More shots from outside. More screaming from the passenger car ahead. Would Beaufort's gang set fire to the train? Darrell had said they'd blown the tracks. Did they have enough dynamite to begin blowing up the passenger cars as well, hoping to blast her to pieces?
Heart in her throat, she shimmied the crowbar farther along the lid and threw her upper body over the bar, trying to leverage the stubborn lid open. It began to rise, groaning with dismay. A fresh, earthy smell puffed from within the crate, along with the smell of tar. When she repositioned the crowbar, she saw that its metal end was clogged with the black goo. Had the crate's interior been painted with the stuff? To what end? To make it waterproof? Maybe that meant guns were inside!
Excited, Mariel found a burst of strength and heaved on the crowbar. The nails squealed as they gave up their hold on the wood. The lid exploded open and with the loss of resistance, Mariel tumbled hard to the floor of the car, the crowbar clattering loudly ahead into the dark.
She lay there, afraid to breathe, afraid the bandits outside might have heard the commotion and would come investigate. Please let there be a gun in here, she prayed as she quickly rose to her knees and peered into the crate.
A pale hand shot from the darkness and seized her by the throat.
2
Killing a man wasn't his favorite thing to do. But funny how Clay found himself having to do it quite often.
Wasn't funny nor such a surprise, really, considering his line of work, but once upon a time, when he'd been green and hopeful, he'd thought that wearing the star of the Empire Marshals meant he'd be pointing his gun a lot but not necessarily firing it. In his foolish head he'd arrogantly assumed that him being a Marshal would mean the bad men would surrender without a fight.
He'd been wrong ten years ago and he was wrong again tonight. He watched as one of his bullets found the throat of a horseback rider who tipped off his mount with a death gurgle. Clay took no pleasure in his good aim. Satisfaction, yes, because one less enemy meant Mariel Johnston took another step closer to appearing at the trial at Everton Fort, but no pleasure.
Thought of the mahogany-haired young woman in the train made Clay's chest seize up with an uncomfortable tension. He liked her. Oh, he'd said that often enough when coming across a pretty lady, but Mariel was something else. Her manner and her speech told him she was an innkeeper only by default. She was a woman meant for more, but life and circumstance had pushed her into the role she now held. Nothing wrong with being an innkeeper. Clay and his fellow Marshals counted on the hospitality of such places. But the world also needed another type of woman, and Mariel was it. It was a shame she wasn't living up to the potential of what she could be.
He liked her for another reason, of course. She was a stunner. Even through the simple blue calico dress he could tell she was built ample everywhere that he preferred. And she had the prettiest brown eyes ringed with thick lashes. Everything about her inspired thoughts of lying on a blanket in the grasses and watching the clouds move slowly across a never-ending sky.
Romantic fool. You're going to find yourself with a bullet between your eyes soon enough.
With the reins of his horse in one hand, Clay fired with the other, just missing a bandana-clad man who rounded the head of the train engine. Ahead, the rails were a twisted mess bent back from the crater where the dynamite had blown. Clay had feared something like this, but there hadn't been a way to check the entire rail line from Willowtown to Everton. He hated the feeling that he'd let Mariel down nonetheless.
Failure wasn't something he experienced often. Mariel had teased him about his reputation and he'd been happy to take the ribbing, but the plain truth was, the rumors about him were true. He was a top Marshal, always getting his man or seeing his charge safely to wherever he was escorting them. Escorting Mariel Johnston was supposed to be just another job he successfully completed. But the woman and now the danger she faced were proving to be more than he'd anticipated, and that irked him, because Clay wanted to impress her. Maybe more than he'd ever wanted to impress a woman.
zing!
He ducked and cursed himself for daydreaming, no matter how pretty Mariel was. He'd be of no use to either of them if he ended up with a bullet between the eyes.
"Clay!"
Darrell, on horseback, raced alongside the crippled train, firing expertly into the circling mass of Beaufort's men. The older Marshal took out a man and clipped another, forcing him to drop his gun.
Maybe we got a chance, Clay thought as he expertly reloaded with one hand. "You take the south!" he shouted to Darrell.
The other Marshal galloped into the darkness, reappearing seconds later farther down the train, gun blazing, as he tried to pin the bandits between him and Clay.
"We're taking the girl, Marshal!" shouted one of the men as he took aim at Clay and fired.