Josie: Bride of New Mexico (American Mail-Order Bride 47) (12 page)

Adam awoke, startled awake by something. Josie slept soundly beside him.

He stared into the darkness, trying to place the nagging sixth sense. The train had stopped at a station for a nighttime exchange of cargo and to take on water and fuel.

Now, the hulking engine began its slow pull out of the depot.

Had he heard something? Perhaps a rustling beneath his coach?

It was probably nothing more than the lurch as the train first moved. Yet those things had ceased to wake him years ago.

The healing skin where the stitches had once been itched and his bladder was full. At least he can do something about the latter.

He made his way to the lavatory, used the facilities, then headed back to bed.

Odd— that flicker of light through the bedchamber window. The station house had been on the other side of the car.

He yawned widely.

Maybe he ought to take a look from the balcony?

He’d learned years ago to trust his gut. So though he wanted to return to bed and slide in beside his soft and sweet wife, he pulled on his trousers and a clean shirt over the underwear he’d happily returned to sleeping in the moment Josie had approved of his choice.

He strolled through the dark car to the back and opened the balcony door.

He caught a whiff— acrid, pungent— he’d know it anywhere.

A burning fuse.

The distinctive odor was present in every active mine.

He bolted to the edge of the railing and leaned over. He’d glimpsed the light from the window beside their bed.

Sure enough, a flash of light bounded along at the rail.

A burning fuse
.

Tethered to a load directly beneath his window.

At Las Cruces station, someone had rigged a fuse to
his
car. Fuses
always
led to an explosive.

Panic, cold and fierce as a December day in Alaska seized Adam by the throat.

Some vile monster had lit a fuse to multiple sticks of Cannon Mining-purchased dynamite— immediately beneath the bed where he and
his wife
slept.

Fear and determination coalesced.

The fuse—
how long was the fuse
? Did he have time to dismantle it?

He leaned over the railing, clutching the bars with all his strength, attempting to peer beneath to glimpse the dynamite quantity.

Gah
! It didn’t matter— one stick or fifty. From here,
zero chance
of reaching it on a moving train.

He slammed his palms onto the railing in impotence.

His mind whirled. Just ahead, a cargo-carrying car— not likely any lives at stake. Just behind them, a few more cars. He’d not seen lights on within them from the galley windows—
possibly
unoccupied.

If occupied, he could do nothing.

Best guess, they had enough fuse for
maybe
five minutes.

The train gained speed, heading toward the curve in the iron rails that led to the bridge over the river at the bottom of the ravine.

In a flash of insight, he understood.

Timed to blow at the bridge.

This car would explode, buck, drag others with it over the bridge.

The fall
alone
would kill.

He
knew
this section of track. Every trip to Silver Queen Mine brought them over that last ravine.

He must alert his wife and staff. Everyone had to get out—
now
!

He bursts inside, screaming for Josie, Mrs. Bushnell, Karl and Milton. “Wake up, now!
Everyone up
!”

He banged on his own bedroom door as he bolted past. “Danger. Dress in many layers and do it
fast
. Tie your shoes on. We must
jump
.”

At the front of the car, he pounded on Mrs. Bushnell’s closed door. “Now.
Move
it.”

Tired, grumpy voices complained.

“We have two minutes to get off the train.”

He sprinted for his wife, turned on the lamps and found her wide-eyed and pulling on the closest gown she could find.

Thank God Josie obeyed him without question.

She’d heard him about shoes, already had her stockings on. He bent and guided her feet into her old, nearly useless shoes. They’d offer little protection, but it was all she had. He cinched the laces and tied a bow with trembling hands.

“Adam— put your shoes on.” Josie’s voice shook. “I’ll tie mine.”

Karl stood in their doorway. “Sir, what—?”

“Karl, don’t argue, man.” The black man, his friend, stood in his union suit and trousers. Bare feet.

What if
— the fuse
might
be timed to blow before the gorge. If the monster respected innocent lives…

A blow before, if the explosion separated the tail from the engine
before…

Adam shoved his arms into his vest, then his suit coat. Then to Karl, “You have forty-five seconds,
tops
. Layer your clothes. You
need
shoes. We jump
before
the bridge.”

He searched his wife—
his heart, his life
— found her wide-eyed and obedient. She’d put on several layers of clothes though he doubted she understood why. Her laces weren’t dangling, so she must have tied her second shoe.

Socks. The first pair of shoes he closed his hand around.

Josie touched his arm even as he frantically knotted his laces. “What about other lives on this train?”

The beauty of his private car was
privacy
.

No vestibule entrance to the other cars.

“I’d help if I could. I’d warn them, if I could.” He shared an agonizing moment with her, their gazes locked.

He had
no
idea if the explosives were rigged to his undercarriage alone, but he wouldn’t put it past the traitors who’d tried to kill him once, to have lit them up and down the entire line.

If
they survived, he’d have to face the killers. Men who’d been at the depot one mile back.

Weapons?

None
.

Money
.

Money meant escape, power, options.

He’d buy weapons if he lived long enough.

“Josie,” he shoved the corner of the bed toward the outer wall, “Force Mrs. Bushnell into clothing. It’s now or never.”

Already, he had the carpet edge thrown back and the trap door open.

Grandfather’s strongbox waited in the recessed space.

He opened it on the bed and pulled out all the greenbacks. He stuffed wads into pant pockets and coats pocket. Some bills slipped free and he let them fall.

“Milton!” Adam hit the hallway running.

“Here, sir.” Milt had one of Mrs. Bushnell’s arms and Josie the other, dragging her toward the rear of the car. The older woman had turned frantic. Her eyes rolled like a spooked horse. White showed all the way around the iris. The older woman babbled incoherently.

“Everyone outside.”

Milt and Karl took over, dragging Mrs. Bushnell.

Adam took his wife by the upper arm.

Ahead, the middle of the train was dead center of the bridge. The pack would blow in mere seconds.

The men tried to take Mrs. Bushnell with them, but she screamed, fought, and sat down hard.

Adam
needed
to save as many lives as possible.

With one glance at the bridge, the mere feet separating them from the drop off, he screamed “go!”

The men flung over the edge, likely rolled, and quickly whisked out of view by the train.

The gate thumped open and shut, open and shut.

He’d never get the older, plump woman over the rail.

Maybe, if he had to carry just Josie.

Twenty feet and rapidly closing.

Adam grabbed Mrs. Bushnell around the middle, ignored her screams, looped an arm tightly about his wife, and when the rail gate thumped
open
, he pushed off on the edge, praying he had enough strength to throw the three of them far enough from the train.

Every time Josie closed her eyes she saw and heard the explosion, a fantastic boom, flames, the screech of metal.

Uncoupled cars bucked, flipped, crashed through the wooden bridge’s structure and tumbled to the river bottom.

First, attempted murder by knife, then a train accident that would haunt her nightmares for years.

Thank goodness the locomotive and most of the cars had made it across.

She squeezed Adam’s hand, grateful they’d survived the fall.

They’d survived
because
of him.

He’d selflessly saved all five lives.

If her heart hadn’t belonged to him before tonight, it certainly did now.

She’d witnessed the core of her husband’s soul in those horrifying minutes, and everything she saw stole her heart.

She loved him, perfectly, completely, forever.

He picked up the pace and she nearly jogged to keep up with him.

The moment they’d all gathered near the edge of the drop-off, the men and Mrs. Bushnell had all opted to walk back to town.

Despite the fact that their appearance would immediately notify their would-be murderers that Adam and Josie had most likely survived he’d done nothing to persuade them to remain.

No persuasion, no argument, no fights.

Adam had peeled off huge sums of money from his rolls of cash and pushed it into the hands of all three. They had more than enough for hotel, food, transportation home, doctor’s fees,
anything
they needed. And payment for services rendered.

He’d more than compensated them for their lost belongings, though Mrs. Bushnell had screamed over her lost fabrics, one-of-a-kind designs, her beautiful creations. Adam had pushed an obscene amount of money into her hands and asked the men to see her back to town. As if he’d not paid them enough already, he tipped them both an extra one
hundred
dollars for the favor.

Then her husband had kissed her brow and watched his staff limp toward town. “Do you want to go with them?”

“Adam Taylor.”

“Ma’am.” He’d sounded resigned, pained.

“You are my husband and my place is with you.”

“This”— he gestured awkwardly— “Is more than ‘in sickness and in health’. Someone tried to kill us, and by the grace of God we evaded death by less than sixty seconds.”

“I owe you my life.”

“That’s no reason to stay.” He pulled out all the money from one pocket and forced it into her hands. “Go on. Catch up. Be safe.”

“No. Adam Taylor, you listen to me. I love you. I love you so deep in my bones I can’t consider any other life than with you. If you push me away, I’ll follow you.”

He’d kissed her hard. Then kissed her again.

And taken her by the hand and with a quick look at the greater surroundings, grabbed her hand and taken off at the fastest clip she could sustain.

As always, he did everything he could to take care of her.

When she tired, he swept her into his arms, and continued the rapid pace.

Chapter Fifteen

Josie waited in the deep shadows beneath a tree she had no name for. More than fifty yards away, Adam prowled in the back yard of a residence. It had to be well after one-o’clock. Perhaps closer to two.

Her heart pounded. Never in her life, had she stolen a single thing. Not when she and Josie had been restricted to one small meal a day in their last few weeks in Lawrence, not when her dress’s thin fabric had torn and she hadn’t anything to patch it with.

They’d always made do with what they had. Stealing didn’t set well with her.

Moving quietly, Adam gave the house a wide berth as he circled back around to meet up with her. He carried a wad of clothing that had apparently been forgotten overnight on the line. It’s owner would regret not carrying it in, sure as sunrise.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Adam’s tone sounded downright cranky.

“How can you possibly tell how I’m looking at you? It’s as dark as pitch out here.” Blasted new moon. She couldn’t see his expression so obviously he couldn’t see hers.