. His right shoulder and arm were covered in blood. In spite of the steady rocking of the car, she worked her way to his side. She had to help him.

An inch-long gash accompanied an egg-sized bump where he must have hit his head. He lay deathly still. Mariah lifted the back of her hand to her mouth at the sight of so much blood. What if he died because of her?

“Excuse me, ma’am. Let me through. I’m a doctor.” A short, bald man carrying a black satchel tried to squeeze past her.

“Oh yes. Please hurry.” She backed into a seat that already held a man and a half-grown boy, but she wasn’t budging. Relief flooded her when she saw her hero’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

The boy behind her shinnied over the bench in front of them. Mariah sat in his seat, realizing her still legs trembled.

The doctor squeezed in beside her hero then glanced up at her. “You won’t faint if I have you assist me, will you?”

She shook her head, hoping that she could keep her senses about her. She’d never attended anyone who’d been shot before. The doctor pulled several squares of surgical dressing from his black leather bag and placed them on the gash above the man’s right eyebrow.

“Hold that down, please.” Mariah did as requested, trying to keep steady in spite of the rocking train. The doctor deftly tied some strips of fabric around the man’s head to hold on the bandage.

He unbuttoned the man’s vest and shirt, revealing the wounded arm, and prodded the gunshot area. Mariah’s cheeks heated at the sight of her hero’s solid chest. She never knew a man’s torso could be so tanned and appealing. She fanned her face and looked away for a moment.

The doctor dabbed the wound with cotton then poured some foul-smelling liquid on it. The man didn’t flinch, so Mariah suspected the medicine must not have felt as awful as it smelled. The doctor pressed a thick wad of dressing over the entry wound.

“Help me roll him over a bit.”

Mariah complied then grimaced when she saw more blood on his shirt.

“Yep, just as I thought. The bullet went clear through his upper arm. Hopefully it missed the bone, but there could be some muscle damage.” He grabbed some more dressing and pressed it against the back of her hero’s arm. Glancing up at Mariah, he pursed his lips. “Not a lot that I can do here, except try to stop the bleeding.”

She nodded, not sure why the doctor kept talking to her as if she and the man were related.

The doctor laid the injured man’s right forearm across Mariah’s lap. The improper action shocked her, but she kept silent. The bare hand and wrist were a sun-kissed brown with dark hairs coloring them. His forearm felt solid, hard—not soft like Silas’s.

“Hold him steady, so I can get his wound wrapped tightly.”