The Dangers 0f Love (Hero Hearts; Marrying A Marshal Book 2)

by Natalie Dean

  She didn’t want to be a distraction, but she couldn’t move. Her legs, shaky and leaden, would barely hold her up, and she feared getting only half way to the safety of another building before they gave out.

  “We’ve still got eyes you haven’t seen,” the voice called out. “So give up before it’s too late.”

  Greta wondered at the progress of the man on top of the train and then at the truthfulness of the criminal’s words. Were there others lurking nearby? Was it possible they would come out at the last moment and the marshals would have no chance to surrender then?

  She hoped not, but she had a feeling this couldn’t go on much longer. They wouldn’t stay pinned down, or she didn’t assume so. The man’s voice had a tinge of urgency to it.

  Taking slow, deep breaths, she gained some of her courage back and considered going to find the sheriff in town or to see if possibly someone—anyone—could come to the aid of the men in the car. Just when she’d decided she would go, a cold hand slipped over her mouth.

  * * *

  Simon heard the sound of a shout, but he couldn’t make out what the words had been.

  “What was that?” he asked Tom.

  “I don’t know, but they are getting antsy. Geeze—I’m getting antsy.”

  Simon agreed with the him but wasn’t sure what the solution was. He’d told Matthew to send Jake up to the roof, but they hadn’t heard the signal to make a move yet. He’d expected it by now, but perhaps he’d been found out? No, that wasn’t right, he reasoned. They’d have heard a shot if it had come to that. Then it had to be something else.

  “Just let the woman go.”

  The words, spoken from Matthew just outside of the train car, sent a jolt of fear coursing through Simon. The woman? What woman?

  “What did he say?” Tom asked, though Simon had a feeling he’d heard the words just as clearly as Simon had.

  “Uh, Simon,” Matthew said, his voice closer to the car this time, “we’ve got a problem.”

  “Simon. That your name?” came a gravely shout from outside.

  Cold dread snaked through Simon’s insides. Without knowing, he knew what had happened. He’d told Greta to leave, but she hadn’t. He just knew that she was now involved in some way. The feeling made him sick to his stomach.

  “Matthew, what in the world is going on out there?” he demanded.

  “There’s a woman here. The man holding her says she’s important to you.”

  Just the thing he didn’t want to hear. “No, no, no!”

  “What is going on, Simon? Who does he have?”

  It was the last thing Simon wanted to confess to his friend in this moment. Not that he was ashamed of his feelings for Greta, quite the opposite, but that those feelings would get in between his job…that was the part he dreaded.

  “I’ve got to go out there.”

  “Are you loony? He’ll shoot you on sight!”

  “Not if I have protection.” A plan was quickly forming in his mind, a new plan to replace the old, but this time he wouldn’t have the luxury of explaining it to Matthew before things fell into motion.

  “What are you thinking?” Tom whispered.

  But this time he couldn’t risk Boomer hearing his plans. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  He eyed Tom through the narrow crack between the seats. He’d gotten to know the man well, but he didn’t know how that would translate to trust between them when men’s lives were on the line.

  “You got it.”

  Simon took in a deep breath and shouted, “I’m coming out with the prisoner. Don’t shoot or I shoot him.”

  * * *

  Greta felt the man’s hands on her upper arm like a vice grip, and for a moment, she remembered how Daniel had treated her. From one man’s grasp to another’s, she thought. But then she heard Simon’s voice, muffled by him being in the train car, call out.

  He was coming out, and he was bringing the criminal with him. No! She wanted to shout back to him that it wasn’t worth his life, for surely this man would shoot him the next moment, but his whispered warning for her to stay silent made her rethink the idea.

  Then the scruffy man—what had Simon called him? Boomer?—appeared in the doorway.

  “Stand back,” the man behind her shouted at the marshal, who had deposited his gun on the ground at the man’s insistence.

  Simon came into view behind Boomer, the look on his face hard as stone. He held a gun to Boomer’s temple, and she felt the poke of the pistol at her own temple. It reminded her just how serious this situation was. Not that she really needed reminding.

  Her gaze, the only thing the man couldn’t control, traveled to the train car. The other marshal, who had been creeping along before she’d gone to hide behind the crates was gone. She wondered if her captor had seen him or if, by some miracle, he’d survived and would be able to help in some way.

  “Looks like we’re at an impasse,” Simon said. He stood fifteen feet away, his hand on Boomer’s upper arm and the gun poised. She likely looked in a similar situation to Boomer, and she wondered what Simon thought. Was he mad at her for not leaving the station area like he told her to?

  She dared to glance at his face, his handsome features marred by a scowl that ran deep lines along the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, and she thought that was likely a good thing. Better not to be distracted by anything other than the task at hand. But what was that task? To get her back alive in exchange for what? A criminal?

  She wanted to live, she really did, but what would that mean? What would the price of her freedom be? Surely not Simon’s life.

  Please God, not that!

  She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and fought back tears. What could she do to help in this situation? Or was it too late for that?

  Her gaze found Simon’s face again, and this time the shock of his eyes on hers made hers stiffen. Her captor held her tighter, and she felt his hot breath on her neck. “Say anything, and you’ll regret it,” he said, reminding her again that calling out was a very bad idea.

  A muscle in Simon’s jaw worked again, and she knew he was trying not to react. How she knew she couldn’t say, but she sensed that he was withholding his reactions. Did he not want the man who held her to know what he felt?

  Of course not, she reasoned. The less it looked like he cared about her and what happened to her, the less of a bargaining chip she became. The thought stung, but she forced herself to believe it was for the best of the situation.

  “Let the woman go.” Simon’s voice was firm and hard as iron. “She’s not a part of this, and you know it.”

  “Right,” the man sneered, “but she made herself a part of it. She got my partner over there killed, and I think that makes her as much a part of this as you and I.”

  Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t meant anything other than to spare the life of the marshal.

  “Why don’t we organize a trade then?” Simon proposed. “Boomer for the woman. Even. Straight across.”

  “Yeah, and then what? You let us go free? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause you’re a U.S. marshal, that’s why.”

  “We’re as much about protecting the innocent as we are bringing criminals—like yourself—to justice.”

  Greta didn’t miss the barb, but the man appeared to gloss over it. Perhaps it was as common of a fact to him as it was being in trouble with the law.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he continued. Greta saw Simon tense as the man put himself in the dictating position. “You’re going to send Boomer to me; we’re going to take this here lady and scram; then you’ll find her alongside the road at some point—unharmed.”

  “Ha!” Simon gave a mirthless laugh. “As if we’d let you walk away with her and Boomer. Not going to happen.”

  “Then I’m afraid there’s some of us that ain’t gonna make it out of here alive.”

  His words chilled her to the core
, and she felt her legs begin to tremble. It was as if Simon could sense her increased fear as well, and he reaffirmed his eye contact with her. This time, he moved his eyes to the right two times. Then he looked away.

  She frowned. What had that meant? If anything.

  She looked up at him again, watching. He and the criminal were talking again, but she focused on his face. Then she saw it. His right hand, gripping Boomer’s upper arm. His index finger flicked to the right two times. Then, in succession, he lifted his first finger, then his second and his third.

  He glanced at her again and realization dawned. It was a countdown, and he’d shown her what to do. Now he was asking her—only with his eyes—for affirmation.

  She licked her lips and gave the most imperceptible nod she could.

  Her eyes jumped to his fingers again. They didn’t move. She tensed, waiting. He was talking again, telling the criminal that they could work things out. Her captor was making it clear the only way they were getting out of there without a gunfight was if he agreed to let him take her and leave.

  Then his fingers twitched again.

  One.

  A pause. More talking. A sound behind them. Was someone there?

  Two.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and she thought it might explode right out of it. Another slight shuffle disguised by Simon’s raising voice, apparently in anger, though she thought it felt forced.

  Three!

  She gave in to the weakening of her knees and sagged in her captors arms. He certainly hadn’t expected her to do anything, and the sudden weight in his arms completely threw him off balance.

  A shot rang out just as Greta hit the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that Simon hadn’t been the one to feel the impact of the bullet.

  Chapter 13

  Simon felt the exhilarated rush of adrenaline as Greta slipped from the man’s arms and slid to the ground. His subconscious registered this, but his mind acted of its own accord. The shot rang out. The man who had been holding Greta went down clutching his arm. Boomer remained in Simon’s care.

  “Got him!” she heard Tom cry out from inside the train.

  In the moments after the action, Simon felt the world slow down, and then it suddenly came crashing back at him as Matthew stepped up, gun back in his grasp.

  “I can take him. Go to her.”

  Somehow, Matthew knew he needed to make sure Greta was all right. He would have gone with the criminal still in his grasp, but he was thankful for someone to take over that responsibility.

  “Greta,” he croaked out, his voice raspy and his throat dry.

  “You’re not hurt?” she asked, meeting his gaze and reaching out her hand to him.

  He clasped it in his and felt the first real signs of relief since they’d started this whole, terrible ordeal.

  “No.” Then she broke down into tears, and his words slid to a halt. Was she all right? “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” She shook her head, the tears still falling, and rested against him as he pulled her to himself. “I am just glad you are all right.”

  Simon slid onto the ground and pulled her close. His mind couldn’t orient the day’s events, the strangeness of it all—the danger and sudden relief—overwhelming him, but he knew one thing. He was never going to let Greta out of his sight again. Never.

  Finally, after several minutes of him gently rocking her back and forth, stroking her hair and telling her that it was going to be okay, she pushed back slightly from his embrace.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t go,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t. You were in there and…and I couldn’t bear—”

  “Shhh,” he said, cupping her cheek and using his thumb to silence her lips. “It’s all right now. Everything is over.”

  “But what happened?” She looked around, as if waking from a dream.

  “I had a plan,” he said simply. At her prompting look, he explained. “I knew there was one marshal unaccounted for. I prayed that he was going to see the need for his services and work to come around behind you if I distracted your captor. As it turned out, he did. When you so aptly caught my hint, I knew that we could time it perfectly. I gave you the signal, and you created enough of a distraction for him to get a clean shot.”

  “But what about the man on the train?” she asked, looking bewildered.

  “I told Tom my plans. He was able to wait for the distracted moment and he caught the man off guard. Thankfully, no one was mortally wounded today.”

  “But the other man—” she began.

  “Only shot in the leg. He passed out from the pain.”

  She showed obvious signs of relief, and he loved her even more for her caring heart.

  The word lodged in his mind. Had he just thought of loving her? He had just met her, it was impossible…or was it?

  “Simon?” she said, looking up into his eyes.

  He came back to the present moment and asked her, “Will you have dinner with me?”

  His request caught her off guard, but she agreed immediately.

  “Good.”

  “But,” she blushed and looked down, “I have nowhere to go. No money…”

  “Then allow me to help you,” he said, assisting her to stand but also looking around for the nearest hotel. He was going to put her up in a nice, secure room, and then he was going to clean up and get ready for a special dinner with this woman. No more clandestine meetings. No more hiding. And no more criminals to get in the way. They were going to spend time in public, and they were going to talk like normal people.

  “Nope,” came a voice behind him. “Not going to happen.”

  He turned and came face to face with the U.S. marshal for this area, Jake Cranston. He was a legend, and to be standing in his presence was intimidating to say the least.

  “M-Marshal Cranston,” Simon said, unsure of how to respond. “It’s an honor, sir.”

  “Hardly. You saved our tails back there. I was the man who circled around from my position on top of the train to behind that man.” He pointed to the man who now had a handkerchief tied around the wound on his arm. “Sorry it took me so long,” he said, winking at Greta, who blushed and looked down.

  “I hope you don’t mind me going with an untested plan, but I saw no other way.”

  “Nothing doing,” Cranston slapped him on the shoulder. “I like a man who takes initiative, and I’m happy to say that yours paid off rather nicely. To me, it doesn’t matter how the job gets done, but that it gets done.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon agreed.

  “So, what’s this I hear about you not having any money, young lady?”

  Greta looked embarrassed, and Simon wished he could save her from that. “She’s just—”

  “I asked the young woman, son.”

  Simon closed his mouth.

  “I have no money, sir,” she said, her German accent sounded thicker to Simon, and he wondered if she slipped into it more when she was uncomfortable. “I came from Germany and—”

  “No, no,” Cranston said, holding up his hand. “That’s enough for me. You’re new to our country, and you deserve a decent room and a more than decent meal—which it sounds like Simon’s going to give you.” He winked in Simon’s direction. “You will stay at the local hotel, and we’ll make sure the proprietor knows your part in today’s happenings. I think you and he will get along nicely. You won’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “I couldn’t possibly—”

  “You can and you will.” Cranston’s smile broadened, and Simon could tell it was genuine. He was proud of her efforts, as was Simon, though he would have preferred for her not to have had to take part in any of it.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling.

  “Glad that’s settled. And call me Cranston.” Then he turned to Simon. “Go get washed up and take this lovely woman out for a meal. She deserves it. Thank you for doing your job and going above and beyond.”

  Simon swallowed
, still shocked to have been addressed—and praised—by such a hero like Marshal Cranston, but he soon came back to his senses when he saw how tired Greta was. He offered her his arm and waited until she drew close.

  “Why don’t you rest this afternoon, and I’ll come for you for dinner tonight? Does that sound all right?”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes again, but this time he could tell they were from gratitude. She nodded, and he patted her hand. While he wanted to talk with her and spend every waking moment with her, he had a feeling they would have plenty of time to get to know one another. At least, they would if he had anything to say about it.

  * * *

  Greta felt the weight of her cares slip from her as she sunk into the bath the hotel had provided for her. It was hot, and the water smelled of sweet lavender. “Heavenly”— was the first word to come to mind when she thought of describing this moment.

  After weeks of travel by train and not having a proper bath, this felt like she was being pampered beyond belief. Then again, the hotel manager had apparently heard the rumors spreading like wildfire about the incident at the train station and wanted nothing more than to offer her the best of everything he had.

  Then, when he’d discovered that she was German, he wanted to help her even more, saying that he had come to America many years prior from his “motherland Germany” as he called it. He’d immediately broken into German, and Greta felt as if she’d met a long lost relative out West.

  It had taken some convincing so that he would not give her his best room—she assured him she did not need two rooms and that one would be more than fine, but she’d failed to resist the bath he’d offered.

  Now, as she thought about the dinner she would share with Simon that night, she felt bubbles of nervous anticipation rise up alongside the soap bubbles of the bath. She was fairly certain that Simon cared for her. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, his care after the whole ordeal, and his offer of dinner, but she felt anticipation she wasn’t sure he shared.

  She remembered her father telling her once of how different young men were from young women. Women thought of things like house and home. Children and a family. Caring and nurturing. Men, he’d said, thought more of their duty, of work, and of the things they could provide for the ones they were charged with caring for.