The Feisty Bride's Unexpected Match: A Western Historical Romance Book

by Lydia Olson

  Tucker looked at him, and with a dismissive tone he said, “It might.”

  Miller swallowed as the waited for the train to arrive. It whistled off from the left, the sound of it growing louder the closer it came to their position. It sounded its horn several more times in frantic succession, and Tucker was certain that it had spotted the “dead body” of Childs not far away.

  “Come on,” Tucker hissed. “Stop that train …”

  Childs trembled as he felt the vibrations of the train on the tracks beneath him. It grew closer, and closer, and closer. For the briefest of moments, he was certain he was going to be run over.

  “Please, Lord,” Childs muttered, “I’m not looking to die today.” He could sense that it was coming to a stop, the train whistling out once more as the screeching of the gears cut into his eardrums. The locomotive came to a settle, and Childs sighed with relief as he gripped the six-shooter tucked in the front of his pants.

  “Oh, no!” the voice of the conductor called out. “Billy! We got a body on the tracks.”

  Footsteps descended on Childs, the booted feet of the conductor crunching against stones as they hurried toward the body.

  “Would you look at that?” the conductor said as he removed his cap and slapped it against his leg.

  The carriage man ran alongside the conductor. “Oh, shoot!” he breathed. “What happened here?”

  “I’m not sure. He looks dead. He might’ve passed out on the tracks.”

  “What do we do?”

  The conductor sighed. “We move him. We’ll put him in back and notify the law in the next depot we arrive at. Here, help me move him.”

  As the conductor set about picking up Childs with the carriage man’s assistance, Tucker and Miller left their hiding spot and moved toward the rear of the train. As soon as Childs felt the grip of the conductor and the carriage man on him, his quickly drew his six-shooter and aimed it at them point-blank.

  “Afternoon, fellas,” Childs said. “Now, don’t move a muscle.”

  The conductor and the carriage man held their hands above their heads and looked at each other with frightened expressions.

  ***

  Tucker kicked in the door to the rear of the box car. He moved inside with Miller beside him, their guns trained on the passengers who filled in the seats. A few of them gasped. One of the women screamed.

  “Easy, now!” Tucker called out. “Don’t nobody move. Hands up! All of you.”

  The passengers complied as Miller removed the sack that he had stuffed in his jacket.

  “Now,” Tucker said as he moved up the aisles, “you all know what’s happening, so it’s in your best interest to comply. Just stay seated and keep your hands flat on the seat in front of you. Do it! Now!”

  The passengers did as they were instructed. A few of them prayed. The rest did their best not to make eye contact with Tucker or Miller.

  Tucker smirked under his mask. “Very good,” he said. “Make sure you keep your eyes glued to the floor. Don’t nobody look at us. My associate here is going to stop by each of your seats and collect your belongings. Just hand them over, nice and easy. If anyone feels the need to try to be a hero—don’t. All you’re going to get is a bullet.”

  Miller moved from passenger to passenger, barking at each of them to hand over their money and jewelry. Miller stuffed them in the bag, pointing his gun at each person he robbed to make sure they did as they were told. He moved quickly and stood at the front of the car, holding up the bag and saying to Tucker, “We got it.”

  “Excellent,” Tucker said. “Now, unfortunately, we’re not done here. There’s a pair of men aboard this train. I’m sure they know why we’re here. These two men are with the Treasury department, and they’ve got a pair of bags with them that I’m looking to take possession of.” Tucker stood alongside Miller, their guns scanning the entire car. “Now,” Tucker said. “I want you two boys to speak up and tell me your whereabouts. Now.”

  The passengers kept their focus on the ground. None of them spoke up.

  Tucker huffed—then shot a round into the roof and caused everyone to startle.

  “I won’t ask again,” he said. “I want the boys from the Treasury department to announce their whereabouts; otherwise I start hurting the passengers. You have three seconds to comply, and I won’t give you a second more than that—one.”

  The passengers trembled. A few of them cried.

  “Two.”

  Tucker pulled back the hammer of his gun. “Three—”

  “Okay!” a man in the rear yelled with his hands held up. He was dressed in a suit, and the man next to him was as well. “We’re right here. You don’t need to hurt anybody.”

  Tucker walked up to the two men with his gun trained on them. He sucked air through his teeth as he came up alongside them—and then he spotted the pair of bags he had come to retrieve stuffed under the seats.

  “Well, well,” Tucker said. “I’m pleased to meet you boys.”

  The Treasury man who announced his presence, sporting a neatly trimmed beard, kept his hands held high. “Don’t hurt anyone,” he said. “We’ll give you what you want.”

  Tucker snapped his fingers. “Hand it over. Both of them.”

  The Treasury man and his associate complied. They turned over two leather satchels to Tucker. Tucker then kicked them down the aisle to Miller right as Childs entered the car from the front.

  “I tied up the conductor and the carriage man,” Childs said. “How are we looking?”

  Miller kicked the bags. “We’re looking good, my friend.”

  “Gather up the bags,” Tucker said. “And you two,” he said to the Treasury men, “get up and go to the next car.”

  The Treasury men hesitated.

  Tucker fired another round into the ceiling.

  “Go!”

  The Treasury men did as they were told, moving to the next car slowly, still holding their hands up high. Tucker grabbed one of the leather bags and Childs the other, the trio of bandits following behind the Treasury men as they made their way into the next car.

  “Okay, now,” Tucker said over his shoulder to the other passengers. “Sit tight, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll be headed out of here shortly.”

  Tucker entered the next car with Miller and Childs. The Treasury men stood in the center of the empty car, both exchanging fearful and quizzical glances with each other.

  “We’re all set,” Childs said. “We can get the train moving whenever you’re ready, boss.”

  Tucker aimed his gun at the Treasury men. “Now, I don’t relish having to say this next part, but unfortunately, it has to be said. We’re taking too much money from the government here to let you boys live. I know what will happen if I do—you’ll track us down and hang us from our necks, or worse.”

  The Treasury man with the beard shook his head. “No, sir! You don’t need to do that, please!”

  “Just stop,” Tucker said. “Your pleas are falling on deaf ears. You’re going on to the next life today, and I’m giving you the courtesy of choosing to be shot in the chest or the head, so you decide what that’s going to be.”

  “Please, my friend,” the other Treasury man said, “just take your money and go. We won’t chase you. I swear on my father’s grave.”

  “Your father’s grave?” Tucker said. “Well, isn’t that fitting—you know why? Because you’re about to be buried alongside him.”

  “Boss,” Childs said in a severe tone.

  Tucker rolled his eyes as he prepared to shoot the Treasury men. “What?” he asked in an irked tone.

  The sound of Childs cocking back the hammer on his weapon caused a chilling sensation to travel up Tucker’s spine. He turned around, his eyes wide as he saw Childs pointing his weapon square at his chest. Miller laughed as he took aim as well, and in all of an instant—Tucker knew exactly what was going to happen.

  “Sorry, boss,” Miller said with a shrug. “You pay well—but our mutual friend pays better.�
��

  Tucker grit his teeth. “You dirty, rotten—”

  “See you in the next life,” Miller said as he squeezed the trigger, and an ear-shattering reverberation of the shot echoed throughout the train.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Childs placed the leather satchels on top of Michael Crane’s desk. Crane, feet up and fingers interlaced, looked at Childs with narrowed eyes. He leaned forward, looking at both of the bags for a moment.

  “And Tucker?” Crane asked.

  “He’s been dealt with,” Childs replied with a nod. “We shot him on the train and dropped him not far away from there. It’s about ten miles off. He’s in a shallow grave. We’re positive the local wildlife will take care of the evidence.”

  “What about the Treasury men? Did that plan work out as I hoped?”

  “It did. We paid them a third of what we took from the bags. We had to rough them up a bit to make it seem like they put up a fight, but they’ve agreed to keep their mouths shut and go along with our ruse.”

  “Did they see your faces?”

  Childs shook his head. “No.”

  “They didn’t learn anything about you?” Crane said. “Anything at all?”

  “No, sir. Not a thing. Our faces were covered. Everything went according to plan.”

  Crane smiled. “Fantastic,” he said. “And what about the train?”

  “We cut loose the conductor and the carriage men after we robbed it. The train headed to Oklahoma City once we left it a few hours ago. If everything pans out as we hope, the Treasury men will inform their superiors, and then they’ll point them in any other direction but ours. It’s over, Crane. We did it.”

  Crane sighed with relief as he sat back at his desk. Thank God, he thought. No more Tucker Willis, no Treasury men following us, he looked at the satchels in front of him, and a nice little payday to go along with it.

  “Did you count the money?” Crane asked as he grabbed one of the bags and looked inside of it.

  “We did,” Childs said. “Over two-hundred thousand is left after we paid off the Treasury boys.”

  “Very good.” Crane smelled the inside of the bag, stuffed to the brim with cash. “We can’t keep this here. I’ll need you to take it out of here and hide it someplace safe until we can divide it up.”

  “Will do, boss,” Childs said as he grabbed the bags and headed for the door.

  “Oh,” Crane said, “and Childs?”

  Childs turned back.

  Crane pointed. “If you run off with that money, if you try to go against me in any way…” his nostrils flared. His eyes went wide—all Childs did was hold his hands up in submission without saying a word more.

  Crane sat back down at his desk and breathed deeply. That’s one problem down, he thought. Now that Tucker is out of the way, I can make up any story I want to. I just need to find out what happened to Sarah and her companion.

  A knock sounded at the door and jostled Crane out of his musing. He looked up, and in walked Sheriff Donald Stevens. Stevens was a large man, his weight causing the floorboards to creak under the strain of him walking along them. He had a thick mustache, and chestnut-colored hair slicked back with overly scented hair oil. He only knocked to announce his presence.

  “Morning, Deputy,” he said, a travelling bag in his hand.

  Crane stood at attention. “Welcome back, Sheriff Stevens!” he said with forced enthusiasm. “It’s great to have you back.”

  Stevens stretched. “It’s great to be back. That was a much-needed vacation, believe you me.”

  “Well, you’re returning to Clarendon with good news ready to be delivered to you.”

  Stevens held his head high. “Oh, yes? Is that a fact?”

  Crane rounded his desk. “Indeed, it is, Sheriff,” he said. “You see, it appears that Tucker Willis and his associates have been taken care of. I heard a rumor through a friend that Tucker was shot after an altercation with some of his, er, associates in the desert. I’ve dispatched a few of the deputies to confirm it.”

  Hands on his hips, Stevens said, “Well, we caught a break there, didn’t we? That Tucker Willis was causing quite a bit of havoc.”

  “Without a doubt, sir,” Crane said. “I’m just hoping that it all pans out to be true.”

  “Interesting …” Stevens moved to his desk, and Crane sensed a bit of apprehension in his tone.

  “Also,” Crane continued, “we have another matter that’s occurred during your absence. It appears that a stagecoach that was making its way to Clarendon went missing several days ago, and, uh, it appears that my soon-to-be wife was on board.”

  Stevens eyes narrowed into slits. “Well, I’ll be,” he said. “That’s terrible.”

  Crane forced himself to sound and appear forlorn. “It is, sir. It most definitely is. But I’m working on finding out what happened. Apparently, it was Tucker Willis who was at fault.”

  “How so?”

  “I was told through witnesses that he held up the stagecoach,” Crane said. “Again, we’re trying to find the parties that were on board, but they’ve all gone missing, save for the driver and a couple of the folks that were in the stagecoach. I discovered their bodies a few days ago.” He hung his head. “It’s a travesty, an absolute travesty.”

  “Yes,” Stevens said, still sounding skeptical, “I would say that it most certainly is.”

  Holding up his hands, Crane said, “Rest assured, sheriff, I’m doing all that I can to figure out what’s going on. Things are a bit of a mess between that and the stagecoach fiasco, but I plan on—”

  “Crane,” Stevens cut in with an authoritative tone.

  Crane cleared his throat. “Yes, sir?”

  Stevens frowned. “Cut the nonsense.”

  After waiting a moment, his heart racing inside his chest, Crane said, “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t quite follow you.”

  Stevens wagged his finger and moved toward Crane with slow and methodical steps. “I may be headed toward retirement,” he said, “but I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were, sir—”

  “Knock it off,” Stevens voice cut through, booming and with no shred of tolerance in his demeanor. “I’m done playing stupid with this whole thing. You’ve got so many holes in your story that it looks like Swiss cheese. I’ve been looking in the other direction for quite some time, but I’m finished turning a blind eye.” He stepped closer, a few inches shy of Crane, towering over him. “You know where I just came from?”

  Crane shook his head.

  “Oklahoma City,” Stevens said. “You know what I found there? Two men from the Treasury department who said the train that they were on was held up. I decided to ask a few questions about it. They told me they came from Clarendon right before they were held up. And now, I’m hearing from you about the possible death of Tucker Willis, this stagecoach robbery, and the disappearance of your bride-to-be. That’s quite a lot of coincidences occurring in such a small setting, don’t you think?”

  Crane swallowed the lump in his throat. Sweat accumulated on his brow.

  Stevens turned away. “None of this is coincidence, Crane,” he said. “And I know that you were in cahoots with Tucker Willis. I know you were aware that I let you have your little, well, ‘side jobs’ in the past, but did you really think I wouldn’t have discovered that you were taking up with Tucker Willis? Come on, son. I knew for quite some time.”

  “That’s not the case, sir.”

  “Stop lying,” Stevens said. “It is the case.” He leaned in. “Or did Fletcher Bryant truly die of a heart attack instead of by your hand?”

  Crane swallowed the lump in his throat. He was positive that no one was any the wiser about the true fate of Fletcher Bryant. Oh, Lord, he thought. What the heck is going to happen next? “Sir,” Crane nearly stuttered, “I didn’t mean to—”

  “That’s right, Crane,” Stevens said. “I know about everything you’ve been up to. But, heck, it’s made my job easier, you running this town
the way you have. But I can’t have it go on anymore. You’ve made enemies with too many of the townsfolk.”

  “Those enemies,” Crane said, “are on a list, and we keep a close eye on them. No one will say a word about what goes on here. I’ve got them too well covered. I have a deputy at the border on the outskirts of town to make sure they never leave, as well as the other roads leading in or out. I have all my bases covered.”

  “None of that matters anymore, Crane. We’re well past it. Now, I don’t care about what arrangement you had with Tucker Willis, or this version of events pertaining to his death that you’ve told me about. What I do care about is resolving it all in a timely matter. Too many messes have been left behind in the past, and I want it all to be over and done with before something truly terrible happens … and I get dragged down with it, as a result.”