Under a Falling Star (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

A
lbert Preston leaned his shoulder against the substantial hearth of the fireplace in the large log room and smiled as the wedding guests on the dance floor twirled past. He took a sip from his cup of bourbon-laced punch and swallowed, enjoying the view Susanna presented as she and the other woman cleared away the serving platters from the buffet table. Dinner had come and gone, and wine, as well as this tasty punch, had been served. The band—two fiddles and a guitar—filled the room with music.

Chase Logan, local rancher, lounged by his side. He gave a deep sigh and rubbed his stomach. “That was a darn good meal. I especially liked the braised sirloin tips.”

Charlie Axelrose, standing next to Chase, laughed, then swilled down what was left in his cup. The newcomer who’d arrived in Logan Meadows last year looking for a safe place for his blind daughter smacked his lips. “That’s because
you
supplied the beef, Chase. Modesty becomes you.”

Chase looked at him askance. “Maybe. But Jessie and I thought it a suitable wedding gift for the new schoolteacher and his lovely bride. A party like this costs a pretty penny. Since we have cattle coming out our ears, we were happy to oblige.”

Albert watched Charlie’s gaze as it drifted around the room until it found Nell. He hid his smile at the newlywed’s look of longing. Charlie and Nell had only been married a few months and worked side by side on their ranch.

“Why don’t you go ask her to dance, Charlie?” Albert reached across Chase and nudged Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t be shy. It’d be better than you standing here with that hangdog look on your face.”

“She’s busy with things.”

Well, when Susanna was finished with her task, Albert intended to steal a dance or two, no matter how much she protested that her responsibilities came first. She looked exceptionally pretty in her soft indigo-colored dress, the wide sash accentuating her narrow waist and the color making her green eyes look blue. She was a beauty.
His beauty.

Well, not yet, his conscience corrected—but soon, if all went as planned. There it was, that frustrating “if” that was always ready to dash his hopes. She
would
be his girl, he corrected. As soon as he was free to ask for her hand. Lucky for him, she didn’t seem in any rush to make things official. Every time he’d mustered up enough courage to tell her about Floria, and the divorce he’d been trying to obtain, she’d diverted the conversation elsewhere. He wanted to rid his conscience of the burden it carried, and begin again with his past out in the open, as he should have from the start.

A surge of sadness rippled through Albert as it always did when he thought about the past. He hadn’t intended for his marriage to last a mere two months, but overlooking Floria’s dishonesty would have taken a better man than he was. He’d been duped, and badly. Blindsided by her beauty, and enticed by her charms, he’d proposed after only a week, unaware that was exactly what she had planned to get back at the man who’d jilted her.

Thankfully, his latest correspondence from his brother Corey, two months ago, had him optimistic. She’d agreed to go forward with the divorce. Corey would see that it was done and then forward the legal papers on to him, being his family home was only a few hours’ ride from where Floria lived in Iowa. His brother Winthrop was the only one in Logan Meadows who knew his history. Keeping it from his friends hadn’t been difficult. His shameful situation was his alone to shoulder. People had pasts. They came west to start anew—just as he had.

Albert had been watching impatiently for the papers for a good month, and was sure they’d arrive any day. Just as soon as he had them in his hands, and was sure Floria was not going to go back on her word once again, he’d have a heart-to-heart with Susanna. She was the only one he felt obligated to tell. Then it would be up to her if she could live with a man who’d kept such a secret from her for so long. A hopeful smile played around his mouth. She would. He felt sure of it. She was the most understanding woman he’d ever met. They were well suited.

He smiled when Susanna looked his way, a rush of warmth chasing away his gloomy thoughts. She had a way of lighting up a room. A man could only stand so much. He’d been patient long enough and needed to feel her in his arms. Just as soon as this song ended, he’d cross the room and collect on the dances she’d promised him last night.

Thom Donovan walked up to the group. “So this is where all the men are. I was beginning to think you’d gone home.”

Albert gave his deputy a look of mock outrage, and then grinned. “Home before cake? That would be sacrilege. Besides, I like my spot by the fire just fine. As sheriff, my job is to keep watch on the townspeople, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“We built this area with the men in mind,” Chase added. “While the women like to visit and dance, we have ample room to sit back, smoke, and watch if we choose to.”

Thom elbowed a place in between them. “Make room for one more. Mrs. Hollyhock keeps givin’ me the eye,” he said under his breath. “She’s bound to ask me for a dance sooner or later. Just shy of eighty-seven, and she still has an eye for the men.”

The bride and groom whirled by on the outside of the dancers, the melody of the waltz making Albert weave from foot to foot. Brenna’s soft rose-colored gown looked sweet. Susanna had been especially excited about the garment, saying Mrs. Hollyhock and her friends had done a beautiful job, blindfolding Brenna for each fitting to keep the end result a surprise.

A loud crack sounded, and everyone turned to see what had caused the interruption. The music stopped.

Win, Albert’s brother, had busted through the double doors of the community hall. His mouth gaped open as he struggled for breath, and the cranberry red of his face emphasized his fear-filled eyes.

“The Union Pacific has collided with a rockslide! People are hurt! We need every able-bodied man and woman to bring wagons and buggies to Three Pines Turn.”

Albert headed immediately for the door. Three Pines Turn was about a half mile before the Logan Meadows depot.

Dr. Thorn followed in his footsteps. “Bring the worst to my office!” he hollered.

Albert stopped and glanced around. “Everyone else who needs tending, bring up here. Those of you who have cots, mats, extra blankets, or anything else that can be used as a bed, send somebody for them. And be quick about it. People may be dying.”

CHAPTER THREE

D
alton opened his eyes to a multitude of objects scattered around on the floor in front of his face. He ignored the searing pain in his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. The sounds of people crying and begging for help resonated through the air.

What happened?

He remembered signing his tab, then a loud screech ripping the air. He’d been thrown backward, where he’d struck his head against the hat rack. After which, everything went black.

He rolled to his knees. When he shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, a round of nausea almost made him retch. Somewhere a woman screamed, followed by the whimpering cries of a child. He needed to get to his feet. People were hurt and needed help.

The money car! Are we being robbed?

Grasping the dining car’s nearest tabletop, he pulled himself up, then gave his legs a second to firm.

It was then he felt blood trickle down the back of his neck. Reaching up, he found a small gash. He extracted his handkerchief, folded it over, and pressed it to the back of his head.

Shattered dishes littered the area. Overturned chairs cluttered the aisle. It was a good thing the tables had been bolted to the floor.

He lent an arm to a porter who was lying in the passageway. “You all right?”

The man nodded as he stood.

“What happened?” Dalton asked.

“Don’t know.” The porter clenched his eyes shut for a second, then gripped his forehead. “Go, help who you can.” He nudged some plates out of his way with his boot.

The passengers who were conscious began to stir. They climbed to their feet, moaning and crying. The porter raised his arm over his head and pointed toward the exit. “That way ladies and gentlemen. Make your way out of the car and help others as you go if you’re able.”

Urgency filled Dalton. He needed to get to the money car, check on Evan and Pat, but he couldn’t turn a blind eye on so many who needed assistance. He stuffed his bloodstained handkerchief back into his pocket and clutched the door handle. About to jerk it open, he paused at the sound of a whimper.

Barely visible, and wedged in between a toppled chair and the wall, was a boy, maybe six years old. Blood ran down the side of his face from an angry-looking cut just above his temple.

Dalton dropped to a knee. “Here ya go, little tyke.” He noted the child’s frightened eyes as he uncovered him and gathered him into his arms. Standing, he set him atop a table, and with a knife he always carried, cut a long strip from the edge of the tablecloth. Cutting another square, he folded it up and pressed it against the wound.

The boy cried out.

“Now’s not the time for tears—I need your help. Be a good boy and hold this for me.”

He picked up the child’s hand and showed him how to hold the bandage he’d folded and placed on his head. With nimble fingers, Dalton wound the other cloth strip around the boy’s small head several times, then tied it off.

“There. That should stop the bleeding.”

He glanced around for the child’s parents. “Where’s your ma and pa? Do you see them anywhere?”

The child shook his head.

“Fine then, you just sit still. I’m sure there’ll be someone along soon to help you find them
.
”

A shot rang out, then another. Dalton jerked up.
Outlaws?
Had they stopped the train?

When he turned to go, the child grasped his hand. “T-take me, t-too,” he said through a voice clogged with fear and tears.

“It’s too dangerous,” Dalton said firmly.

“I’m scared.”

Aww, hell.

He scooped up the bedraggled child, ignored a wave of dizziness, and jerked open the door. People behind him crowded his back in their hurry to disembark.

Soot and smoke filled the afternoon air, but there was no sign of fire. The townsfolk nearest must have somehow gotten word of the accident because a handful were already hurrying to and from the train, carrying injured passengers and Union Pacific employees. Dalton handed the boy to the first woman who ran forward. “Take him.”

“Is he your son?”

“No. Couldn’t find his parents.”

Several more shots rang out.

She flinched but he pressed the boy into her arms anyway.

Now free, Dalton sprinted toward the back of the train, alarmed for the large treasury he’d been commissioned to safeguard, and the lives of the other guards. He weaved in and out of people sitting on the grass and the scattered luggage that had been tossed off the train. Adding to the confusion, several wild-eyed steers darted around him and ran off.

What was going on? Should he have been at the money car already? Guilt made him race faster. Was the money already gone?

Almost to his destination, another shot sounded. Dalton stumbled to a halt, his lungs hot with the effort of running. From inside the now-open cattle car, one of the porters glanced out at him, gun in hand. Several carcasses littered the floor. “Broken legs,” the man hollered, his eyes filled with grief. “Couldn’t be helped.”

The money car looked intact. There was no sign of Pat Tackly, the guard who’d been stationed on top, but that didn’t surprise him. Surely, the third guard had been pitched off the train when the engineer hit the brakes.

Dalton grasped the rail and pulled himself up on the bridge between the two cars. He banged on the door with all his might. “Evan! Evan, are you all right?”

No reply.

“Evan, can you hear me?” He pounded again. “It’s Dalton Babcock. River black, river black. Open up!”

Dalton gazed toward the roof of the train and cupped his hands. “Pat Tackly!” he hollered. “Pat Tackly! You up there?”

Most of the action was taking place ten cars forward at the passenger cars. Men ran back and forth to the wagons, carrying people by their shoulders and feet. A fleet of wagons and buggies raced down the road toward the train. Dalton turned and scanned the top of the plateau that ran the length of the tracks on the opposite side of the train. In most places, the embankment was covered in trees.

Taking hold of the steely-cold ladder attached to the car, he climbed hand over hand to the roof of the train. He heaved himself up.

From here, he had a view almost to the front of the twenty-car train. Between the black smoke that billowed into the sky and the curve of the track, he couldn’t see the first few cars, or the engine. He looked back toward the caboose. “Pat!” he hollered again through cupped hands. He scanned the terrain.

With his boot, he kicked off the hat-shaped bonnet that covered the air vent. Lying flat on the roof, he put his ear to the opening and listened. All was quiet. “Evan,” he shouted. “Evan, can you hear me?”

A surge of sadness for his fellow guard squeezed his chest. Was he dead? The money car could only be unlocked from the inside. Accessing the car now would take manpower, as well as tools—and hours to break through the steel-enforced siding. Everyone was needed elsewhere. As was he—to save Evan might mean others wouldn’t survive. And Evan might already be dead. Dalton had to keep a level head.

Certain the money was safe for a few hours at least, he jumped the short gap between the two cars and started for the passenger cars, searching both sides of the ground for the missing guard.