Logan exited the washroom, the built-up stubble now absent from his face. The resourceful man had somehow found a cut-throat. Violet couldn’t help but admire the clean lines of his face. More than admire, actually–every time she looked at him, she dreamed about various places on her person that would benefit immensely from close contact with his face. A flush overtook her with each glance his way, one that would take up permanent residence if she failed to pursue other thoughts.
To distract herself, Violet walked to the gate’s edge. Joseph sat against the threshold, his legs crossed at the ankles. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes spoke volumes about his exhausted state. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. She gave him a cup of water and encouraged him to drink. Next, she packed the Titan and filled the satchels with spare guns and ammunition.
Beyond the gate, a smoke-induced fog lay heavy in the air. Was it morning? Difficult to tell. Specks of dark-colored ash swirled about, peppering her clothing like a swarm of ants. Violet sighed. Would the sun shine in this place ever again?
Logan approached, bearing a plain sack. He squatted in front of her and rummaged through it. Withdrawing a pair of raw tubers, he expertly peeled them. He offered one to her father, but Joseph had fallen asleep and was now gently snoring. Logan gave it to Violet. “Why don’t you eat and then get some rest,” he said. “We’ll head to Cheyenne soon.”
Violet’s stomach rumbled. She accepted the tuber, but not before boldly brushing his rough fingers with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Logan ducked his head. “Weren’t nothin’.” But when he raised his head to look at her, he was grinning.
He appeared relaxed and handsome, like that moment on the train when she had first seen him. Violet experienced a sudden urge to toss aside the tuber and throw her arms around Logan’s neck. Instead, she took a bite of the vegetable and swallowed. The morsel was crunchy and flavorless, but her body craved the sustenance. Her lips curled into a shy smile. “Truly, this is nectar of the gods.”
At that moment, his gaze shifted to her right, toward the open gateway. His smile faded.
Violet winced. Had she annoyed him with her vocabulary again? Logan’s body appeared tense, immobile. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the sack in his fist.
Out of the darkness, a loud click sounded several yards behind her.
“Don’t move.”
Chapter 6
In Which a Secret Identity Is Revealed and Hearts Are Broken
The voice belonged to a stranger. Several more clicks followed the man’s order to remain still. The source was unmistakable: guns.
Only darkness separated Violet from the weapons. She broke out into a cold sweat at the realization of how dangerously exposed she was.
The man spoke again. “You. Woman. Turn around nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
Violet complied, her heart thumping madly. Logan’s hardened expression remained fixed ahead. She kneeled next to him and faced the opening.
Five swarthy men emerged from the inky darkness and stepped into the light of the gas lanterns. Tendrils of fog snaked around their tan dustcoats. Like many frontier gunmen, they wore dark, somber clothing. Dirt caked their boots. Weathered faces, some of them scarred, stared at Violet and Logan with nary a twitch. They held revolvers and rifles, all of which were pointed straight at Logan.
A man came forward, taller than the others. His gray eyes glinted when the light hit them. The gleaming metal badge on his vest was impossible to miss. Several days’ growth of beard lent him a dangerous air. He stopped a horse’s length from where Violet and Logan kneeled.
Gun never wavering, he pushed his hat back. “Well now, if it ain’t Lightning Logan.”
So , Violet thought with amazement, Logan’s achievements have garnered him acclaim far and wide . She recalled his exploits during the battle against the Iron Scorpion. The nickname suits him .
Relief swept through her. At last, they could share the news of the Iron Scorpion’s defeat. Violet rose, smoothing her hair and dress as best she could. “Marshal…?”
“Reed,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Of Cheyenne.”
“Marshal Reed, it’s a relief to encounter a friendly face. We have wonderful news to report.”
Reed turned to her with a bemused look. “And who might you be, miss?”
“Violet Whitcomb, sir.” She gestured to her right. “And this is–Papa! Wake up!–my father, Joseph Whitcomb.” She paused, her chin tilted slightly while she waited for the expression of awe that inevitably followed an introduction to her father. This time, however, none was forthcoming. “Boston’s premier inventor,” she added, hoping to coax recognition. “Papa!” she repeated in an aside, this time more fiercely.
Joseph began to stir, but clearly he’d need a few more moments to fully awake.
Without waiting for Logan to stand, she addressed the marshal. “You heard about the train attack, I gather?”
Marshal Reed nodded. “I got the report. Investigating it now, as a matter of fact. Your trail led us here. You were on the train?”
“All of us were. The Iron Scorpion was responsible. He kidnapped my father. Mr. Logan here,” she continued, gesturing to her companion, “helped me rescue him.” Why won’t he stand up? “Even more importantly, he defeated the Iron Scorpion.” Violet stood taller as pride swelled within her. “Thanks to Mr. Logan, that madman won’t be terrorizing anyone ever again.”
Even though Violet was speaking to a lawman, an indecipherable feeling prompted her to stay silent about Arthur. Was he hidden well enough? She could only pray that he was.
At that moment, her father awoke. His gaze darted from the lawmen to his daughter. “Violet?”
Reed motioned to him, indicating he should stand beside her. Joseph nodded at the marshal while smoothing his hair and adjusting his spectacles. A light touch upon her arm conveyed his support. Violet felt grateful for his presence.
Marshal Reed appeared contemplative. “So let me get this straight. Lightning Logan here dashed to your rescue. A real knight in shining armor, ain’t he?”
One of his men snorted.
Violet frowned. The marshal’s dry tone vexed her, but she lacked sufficient data to understand why.
Joseph cleared his throat. “The proof is indisputable. I don’t understand why you and your men are threatening us in such a manner. Is there a problem?”
Marshal Reed chuckled, but the sentiment never reached his eyes. “You might say that.”
Striding forward, the marshal raised an arm and pushed Violet aside.
She shot him a look of annoyance. “I beg your pardon!”
Her father placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Violet, be careful.”
Revolver still cocked, the marshal motioned sharply for Logan to stand up. When he rose, Violet wondered at the barely-suppressed rage on his face.
Then Marshal Reed spoke. “Logan McCoy, you’re under arrest for the murder of Danny Clearwater, among others.” The marshal lowered his voice ominously. “Now you’re going to pay.”
Logan’s head snapped up. “I never murdered anyone, least of all Danny. All of it was in self-defense and you know it!”
The marshal hardened his stare. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You were there. I spoke to the townsfolk. They said you witnessed it,” Logan replied, his voice tight. “Danny tripped on a rock and fell into that ravine.”
Reed shrugged noncommittally.
Violet stared at the marshal in utter shock. Indignation followed. “Sir, you have completely overstepped your bounds. This man is no murderer. He’s a hero!”
Reed appeared unimpressed. “You sure about that?”
Some of his men laughed outright, oblivious to Violet’s glare.
Reed reached into a vest pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. After unfolding it, he handed it to her. “Your so-called hero is a thief, a murderer, and an outlaw.” Reed narrowed his eyes, his gaze never leaving his
quarry. “Because of his exploits, he’s wanted in five territories. That enough evidence for you?”
Violet ignored, had to ignore, the shriek of alarm in her head and the roiling in her belly. Her very sanity depended on it. This marshal must have been delusional. Or maybe he held a grudge against Logan for some kind of petty slight committed long ago, and had been on a personal witch hunt ever since. At least, that’s what she told herself.
With trembling hands, she studied the image on the paper. Large text below it promised a thousand dollar reward for the man in question. A thousand!
After a brief hesitation, she scowled at the marshal “Are you blind? There’s no resemblance whatsoever.” Then she tore the paper in half and tossed it to the ground.
Joseph’s hands upon her shoulders tightened. “Violet, don’t incite them.”
She twisted out of her father’s grasp and leveled a withering gaze at him. “Don’t you understand? They have the wrong man .”
Marshal Reed snorted. “Miss Whitcomb, if you’re that convinced, why don’t you ask him ,” he said, thumbing Logan. With a sarcastic grin, he added, “Maybe he can clear up our little misunderstanding.”
Time seemed to stand still. Slowly, ever so slowly, Logan turned and met her gaze. As his face passed from shadow into the light, the truth was written on it as plain as day.
All of her indignation and anger drained out of her, replaced by complete and utter numbness. “Logan?” Her voice came out shaky and thin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Logan swallowed hard. “I…I just couldn’t figure out the appropriate words to say. But you gotta believe me when I say that I never killed anyone in cold blood. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Violet recalled their encounter in the parlor car. Miss Whitcomb, I regret to inform you that this is a– She cut him a look. “A holdup. You were going to rob the train.”
“That’s right. Me and my partners. They disappeared on me when the Iron Scorpion’s men attacked. But I was going to escort you and your father to your berth first. So you’d be safe.” He hung his head. “I know it sounds like a crazy thing for an outlaw to do. I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms. “‘Sorry’ is unacceptable. You should have told me. I would have been able to help you. We have connections !”
“I didn’t want you to fear me.” His voice lapsed into a whisper. “Or hate me.”
The anguish flooding his face devastated her, but she stood her ground. “That was my decision to make.”
He winced. “I know that now.” He rushed toward her, oblivious to the ever-tightening noose of lawmen. Grabbing her upper arms, he spoke low for her ears only. “Violet, I’m too much of a yellow-belly. A lowlife. I don’t deserve a woman like you.” His jaw visibly clenched. “I never will.”
“That’s not true!” Violet clung to him as though a woman drowning.
“Listen to me!” His grip grew tighter, more desperate. “You showed me I could have purpose. That I could make a difference.” He pressed his forehead against hers. The warmth in his gaze brought tears to her eyes. “You made an honorable man out of me, Violet Whitcomb. I’ll never forget that.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, then another. “Logan, we’re going to get this all sorted out. I promise you.”
“Violet, I–”
Marshal Reed pushed them apart so forcefully that Violet fell back. She would have fallen to the ground if not for her father’s timely intercept.
Reed gave Logan a hard look. “I’m takin’ you in. Now.” He motioned to one of his men. “Nelson, bring the cuffs. Execution by hanging is at dawn in two days’ time in Cheyenne. I’d do it here, but there’s plenty of folk eager to see you punished. Far be it from me to deny them that chance.”
A mustached man came forward bearing cuffs. Violet felt as if someone had shoved her facedown into a vat of ice-cold water. Execution?
Reality crashed into her like a charging bull. Logan hadn’t been a Pinkerton agent at all. How could she have misinterpreted the signs so completely? Rapid calculations flew through her mind: Logan’s restlessness, his urgent demands for them to keep moving, the way he constantly scanned the horizon during their journey to the fortress. By joining the rescue mission, he’d be “one step ahead of the marshal,” he’d said. All of his actions had been the marks of a hunted man.
Her throat tightened. By immersing herself so deeply in her adventure weeklies, she’d bought herself a world of heartache in the process. Her idealism came at a steep price: Logan was going to die, and it would be all her fault.
Joseph stepped up to Marshal Reed. “Sir, transfer Mr. Logan into my care, and I will assume one hundred percent responsibility for his rehabilitation. You have my word.” His voice rang out with undeniable authority. “You may not know who I am now, but you will soon enough.”
Marshal Reed exhaled a world weary sigh. “This dog ain’t capable of rehabilitation.” He turned his back on Joseph. “Get to it, Nelson. Hobbs, bring the horses.”
Joseph persisted. “You must understand–Mr. Logan helped us prevent a world catastrophe. Whatever his past, the man has more than redeemed himself.”
While her father argued with the marshal, Violet dove toward Logan’s satchel and rummaged inside it. More words would just be ineffective now. Only action counted. Before anyone could stop her, she drew out a pair of Colts.
Whipping around, she pointed both guns toward Nelson and cocked the triggers. “You stay away from him!” Her shout echoed throughout the cavernous area. Nelson stood his ground, looking bored.
The lawmen went still, but none lowered their weapons. Violet stepped in front of Logan. Her breathing sounded loud and uneven as she attempted to monitor the actions of every armed man before her. “Gentlemen, I’m only going to say this once: Logan has earned his freedom and right to live. Release him and leave us alone.”
“Violet, no!” pleaded her father.
She ignored him. This was her life and, for once, she was going to take control of it.
Marshal Reed shook his head with a tsk . “Miss Whitcomb, you have three seconds to move out of the way, or my men will open fire.” He held up his index finger.
Her heart nearly leaped from her chest, but she refused to comply. She simply couldn’t allow them to hang Logan.
Some of the marshal’s men grinned with bloodthirsty verve, as though they’d been denied a proper gunfight for far too long. Her hands began to tremble. It took all of her courage to keep a firm grip on the guns. Undoubtedly, this moment signaled the end, but she’d rather die defending Logan than live her life without him.
And then she heard a low, quiet, “Shhhhh.”
Logan stepped up close behind her. The heat of his body surrounded her. Caressed her. Gently, slowly, he slid his hands along both of her arms, from shoulder to wrist. His mouth was at her ear. “Easy, Violet,” he murmured. “Easy.”
Marshal Reed held up a second finger.
Logan spread his hands over hers. Bare skin to bare skin, the contact was at once both possessive and sensual. He began exerting pressure downward. “Don’t worry. Like you said, we’ll get it all sorted out.” His voice sounded confident. Soothing. “But not like this.”
All at once, the energy drained from her arms. Violet lowered the Colts. Reveling in the feel of Logan’s strong, lean body against hers, she closed her eyes. The embrace felt so right, but the situation was all wrong.
One of the lawmen rushed forward and plucked the Colts from her limp grasp. Violet threw her arms around Logan and embraced him with all her might. In turn, he held her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe.
Without warning, the lawmen wrenched them apart. Crying out, she grabbed Logan’s right hand with hers even as a burly figure reached across his chest and began pulling him away. Red-faced and furious, Logan fought to escape his captor. But another took possession of his left arm, making escape impossible.
A heavyset lawmen grabbe
d Violet from behind and pulled her back. Were they going to kill her? “Oh no! Logan !”
Violet fought to maintain contact with Logan amid a cloud of dust and shouts and waving guns. She gritted her teeth against the pain of entwined fingers that refused to separate. All too soon, sweaty skin made the connection slippery. Quickly losing purchase, they held onto each other with three fingers, then two, then one.
Then none.
The severing tore a choking sob from her. The lawman who held her shoved her ruthlessly aside. She collapsed upon the ground, crying into the swirling dust.
“Violet, be strong!” Logan urged. “I’ll find a way back to you.”
Violet raised her head. Hope flared in her heart.
He blocked a punch from one of the marshal’s men. Then he turned back to her with an expression of warm, pure affection. “Wait for me, if you’re willing. I lo–”
The feeling of hope died as the circle of lawmen descended upon their prey. Fists and feet flying, they pummeled Logan into unconsciousness. Afterward, they threw his bloody body frontside-down onto one of their horses and lashed him tight. With a start, Violet recognized the horse. It was one of the animals that she, Logan, and Arthur had ridden. The lawmen must have captured them.
Hands covering her mouth, Violet cried even harder at the sight. Bottled fury, capped by a sense of utter helplessness, made her entire body shake. She’d led Logan straight to his doom. To both their dooms.
From astride his horse, Marshal Reed tipped his hat. “Much obliged to you, Miss Whitcomb. Mr. Whitcomb.”
In a storm of dust and shouts and hoof beats, the lawmen rode away.
As the noise faded and the air cleared, Violet stared at the dusky landscape in abject horror. What have I done? Upon further reflection, she realized Logan must have foreseen possible capture. Perhaps not this soon, but when they reached Cheyenne. Still, he had decided to face the danger and escort her on the return journey. Protect her.
And protect her father. And Arthur.
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 16