Strategically hidden by the same rock, Arthur sat on the ground. Violet had shut him off to conserve energy, although his battery could run for up to three weeks. Only his outstretched feet were visible under the brightly patterned blanket that disguised his body.
When Violet had announced her intention to bring Arthur along on the rescue mission, Logan had vehemently objected. Fortunately, she’d convinced him that the unattended automaton posed too much danger to the general populace should it be discovered. Neither could she trust the conductor to keep her father’s storage compartment unmolested. Besides, she’d told him, the automaton might even be of assistance during their journey, albeit of the unknown variety.
What she’d neglected to share was that Arthur’s presence was a comfort to her, one she strongly depended on at the moment.
Escorting Arthur from the refrigerator car without detection had been a delicate operation but, thankfully, the event had attracted few glances. Violet hoped her little ragtag band would be able to breach the lair of the Iron Scorpion just as smoothly.
To pass the time until Logan returned from his final supply run, she surveyed the scene below her. From her vantage point, she could see the scarring inflicted upon the grassland by the iron carriages. The unsightly brown ruts began at the track and disappeared far into the north. Violet guessed she and Logan would soon follow the serpentine trail.
A rider had been dispatched to the nearest town, but help probably wouldn’t arrive for a few days. Violet couldn’t afford to wait that long.
As if on holiday, many of the passengers now rested on blankets or in chairs procured from the train. Muted conversations drifted through the air. Some people slept. Children of all ages wove through the crowds with a logic known only to them. A group of industrious men were setting up tents. Train personnel were busy routing various supplies according to destination and function.
Fires dotted the area for both heat and cooking. The odor of roasting meat permeated the air. Earlier, at Logan’s insistence, she’d availed herself of the sumptuous outdoor buffet the staff had assembled. The dining cars had been badly damaged during the attack, so the conductor had invited all of the passengers to dine alfresco and partake of the food that would otherwise spoil.
Beside her, two saddlebags bulged with dried meats, fresh fruit, cheeses, and bread, courtesy of what she assumed had been Logan’s exceptional negotiating skills. Violet smiled at the thought that he’d invoked the power of his agency in order to obtain them without question.
In addition to the food, he’d acquired three saddled horses, canteens, and bedrolls. There hadn’t been time for Violet to retrieve any of her clothes, but given the violent nature of the attack, she doubted they’d still be in her berth. She would have to make do. Well, you wanted an adventure. Now you have one.
Logan had already secured everything to the horses, including the Titan. Violet sighed in deep admiration of his efficient and industrious nature. Now that’s a man who’s going places.
A firm tap on her shoulder roused her from her thoughts. Violet gasped loudly and whirled.
Logan put a finger to his lips. “Stealth is the word of the day, understand?”
She gulped. “Yes, quite right.”
He glared.
“Yes, quite right,” she repeated in a whisper, marveling at the fact that she hadn’t even heard him approach.
He held a large bundle of cloth in his hands. Two satchels hung from each shoulder. With a tilt of his head, he motioned for her to follow him.
He kneeled by Arthur and unrolled the cloth. The action revealed one coach gun–a Remington Arms, if she recalled correctly–and a collection of seven guns. They were a combination of No. 3 Schofields and Colts. He proceeded to load each one, using ammunition he withdrew from one of the satchels.
Violet kneeled across from him. Tracing the ornate ivory carvings on one of the Colts, she asked, “Do you really think we’ll need this much firepower?”
Logan expertly spun the chamber of a Schofield, eyes squinting against the bright sun. “Actually, we don’t have enough. But there ain’t time to go huntin’ for more.”
Violet blanched. “What if we run out?”
Logan shrugged. “Improvise, I reckon.”
Violet wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that particular plan, but since he was the expert, she said nothing.
When he finished loading the guns, Logan stood and unpacked the other satchel. He reached toward Arthur and snatched the concealing blanket away. Curiosity drove Violet closer. He proceeded to drape something else on the inert mechanical man. When he finished, Arthur wore a pine-green poncho woven with white and black stripes. Logan then placed a high crown hat on his head, but carefully, as if he expected Arthur to awake at any moment. Then he brushed off his hands and stepped back to review his handiwork.
Violet joined him. The weather-beaten felt hat was riddled with bullet holes, but it successfully hid Arthur’s head and face to the casual onlooker. The hat and poncho gave him the overall semblance of an outlaw. She smiled despite the dire circumstances. “What a perfect disguise! Arthur, you rake, you’re going to break a few hearts if you keep this up.”
Logan’s expression turned to one of distaste. “You talk like it’s alive or something.”
Violet turned to him. “In his own way, he is. Don’t you think so?”
“No, and I ain’t about to.” He gestured to the weapons on display. “Have you used any of these?”
“Indeed I have.” Violet picked up one of the Schofields, hefting its weight in her hand. Posing smartly, she took mock aim at the empty area behind them. It seemed a good fit. She wrapped her fingers around the nickel-plated barrel, enjoying the powerful feel of its cool, hard surface. Simultaneously, Logan turned his head and coughed. She glanced at him in concern. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine,” he said curtly.
“The truth is I’ve studied their construction more than I’ve shot at anything with them.” She lowered the gun. “Targets, of course.”
Logan nodded. “Of course.” Reaching into one of the saddlebags, he withdrew an item replete with straps and buckles.
Violet placed the gun down with its brothers and sidled up to him. “If I may, what’s that?”
“You may.” Logan held the item toward her. “It’s an Idaho Billy. I’ll be protecting you every step of the way, but you should be armed just in case.”
Violet bit her lip. “I forgot that gun men could be a threat. Are you concerned any might ambush us?”
Logan frowned deeply, appearing distracted. “I reckon I can handle them if they do,” he muttered. “It’s the Iron Scorpion you need to worry about.” He pushed the holster into her hands. “Put it on.”
The proffered double holster was quite sleek, boasting embossed designs of majestic horses racing across its mahogany leather surface. Violet accepted it eagerly, yet hesitation gripped her. She clutched the heavy, supple mass to her chest and sought his gaze. “Thank you, Logan, but I’ve never worn one before. Might you show me how, for expediency’s sake?”
He cut her a sharp look. “You’re a scientist…and you can’t figure out a few straps and buckles?”
Violet felt heat rise to her face. “Sometimes the simplest tasks are the most deceptive. All I’m asking for is help with the proper alignment so I don’t go and do something ridiculous like shoot my feet off!”
Logan snorted. A low, slow chuckle followed. In that moment, his features lost their rough edge, and he became the relaxed, easygoing man she’d seen at their first meeting. “Well, if you put it that way…here.”
He took back the holster and shook it out. In a flash, he fell to one knee, extending the wide leather band around her waist. Violet lifted her arms to avoid restricting him, but what she really wanted to do was knock off his hat and bury her hands in his thick hair. So close together, the heat of his body jumped to hers like an electric spark. She became perilously aware of their respective positions.
Only several layers of fabric separated his face from her bare thighs. And from…other places.
Before she had time to assimilate the unexpected sensations, Logan rose to his feet. “How does it feel?”
“I’m not sure.” She wriggled her hips. “Feels loose.”
Logan glanced abruptly away.
In the short period she’d known him, she’d already learned his silences translated to a concern of some kind. Oh, dear . “Is that bad?”
Logan stepped closer. “Yeah. It should feel nice and tight.” He blinked. “I mean, snug.”
Violet studied his face. “Are you taking ill? Your face is red.”
He kept his eyes averted from her searching expression while he reached down to tighten the belt.
“How’s that?”
Violet walked a tight circle. “Perfect.”
“Hold still,” Logan said. He slipped behind her. With expert precision, he lovingly fed one Schofield to the holster on her left and a second to the one on her right. His breath warmed her neck as he worked. Violet broke out in gooseflesh when he placed both hands against her hips to adjust the belt again. Stepping back, he gave her a final once-over. His mouth slipped into a roguish grin. “Keep that up, Violet, and you’ll be breaking hearts in no time.”
The way he spoke her name, with a gentle inflection that rolled from his tongue as “Vahlet,” melted her insides like ice cream on a hot day. She smiled while dragging a toe through the dirt. “Whose heart would that be, exactly?”
His grin vanished. “Never mind.” The hard edge had returned to his voice. He gestured to the horses. “We’d best get going. We only have about six hours until nightfall.”
“I can travel all night if required.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but the horses will need to rest, and the terrain is too dangerous to navigate in the dark. I know a hidden camp where we can sleep and plan our next move.”
“When do you anticipate we’ll reach the Iron Scorpion’s fortress?”
“It’ll take us about five hours at a lope from here to the camp. From the camp, it’ll be about a four-hour ride to the southern edge of his territory. Then there’s getting inside, and….” Logan adjusted his hat, an action that lowered the brim and obscured his eyes. “Listen, let’s just take it one step at a time.”
Violet nodded. As he found a home among his various holsters for each of the remaining three wheel guns, she couldn’t help but wonder about the mystery behind his defenses. She still wanted to know so much more about him.
Moments later, he handed her a pair of gloves. They were a man’s riding gloves, and too large, but they were sturdy and promised to keep her hands protected from inclement weather.
Logan loaded the remaining satchels onto one of the Appaloosas. After pulling on his own gloves and securing his hat to his head with a strip of leather, he mounted the Morgan with a fluid motion.
Violet turned to Arthur and activated his power unit. “Please stand, Arthur. We’re leaving on a mission to rescue Papa.” After making a final adjustment to the automaton’s hat, she instructed him to mount a horse. At approximately two hundred pounds, Arthur weighed little more than the average man, so she predicted the Appaloosa would have no trouble carrying him.
In response to Logan’s suspicious stare, she said, “I told you, his skill set is highly remarkable.”
“Can he ride on his own?”
Violet shook her head. “Not yet .”
Logan guided his mount next to Arthur’s and grabbed the reins. “I’ll lead, then.”
Violet turned to contemplate her horse. Modesty paled in comparison to her father’s safety. She would have to sit astride or risk slowing the mission down considerably. She swept up her skirts in preparation for the mount, praying it went smoothly. Don’t make a fool of yourself .
Logan glanced away. “Sorry…I forgot about your dress. You going to be–oh.”
Now in her saddle, Violet pushed and tugged her skirts into submission. “I’ll manage,” she told him, a stalwart note in her voice. She gestured north, toward the open plain. “Shall we depart?”
Logan adjusted his hat with a smooth, sweeping motion. “Violet.”
Wondering at his solemn tone, she dropped her arm. “Yes?”
“You do understand how dangerous this mission will be, don’t you?”
“I’m willing to face any kind of danger if it means rescuing my father alive!”
He shook his head slowly. “You don’t, then.”
She raised her chin in protest. “Indeed I do. The Iron Scorpion is a scoundrel of the worst sort. I have only to study the train wreck to see that.”
“Let me be clearer, then. The Iron Scorpion is pure death.” He punctuated his words with a sharp finger pointed north. “If you so much as look at him, he’ll kill you.”
Why was he trying to convince her to call the whole thing off? She narrowed her eyes. “I’m a woman, yes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. This is my father, after all.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Wasn’t it? If you have a point, kindly state it.”
“If you want to reconsider, now’s the time. Woman or not, no face lost as far as I’m concerned.”
“What? That’s a ridiculous notion. I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She held up a hand. “No, correction–I’m scared out of my wits. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t even make the attempt. That’s what scares me more.”
“You could always wait for more help. With a person of your father’s stature, the local marshal is sure to investigate.”
“We haven’t the time.” A sobering thought occurred to her. “I think I understand now. I’ve never been victimized by the Iron Scorpion, so naturally my decision to breach his fortress derives from a place of naivete. But you….” She softened her gaze. “You’ve witnessed his atrocities first hand.” He’s terrified! “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry. I failed to deduce the proper conclusion. You’ve not been back since… How difficult this must be for you!”
His features coalesced into a scowl. Beneath him, his horse fidgeted, an echo of his rider’s indignation. “Let’s get one thing straight. I ain’t afraid of that two-bit worm. I was only aiming to give you an out since it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Or has your nose been buried in your experiments for so long that you forgot what it’s like in the real world?”
Violet recoiled in disbelief. She had offered him sympathy and he rewarded her with sarcasm? Even acid was never so corrosive. “I don’t need a gentleman. I need a warrior.” She glared. “If that’s not you, then I apologize for my egregious mistake.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Logan snorted. “Them big words make you feel mighty superior, is that it?”
His sharp retort chased away her anger and supplanted it with heartache. How did she manage to offend Logan at every turn? Tears crowding her eyes, she nudged her Appaloosa forward so it stood opposite Logan’s steed. “Obviously, this partnership isn’t working out. I’ll rescue my father on my own, then.” She made a grab for the reins of Arthur’s horse.
Her hands closed on air when Logan refused to relinquish them.
“Give them here!”
For the next few moments, they pierced one another with ocular daggers while struggling for control of the reins. Arthur sat between them, an oblivious, calm lake between two seething infernos.
In the end, Logan seized both her wrists and the reins with his overpowering strength.
“Let me go!”
Violet quickly discovered there would be no escape. He held her in a grip of stone, the passion of his ire building like a terrible storm across his handsome face. Yet she sensed he only had her best interest at heart. Her breath hitched as she experienced a sudden, sharp desire to surrender to anything he wanted.
The hands around her wrists tightened even more. “I am who I am,” he growled. “Accept it, or not.”
“I have. Th
e real question is, have you accepted yourself?”
With a shove, Logan released her. “You scientists… You ask too many goddamn questions.” Before she could protest again, he grasped the reins of Arthur’s horse in a firm grip. “I gave you my word. I aim to see this through.” He squeezed his legs and with a commanding “Hyah!” urged his steed forward. Arthur’s horse dutifully followed.
Emotions roiling, Violet wasn’t sure which way was up, down, east, or west.
Logan glanced over his shoulder. “You coming, Professor, or do I get to hog all the glory?”
The stallion broke into a lope.
A surge of adrenaline hit Violet–or perhaps it was the spirit of adventure. To answer Logan’s implicit challenge, she responded with a firm nudge to her horse. Within minutes, they were galloping neck-to-neck.
Violet concentrated on the land ahead with singular determination. They were traveling like the wind, but was that fast enough? Would she and Logan reach her father in time?
Chapter 3
In Which Our Heroes Brave the Wild and Savage West, and Encounter an Unexpected Surprise
They’d been riding for nearly five hours.
Cold air slammed into Violet as she rode, stiffening her face. The cutting wind had already sucked the moisture from her lips, transforming them into a parched bed of cracked skin. Her ears fared no better, throbbing in pain as though stuffed with ice cubes. The day’s moderate warmth had expired over two hours ago, leaving a crisp chill in its wake. Her lack of experience with these kinds of quests had proven a nasty thorn in her side. Oh, why didn’t you at least wrap a scarf around your head?
Since departing the train wreck, she and Logan had stopped twice, primarily for the benefit of the horses. The animals were maintaining extended lopes. So far, they showed no overt sign of fatigue.
While Violet was familiar with horse riding, she’d never ridden one for more than an hour or two, and certainly not over rough terrain. Soreness plagued every muscle, and cramps threatened to immobilize her thighs. She’d need a good hot soak for at least a week by the time this journey ended.
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 6