The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(57)

“She went outside to watch.” Carina tried not to sound as disdainful as she felt. It was not for her to judge.

A minute later Bennet rushed in from the other end of the car. “They got away. I fired some shots, but the two at the front rode away.”

Quillan looked out the window. “One fell. But I think he’s past the doctor’s help.”

“What about the agent?” someone asked.

Quillan glanced back at the Express car. “He’s standing. But I don’t think he would have been for long. He wouldn’t turn over the box. It’s a cinch they’d have shot him.”

Carina’s heart swelled. Quillan had saved the man’s life. There seemed three types of men: those who took life, those who saved it, and those who wouldn’t risk either.

The older Miss Preston rushed into the car with a handkerchief to her mouth. “Oh! My niece!”

A portly matron circled her with an arm. “There, now. The doctor’s tending her.”

As she spoke, the doctor held a cloth dampened with chloroform to Priscilla Preston’s nose and mouth. Carina recognized the odor and held her breath, then felt the woman slacken. Then the doctor brought out his scalpel and the probe with a tiny scooplike shape at the end to remove the slug. It took only a few minutes. Then he treated the wound against infection with carbolic acid. Again Carina recognized the odor and the process. She doubted this doctor wasted his time reading the bumps on people’s heads. After he had bound the wound with clean bandages, two men lifted Miss Preston to a berth and closed the curtains around her and her aunt.

Next the doctor moved his operation to Quillan’s companion. “What’s your name, son?”

“Miles Chapen Smith.”

“Well, Mr. Smith, it appears the bullet passed through the muscle of your thigh, exiting here.”

The man winced. “Then at least I’m spared the surgery.”

“You are indeed. And you’re a lucky man. Farther to the left it might have severed an artery.”

The man blanched. “Well, we gave those rascals the rout, didn’t we?” He looked up at Quillan with adulation.

Quillan quirked his mouth. “We did.”

He suddenly gripped Quillan’s hand. “Thank you. For pushing me aside.”

Bennet shook his head. “And I thought I was taking the dangerous assignment.”

Quillan met his gaze. “We all did our part. Maybe they’ll think twice before hitting this line again.”

The Wells Fargo agent came in behind them. “I’ve secured the car, but I want to personally thank you men.” He looked at Quillan and lowered his brows. “You know the gang?”

Carina startled. How could Quillan know those men?

“Just the one. A long time ago.”

The agent eyed him a long moment. “When we get to the station, I’ll need your statement for my report. Can you make an identification?”

“His name is Shane Dennison. I don’t know if he goes by it still.”

“They might have papers on him. They might not. Anything you can tell us will help.” The agent glanced at Quillan’s bloody arm. “Hit bad?”

“Grazed.”

Carina sighed her relief. She hadn’t wanted to see the doctor dig a bullet from Quillan’s flesh. She had already imagined too many horrors. The train began to move as the doctor disinfected and bound Mr. Smith and Quillan’s wounds.

Then Carina took her seat once again across from her husband. “Does your arm hurt?”

“Burns a little.” Quillan eyed the bandage over the slit the slug had dug through the side of his arm.

“You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t.”

Carina saw defiance in his eyes. Not the morbid affection Miss Preston bore danger, but akin to it, as though he willingly pitted himself against death, accepting either outcome. She shivered. There were depths to her husband she could not fathom.

“Go ahead.” His voice was low.

“What?”

“Ask.” He shifted his seat.

Had he read her thoughts? “How did you know him?”

“He’s the one who left me to take the fall for his robbery at the bank in Laramie.”

Carina raised her brows, recalling the brief angry explanation he’d given her before, how as a boy he’d been taken in and betrayed. Another rejection.

“I was impressed by him once. Now he’s just a worm.”

Carina sighed. “To people like Miss Preston he’s a hero.”

He was quiet a long moment. “If she still feels that way when she wakes up, then she’s more disturbed than I thought. People imbue some Robin Hood image on those brave enough to threaten the powerful and unscrupulous railroad barons. But they’re nothing but thieves and scoundrels, just like the roughs, preying on those weaker or more virtuous.”

But Quillan had stopped them. At his own risk, he had stopped the outlaws victimizing the train. Her heart swelled. Quillan was wise. And he was safe. And he had done a wonderful thing. Grazie, Signore.





Quillan stared out the window of the train. Shane Dennison. The sight, the sound of his voice, even the wheedling words he’d used to try once again to draw Quillan into his spell; all of it brought him back to that part of his life of which he was least proud. Had needing human approbation made him so susceptible to influence that even someone of Dennison’s ilk could seem heroic?