“You seem to be doing fine.”
“You make it easy,” I said, then snapped my mouth shut. Had I really just said that? I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. That was…”
“Impertinent?” he asked. His sparkling eyes teased me.
“Forward,” I said.
“I like forward,” he said, and I blushed so hard I had to look away.
The silent moments ticked by. I couldn’t think of anything to say in response to him, or to change the subject. I didn’t have enough experience with men to know what to say. A little bit of harmless sassiness was one thing, but had he just said he liked me? How did that help anything when he’d be disappearing from my life in a few days? It was so typical of my luck and my life.
I packed up our supper, and brushed the crumbs from my skirt before I could look him in the eye again; and even then, I did it with caution. He looked as taken aback by his admission as I did. Discomfort hung thick in the air between us.
“I’m going to go stretch my legs,” he said, standing. “Thank you for supper.”
“You’re welcome.”
He took a few steps down the walkway, but then returned and said, “For what it’s worth, regardless of what your past holds, I’m sorry to have come along and taken you away from your family. It’s one more thing I’m sure I’ll regret having done.”
And then disappeared.
What in bloody hell did I think I was doing flirting with Lydia Templeton? Not only was it pointless, but it could only lead to heartache. Besides which, I had no idea what her brother had planned for her, and getting tangled up with Lydia meant a continued association with Randall Templeton—something definitely not on my agenda.
Although, to be fair, she’d started it.
The way she’d peeked at me from over the top of her spectacles had been both innocent and sexy. She clearly had very little experience with men, which was charming and a huge compliment that she chose to spend her attention on me. Who was I, anyway, but a nobody? A wanderer in a fancy persona?
The pink blush high on her cheeks, those sweet lips curved up into a self-conscious smile, the loose tendrils of hair; Jesus she was adorable.
I walked for the sake of putting distance between us. It would be best to find another seat to sleep in for the night. She’d be fine alone. Not much could happen on an enclosed, moving train.
With three cars between us, I selected a seat alone in a corner, and threw myself into it. I slouched, tipped my hat down over my eyes, and crossed my arms. I tried to think about my plans once I’d delivered Lydia to Randall. I needed to find a place to make a temporary residence so I could manufacture more tonic, then plot a new sales route. I’d already been off the road long enough that it would take a while to catch up. In the sales business, any time your name or product is out of circulation for very long is wasted time. I’d been doing fairly well making a name for myself when I’d received word Randall wanted to meet. Maybe I could start back on the east coast and make a cross-country trip…
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I jerked awake. I thought I’d heard a loud blast of some sort, but it could have been a dream.
I tipped my hat back and yawned, looking around to see what woke me up. The dark made it impossible to identify landmarks outside, but I didn’t feel the rumble of rails beneath us or the sway of movement. For some reason the train had stopped.
Then I heard a muffled explosion from somewhere near the head of the train, and a shudder rippled through the line of cars. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it sounded suspiciously like dynamite.
The rest of the passengers were coming awake, and from the confusion on their faces and the murmur of conversation, nobody had a clue what was going on. I looked at my watch as I stood to head back to check on Lydia, and it showed the time to be four in the morning. We weren’t scheduled for another stop until Cheyenne, which would be sometime around noon, had it not been for this unanticipated stop.
I took several steps toward the back of the car. Nothing good ever followed a train explosion.
Before I reached the door, a man with a bandana covering most of his face barged through at the front of the car, waving a gun.
“All right everyone, stay calm and do as you’re told, and everyone’ll live to see the sunrise.”
Train bandits. Just what we needed.
A second bandit followed the first into the car, carrying a bag and waving his own gun.
Lydia was three cars behind me. I had no way of knowing how many bandits were involved in the robbery, though likely more than these two. From what I knew, they tended to run in packs. If there were more, I had no idea where they were, but I needed to get back to Lydia and do what I could to protect her.
“My partner here will come by with a bag. You need to place all your money and anything valuable inside,” the first bandit said.
I moved backward one slow step at a time. I didn’t want to draw attention. By the time my back hit the door, the bandits were focused on the people at the front of the car. I reached behind me for the door handle and turned it, quickly sliding the door open and slipping into the space between the cars.
As I slid the door shut and reached for the door to the next car, I heard one of the thieves yell, “Hey, you…”
When I got into the next car, the passengers were milling around and peeking out the windows wondering why we’d stopped.
“Train bandits,” I said as I hurried through the car. At least one of them was doubtless hot on my heels.
My announcement had the same effect as lighting the fuse on a stick of dynamite. Passengers bolted from their seats and scrambled for the exits. Of course, there were only two, so the whole car erupted into chaos. Women screamed, men hollered, and everyone swarmed, as I scooted to the end of the car and made my way closer to Lydia.
I did the same thing in the next car, and when I reached Lydia’s car—the one at the back of the train, just in front of the caboose—I slipped through the door and almost ran smack into another bandit guarding the door.
Everyone looked up when I walked in. My gaze slid past the thief in front of me long enough to find Lydia, whose wide, round eyes spoke of her terror. Other than her disheveled bonnet and spectacles askew, she appeared unharmed.
The bandit just inside the door spun to face me, bringing his gun up and pressing it into my chest. I lifted my hands in the air, and met his gaze.
“Hey, Buddy, I’m unarmed,” I said.
He scowled at me, then waved me past him with his gun.
“Have a seat,” he said. “My partner’s bringing around the collection bag. Be sure you contribute.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I mumbled as I stepped past him.
“What was that?” He said.
“Nothing. I’m just heading that way,” I said, pointing to the back of the car.
The bag man sneered at me as I passed him. “I’ll be back for you. Don’t think you’re off the hook.”
“Whatever you say,” I said.
I finally made it to Lydia and slid in next to her. I took her hand in mine, and smiled my best reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm so as not to draw attention.
Despite shaking like a leaf, the look on her face was just short of murderous. “Miserable thugs,” she hissed. “They broke in and started yelling. Poor woman and her children were terrified,” Lydia nodded toward the woman in question across the aisle and two seats in front of us. “The children were crying, and the cretin with the bag had the nerve to smack one of them.”
I closed my eyes briefly and took a calming breath, then asked, “What did you do?”
She looked indignant, as if she sensed my disapproval. “I couldn’t just let them abuse those children, could I?”
“I’m sure you couldn’t. What did you do?”
“I had to say something. I told them to keep their hands to themselves.�
��
“What happened?”
“That one with the bag came over and shook me, then threw me back into my seat, and told me to mind my own business or I’d be buying myself more trouble than I wanted.”
“I hope you did as you were told,” I said.
“Reluctantly. But they’d moved on by then and were leaving the children alone, so yes, I sat here quietly.”
I patted her hand. “Good girl. If we all just sit tight and do as they say, they’ll be on their way.”
“They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this,” she fumed.
I lifted a brow at her. Leave it to Lydia to choose a train robbery as the best time to develop a brave streak. “And who’s going to stop them?”
“I don’t know!” she said, exasperated. “But they should be stopped.”
The thief with the bag had reached the front of the train, and was now headed in our direction. “You’re a real troublemaker, aren’t you lady?”
Lydia froze in her seat and swallowed hard. “No, not really,” she said, her voice a tiny squeak.
The bandit chuckled. “There’s one in every train. You,” he said to me. “Your turn. Don’t hold back.”
“Sure, no problem,” I said as I reached for my wallet.
At the front of the car, the door slammed open and the two bandits I’d seen in the other car came through, supporting a gunshot man.
“What happened?” one of the thieves from our car asked.
The man supporting the injured thief said, “The engineer had a gun and he got a shot off before we could get him. Ernie needs a doctor.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’ll never find a doctor out here.”
“He’s my brother, Clyde. I ain’t lettin’ him die.”
“Maybe there’s a doctor on the train,” one of the other thieves suggested.
I braced myself. “Don’t say a word,” I whispered to Lydia.
Her eyes were wide, and she nodded in little jerky movements.
Clyde, who appeared to be the leader, snapped, “Oh sure, Lyle. I’m sure there just happens to be a doctor on the train.” He turned from Lyle and, trying to prove his point, asked the passengers in general, “Anybody in here a doctor? No? That’s what I thought.”
One of the children started whimpering.
“Shut that brat up,” Clyde said, turning his attention—and his gun—on the mother, who was also near tears. She gulped at the site of the barrel pointing at her face.
The man sitting in front of the mother and children scooted to the edge of his seat and stood between them and the gunman.
Just sit. Keep your mouth shut, I thought. Don’t be a damn hero.
“Sir, there’s no need for that,” the hero said. “They’re just afraid. You have what you want. Please, leave us be.”
Clyde sauntered a little closer. “Hey boys, we’ve got us a hero.”
“Shit,” I muttered to myself.
The man swallowed hard. “No sir, I’m no hero.” But he looked more determined than his words seemed to indicate.
“He’s nothing but a bully,” Lydia whispered.
“Shut. Up,” I said, squeezing her hand hard in warning.
“Ow!”
Clyde glanced in Lydia’s direction, and just when his attention was diverted, the hero decided it was time to be heroic, despite the fact that he looked more like an accountant than a white knight.
I shoved Lydia down to the floor to avoid stray bullets. Sure enough, gunfire erupted along with shrieks, screams, and the thud of bullets hitting wood, upholstery, and flesh.
It didn’t last long, and when the shooting stopped, Lydia tried to sit up, but I held her down.
“Stay put,” I said.
“The children…”
“I’ll check them,” I said, sitting up far enough to peek over the top of the seats.
Smoke filled the air, and the hero lay in the aisle with a bullet hole in his head. The rest of the passengers who’d had the good sense to duck, were sitting up to examine the damage.
I stood into the aisle.
“Hey, you,” Clyde said, swinging his gun up to aim at me.
I put my hands up, “Whoa, there, partner. I just want to check on this woman and her children. Don’t get excited.”
I stepped toward the mother. Her son lay in her lap, a bright red splotch spreading over his left shoulder.
“Why would you do that?” Clyde asked, stepping closer to me.
I heaved a sigh. No getting around it. “I have some medical experience.”
“You a doctor?” Lyle asked, shifting his hold on his brother, Ernie, who groaned.
“I used to be.”
Lyle’s face lit up. “See, told you Clyde. There is a doc on board.”
Clyde, glowered at him, “Shut up, Lyle.” He turned to me, waving me over with the gun. “Fine, you’re coming with us. You can treat Ernie once we’re off the train.”
“No!” Lydia shot up out of her seat.
I groaned under my breath, but stepped between Clyde and Lydia. She tried to shove past me.
“Woman, you’re begging for a bullet,” Clyde said.
“Let him treat the boy first,” Lydia said.
Clyde glanced at the boy in question. “He’ll be fine. It’s just a shoulder wound. Ernie’s worse off. Come on, Doc. We’re leaving.”
The rest of the bandits, including Lyle and Ernie, headed for the back door, pushing me along with them, but Lydia stepped in front of Clyde.
“I should shoot you right now,” he said, his voice a dangerous threat.
“If you do, I won’t do anything for your man,” I said. I shot Lydia a look that I hoped warned her to keep her mouth shut.
“You shot that boy, you owe him and his mother the courtesy of allowing Dr. Wilder to look at the injury,” Lydia said. She crossed her arms and stared up at Clyde, her expression brooking no argument.
Clyde’s face turned all kinds of shades of red, and I really thought he’d put the muzzle of his gun to her head and shoot her dead, then kick her warm body out of his way, but he surprised me by shifting out to the side and shoving me toward the boy.
“Go. Deal with the kid. But make it fast.”
I stepped over the dead hero to check on the boy. He was pale and unconscious. I glanced up at his mother as I sidled in closer. Tears streamed down her face as she brushed the boy’s hair off his forehead.
“Can you save him?” she whispered.
I wasn’t sure yet he even needed saving so much as just needed treatment. Cold sweat slicked my hands. The last person I’d treated—that last one I cared about whether or not they survived—hadn’t fared so well under my hands, and I hadn’t touched another patient since.
“What’s the matter?” Lydia asked, kneeling next to me, her face creased with worry. “Is he that bad?”
My mouth had gone dry as the cold winter air outside. I tried to swallow, and barely managed. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any doctoring,” I said.
“Isn’t it something you never forget?”
I’d tried to forget all the doctoring I’d done during the war, but those were stubborn memories, and the rest of it? It took effort, but I’d managed to push it away for over a year.
I glanced up at Clyde, who was arguing with Lyle, then back to Lydia. I leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
She pulled back and looked me in the eye with an expression that said, ‘don’t be silly.’
“Of course you can,” she said.
“You don’t understand. I did things…I made mistakes…I can’t—shouldn’t—treat another person,” I said, my voice more beseeching than I’d meant for it to be, but the way my heart thundered, I couldn’t control it. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him,” I whispered my deepest fear to her.
Her face relaxed, and a small smile curled her lips. She placed her hand on my shoulder, warm and comforting. “Emmett, there’s no way you’ll hurt that
boy,” she said, then leaned in closer and looked me straight in the eye. “I believe in you.”
Her words shot a spike of fear through my gut. The idea that anybody would have such complete faith in me, especially someone I hardly knew, was terrifying. But then I thought about Lydia; how she was smart, practical, kind, and brave enough to stand up to Clyde when it came to protecting a child. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as I opened my eyes. My pulse calmed some.
“Thank you,” I said, kissing her cheek. She blushed that pretty pink I liked.
“Hurry it up,” Clyde said. “We’re leaving.”
I turned and quickly tore open the boy’s shirt to examine the wound. It appeared that the bullet had entered above the subclavian artery. The pulse in his neck was strong, but fast; and the pulse in his wrist was the same, which told me his artery was still intact.
I lifted him so I could peek at his back, and found no exit wound.
“Doctor?” the mother asked.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, relieved. “I don’t think the bullet hit any vital organs or vessels. It’s likely lodged in the scapula. He’s probably just in shock from the pain and trauma of being shot. He’s lost blood, but not a dangerous amount.”
“So he’ll live,” Clyde said.
I looked up at him. “Yes, he’ll live.”
“Good. Let’s go,” he said. He grabbed hold of the shoulder of Lydia’s dress and dragged her to her feet. She stumbled into the aisle, her glasses askew, struggling to keep her footing and not fall over the dead hero’s corpse.
I scowled at Clyde, but turned to the mother. “Tear a piece of his shirt and use it to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, then bandage the wound and keep it covered. Try to get him to drink plenty of fluids, and when you get to a town, find the doctor for more treatment.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
I patted her hand, and only then did I stand and face Clyde. “Now we can go.”
“If Ernie dies, so do you,” Clyde said through clenched teeth.
I didn’t hold out much hope for Ernie, but didn’t say so to Clyde. Instead, I followed him to the door.
“Wait,” Lydia said. “You can’t take him with you.”
Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) Page 5