by Erin Johnson
CHAPTER 22
“Emily!” Grace cried. “You shouldn’t be following me. What are you doing here? You need to go back to your mother. Now.”
The girl’s lip trembled at the sharpness in Grace’s voice. “I-I want to help you. Are you looking for outlaws?” She glanced around. “There’s nobody here,” she said.
Grace headed toward her. “Never mind what I’m doing. We need to get you back to your mother.” She grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her toward the door.
The girl dug in her heels. “I’m practicing being a bounty hunter like you!”
“I know, but you need to go back to your ma. She’ll worry.”
Emily twisted away. “No, she won’t. She fell asleep! So I can help you.”
“There’s nothing to do here.” Grace waved a shaky hand toward the mound of luggage. “Look, there’s no one in this carriage. We need to just go back to our seats.”
Her heart raced even faster as she shoved back the door and stepped out onto the platform. She gripped Emily’s hand and tried to steady them both on the narrow shelf of metal. The gap between it and the other side looked too wide for Emily to cross safely.
“How did you get across here?” Grace had to shout to make herself heard above the clatter of the wheels.
“I jumped.”
Emily’s matter-of-fact answer left Grace speechless. If Caroline knew what her daughter had been doing, she would have been horrified. Emily could have fallen between the carriages and been crushed to death.
Suddenly, the wheels squealed along the tracks, and they clung on tight as the train jolted and shuddered to an unexpected stop, throwing Grace and Emily back against the door. The gap between carriages looked less scary now that the train had stopped, but they were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but desert scrub all around. A jolt of dread went through Grace.
They must have reached the ambush spot already.
Emily frowned. “What’s wrong, Grace? Why are we stopping here? There’s no station . . .”
“Let’s go.” Grace’s voice cracked like a whip. She had to get Emily to her mother.
But before they could step onto the other platform, someone screamed in the passenger car.
They couldn’t go back in there; it could be dangerous.
Grace fumbled back behind her for the door handle to the luggage car and managed to slide it open wide enough for Emily to fit.
“Crawl back in there, Emily, and hide behind the suitcases.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know yet,” Grace said quickly. “Just, please, do as I say.”
She followed the little girl into the luggage car and slammed the door shut. She crept behind a mound of suitcases beside Emily. The young girl was shaking now, and Grace wrapped an arm around her. “I need you to listen very carefully,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, I want you to stay here. Don’t let anyone see you and don’t make a sound. Do you understand?”
Eyes wide, face pale, Emily nodded. “Is it the outlaws?”
Grace took a breath. “I think so, and I may need to leave you. I want you to promise to stay here and not move.”
“I want to come with you. I can help —”
“Emily, remember when we talked about being brave? Staying here is hard, but I know you can do it.”
Emily pinched her lips together glumly — but just then the door to their compartment banged open and four men charged in, bandanas covering their mouths, hats pulled low over their eyes, guns drawn. Grace clapped a hand over Emily’s mouth to smother the rest of the girl’s words. Then she caught the girl’s eye and shook her head, warning Emily to stay silent. She nodded vigorously, and Grace slowly removed her hand.
One man motioned behind him and barked out, “Take care of the other passenger cars.”
Two men rushed out of the door, and the other two men headed for the last carriage that Grace hadn’t been able to investigate. As soon as she heard that door bang open and a shot ring out, she jumped to her feet. Bending close to Emily’s ear, she whispered, “Stay hidden. Don’t move or make a sound until I come back for you. Do you understand?”
Emily nodded. “Be careful, Grace.” Her voice was so quiet she could barely hear it.
“Be brave.”
“I will,” Emily mouthed. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 23
Grace rounded the pile of luggage and headed toward the gunshot in the other combine car. Joe was still in the passenger carriage. She’d have to trust him to take care of the people in there as best he could, and she just hoped that those two thugs had no plans to hurt innocent bystanders. Most likely they’d been sent to keep the passengers from interfering with the gang’s mission — the gold theft and prison break.
Ahead of her, the door to the other combine car remained partially ajar. She stealthily darted behind one stack of luggage after another, and when she reached the door at the end of the car, she peeked around it. Across the gap, the metal door of the next carriage had been pried with a crowbar and stood partway open. She’d be exposed out on the platform between the carriages if the outlaws returned . . . Grace took a deep breath to calm her fluttering nerves. You can do this, she told herself, and stepped across the gap, keeping to one side so no one inside the next carriage could see her.
She peered through the opening. Stacks of wooden boxes blocked her view. This had to be the car. It was the last one on the train. If only she could see better . . .
Grunts and slams came from beyond the boxes, and cautiously Grace grasped the bent door and pulled, but it stayed stuck. Reluctant to make a noise and draw attention to herself, she knelt and slid her fingers into the opening, then tugged on it with all her might. The door creaked open a few inches. Grace froze and listened, her hand on her gun. When the thumps and groans continued, she tried again. This time the door slid a little further, wide enough to squeeze inside — but as she did so, she came face to face with a wall of boxes. The robbers must have shoved them there to prevent anyone from disturbing them. From the sounds inside, someone was getting slammed around, and something heavy was being dragged across the floor.
Grace whipped out her gun and flattened herself against the door, waiting for someone to come rushing out. After a few harrowing minutes, when no one did, she slid her gun back into her holster, adjusted her dress folds so they covered it, and bunched up her skirts in each hand so she could creep further into the carriage. Crouching low, she hid behind the boxes. If they noticed movement, they were likely to shoot at normal head or heart height. It’d take a second for them to glance down, and by then she’d have the advantage. Joe had taught her the fast draw, and she could whip out her gun and fire in one fluid movement.
But first she needed to find out what exactly was going on.
She crawled past the first stack of boxes, which was blocking the light. Peeking around the nearest one, she spotted the Andersen brothers and couldn’t help her disgusted grimace at the sight of the men who’d been part of the gang that slaughtered her family. She’d been thinking about their faces every night, and now here they were in front of her, in the flesh. Her fingers itched as they hovered near her gun.
Bandana down, Wyatt, with his patchy beard and pockmarked face, stood over a badly battered Frank Watkins, gun pointed at his heart. Grace longed to yank out her own revolver and pull the trigger, but Joe’s warning about her temper came back to her. She mustn’t do something foolish, something that would give away her presence. She choked back the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the rest of the scene.
Nearby, an almost identical replica of Wyatt, but with smoother skin and minus the scraggy beard, knelt over Asa Watkins, securing his arms with rope. The other two Watkins brothers had been shot. Wade lay face up, eyes closed, blood streaming from his shoulder, drawing in shuddery, irregular breaths. Steven,
barely breathing, was sprawled face down, a pool of blood surrounding his left hip and leg. They’d been taken by surprise. Grace fought back the nightmares that threatened to engulf her at the sight of the blood . . .
She’d accounted for the Andersen twins and the Watkins brothers, but where was the convict they were guarding? Just then, the train carriage shook and tilted to one side as a heavy-set man, his chin blackened with stubble, climbed the stairs at the back of the train. He stomped into the carriage, wiped the sweat from his brow with the kerchief around his neck, and grabbed a heavy wooden box.
He shot a dirty look at Wyatt and his twin. “I could use some help here.”
Wyatt growled back, “Soon as we’re done tying up these bounty hunters.”
“I’m breaking my back here while you pretty boys fool around with a simple job.”
“Shut up, Clarence,” Wyatt snapped. “You’d be looking at thirty years if it wasn’t for us.”
Clarence must be the fugitive — and Grace realized that the Watkins brothers weren’t going to be much help capturing the outlaws. No matter how fast she shot, she’d never be able to take out all three criminals without getting herself injured or killed. She’d only get off one shot before the other two outlaws fired at her, and it would be a full-on shoot-out. Grace gritted her teeth, trying to think of a plan as Clarence staggered to the door with the box.
“I can’t drag that safe outta here on my own.”
“Come on, Nat,” Wyatt snapped. “We don’t got much time here. If that engineer comes to and they get those logs cleared from the track, the train’ll take off.”
Clarence turned and, his voice filled with disdain, said, “You’re fools for not killing him.”
“Told Nat to finish him off, but maybe he’s too afraid of swinging from the gallows.” Wyatt pitched his voice high and mocking. “You don’t hurry, you gonna be feeling that noose around yer neck.”
Nat glared at his brother. “You wanna tie him up? Go right ahead. He’s flopping around like a fish.” Nat yanked on the rope binding Asa’s hands and he yelped, kicking and bucking until Nat kneed him in the back. Then the Andersen twin wrapped rope around Asa’s ankles and stuffed his own bandana in his mouth, wrenching it so hard that Asa’s head jerked up and back.
Just then, Asa’s gaze met Grace’s and his eyes widened. Like her father had done when she’d been hidden in the root cellar, Grace signaled him with her eyes not to give her away, and his slight nod indicated he understood.
Nat stepped over Asa and flipped Frank Watkins onto his back. Flat on his belly, Asa twisted his head to the side to watch his brother being trussed, and the two brothers made eye contact. Asa lifted his brows and signaled Frank with a quick, small toss of his head that Grace was there.
Grace clenched her teeth. She thought he’d understood her signal not to give her away, but when Frank didn’t get the message, Asa continued to wiggle his eyebrows and flick his head in her direction, increasingly unsubtle. Frank’s knitted brow indicated he still hadn’t interpreted the message.
But Wyatt Andersen did.
“Someone there?” he demanded, whipping his head around in Grace’s direction. As she’d expected, his gaze went way over her head and he examined the boxes high above where she crouched. She pulled her head back like a turtle curling inside its shell and held her breath, grasping her gun. But when he didn’t approach, she risked peering around the corner again. Wyatt stood with his back to her, gun aimed at Frank. The boxes concealed her now, but if the outlaws planned to unload all of them, she’d be exposed. She had to find a way to stop them before that happened.
When Clarence stomped out of the carriage again, the odds became two to one. If only Grace could see where he went, she could judge how long she had before he returned — if she timed it right, she could try taking out both of the Andersen twins while he was gone. But hadn’t Clarence said he was waiting for their help? If she waited until one of the twins went to help too, she could shoot the remaining brother, then pick off the others as they re-entered the car, hopefully while they were carrying the heavy boxes and wouldn’t have time to get to their weapons.
As Grace watched, Wyatt nudged his brother with the toe of his boot. “Hurry up and get out there. Faster we get that cart loaded, the quicker we can get outta here before the law arrives.”
“No law out here. We seen to that. Quit your carping, Wyatt.” Rope in hand, Nat sat back on his heels. “You could get out there and help him yourself.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Someone needs to guard these prisoners.”
Nat snarled so low and menacingly, he sounded like a dog about to attack. He turned a hate-filled glance on his brother. “You don’t have any intention of helping out, do you? You always was lazy.”
Wyatt’s laugh was sinister and threatening. “But I have the brains. Something you ain’t got. Who was it planned all this?”
While the brothers argued, Grace saw Frank’s hand snake out, scrabbling for the loose gun lying just out of reach.
“You fool,” Wyatt screeched as he suddenly spotted the movement. “While you’re arguing, he’s going for his gun!” He strode over and kicked the weapon out of reach, but as he passed, Frank grabbed for his ankle. Wyatt sidestepped his grasping hands, lifted his boot, and brought his heel down on Frank’s outstretched wrist with so much force bones crunched. Frank screamed in agony.
“That’ll teach you.” Wyatt walked past his brother and cuffed him on the ear. “Get his wrists bound, now!”
Nat grabbed Frank’s wrists and yanked them toward his back, leaning down and planting his knee on Frank’s back to wrap the rope around them. Frank screamed in pain but Nat just laughed. The Watkins brother’s eyes rolled back in his head and he looked as if he’d passed out, but when Nat yanked his head back to put the gag in place, Frank looked up. Right at Grace. He gasped, finally realizing what his brother had been indicating, and twitched his head from side to side, trying to get a better look.
“What you staring at?” Wyatt demanded. “Sully and Pete should have secured the other carriages. We took care of the conductor and engineer and fireman. No one else to worry about, is there?”
He nudged Asa with his foot. “You don’t have no backup on this train, do you? No Feds or deputies?”
Asa shook his head.
Wyatt turned and stalked in Grace’s direction. “Better check it out. Can’t take risks.”
Grace pulled back to hide, but in her haste she cracked her elbow against a box.
“What was that?” Wyatt shouted. “Someone’s there.”
Her elbow stung so badly tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. She rubbed her arm to ease the pain, her heart pounding as heavy footsteps rushed toward her.
Before she could reach her gun, Wyatt Andersen grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and dragged her out from behind the boxes.
CHAPTER 24
“Well, well, well, what is this?” Wyatt lifted Grace off her feet.
She trembled, searching her brain for a believable excuse. “I-I was looking for my sister.”
“And just why would your sister be in here?”
“We were playing hide-and-seek. I thought she might be behind these boxes.”
“And is she?” Wyatt towered over her to glance into the dark corners.
“N-no, sir. She must have slipped by me into another carriage.” Grace felt the side of her dress, making sure her revolver was concealed under the apron folds. If her gun showed, she’d give herself away.
Wyatt hauled her roughly to her feet. “I’ll take you back to the passenger car where you belong.”
Nat interrupted. “She seen us, Wyatt. Makes no sense to let her go. We don’t need no witnesses . . .”
“Huh, so you do got some brains after all.” Wyatt gave his brother an evil grin. “We’ll take care of her, but right now we don’t need no more
bodies in our way here. Hard ’nuff to get the stuff loaded as it is, with such slow progress.”
Nat scowled. “Why should I hurry? I do the dirty mule work while you play around with little girls?”
Wyatt’s low growl turned Grace’s stomach, and being this close to him was making her want to vomit. She tensed as his hand tightened on her arm — the one she used to shoot. If only she’d had her gun out and ready, she could have fired the moment he spotted her, but she’d missed her chance. She wanted to turn on him, to cause him the same pain she’d felt when he and the gang killed her family.
Wyatt shoved Grace ahead of him out of the carriage, across the platform and through the next car, all the while grumbling about her keeping him from his work. She kept silent. They were alone in the second combine car, where she knew Emily was still hiding. If only she could reach her gun. Grace prayed that the little girl would stay silent and hidden — but when Wyatt dragged her past Emily’s hiding place, she gasped.
Grace froze.
Wyatt halted. “What was that?”
“I-I didn’t hear anything,” she lied. She hoped her trembling wasn’t obvious. Please, please, Em, stay silent. Don’t move.
But Wyatt dragged Grace toward the sound, then stopped and glared at the small girl crouched behind the boxes.
She begged Emily with her eyes to remain silent, but the girl’s teeth were chattering so hard she couldn’t have got a word out. Tucking his gun into his holster, Wyatt used his other hand to grab Emily roughly and drag her out.
“This your sister?” he demanded.
“Yes,” Grace squeaked out at the same time as Emily shook her head.
“I don’t have time for games. Is she or ain’t she?”
“Yes, yes she is.”
Wyatt dragged both of them toward the passenger car. “Sully, he’s good with kids.” His menacing laugh told a different story. “He’ll know just what to do with you two.”