Dust was everywhere. She coughed for the hundredth time, only to invite something dry and weedy into her mouth. Unfortunately, no amount of tongue waggling aided in the ejection of the foreign object. But the small discomfort paled in comparison to the horror the Iron Scorpion was probably inflicting upon her father that very minute. The thought bolstered Violet’s resolve.
Sunset was now upon them. The retreating orb had given rise to stygian pools of darkness that stretched across the surrounding plain. Compared to the urban sprawl of Boston, the empty Wyoming landscape appeared strange to her eyes. She was exposed to the elements on all fronts in this dauntingly wide open space. The vast sea of stars above left her feeling very vulnerable and alone.
She kept her bleary gaze on the riders ahead of her. Exhaustion born of the day’s traumatic events sapped away at her strength. She contemplated calling out for another break. Where exactly was this camp of Logan’s, anyway? They had so little time, and yet she was on the verge of collapse. Would respite come soon?
Strange smells and even stranger sounds assaulted her senses. Was she imagining that nearby caterwaul, or was it only the rushing wind? And what about wild animals? She had done absolutely no research at all regarding indigenous predators. Visions sprouted in her mind of furred attackers leaping onto her horse with bared fangs, reaching for her. Tearing into her. With immense effort, she shunted the terrible visions aside.
Father needs you. Concentrate. Focus. Concen–
Violet swayed precariously in her saddle. A raw, primal fear of falling jerked her awake and made her bolt upright in the saddle. “Logan! We must stop!”
Had he heard her? Impossible to tell. As if in mockery of her predicament, the sun angled toward the horizon, signaling its final descent. Panic invaded her. What if she became separated from Logan? In the creeping darkness, she’d lose all sense of direction. Violet gritted her teeth. The search for her father couldn’t end here. It mustn’t! What would Miss Henrietta Dearheart do? The notion was silly, but it successfully replenished her motivation. She renewed her grip on the reins.
Then she sensed movement on her left, followed by a warm presence. Logan was now riding beside her. Amazingly, he had slowed his horse’s speed–and that of Arthur’s–to match hers.
“Whoa!” he commanded. “Violet, slow your horse down to a walk. We’re almost there. We’re going to head northeast for a spell.”
A sense of relief flooded her upon learning that the arduous ride would end soon. She could endure that much, at least. “All right,” she whispered, her voice sandstone rough. Pulling on the reins, she urged her horse to slow down.
“Follow my voice,” Logan instructed.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Just keep talking.”
As he advanced into the lead position once more, she swore she heard him chuckle.
Slowly, Violet became aware of a faint, silvery light. She glanced up. A half moon had risen. In her panic, she must have missed it.
Logan’s ghostly form seemed to drift in the otherworldly radiance. He whistled softly, the melodic tune soothing her jangled nerves. She followed him toward a series of dark, bulky shapes. As they neared, Violet saw that they comprised a rocky formation that jutted from the earth like jagged teeth. Gravel crunched beneath the horses’ hooves. A few trees and bushes dotted the area, and… Violet couldn’t believe her ears. Was that the sound of running water? Praise Copernicus .
Violet rubbed her eyes with the back of a gloved hand. The bizarre rock structures resembled ancient tombs. Dark. Silent. Watchful. The shadows they cast were a shade of black she hadn’t known existed. Somewhere in the far distance, a coyote howled. She cast a worried glance behind her. At least, that’s what she hoped it was. For all she knew, the feral creature was one of the Iron Scorpion’s spies, hot on their trail.
Slowly, carefully, Logan led her deeper into the maze of rocks. It soon became a blur, and all Violet could think about was a horizontal position and sleep. In fact, she experienced a time distortion so strong that she didn’t even notice her horse had stopped. Only its impatient snort coaxed her back into awareness.
Forcing her bleary eyes open, she peered at the scenery, now shrouded in twilight. “Logan?” she whispered. Footsteps approached, echoing with quiet menace among the rocks crowding around her. She couldn’t determine if they belonged to man or beast.
“Right here,” came Logan’s low drawl. He appeared on her left as though materializing from thin air.
Violet would have jumped out of her saddle if she hadn’t been so tired.
“Go ahead and dismount.”
“I….” Violet wasn’t sure she could even think about dismounting, let alone do it. An insidious cramp flared in her right calf. She groaned.
And then she was falling, falling.
Logan’s strong arms captured her. After a few awkward twists and gropes, Violet’s feet met the ground. Panting, she leaned hard against his chest, concluding it made a quite satisfactory pillow.
He leaned down to her ear and spoke firmly. “You need to get your mechanical contraption off that horse.”
His hot breath immediately began thawing her skin, and she wouldn’t have minded if he chose that very moment to restore its normal temperature with a few licks of his tongue. But he was correct to be so practical. Violet reluctantly pulled away, but unsteadiness forced her to lean upon his arm.
She turned toward the automaton. “Arthur, please dismount.”
The automaton complied, and even landed with a light spring in his step. Violet and Logan exchanged mystified glances. It was almost like Arthur had dismounted a thousand times before.
“All right,” Logan said, measuring out his words slowly, as though a fox had suddenly appeared claiming to be Ludwig Van Beethoven. He quickly looped the reins of all three horses around a nearby tree. Returning to Violet’s side, he grasped her elbow. “You two come with me. I’ll go back for the horses.”
“Arthur, follow us.” Then Violet realized she needed to issue a very important command, one crucial to the mission’s success. Facing the automaton, she added, “Arthur, you will obey any request of Logan’s until I say otherwise.”
Logan’s grip on her elbow tightened, but he said nothing. Feeling very much like a stiff automaton herself, Violet clumsily accompanied Logan to the campsite.
From what she could see, it was some sort of natural shelter. A few rocky walls and one overhang kept out most of the chilly breeze. Three fat tree trunks about five feet long each bordered a blackened pit. A pile of neatly stacked logs completed the picture.
She guided Arthur to the overhanging rock and shut him off. Logan indicated for her to have a seat against one of the logs while he retrieved both horses and gear. Violet sank into the impromptu chair, her eyelids heavy. She heard Logan ask her a question, or thought she had. But a wave of lethargy swept away her answer, and she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
* * * *
Wakefulness smashed into Violet like a blow to the head–abruptly and unwanted. The first sensation she registered was agonizing stiffness, especially in her legs. The second was the temperature of her body, which felt unevenly warm and cold. The third feeling she noticed was her uncomfortably full bladder. Unable to ignore it, she forced her eyes open. They came into focus upon a pockmarked wall of weathered granite.
Blinking, Violet realized she was not at home. She wasn’t on aboard the Golden Arrow Express, either. Choppy bits of memory emerged. Then yesterday’s events hit her with the force of a hurricane. Oh, heavens–Papa!
What horrors had the Iron Scorpion inflicted upon her father while she lay sleeping? Even if that hadn’t been motivator enough, the hard ground beneath her had worn out its dubious welcome. She stretched her right arm. Her fingers met resistance in the form of a blanket, one that cocooned her from neck to feet. How had she become so wrapped up?
Violet started. When had she become so wrapped up?
As she worked to extricate herself,
she heard the pip-pop crackle of a fire. Smelled the sharp bite of coffee wafting through the air. Violet shoved the blanket from her shoulders and sat up. Desiring comfort, she turned toward the warmth.
And a man.
Logan sat nearby, extending a tin cup full of a steaming beverage toward her. “Coffee?”
“Thank you.” But a parched, raw throat made the words sound more like a gravelly “Thaacku,” so she nodded to reinforce her need. Though unrelenting muscle spasms screamed for her to do otherwise, she shifted into a sitting position so she could accept the cup. Then she shoved her chilly feet closer to the fire. Violet wiggled her stocking-covered toes while pursing her lips in confusion. She didn’t remember removing her boots.
While taking a cautious sip of the hot, bitter brew, she glanced skyward to gauge the time. Unfortunately, a haphazard formation of boulders blocked her view of the horizon in all directions. Further assessment revealed that they were sitting at the mouth of a cave–no, more like an ambitious overhang of rock. But it receded so far into the ground that it provided a natural canopy.
Her gaze came to rest on Arthur, still standing against the rock wall like a frozen sentry. The automaton was safe and unharmed. Violet breathed a sigh of relief.
“We can’t be easily spotted here,” Logan said as if in response to her thoughts.
Violet turned back to her other companion. He had already removed his dustcoat and boots. Despite his matted hair and the scant layer of stubble on his face, he appeared alert–and, astonishingly, even more handsome than on the previous day. “I take it you’ve camped here before?”
Logan stoked the fire a long time before responding. “Could be. I do get around.”
She silently questioned his reserved manner until she remembered he probably had trade secrets to protect. “I imagine someone in your position certainly does.” She grasped the cup in both hands, savoring the warmth, if not the taste, of its contents. “What time is it?”
Logan produced a gold Lepine pocket watch. “’Bout twenty minutes past six. Sun’ll be up shortly.” He stood. Padding around in his socks, he searched among the saddlebags and withdrew various items. “Are you hungry? Got bread, some cheese, couple apples.”
Before Violet could even answer, he had assembled said food upon a torn but clean bit of white linen and was handing it to her.
Nodding gratefully, she accepted the meal and placed it on a small, flat rock beside her. She placed her cup down as well. “I’m starving, actually. But would you mind if I…” Violet couldn’t help but smile at the recollection of their impromptu meeting in the water-closet on the train, “…take care of my necessities?”
Logan shot her a sly look. “Just so long as you don’t aurally assault me with your highly explosive discharges.”
Violet blushed even as she attempted a half-hearted scolding. “You, sir, are a scoundrel of the worst sort!”
Logan laughed. A charming, carefree grin accompanied the deep, earthy sound. Violet giggled in response. Their combined mirth was the beginning of a wonderful symphony. But then their eyes met, and he smothered his laugh as quickly as it had come. He resumed both his seat and his coffee, then pointed to a narrow cleft opposite the cave. “Thataway. Walk about twenty feet and pick whatever spot you take a shine to.”
Violet stood, silently cursing the way her sore muscles protested. Every step felt like she was in the clutches of a torture rack.
While searching for a suitable spot, her bootless feet registered the cold, rocky path. The crisp air once again reminded her of her inexperience with outdoor adventure–she’d not even thought to wrap herself in a blanket. Her teeth chattered. Her back ached from sleeping on the rigid ground. She groaned at the prospect of hiking up her skirts and exposing her delicate parts to the penetrating elements. By the time they reached the Iron Scorpion’s fortress, would she be in any shape to rescue her father?
Violet quickly relieved herself. On her way back, she caught sight of the horses through a gap in the rocks. The barest beginning of sunlight stroked their manes while they grazed in a clearing. One nickered softly while the other munched on a clump of grass. As she absorbed the bucolic scene, insight dawned, accompanied by a spike of burning shame.
The sight of the horses, saddle-free and tethered to a weather-worn post, showed Violet exactly how busy Logan must have been the night before. In addition to caring for her somnolent, burdensome form, he undoubtedly had stayed up late to feed, water, and rub down the horses, set up camp, and build a fire–all in the treacherous realm of darkness.
She glanced at her feet. A shiver of excitement raced through her. He’d even removed her boots. Having seen to her comfort so thoroughly, she considered his initiative to be considerate rather than improper. Still, the thought of him unwinding the laces and seeing her nearly bare feet tantalized her in a way she hadn’t expected. Violet cast a glance in the direction of the fire, though she could not see him yet.
How many more tasks had he completed on her behalf? Had he forgone sleep to guard her while she dozed? Now that’s a true hero . Tears of gratitude burned in her eyes.
Violet returned to camp. Logan was slowly sipping his coffee, lost in thought. It was a perfect opportunity to execute her next move. She placed a hand on one of his well-formed shoulders. He neither moved nor twitched. Despite his relaxed pose, she was positive he’d known she was approaching. “Logan?”
His head gave a quarter turn. “Yeah?”
Violet bent down and kissed him chastely on his exposed cheek, reveling at the way his whiskers tickled her lips. “Thank you.”
This time he did jump–all the way to his feet. Sloshed coffee drenched his hand, but he ignored it. “You’re welcome, but…what was that for?” His voice sounded confused, but his face registered a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Violet smiled demurely as she wrapped herself in one of her sleeping blankets. She sat and placed her breakfast upon her knees. “Can’t a lady thank a gentleman for his kindness?”
Logan frowned. “You mean for the luxurious accommodations, or for joking about explosive discharges?”
Violet swallowed her mouthful of apple and gave him a solemn look. “For everything. I saw how well you’d taken care of the horses. You built the fire. I’d probably have died out here last night if it weren’t for you.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair and stared into the fire. “Just doin’ my part.”
After shaking the coffee from his hand, he grabbed a stick and poked ferociously at the logs. The action launched a surge of flames into the air.
Moments later, he cleared his throat. “We’ll rest here for a couple more hours.” He pointed west with the stick. “If you want to wash up, there’s a creek about a stone’s-throw away. Be warned, though–the water’s colder than a block of ice in a snowstorm.”
As Violet dipped a piece of stale bread in her coffee, he mumbled something about needing to check on the horses, donned his hat, and strode away in the direction of the clearing.
Violet stared wistfully at the vacant spot where he’d stood. She would have preferred his company while she ate, but gathered from his actions that a professional agent such as he insisted on a strict schedule. Famished, she ate every last scrap of her food. The fresh air and the previous day’s hard ride seemed to have increased her appetite tenfold. Or perhaps it was the company of a certain mysterious spy. Oh, how she wished to hear the tales of his various exploits! They’d probably fill a year’s worth of The Lady’s Fireside Collection .
Violet washed down the last bite with a hearty gulp of coffee. By then, the sun had risen. Its warm rays began to chase away the early morning chill. Contemplating the state of her person, she decided a visit to the creek was in order. A search of the saddlebags produced handkerchiefs suitable for washing. Alas, no hairbrush.
Violet donned her gloves, laced up her black boots, and set off. She found Logan with the horses and informed him of her destination. Perched on a boulder, he
was busy checking the saddle straps. He merely nodded when she passed, his face buried in the shadow of his hat brim.
Once near the creek, Violet gained a better view of the area. They were still on the prairie, but to the north, a row of foothills staked out the land. Beyond them rose the snow-capped peaks of the Laramie Mountains. She drank in the view. How very majestic!
Pine trees dotted both sides of the gurgling water. Drawn to its song, Violet spent a few cautious minutes navigating the steep, grassy slope. She knelt by the creek’s edge and removed her gloves.
The water felt like ice, but was so refreshing that Violet doused her face a good dozen times. She removed her boots and stripped off her black stockings. Streaks of dirt covered her legs and feet, so she cleaned them vigorously. The warm air quickly dried them. If it hadn’t been for the gravity of the situation, she would have found the experience of exposing her bare skin to the sun and sky deliciously freeing.
Speaking of freeing, Violet gave silent thanks to her new Warner Bros. sanitary corset. The ingenious design made all of her recent exertions far more manageable than would otherwise have been the case. As soon as she’d seen the advertisement for the new, flexible model earlier that year, she’d ordered three of them.
She braided her hair anew, working out tangles with her fingers. Most of her pins were missing, so she let the braid swing free. After scooping up a last handful of the icy nectar to drink, she pulled on her stockings, boots, and gloves. Her skirt was wrinkled, but the dust and stray grass blades were easily brushed away.
As she turned to leave, a splash of color caught her eye. Nestled among the foliage by the stream was a cluster of erect, spiky flowers with pale blue petals. A few were taller than she. Intrigued, Violet approached them, curious about their fragrance. She reached out to pick one.
“I wouldn’t mess with that none.”
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 7
