Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts

by Heather Massey

  Now his earlier words held new meaning. You made an honorable man out of me … Apparently, he’d become tired of running from his past crimes. He must have decided to embrace his future, risks and all. Violet couldn’t imagine the courage it must have taken him to assume responsibility for his actions–all in the name of justice and the future of mankind.

  And, she hoped, for love.

  The thoughts drove her to a deep well of torment, and she began to cry anew. Through the wave of hot tears coursing down her cheeks, she spotted Logan’s boss-of-the-plains lying on the ground. Violet grabbed the dusty hat and hugged it to her chest. How could she ever fix this? Logan’s life wasn’t some broken automaton in her father’s laboratory.

  Joseph laid his hands upon her trembling shoulders. “Damn those men! If I had access to a wire, I could contact Hiram about this right now!”

  “Oh Papa, I fear it’s too late!”

  “Possibly. But if we ride hard, there’s a chance we can catch up with them in Cheyenne. That’s all we have control over now.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t that what they would do in those tales of yours?”

  Violet lumbered to her feet, suppressing a fresh onslaught of tears. She brushed the dust from her skirts. Her heart had gone so numb she wondered if it would ever beat again. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice heavy. “I’ll start the steam carriage.”

  * * * *

  The iron steam carriage lurched forward into the murky morning with a series of clangs and hisses. Along the way, Violet noticed a fair number of the Iron Scorpion’s former minions leaving by foot. She wondered about their destinations, and thought of the physically altered men she’d previously encountered. Would they find acceptance anywhere? Did medical science have the ability fix them? The Iron Scorpion’s twisted legacy had created too many social problems to count.

  What would become of the fortress? Part of it still seemed to be in operation, relentlessly clogging the skies above with its massive smokestacks. An army of scientists and engineers would be required to either dismantle the building or restructure it into something beneficial. Violet wanted to help in any way she could. At the very least, she owed it to Logan and to the memory of his family.

  Mid-afternoon, they arrived at Logan’s camp. Between the ever-present dust, cramped muscles, and wind-chapped lips, Violet had never been so relieved to disembark from a carriage. She now wished her adventure stories had included a dose of realism in that regard so she would have known what to expect.

  They built a fire and refreshed themselves with stream water and more raw vegetables. Joseph insisted on unloading Arthur so he could attempt repairs. With her father occupied, Violet gathered a handful of clean bandages and ointment and headed for the stream.

  During her brief walk, the welcoming sight of azure skies and clear air did little to brighten her mood. Birds chirped and insects buzzed about on various errands, but she couldn’t enjoy it, not without Logan beside her.

  Violet concentrated on scrubbing away dirt from her hands and face. Hiking up her skirts, she soaked her injured leg in the cold water, washing away the remaining dirt and dried blood. The recent exertions had reduced her black floral stockings to a ragged spiderweb, so she removed them. Propriety was the least of her concerns.

  Sitting on the grassy bank, Violet dressed her wound. Sunlight blazed all around her. Feeling drowsy, she curled up on her side. The bucolic scenery reminded her so much of Logan’s rugged nature it hurt. She closed her eyes and exhaustion swept her into dreamless sleep.

  Minutes, or perhaps hours later, a loud sizzling sound rent the air. Violet shot up into a sitting position, heart beating rapidly. Were they under attack?

  “Eureka!” came the triumphant shout.

  Violet stood and searched about her. “Papa?” she called.

  “Hurry, Violet! Come here!”

  After hastily lacing up her boots, Violet scrambled up the embankment. Once at the camp, she discovered her father’s makeshift work station. Tools and equipment were scattered everywhere. In the middle, on a slab of rock, lay Arthur. Three sides of his “brain” lay exposed. But that wasn’t the source of her father’s excitement.

  The automaton’s eyes glowed, imbued with a healthy amber color once again.

  Violet smiled in relief. “Papa, you did it!”

  With that, she stepped forward and embraced her father. Turning around, she said, “Welcome back, Arthur.” Then she grabbed the automaton by both cheeks and kissed him in the general vicinity of where his mouth might have been. Gazing into his owlish orbs, she added, “I’m so relieved you’re back with us.”

  Predictably, Arthur remained his usual taciturn self, unless one counted the whirs and hums of his innards.

  Violet glanced up, eager to share the news with Logan. A sharp ache pierced her chest at the realization that he wasn’t there.

  “Do you think he’ll remember everything he’s learned?” What Logan taught him , to be precise.

  Joseph adjusted his glasses. “Difficult to say. Only time and an extensive series of tests will determine that. I’m going to close him up now. It’s imperative that we reach San Francisco as soon as possible. Many important people are eager to make his acquaintance. I wager they’ll be very keen to learn about his new abilities.”

  As her father began guiding Arthur toward the carriage, Violet’s heart sank. Was that all her father cared about? What about Logan? What about his daughter’s happiness? When she attempted to redress the automaton in his holster, poncho and hat, Joseph strenuously objected.

  Grief and resentment simmered within her as she packed the items away.

  The ride into Cheyenne concluded a journey more strenuous than all the previous ones. Violet felt more like the walking dead than a human being. Arriving at Cheyenne in the late afternoon, they headed straight for the Union Pacific Railroad’s hotel. The belching carriage rumbled down the main dirt thoroughfare, prompting the town’s citizens to give it a wide berth. After unloading Arthur, they entered the hotel. Violet made an inquiry at the front desk and learned that they’d arrived a few hours behind the marshal and his men. More than a few inquisitive glances from staff and patrons slipped their way, but whether it was because of their unkempt appearance or the automaton that accompanied them, Violet wasn’t sure. Not that she cared one whit, anyway.

  Joseph established credit with the desk clerk. His mentioning of their status as victims of the Golden Arrow Express accident helped their case, and they were immediately shown to two of the best rooms.

  Violet powered down Arthur in a corner of her father’s room. She and her father then visited the General Store for supplies.

  Soap was at the top of the list, not to mention tooth powder and a new set of clothes. As Joseph arranged for their purchases to be delivered to the hotel, Violet wandered through the store in a daze. Logan seemed so near to her, and yet so far at the same time. He’d been brutally beaten. Was he in great pain? She wiped away tears, feeling tremendously guilty and utterly useless.

  Near a display of books and newspapers, she spotted the current issue of The Lady’s Fireside Collection . In the time it had taken to rescue her father, the latest issue had arrived.

  Violet glanced away with a heavy heart. Her father had been right. Those outlandish tales were nothing but a silly, unnecessary distraction. Reading them had given her a distorted view of the world. She wiped the tear forming at the corner of her eye. Reading them had caused Logan’s life to take a turn for the worse. It was time she ended such a dangerous habit.

  “Violet?” Joseph joined her. “I’m finished.” He glanced around. “Is there anything else you wanted?”

  Violet hesitated. Here was her chance to prove her newfound resolve. She swallowed hard, and her gaze darted to the rack containing The Lady’s Fireside Collection . Turning away, she took her father’s arm and guided him toward the door. Past the lump in her throat, she said, “No, Papa, there’s nothing else. Thank you.”
>
  That next step was the hardest one she’d ever taken.

  Upon their return, Joseph ordered food brought to his room. The piquant odors of freshly baked bread and savory stew didn’t hold their normal enticement. Violet had very little appetite. She supplemented her glass of water with just a small sampling of food. While they ate, a courier arrived with their parcels. The young man distributed them among the two rooms and left.

  Arthur stood against the wall, silent and inscrutable. Was he “thinking” of Logan, or of their recent adventures? Probably not, but Violet hoped for a future time when Arthur could become a person in his own right, instead of a machine to be exploited.

  Joseph swallowed the last of his food with a satisfied “Ahhh!” and headed for the blue-and-gold-patterned pitcher on the washstand. As he poured water into the basin, Violet abandoned her half-eaten meal and sidled up to him.

  “Papa,” she began, “I’m going to the jailhouse. I’m certain the marshal will release Logan if I name the right price.”

  Joseph shot her a stern glare. “Absolutely not! I forbid it.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Too dangerous,” he said. He set his glasses aside and doused his face.

  “I disagree, strenuously in fact.”

  “They don’t want your money, Violet. Only Logan’s death will satisfy them.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that?”

  Joseph grabbed a nearby towel and wiped his face dry. After flipping the towel over his shoulder, he issued her a look he often bestowed upon his tenderfoot university students. “Use your common sense. By their definition, he’s an outlaw of the worst kind. They’ll never permit you to see him, no matter how much money you wave in front of their faces.”

  Violet crossed her arms. “How can you be so sure?”

  Joseph’s gaze turned steely. “If you attempt contact with Logan of any kind, I’ll order you physically removed if need be.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  His eyes darkened. “Don’t test me, daughter. I already lost your mother. I nearly lost Arthur today. I’m not about to lose you .” Joseph walked to a blue-cushioned chair. He sighed in relief as he sank into it. “Hand me my eyeglasses, please.”

  Scowling, Violet thrust them into her father’s hands. This conversation wasn’t going the way she had hoped at all. She paced the floor. The idea came to her halfway across the room. “You said you could wire Hiram!”

  “I know, I did. But…” He paused as if trying to find the words. Checked his pocket watch. “It’s after nine o’clock. You have to understand, even if we went to the general store immediately, it’s unlikely he’d be able to respond in time.”

  Violet kneeled by his chair. “Then let me go to the jailhouse. I’ve got to try and convince them to free him. Please , Papa.”

  Joseph passed a hand across his face. “I know you care for Logan, but I simply can’t risk your safety.” Adjusting his spectacles, he continued. “From what I’ve seen, Logan is a fine man, but by tomorrow morning he’ll be nothing more than a memory. You must be strong.”

  Violet stared at her father in disbelief, her lower lip trembling. “I shan’t! His death will destroy me. Can’t you see that?”

  With a sob, she ran from the room. Ignoring his protests, she burst through the door of her own room and secured it behind her. She flung herself across the bed and poured out her anguish into the pillows.

  Violet realized that her recent adventures had given her a taste of independence she might never experience again. As progressive as her father was, there were still lines he dared not cross. Regardless, how could he ask her to forget about Logan? He loves his work more than you, that’s why.

  Violet missed her mother more fiercely than ever. She would have understood Violet’s needs. She wouldn’t have doomed her daughter to a life of loneliness. Violet gripped part of the quilt in a tight fist. There had to be something she could do to save Logan. There absolutely had to be! Unfortunately, an immediate solution escaped her.

  She rubbed her face. Her eyes were puffy and a headache plagued her. Still, she wasn’t helping Logan by wallowing in her misery, so she removed her clothes and wiped her skin clean with a damp cloth. She dressed her wound with fresh bandages. A small dose of laudanum reduced the pain from her injury to a tolerable level.

  She slipped on her new nightgown and lay down upon the bed. But her limbs twitched with anxiety. Despite her exhausted state, sleep was futile.

  Immediately, memories of Logan flooded her mind. Tears pricked her eyes. What was she doing here? She should be helping him…somehow. Soon, her pillow was soaked anew as she cried out her pain, her fear, her grief. How could she lay here in a warm, fancy bed when the love of her life was wrongfully imprisoned in a cold, heartless cell?

  The hour grew late. A glance at the clock informed her that midnight was fast approaching. Violet paced her room and fretted. She had to devise a plan, and soon. Logan’s life depended on it.

  A thousand frantic paces later, someone shoved an envelope beneath the door. Violet whirled around. She snatched up the thin, plain brown package. What could it be? Who had delivered it? She threw open the door and searched the hallway. It was empty.

  She closed the door. While standing in the middle of the room, she opened the envelope with trembling hands. As she slid out the contents, her gaze fell upon the current issue of The Lady’s Fireside Collection . She stared at it in shock.

  Her gaze shot to the door. Could her father have…? Had he made a trip to the general store at this late hour–for her?

  Violet wiped away a fresh tear. She was here. Her favorite weekly was here. With Logan about to be executed and little hope in sight, her stories were all she had left. She might as well discover how Destiny Rides Again concluded.

  The thought gave her pause. Was she truly that pitiful? How could she sit here and read a story when Logan–her hero, her love–was about to be killed? She wanted to rescue him, but the truth was that as a woman–not to mention the daughter of Joseph Whitcomb–her power in this situation was vastly limited.

  Violet pulled at her hair. That’s no excuse! Who are you trying to fool? She was an intelligent woman who couldn’t figure out a way to free Logan from his horrible fate. The truth of that realization was too distressing to acknowledge. How could she return to her former life, knowing he had died because of her idiocy?

  A cold, creeping chill overtook her. Did she even deserve to live? Something inside her was breaking, and even she, a scientist’s daughter, didn’t know how to fix it.

  She had one of two choices. She could sit there and dwell on the inevitable, or she could escape it all, at least in her mind.

  Violet sat in a nearby chair, gripping the weekly in her hands. Forgive me, Logan .

  Then she opened to the first page and began to read.

  By the end of the story, Violet looked up with quiet determination. Unexpectedly, the solution to her problem had been revealed by her favorite story. A shiver ran through her. She knew now which path she must take, even if it meant she wouldn’t see her father ever again. The reason was simple: she couldn’t–she mustn’t–allow her soul mate to die.

  Violet tossed aside the weekly and dove for her clothes.

  Forgive me, Papa.

  Chapter 7

  In Which Justice Is Served

  Logan ran. He bolted down a long tunnel, one as black as a viper’s stomach. He couldn’t tell if he was heading north, south, up or down.

  A screech blew through the tunnel, raising the hairs on his neck. Logan glanced behind him, but saw nothing. Still, he knew it was there. Sensed the imminent danger. A towering black scorpion thundered into the tunnel, hot on his trail.

  He tripped and fell forward. Reaching out to catch his fall, Logan felt nothing. He tumbled head over heels into a vast chasm, sinking fast.

  He awoke with a start, the echo of a dream cry dying on his lips. A throbbing ache mercilessly pounded his head. No wonder–he la
y facedown on a rough wooden floor. Raising a hand, he gently pressed his right temple. The skin there felt spongy and sore. Taking in a breath, Logan started coughing. Wetness on his cheek and the coppery smell told the tale–he was lying in a pool of his own blood.

  How long had he been there? Where the hell am I?

  Then he remembered.

  As his lungs struggled to take in air, pain returned with a vengeance. He grimaced. Probably have me a nice set of bruised ribs . Dried blood caked his nostrils. His lips were swollen. His left eye was dumpling puffy and just as tender. But those ailments would be nothing compared to the pain of losing Violet for good.

  Gritting his teeth, Logan rolled over onto his back. Slowly, he looked around to get his bearings. Pale light filtered in from a barred vent high above, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Was it morning or evening?

  The only time he’d come this close to a cell was when he’d busted one of his past partners out. This shithole in particular contained a rickety bed and a sour-smelling tin pot. Ironically, the pot reminded him of the good-natured exchange he and Violet had shared aboard the Golden Arrow. The encounter had left him awestruck. Who knew a woman like her even existed?

  That first sight of her on the train had stopped him cold. She’d looked so wholesome and…and smart . Way too smart for a pissant like him. But her forlorn expression had drawn him like a magnet. For the first time ever, he’d had second thoughts about his way of life. At that moment, his utmost priority was doing his best to make her smile.

  And when she had, the elation he’d felt could only be compared to finding a mountain’s worth of gold.

  He was stunned at how much his life had changed in the three short days he’d known Violet Whitcomb. First of all, he’d never laughed so hard with anyone, male or female. She had a way of speaking her mind that drove him crazy–and wild. Heck, even arguing with her had been exciting. The best decision he had ever made was the one to help rescue her father. Lucky for him, she’d been mighty persuasive.

  Logan thought of the way she’d repaired that steam carriage. She hadn’t been afraid of hard work or getting dirty. Watching her tend to that iron beast had been the most erotic sight he’d ever seen. If he hadn’t been so worried about her safety, he might have claimed her right there on the open road.