by Jodi Thomas
When the conductor rocked back on his heels in defeat, the salesman began to pray over the dead man.
Without being asked any questions, the conductor looked up at Beth and said as calmly as if they were just passing time, “The engineer and two other men are dead, still trapped in the engine’s cab. I’ll deal with the living first, then get them out. You all right, miss?”
She nodded, trying to take in everything she saw at once. A thin, twisted shadow inside the blackened engine reminded her of the robber who’d insisted on climbing.
The conductor stood, trying to wipe away blood from his hands. “We’ve telegraphed up the line for help.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it. By my count we’ve got more bodies than passengers. Did you see your man on the train before the wreck?”
She nodded, fighting the urge to tell him that Lamont wasn’t her man.
“That’s good. The army has accounted for all their people, even the one in the mail car. I think we’ve got the gamblers and salesmen in the count, but I’m not sure how many cowpokes were on the train sleeping. Now that I know you and your husband made it, that’s two less to worry about.”
“I found him.” She lied so easily, the words took her breath for a moment. “We were tossed on the other side of the tracks. He’s hurt bad.”
The conductor nodded. “We’ll get to him as soon as we can. This fellow knows a little about medicine.” He patted the salesman on the shoulder. “If your man is hurt, we’ll make sure he’s in the first group to head for town.”
The salesman moved on to the next man crying for help while the old conductor leaned back, looking lost. “The extras we got must have boarded the train illegally; I figure that makes them robbers. I asked the station to send a sheriff. We’ll let him sort them.” He motioned with his head. “Four are over there. They’re all hurt bad or already dead like the one trapped in the engine. They must have been caught between the cars or on top. One of the army officers is guarding them while a few passengers try to save them for hanging.”
Beth moved toward the engine. In the stillness, she thought she heard horses a hundred yards away in the trees. Standing still, she watched the lone rider pulling saddled horses away. He was leaving his comrades to face their fate. By the time anyone else noticed, he would be too far away to arrest even if they had men on horseback willing to chase. Most of the mounts vanishing into the fog were little more than shadows moving in the trees, but she thought she saw the stocking legs of the pinto she’d seen earlier when the train stopped for water.
Beth crossed to the men scattered near the engine. Every part of her wanted to turn and run. In three minutes she could be back with Brandy Blue and riding. No one would catch her, and no one knew her name to tell the sheriff.
Once he came, she’d have to give all her information, including why she was on the train. The story would make the news. Wild, rich Beth McMurray was acting a fool. Those who knew her would shake their heads. Those who knew Lamont would probably feel sorry for her even if she was a fool. But all would believe any story written about her.
She saw Lamont’s gray greatcoat, now splattered with blood, tossed into the burned grass beside the wreck. Lamont was sitting up, trying to stop blood from dripping down his face. He swore and complained to the couple trying to help him.
Beth held her breath as she walked behind him. His cut looked to be no more than a scratch. Lamont would live, but without her. She wanted no part of him, and he was too absorbed in his aches to notice anyone else.
A baby’s hungry cry caught her attention as she walked around the couple offering Lamont water. They both looked battered, but alive, unlike the four men lying near a worthless fire someone had tried to build with wet wood.
These were the robbers, she thought, noticing that each still wore a red bandanna. A soldier stood guard, but none looked in any shape to try to escape. Maybe he’d built the fire, but he hadn’t offered care. All were too far gone to even cry out for help.
If there was one more in the cab, then the last of the outlaws lay across the track where she’d left him. He’d saved her life. She couldn’t let him be hauled into town to hang.
Walking back toward the stranger, Beth found her saddlebags lying amid the rubble. By the time she reached the man in black who’d rescued her, she’d already begun to tear her wedding dress into bandages.
He hadn’t budged and she wondered if there were wounds she hadn’t noticed. Kneeling, she moved her hands along his body, feeling for the warmth of blood or a broken bone. Nothing. His body was lean and powerful. Strong enough to take the blow when they jumped from the train, she guessed. He was dressed in black except for the bandanna.
Carefully, she began to wrap his forehead, trying to pull the wound together as best as she could.
The cut below his eye still bled, but there was no way to close it without stitches. Beth had seen her aunt stitch men up, but she’d never attempted such a thing. There was always someone else around who knew more or would be better at the task of doctoring.
Removing the red bandanna from her broad-shouldered savior, she tossed it aside and wrapped the silk of her expensive wedding dress around the stranger’s throat. She knew little of doctoring. Her simple plan was to slow the bleeding until they could get him to town.
The rain had stopped by the time she’d finished, but the stranger still hadn’t moved. He looked pale as if already half gone to the grave. Most of his face was covered with a bandage below his eye, but she saw strong features.
When she straightened to move away, his hand locked around her arm. “Stay with me, Hannah,” he whispered. “Lie with me for a while. Don’t leave me yet.”
His voice was deep, dreamlike, but his hold on her was iron.
Beth knew she should pull away. He’d lost a great deal of blood and she’d done all she could for him.
But she didn’t. She owed this man. Who or what he was didn’t matter. In the split second before the train crashed, he’d chosen to save her. If he hadn’t, she might be smashed between the cars like some of the others.
Edging in beside him, she felt his arm circle her and pull her close. Then he stilled, as if all he’d wanted was her near.
She pulled the coat over them both as the rain started again. Two days without sleep and the rush of adrenaline from the wreck all worked together. Bethie McMurray, proper young lady and heiress to the McMurray fortune, slept next to a total stranger.
