Page 42 of Luna

“Did you see them when they boarded? They looked like a rather rough lot, didn’t they?”

Hunter nodded in agreement. “They didn’t appear to be the type to serve as church deacons, that’s for sure.”

In spite of the circumstances, Luna grinned. “I bet Pastor Whitting could give them some food for thought, though.”

“He likely could.” Hunter took Luna’s hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Under normal circumstances, she would have pulled her hand away based solely on propriety. At the moment, however, it felt too good and comforting to have Hunter’s work-roughened hand encircling hers.

Luna leaned a little closer to Hunter and whispered. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The timbre of it made something warm glide through her, like sunlight gliding through a jar of honey.

“For being a good friend.”

“That is entirely my pleasure, Luna. I hope you know that I—”

Whatever he might have said was lost when two of the outlaws strolled into the car carrying a sack.

“Empty your pockets, or I’ll blow your head off,” one of the outlaws shouted to a man seated in the front row ahead of Hunter and Luna.

The man dropped something in their sack, and the two men moved past a middle-aged man who appeared to be sleeping and pointed a gun in the face of a well-dressed woman. Before they said anything, she dropped her reticule into their sack, then slumped against the seat, cowering away from them.

“Thanks, lady,” the smaller of the two men said and moved on to the next victim.

Luna’s eyes widened as she watched the man who was supposedly asleep rise to his feet, gun drawn, a shiny star pinned to his vest. The sheriff shot twice at the back of the bigger of the two outlaws. The bullets found their mark, evidenced by the blood that suddenly soaked the front of the thief’s shirt.

Both outlaws spun around, and Luna heard more gunfire, although she squeezed her eyes and ducked down to block out the gun battle playing out near their seat.

The sheriff’s weapon of choice was an old six-shooter with black powder cartridges, and each shot fired added to the smoke filling the car. More shots rang out, followed by a loud thump, a yelp, and the sound of running footsteps, then a door slamming. Luna heard someone calling out to run, then all grew oddly, eerily quiet.

It wasn’t until she tried to sit up to get a better look around that she realized Hunter was shielding her with his body positioned over hers.

“I think it’s over,” she said and gently pushed against Hunter’s chest.

He sat up and gave her a concerned once-over, as though he needed to confirm she was whole and unharmed. “I’m fine, Hunter. I’m fine.”

Hunter released a long breath, and then joined her in surveying the occupants of the car. In the aisle next to them was the body of the bigger outlaw. Luna blocked out the vision of the deceased outlaw and looked over at the sheriff, his form now visible as the smoke disappeared out the open windows. The man’s face was as white as a freshly laundered sheet as he slowly sank onto the nearest seat.

Hunter jumped up, stepping over the dead outlaw to reach the sheriff. He glanced around the car. “Is there a doctor or nurse onboard?” he asked.

When no one responded, Hunter took out his handkerchief and pressed it to a bleeding wound high on the sheriff’s chest.

“Reckon my pencil case saved my life,” the sheriff said, taking the aforementioned case from his pocket and staring at its newly acquired bullet hole in shocked wonder.

Hunter gave Luna a hopeless look, one that appeared pleading, as he attempted to see to the sheriff’s wounds. He had a wound in his chest and one on his hip that had started leaking blood as well.

Part of Luna wanted to crawl under the seats and hide. The shots and the smell of the black powder, along with the terror and fear, all washed over her, threatening to drag her into a dark, raging current from which she wouldn’t be able to escape.

Rather than surrender to it, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, blew it out slowly, then opened her eyes, aware Hunter could use her assistance. The fact that she was needed helped her to push the blackness away and focus on the moment.

Luna rose to her feet and walked to the small washroom at the back of the car. There, she found a few towels and hurried back to Hunter with them.

“Here. Use these,” she said, handing him the towels, observing as he pressed them against the man’s bleeding wounds.

“Thank you, miss,” the sheriff said as a fine sheen of sweat broke out on his brow.

Luna rushed back to the washroom and dampened a towel with the tepid water. She returned to the sheriff’s side and dabbed at his brow. She and Hunter were attending to him as best they could, especially with the dead outlaw’s body in the aisle and blood pooling around him. The door to their car opened. Everyone sucked in a gasp until they realized it was the conductor of the train.

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