and children. The fallen robbers managed a small volley of return fire, but even a sharpshooter would have a hard time hitting the men hid up in the rocks. When the bosun’s whistle echoed again from the safety of the rock outcropping, Mason let out the breath he’d been holding for the boy.
There was a moment of stunned stillness. The robbers had used up their ammunition. Bucky and the others were surely trained on each of the fallen men, ready to fire if one of them made a move. Mason left Miss Sanders at the railcar with the children—most of whom were screaming by now along with half the passengers—and rushed to crouch at the still body of Mr. Arlington.
One hand on the man’s bloody chest told Mason nothing could be done. “Rest in peace, Arlington.”
* * *
Holly watched in horror as Sheriff Wright took off his jacket and laid it carefully over Mr. Arlington’s face. The man was dead. Shot for the crime of trying to let the bandits go, for trying to save the children from harm. The cruelty of it seemed to pummel Holly’s lungs, and her steps wobbled as she made her way toward the sheriff.
“Lord have mercy on poor Mr. Arlington. Lord have mercy on all of us.” Even as she felt relief that the gunfight was over, sorrow made her tears hard to fight back.
One of the things Holly most admired about Sheriff Wright was his quiet passion for justice and safety. Today held no justice and precious little safety. She would not have thought it possible for Mason Wright to look more stoic, but he straightened from the body with such a weary, pained effort that she felt it constrict her heart. He felt the crime—the murder—as sharply as she, even though neither of them knew the slain man.
There was a selfish corner of her heart that insisted this could have been prevented if Mason Wright had accompanied her to Newfield. He’d raised a lukewarm objection, saying he wasn’t in favor of her going at all, but eventually consented to letting her travel alone. That hurt. A childish part of her wanted to think today wouldn’t have happened if Mason Wright had been her protector.
But today had happened, and while she heard the old woman and several others flutter in panicked concern over a crying Miss Sterling behind her, no one steadied her as she stood over the body. Now, as always, she was the last one anyone thought to protect. Quiet, competent, invisible—even in this. All yesterday’s sense of accomplishment evaporated just as quietly as Mr. Arlington’s blood seeped into the sod. No comfort would be coming her way. That meant that it was time—as usual—for her to look past herself and see to comforting others.
“You saved us,” she said, as she moved toward Sheriff Wright. Holly needed to keep speaking, to hear her voice fight the sense that she was evaporating into the sod herself.
He looked at her, his blue eyes brittle and hollow. She so rarely viewed those eyes—downcast as they often were or hidden in the shadow of his hat brim—that they never ceased to startle her when he stared. “No.” He raised the single syllable like a knight’s shield.
“But it is true.” The sheriff seemed so very tall as she ventured another step toward him. Mason Wright was the kind of man who would take Arlington’s loss as a personal failure, ignoring all the lives—including hers—he had just saved, and she hated that. Hated that she’d fail in this attempt just as she failed in every attempt to make him see his worth because he never looked at her long enough to notice.
He held her gaze just then, doubt icing his eyes until Holly felt a shiver run down her back. “No,” he repeated, but only a little softer. Holly hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath until Sheriff Wright broke his stare and looked down at the body shrouded in his own coat. Her practical nature wondered if his coat would be stained beyond repair, or if he would even care.
The shift in Sheriff Wright’s attitude was physically visible. Whatever emotion had bubbled to the surface was resolutely put down with a deep breath and squared shoulders. His attention spread out beyond her and the body to take in the whole of the clearing and the larger crisis at hand. Everything about him said “enough of that, now to business,” and Holly wondered if she would see that side of him up close ever again.
Even his voice changed. “Is she the other agent?” He nodded toward Rebecca Sterling and the upset children, now surrounded by the few other railcar passengers. “Liam mentioned a Miss...”
“Sterling, yes, that’s her. Liam!” Holly suddenly remembered the brave boy who’d run off to get help. “Is Liam all right?”
“Shaken, but fine. Clever boy.”
“I was so worried, sending him off.” She scanned the clearing for signs of his red hair. “How foolish of me to gamble dangerously with a boy’s life like that.”
“Not at all.” He looked at her again, this time with something she could almost fool herself into thinking was admiration. “It was quick and clever. If anyone saved the day here, it was you.”
Holly blinked. From Mason Wright, that was akin to a complimentary gush. “It was the only thing I could think of to do.” A murderous crisis was no time to get flustered, but she felt her blood rush to her cheeks just the same. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed someone to affirm she’d done the right thing. The relief threatened a new wave of tears, and she fought them off with a deep breath.
A child’s cry turned them both toward the bedlam surrounding Miss Sterling. The children were understandably out of control with fear and shock, and Miss Sterling didn’t seem to be in any shape to take things in hand. Who would be in such a situation?
She would, that’s who. Holly was an excellent teacher with a full bag of tricks at her disposal to wrangle unruly children. With one more deep breath, she strode off to save the day a second time.
* * *
Mason wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Usually, when Holly Sanders’s eyes tripped him up, he kept his mouth shut and steered clear. Sure, he’d worried about her in Newfield, but he’d worried more about how her wide eyes and meek smile would force him to get all close and protective of her if he went along on the trip. Mason always fought an urge to protect the tiny schoolteacher, and that urge could not be allowed. Ordinarily, Miss Sanders kept to the sideline of things, so it was easier to fight the urge, to not let himself be drawn in by her admiration. Staying away from Holly Sanders ensured he’d never again risk the kind of failure he’d already known.
Only that strategy had blown up in his face, for today she’d been stronger than he knew. Far stronger, and that truth was mighty hard to swallow. As a matter of fact, the shock of her strength had turned him stupid. If anyone saved the day here it was you? What kind of fool remark was that? He’d lost his control. Only for a moment, but land sakes that was enough, wasn’t it?
The way he’d figured her, Miss Sanders should be as undone as the pretty blonde crying on the rocks over there. And he had seen tears come up behind her eyes—despite doing his best to ignore them. So how was it she was trotting across the clearing with her hands on her hips, all teacher in command? Where’d a woman so quiet and tiny get such a core of steel?
His eyebrow shot up as Miss Sanders began to clap softly as she walked toward the children. She stopped about six yards out, speaking just soft enough to be heard. “Clap once if you can hear me.”
He thought the tactic crazy until one little girl’s eyes widened and looked up. Miss Sanders repeated herself, still clapping. “That’s right, clap once if you can hear me.” Startled out of her crying fit, the little girl clapped. A second girl next to her also looked up, sniffled,
