Logan groaned. He had to escape. There was no way he could let Death stand between him and Violet. They belonged together. He didn’t have anything to offer her in the way of wealth currently, but he would spend the rest of his life building her a castle if that was what it took. She deserved nothing less.
However, that fantasy would have to wait. Between the stone walls, plate steel ceiling, and riveted iron door, Logan faced the challenge of a lifetime.
He hadn’t meant to get caught. In fact, he’d done a particularly clever job of avoiding capture for the last ten years. But Violet had done something to him. Touched him in ways he’d thought weren’t possible–not after what the Devil had put him through. Therefore, he’d decided it was time to face up to his past. Though his deception ate away at his soul, he’d decided to escort her back to town, and to safety. It was the least he could do, seeing how she’d helped him recover the very soul in question.
Once there, he would have been ready to appeal to the local marshal for a reprieve. Logan would have done any type of penance, paid any amount, or done any kind of groveling in order to bring him one step closer to reunification with Violet. He hoped she had believed him when he said he had never murdered anyone in cold blood. He sighed. Or was he just splitting hairs?
Reality, of course, had shaped a different story. How could he have been so stupid? Outlaws never got reprieves. Especially not idiots like him. Despite the fact that he’d anticipated running into Marshal Reed, looking back, he realized he wouldn’t have done things any differently. Better three days with Violet than none at all.
Logan acutely regretted being dishonest with her. Too many fears and old wounds had chained him to silence. At the very least, he owed her a proper apology–a down-on-his-knees-and-face-in-the-dirt kind of apology. He owed her a chance to be angry with him and say her piece. A kiss of forgiveness was probably out of the question, but he dreamed about it anyway.
Logan groaned again. He desperately wanted to hold her in his arms, if only for a few minutes.
Therefore, he had to escape. Now.
Voices drifted from a nearby room, or at least he thought they did. Logan strained to hear, but the walls were too thick to make any sense of them. Maybe they were deep enough in conversation that they wouldn’t notice his attempt to escape.
Taking a careful breath, Logan rose to his feet. His bladder demanded emptying, so he took care of business with the dented pot. Next, he began a methodical search of the entire cell. He hoped that at least one of the previous inmates had left behind tools of the homemade variety. He would dig a hole through Hell if he had to.
As time passed, more light crept into the cell. Dawn was fast approaching. Logan cursed quietly. He didn’t have much time before the hanging. A shudder wracked his body. His hanging.
Working quickly, he slid his hands along every surface. Sunk his fingers into every damp crevice. Wished he were massaging Violet in that way instead of the mildew-stained, cockroach-ridden cell.
His search came up empty. Bleary-eyed and bone-weary, Logan lowered himself to the cot and reclined on his back. He needed to rest a few minutes, get his strength back. He reckoned he’d have to call the guards and trick them into opening the door. Then he’d have to fight his way out. With a flash of panic, he realized he lacked the strength to even turn his head.
No! Get up, you son of a bitch .
But his body refused to cooperate. Limbs paralyzed with sore, cramped muscles nearly chained him to the cot. He clenched his fists. Think of something to get them to open the door. Do it now.
He blinked his eyes, fighting back grief, regret, and every other emotion that threatened to overtake him. Meanwhile, memories of Violet kept flashing in his mind. You’re a shitty excuse for a man and an even worse human being. You broke her heart!
Logan was prepared to burn in Hell. But what about Violet? He’d deceived her by omitting important facts about his past, facts she had every right to know. He was sure his actions had scarred her for life. No doubt remained in his mind–he’d created Hell for her right here on Earth.
I’m sorry, Violet. I’m so terribly sorry.
A sliver of sunlight breached the cell. Daybreak. The time had come.
With that moment came the final, sobering realization that he would never see Violet again. They’d never be able to settle down together and start a family.
His eyes burned while a painful lump formed in his throat. It was best now to surrender his soul. He didn’t deserve one anymore.
While rubbing the heel of his palm hard against his uninjured eye to stem the wave of grief, he heard a noise.
Gunshots.
Logan paid them no mind. Those were nothing new, leastways where a jailhouse was concerned. Plenty of folk held grudges against lawmen and often paid them an unfriendly visit. Hardly a surprise since half of ’em were former outlaws, anyway. Nonetheless, he forced himself into a sitting position, aided by a surge of adrenaline. If the fight reached his cell, he might have a chance to slip out unnoticed.
Shouts followed. Angry voices. Some kind of argument.
Then silence.
Logan could try to run, but he had to be honest with himself–the possibility of escape was slim. The chances of someone accidentally blowing open the door was downright nonexistent. Anyway, it was time to pay his final debt. No more running like a coward.
Logan ran a sleeve across his stuffy nose. If he worked hard and redeemed himself, maybe the good Lord would see fit to give him another chance with Violet in the afterlife.
Scriiitch . He heard the turn of a key in the lock. This is it . Numbness overtook him. He had nothing else left to feel. Goodbye, Violet.
The cell door flew wide open.
Pure instinct drove Logan to roll over the bed and duck behind it for cover. Blanketed by darkness, he peered over the edge of the thin mattress.
A masked figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against a flood of light. He held a ring of keys in one gloved hand and a revolver in the other.
Logan considered attacking the visitor, but the presence of the gun gave him pause.
“Logan?” came the urgent, muffled voice.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The figure rushed forward, pulling down the bandana mask in the process. “Thank God you’re alive. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Violet ?”
“None other.”
She motioned him forward with a rapid wave of her hand. Then he realized why he hadn’t immediately recognized her. She wore trousers, a shirt, and a dustcoat. Heavy boots and a too-large hat completed the ensemble. Logan guessed she had bought or borrowed the clothes from one of the locals.
As he stepped into the lantern-lit passageway, she gasped. Tears made her eyes shine as she gently laid her gloved fingers against his cheek. “What have they done to you?”
“It’s nothing.” He grasped her hand and held it against his thundering heart. “Violet, why are you here? It’s too dangerous!”
“Because I–” She paused, for once seeming at a loss for words. She cleared her throat. “Because I love you.” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.
Logan gathered her into his arms, Schofield and all. Beneath the coarse clothing, he felt hints of her warm, soft body. He rubbed his cheek against hers, knocking her hat off in his eagerness.
“Violet,” he murmured. “Violet!” The way she pressed against him was enough to make him forget all of his troubles. Then he frowned and pulled back, holding her by the arms. “But I’m a wanted man. They’ll just hunt me down again.”
“I don’t care. We’ll be together. That’s all that matters.”
“Violet, no! Don’t risk it! What about your father?”
She placed a finger against his lips to forestall further protests. “I couldn’t let you die,” she choked out, “even if it meant I would never see my father again.”
As the enormity of her sacrifice sank in, Logan felt bitterly torn. No doub
t about it, he wanted to live, and to be with her. But he didn’t want to lead her down a criminal path just for the sake of his freedom. He’d have to find another way this time. He cupped her cheek. “I’ll make it right somehow, I promise.”
She pulled away and glanced down the hall. “We have to hurry. The guards are incapacitated, but someone is bound to discover them soon.”
“Where’s the marshal?”
“I don’t know. That’s the other reason we need to hurry.”
Logan muttered a curse. Still, his heart warmed. She had taken on a world of risk for him. “D’you have a gun for me?”
Violet drew her second revolver, a Colt, and handed it to him. It felt like slipping on a familiar glove, but Logan suddenly felt reluctant to fire a gun ever again. Still, where Violet’s safety was concerned, he had to be ready for anything. He wasted no time in cocking the trigger.
“Oh! One more thing.” Violet retrieved the hat from the floor. Then she placed it on his head. One corner of her mouth turned upward. “It looks much better on you than it did on me.”
Logan adjusted the brim of his old hat, too moved for words.
“Are you ready?” she asked, pushing her mask back into place.
He nodded. “For you, always.”
Side by side, they raced down the short hall to the main office. Logan’s eyes widened at the sight he met there.
Four of the marshal’s men sat in the middle of the floor, back-to-back. All had been roped together in a single group. Leather bands that had been wrapped around their heads and stuffed between their lips prevented them from calling for help. Occasionally, one of them moaned, as though in a drunken stupor.
If they hadn’t been disabled by gunshot, then how had Violet captured them all by herself? He stared at her in disbelief, but a wave of admiration made his heart beat faster. “How’d you do that?”
Violet shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, we scientists have our ways.”
“What, you knocked ’em out with some of them big words you fancy?”
“Reckon I did,” she said with a saucy wink. She flashed a small, empty glass vial before stowing it back in the pocket of her dustcoat.
Some kind of elixir? Despite the gravity of their situation, Logan grinned.
“Our horses are outside,” she told him.
Amazing–she’d even made plans for their getaway. Logan couldn’t wait to put this whole sordid business behind them so he could be alone with her.
As he led Violet to the door, the floorboards creaked beneath their feet. The clear, chilly air was a welcome change from the dank cell. Logan had never appreciated the outdoors more than at that moment.
A crowd had gathered outside the jailhouse. Most likely they had showed up for his hanging. Logan scanned their ranks. They think it’s a damn circus . Well, folks, show time is over .
Hooves thundered down the road. Logan urged Violet to move faster down the stone steps. As he looked to the left, his gut clenched.
Marshal Reed and six of his men were barreling straight toward them.
“Make way! Move aside!” Reed yelled.
The crowd scattered for cover. The marshal and his men brought their horses to a stop. In a flash, they all drew their weapons. Pointed them straight at Logan and Violet.
Logan raised his weapon. Violet did the same. But he quickly saw the plan’s futility. They were outnumbered and outgunned. He stepped before Violet to shield her.
Reed dismounted. “Back to your old tricks, I see,” he growled. The marshal raised his gun.
Logan felt a soft touch as Violet’s fingers brushed against his. They linked hands. He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by her willingness to face the danger with him, together.
Reed cocked the trigger. “I’ll end this right now. Ready! Aim! F–”
“What the hell is that?” one of the lawmen shouted.
The man’s voice sounded so urgent that his companions glanced away from Logan and Violet. Even the marshal’s gaze slid past Logan’s shoulder.
Logan, however, didn’t need to look. He’d recognize those footsteps anywhere.
A hat-and-poncho clad figure appeared. Logan risked a glance sideways. Slowly, the figure raised its head. The brim of its hat rose to reveal a pair of glowing amber eyes.
Arthur.
Logan breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Arthur’s presence would buy them much needed time. But how had it–he–known that Logan and Violet were in trouble?
Marshal Reed glared at the automaton, but fear lurked in his gaze. “Whoever you are–whatever you are–this ain’t none of your business.” He swung his revolver toward Arthur and fired.
The bullet zinged off of the automaton’s skin. In return, Arthur raised a pair of Colts and loosed a torrent of bullets.
In rapid succession, he shot each gun from every hand, beginning with Reed’s. His steely arms were a blur as he continually adjusted his line of fire.
Logan watched the sight with wonder. Occasionally, Arthur would spin one of his guns just for show. Cocky bastard. Logan fought the urge to smile. Hell, I’d have done the same thing .
All the while, Arthur’s “face” seemed measured, focused. Confident. At least, that’s how Logan interpreted the automaton’s stance.
Cries of pain rose from the lawmen. Logan saw blood splatter to the ground in several places. Most of the marshal’s men stepped back in abject fear of this strange new opponent. When some of them drew alternate guns, Arthur shot those away, too.
As the sound of gunfire faded, Logan leaned over to whisper in Violet’s ear. He was unable to hide his awe. “Do you realize how impossible that there kind of feat is?”
Without shifting her gaze from the Marshal, Violet whispered back. “Yes, but please don’t tell Arthur that.”
Logan snorted, though the act cost him a stab of pain.
He studied his mechanical partner. The unblinking face still unnerved him, but he reckoned he could get used to it in time. Arthur had subdued the guards without resorting to killing. Logan was glad to learn the automaton hadn’t turned into any kind of death machine. Probably Violet’s doing, but he couldn’t help but wonder if their recent adventure had influenced Arthur somehow. He sure had changed, and for the better.
“Well done, Arthur,” Logan murmured. “You’ll have to teach me that trick some day.”
Some day , he imagined Arthur responding.
Another pair of footsteps approached. “Violet? Logan? Are you all right?”
Logan turned to see Violet’s father rushing toward them. He was waving a piece of paper above his head.
Joseph arrived, panting heavily. He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder for support while catching his breath. “I see Arthur and I arrived just in time.” Clearing his throat, the inventor stepped up to the marshal. “Your attention, please, Marshal Reed.”
Nursing his injured hand, Reed shot him a venomous look. Joseph handed him the paper. “Take it, man, if you value your life.”
Reed accepted the document with a suspicious expression. “What the hell is this?”
“An urgent telegram. You are required to give up your chase.”
“On whose damn authority?”
“My close friend, Hiram. You would know him as President Ulysses S. Grant. He has issued Logan McCoy a presidential pardon.”
Logan gasped, the sound echoed by the reassembled crowd. He couldn’t believe his ears. A presidential pardon? He had to be dreaming.
Giving the sheriff a pointed look, Joseph added, “I told you you’d soon know who I was.”
Reed grunted while he read the document. He looked up at his men. “Goddammit. Let’s go, boys.”
“But…” one of them objected.
“I said, let’s go.” And then, without another word, Reed led his men into the jailhouse.
Violet lowered her mask. “Papa! Why did you… When did you… I don’t understand.”
Joseph gazed tenderly at his daughter. “I suspected you might try something li
ke this. So late last night, I made a secret trip to the general store and wired Hiram. I didn’t dare reveal my plan in the event he couldn’t act on my request in time. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again. Will you forgive me?”
Violet nodded, clearly fighting to maintain her composure. Logan ached to comfort her in his arms. “You did that…for me?” She gestured to Logan. “For us?”
Joseph leaned forward to embrace her. “Of course. I’m sorry I ever gave you any doubt about how important your happiness is to me.”
Violet blinked back tears as she hugged him. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Well,” he said, patting her back, “I’m sure it’s what your mother would have wanted, too.” When they drew apart, he looked at Logan. “Plus, I’d rather gain a son than lose a daughter.”
“Sir, I…” Logan paused, his throat tightening unexpectedly. Since the death of his parents, no one had ever been as kind to him as the two people standing before him. Well, and Arthur makes three.
Violet turned to face Logan. “My father needs a bodyguard. I’m offering you the position, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Logan grinned, excited at the prospect of a respectable profession. “The thought never entered my mind.”
Joseph clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s settled then. Shall we return to the hotel for breakfast?”
Logan nodded. Anything sounded good with Violet by his side.
Joseph called for Arthur to accompany him. But as the inventor and his automaton began the trek through town, Logan remembered some unfinished business.
He placed a staying hand upon Violet’s arm. “Darlin’, hold on a minute.”
She gave him her full attention. The sight of her expressive brown eyes about stole his breath away.
“I did you wrong,” he began, “and I want to apologize. I…I wasn’t who you thought I was. I promise you, I’m a changed man, but…knowing what I was, are you sure you want me in your life?”
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 18
