Free Under a Falling Star by Caroline Fyffe Page A

and his hand was bleeding from landing on some rocks. Albert stood and brushed at the front of his shirt, which had taken the worst of his careening fall. His ears rang painfully from the discharge.
    Funny, at that last second before the dynamite went off, all he could think about was Susanna, and how much he’d miss her if he accidently turned up dead. Morbid thought, but a thought just the same. Was he a fool to keep thinking Floria would give him the divorce? Just because that’s what he wanted, didn’t mean it would happen. Or that Susanna would still want him. He wished he knew what was bothering her, besides all the trouble of late. There was something, he was sure.
    “You all right?” Albert asked, pointing to the cut.
    Babcock gave a mirthless chuckle. “What was that?” He pulled his earlobe, his face scrunching in pain.
    Albert nodded. “Yeah, I can’t hear a thing either. What about your hand?”
    “Just a scratch.” Babcock stepped out of the smoke and waved the others over. The men took off toward the train at a gallop, and Gabe followed more slowly in the wagon.
    He and Babcock started back to the train car.
    Albert retrieved the coil of rope they’d laid close and started up the ladder, not sure what he’d find on the top, if there was a top to the car left at all. He poked his head over and gave a long whistle, then looked down at Babcock. “That did the trick all right. I can see your man. Looks dead from here. The money trunks are intact.” He finished the climb and made room for Babcock.

    Susanna looked down the street at Albert and Dalton as they made their way on horseback. Her heart surged as she took in Albert’s rumpled appearance, the hard lines on his face, and his slumped shoulders. He was exhausted. They were two of four armed riders surrounding a wagon that must be carrying the money. Win drove, and Gabe road shotgun.
    Since the blast, the saloon had gotten even rowdier, if it were possible. Some hard-looking characters stood outside and watched the convoy approach. One tossed back the contents of his glass, then threw it into the alleyway with a crash. The guns strapped to his thighs sent a shiver of dread up Susanna’s back.
    “Sheriff Preston!” he called. “When’s this town gonna get some food? We’re hungry!” He sneered and looked around at his cronies, who nodded and waggled their heads. A few more men stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward the oncoming wagon, making Susanna’s internal alarms go off. Was this some sort of distraction?
    “Stay where you are,” Albert called back calmly. He nudged his dun, the agitated animal’s sweaty coat most likely a reaction to the disquiet in the air. “The eateries will have more beef soon, as well as other foodstuffs. The proprietors have been hit hard with the extra mouths to feed. They’re doing their best to put out large quantities of grub and keep up with all your appetites.” Albert narrowed his eyes. “You come in on the train?”
    The man glared back and Susanna stepped forward and grasped the post in front of her, laying her face against the cool wood. She couldn’t drag her gaze away. Don’t look for trouble, Albert. Wait until the money is locked up. Wait at least until your hands are free.
    “What difference does that make?” the man sneered.
    “Not a thing. Now, step back onto the boardwalk and give the wagon room. I don’t want any trouble from the likes of you. This man needs a doctor!”
    He’s alive!
    Albert’s tone had changed. He wouldn’t be defied. Susanna realized shamefully that she hadn’t asked Albert one question about his day when they’d talked last night—not how he was holding up or what troubles he was dealing with since the Union Pacific accident. She’d been wrapped up in her own petty hurts and worries. Humbled, she let her gaze travel over his face and body. The lines around his eyes and the grim set to his mouth attested to the stressful situation.
    The cantankerous