by Jillian Hart
Chapter One
Colorado, 1865
The farther north the rocking train traveled, the harder snow fell, turning the landscape into a blinding white vista and obscuring the view from the windows.
U.S. Marshal Jonah Cavanaugh lounged casually in his seat, the brim of his hat pulled low, his eyelids lowered. To others he appeared an average cowboy taking a lazy nap, but in truth he’d analyzed every passenger in three cars and deliberately remained in this one.
Assigned to protect a shipment of payroll gold headed for Denver, he was one of four lawmen aboard. A decoy train had departed an hour before this one, designed to draw away attention. Obviously, that hadn’t worked.
Across the aisle and up four rows, a partially balding man with his coat collar turned up craned his neck to study the landscape and then looked at his pocket watch. He was known by several aliases, but his given name was Roscoe Bloom. His likeness had been plastered across papers since about ’59, when he and his long-since-hanged brother had pulled off a stage robbery, killing the driver and three passengers.
Bloom turned and glanced at the unsuspecting travelers in the seats across from him, giving Jonah a view of his profile. Roscoe wasn’t aging well.
Jonah considered his options. Calling Bloom out in a crowded passenger car wouldn’t be the smartest choice. But he couldn’t wait until the train reached the next water tower. Currently the rails led the train between rocky hillsides, but only a mile ahead they’d reach an open area, where Roscoe’s partners would join up for an inevitable attack.
Once Bloom turned his attention back to the window, Jonah got up and made his way to the back of the car and silently let himself out. The clack of the rails was muffled by the cushion of snow on either side. He climbed the rear ladder, reaching the top, where bitter-cold wind bit his skin and made his eyes water. He crawled forward, leaping from the passenger car to the coal car, where he climbed down and entered, making his way forward until he reached the engine.
At the surprised look on the stocky engineer’s face, Jonah opened his coat to reveal his star. “Marshal Cavanaugh. Assigned to the shipment,” he called above the roar of the steam engine.
“Trouble on board?”
“Trouble ahead for sure,” he replied. “Don’t stop, even if there’s something on the tracks—slow down and try to push your way forward. Maybe there won’t be a block, but at the least there’ll be riders with guns. I’m going back to uncouple the mail car.” It was the only thing he could think of that would give him time to hide the gold.
“Luggage car and the Abbott’s Pullman are behind it.”
“Can’t be helped. Abbott’ll have to go without his hot toddy tonight.” Jonah didn’t want to be responsible for a civilian, but there wasn’t time to figure out anything else. “Three other marshals will stay on the train with you. Good luck.”
“And to you, Marshal.”
Jonah exited the engine and again made his way atop the rocking train, carefully balancing himself, wary of the slick moisture. He did his best to keep his boots silent atop the passenger car in which Bloom traveled.
He reached the mail car, where he told Marshal Zeke Faver what was happening.
“Where’s Thorpe?” Faver asked, referring to another of the lawmen.
“Still in car two. Troy’s in the other.”
“I’ll get word to them. We’ll be ready.”
“Send help back as soon as you can.” Jonah waited for the man to enter the car ahead before he hung off the back and turned the lever that uncoupled the last three cars.
He steadied himself on the narrow platform and watched as the rest of the train pulled forward and the car upon which he stood slowed on the tracks.
This stretch of land was fairly level, so within a matter of minutes, the mail car rolled to a stop.
To the north, falling snow obliterated the departing train from view and eventually the rumbling sound disappeared. Silence enveloped the countryside.
Jonah touched the .45 at his hip, resting his fingertips on the steel for seconds. Turning, he entered the mail car, checking that the strongbox holding the gold remained safely stashed behind several bags of mail. He would bury it in case Bloom’s gang came back once they discovered the missing car.
Railcars often had a shovel for removing debris from the tracks, so he searched, but didn’t find one. Heading out back, he checked the baggage car and found a shovel stored in a bin.
“Hello? Hello! Is anyone there?”
The woman’s voice caught him by surprise. Had Abbott brought his wife along? The Pullman belonged to Cornelius Abbott, the rich tycoon who owned the C&O railroad and traveled in luxury in his own custom-built car. Jonah had seen it numerous times as he traveled the rails protecting gold shipments. Now he’d have to deal with the man and his wife. The gold was his priority, but with this development, he’d just become responsible for more lives.
He laid down the shovel, impatient to get back to his task. He’d have to go let Abbott know what was happening. Hopefully the fellow would stay out of the way in his car and let Jonah take care of things.
Stepping onto the iron grate, he stood four feet away from the Pullman. On its platform, made of scrolled ironwork, stood a remarkably pretty young woman. She wore a pale fox coat—paler than her honey-colored hair—and stood grasping the fluffy collar closed at her throat.
What the hell?
“What’s happening?” she called. “I saw the rest of the train disappear up ahead.”
“What are you doing on that Pullman?”
“It belongs to my father. Why have they left us behind?”
“Afraid I’m responsible for that,” he told her. “Marshal Cavanaugh,” he said by way of introduction, holding his coat open to show her his star.
“Meredith Abbott,” she replied. “Now that the niceties are out of the way, would you mind telling me why we’re stranded here?”
“If you’ll call your father out, Miss Abbott, I’ll be glad to explain.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Is he all right?”
“I’m sure he’s perfectly fine—in Denver, waiting for my arrival this evening.”
“Who are you traveling with?”
“I’m capable of traveling on my own,” she told him with a saucy lift to her chin. “I have a gun, and I’m an expert shot.”
Just in case he was getting any ideas, he supposed. A young woman traveling alone? What kind of father let his daughter roam around the country without protection?
“No doubt you can hit a clay disk with amazing accuracy, but protecting yourself from outlaws and renegades is another thing.” And now he was stuck with her.
She widened her eyes in what surely couldn’t be exhilaration. “Are there outlaws and renegades?”
“At least one on that train headed north and most likely a passel more up ahead, waiting for the gold.”
“What gold is that?”
“Payroll.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the mail car.”
“Of course.” She glanced at the sky. Her hair was now covered with a layer of flakes and she blinked away those that fell on her lashes. She straightened her posture and looked back at him. “Now what?”
He had to hand it to her for not falling into hysterics or fainting dead away. “I’m going to bury the strongbox in case the robbers head this way.”
She nodded as though considering his words. “That sounds wise. May I help?”
“Stay warm inside,” he told her. “You have a coal heater in there?”
She nodded.
“Much of a supply?”
“A bucket full.”
That wouldn’t last long. “I can find coal along the tracks. And if need be I’ll gather wood. We’ll keep warm enough,” he assured her. “Load your gun and stay inside.”
He turned and headed inside the mail car. A female on her own. Another predicament to deal with.
Meredith watched the marshal go, d
isappointed he’d turned aside her offer to help bury the gold. Her heart had started pounding as soon as she’d seen that train winding to the right along the tracks ahead and felt the car in which she rode slowing to a halt.
She entered the Pullman and hung her coat on a brass hook to dry. The interior of the car was comfortably warm, but she looked at the single bucket of coal. Tearing her gaze away, she went to a window, pulling a velvet drape to the side and tying it back with a tasseled cord.
Snowflakes layered the marshal’s black hat as he strode through several inches of snow on the ground, a metal chest on his shoulder. He wore a holster at his hip.
The sight of him leaving her here alone sent a dart of unease skittering down her spine. She had warm clothing and boots, but she had no idea which direction to travel should he not come back and help never arrive.
Thoughts racing, she made a mental inventory of food and supplies. He would return. Not wanting to know where he took the strongbox, she turned away from the glass.
There had to be something helpful she could do. She glanced at the coal bucket again. He’d mentioned coal along the tracks, and she hadn’t comprehended. The thought came to her that the chunks probably fell from the coal cars.
In her father’s closet, she found a woolen scarf and donned it, followed by her fur-lined boots and fox coat. She dumped the coal from the bucket onto a corner of the Persian carpet and carried the bucket out of doors.
She couldn’t get lost with the tracks to follow, and her coat was plenty warm. The problem was finding the coal beneath the mounting layer of snow.
The snow would only get worse, she reasoned, so she went back in and carried out a slender broom. With it, she swept snow in wide circles, moving six to eight feet out from the tracks. In several spots, her search revealed lumps of the porous black substance. The bucket was half filled by the time she straightened and spotted Marshal Cavanaugh returning with shovel in hand.
He joined her, using the back of the shovel, and working on the opposite side of the tracks until they’d again filled the bucket.
“I’ll take this in and dump it. Let’s continue as long as we can,” he called to her. “It’ll only get harder the more snow falls.”
Though her feet were cold and her nose running, she nodded her agreement. An hour or so later, they were working a lengthy stretch from the Pullman. Meredith’s back ached from sweeping and bending over. He carried the last bucket and they trudged back.
“Don’t know how long we’ll be here,” he said. “The snow isn’t letting up. We should probably check the luggage car for more guns and food.”
“Won’t that be stealing?”
“Would you care if they were your belongings and someone else was in this predicament?”
“Probably not.”
He set the full bucket on the platform and gestured for her to lead the way inside the luggage car. It smelled like leather and damp wool, and wasn’t a whole lot warmer than outside, but it was dry. She shook off her coat near the door and put it back on.
Trunks and steamers were stacked along the sides and banded with leather straps anchored to the walls. The marshal unfastened them and lifted down half a dozen trunks.
Meredith experienced discomfort opening the first one and touching someone’s personal belongings, but he glibly dug through another, finding a sheathed knife, a woolen hat and a pair of gloves. She followed his lead, and on her third trunk, she discovered neatly folded quilts layered in tissue paper. “Someone won’t be happy about this.”
She removed the whole stack and stuffed the tissue back into the trunk.
A sound stopped her as she bent to add the quilts to their growing pile of provisions. She looked to the marshal. He’d obviously heard the noise too, and was standing dead still, his head tilted to one side. Slowly, he set down the silver matchbox he held and reached for his holster. In a fluid motion, he slid the pearl-handled gun into his palm and cocked the trigger with a thumb.
Meredith held her breath in anticipation. Had one or more of the train robbers been hidden among the baggage all this time?
With his free palm, the marshal gestured for her to get down.
Her skirts swished as she obediently squatted in place, her mouth dry. She strained hard to hear any movement.
He had removed his hat to try on one of the wool caps, and now his black hair stood in sweaty peaks as he crept toward the spot where the sound had come from. Something rustled again now. He crouched lower until he reached a crevice between a stack of valises and another of carpet bags.
Even though she’d been watching and expecting the next exchange, his quick move elicited a started cry from her throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
The man sprang into action, sending bags toppling and creating an open place to reveal whatever or whomever was hidden behind the luggage.
He stood motionless for several seconds while, behind him, she waited with heart pounding for gunfire to explode. Instead of shooting anyone, he slid the revolver back into its holster.
What of the danger? She craned her neck to see around him.
At last he turned his head and spoke to her. “You’d better come here.”
Meredith scrambled to her feet and darted to where he waited. He took a step back to make room for her, and she moved in close.
Huddled behind the toppled stacks of carpetbags cringed two wide-eyed, terrified children.
Chapter Two
Jonah stared, still wrapping his brain around what his eyes were telling him. This just kept getting better. Two more lives in his care.
“Those aren’t train robbers,” she said with a note of disappointment lacing her tone.
He frowned at her and then looked back at the youngsters. He didn’t know much about children, but the boy and girl were probably somewhere between five and ten years old, with tousled dark hair and large brown eyes. The youngest, the little girl, stuck her thumb in her mouth while studying him with wary concern.
“You two alone?” he asked.
The boy nodded.
“Where are your folks?”
The boy got to his feet. “Our ma’s dead. Our Pa went to Denver, and we’re goin’ after ’im.”
“How did you get in here?” he asked.
“Watched while the men was loadin’ the cases, and when no one was lookin’ we snuck in.” He looked toward the back door. “Why ain’t we movin’? Are we to Denver?”
Without answering, the marshal turned to Meredith. “What are we going to do with them?”
“How should I know? I don’t know anything about children.”
“My sister’s hungry,” the boy said. “She ain’t had nothin’ to eat for a couple o’ days.”
The Abbott woman’s attitude softened with her next words. “We’ll get you both something to eat.” She reached for the girl’s hand. “What’s your name?”
It was the boy who replied. “She’s Jillian.”
“What’s your name?” Jonah asked him.
“Hayden Langley. Are you a truant officer?”
Jonah blinked at that. “No. I’m a United States Marshal.”
The boy shrank back against the side of the car. “Are you takin’ us to jail?”
“Children don’t go to jail,” Jonah replied.
The boy didn’t appear convinced. “We’ll wait right here ’til we get to Denver.”
“You’d get mighty cold and hungry waiting here, because the steam engine’s gone off without this car,” Jonah informed him. “So come out of there and let Miss Abbott fix you a meal.”
They exited the luggage car, with Jonah carrying supplies and Meredith holding the girl’s hand. Jonah observed that his tracks to and from the spot where he’d buried the gold were already hidden beneath layers of fallen snow.
As Meredith ushered the children inside her Pullman, he stopped her with a hand on her thick fur sleeve. “The smart thing for me to do now would be to head for the nearest town and alert the law. Send
them back for the gold.”
She met his eyes. Up close hers were vivid blue and seemed to see inside him, but they showed no sign of fear. “Are you going?”
“Without a horse it would take me a day or more. I can’t leave you here alone with two helpless children. Not in this weather.”
And not with the possibility that Bloom’s men might come searching, but he didn’t say that aloud. There was no telling what had happened when the train reached the spot for the intended robbery. “I guess we wait it out, then,” she said. “When the train doesn’t arrive this evening, they’ll alert the closest authorities.”
“Reaching us in this storm will be the problem.”
“As well as a problem for the thieves,” she stated logically.
He nodded in agreement. The storm just might be their salvation.
They entered the car, where she removed her boots and coat and changed into a pair of soft-looking gray leather slippers. The inside was as elegant as anything Jonah had ever seen. The beams along the ceiling and the paneling on lower half of the walls were glossy mahogany. The gilt-framed mirrors and paintings of hunting scenes belonged in a mansion.
The room in which they stood wasn’t wide, but made up for size in length, with a corridor to the left, leading to more space behind the wall. A fluffy white cat lay upon a long plush divan upholstered in deep wine-colored velvet with fringe trim. The animal blinked at them in disdain and swished its tail in the air before getting up and ducking underneath the piece of furniture.
Leather chairs, secured tables and lamps made the space appear as a gentleman’s study. Gleaming brass adorned hinges and cabinets, and shelves with brass rims held books and writing supplies. She wasn’t exactly roughing it while she traveled.
“Come along,” she said, leading them toward the corridor. Jonah followed the children along the paneled hallway and they emerged into a kitchen area, which held cabinets and bins made of steel, a rectangular table with benches, and an ice chest.
The room was equipped with a narrow stove. “You didn’t mention a stove,” he said.