Chances (37 page)

Frank’s scratchy handwriting had recorded the order. The northbound Express, with its load of freight, would be nearing Denver at the same time the Cheyenne Special was due. As the secondary train, the Cheyenne Special was to be routed to the siding. The column next to the order was empty. No one had logged in the corresponding action.

A cold wet finger of fear crept up Sarah’s neck.

She pushed the foreboding away and cleared her thoughts. Just because Frank hadn’t recorded the action didn’t mean the two trains were headed into Denver on the same track. It didn’t mean two massive locomotives were streaming toward one another nor that every life on board was in danger. It didn’t.

Sarah rushed across the room and grabbed the master log. Fumbling through the pages, she found the current day and checked the last positions of the switches.

Good God, no one had thrown the switches.

Her breath caught and goose flesh rose on her arms. The main line
was
open at both ends. In moments, the Express would arrive, moving at full speed through the station while, a half-mile away, the Cheyenne Special would top the hill and descend into the yard along the same track. She ran her finger down the page again, willing it to say something else. It didn’t.

She dropped her pencil and dashed out of the office, hoping she was wrong. She rushed across the lobby, ignoring her coat on the hook next to the door, and raced through the door facing the tracks. Outside, the rail yard was still empty. She turned northward, toward Cheyenne, and began running, slipping willy-nilly on the ice with each step. Her heart thumped.

Where in God’s name was the yard crew?

Passing the first switch, she assured herself it was in the open position, then ran on. Cold air filled her lungs, stinging them. The second switch, the one that would route the Special onto the siding until the Express passed, was further north, at the bottom of a small rise.

Sarah stepped on her hem and her feet slid. She landed on the rail bed as the skirt tore, rocks stinging her palms. She righted herself and drew in a ragged breath. Images of others’ injuries flashed in her mind. How many bodies would there be if she didn’t stop those trains?

Panting, she neared the switch. She’d move the tracks first, then run up the line to the far side of the hill and flip the signal lever at the edge of the track, the engineer’s cue to take the siding and stop. She grasped the cold iron handle, shivering, then stepped forward, pushing the lever. It grated in the cold, reluctant to budge.

Sarah threw her weight against the handle, feeling the strain in her shoulders and upper back. The switch groaned and moved forward a foot and a half. With just half the weight and considerably less strength than most of the yard crew, it often took Sarah several attempts before the switch moved into place. She took a breath, threw her entire weight into it, and shoved.

The swinging rail section refused to move further. She peered at the rails, looking for the source of the stall. A huge boulder sat on the siding, blocking the switch’s path.

Sarah’s hear pounded. The yard crew was supposed to check for such obstructions on a regular basis. She wrinkled her eyebrows at the unexpected size of the boulder and a shiver ran down her spine. She stepped in between the rails to examine the rock. It was anchored in a bed of setting ice. Realizing she’d need to get a crow bar, she kicked at it in frustration. She didn’t have time for this.

A few feet away, the lever jumped, then swung back with a resounding click, and the tracks shifted back to their original position with her misplaced foot wedged between the two sections of rail. The boulder settled into the slight hole left by the dislodged ice, firmly against the rail that held her foot.

Damn.

She grimaced in pain, realizing she’d forgotten to lock the lever into position before she’d left it. She stared down at her trapped foot and tried to pull it free. It moved slightly but the rail refused to budge. Throwing her weight against the boulder, she tried to shove it out of the way.

It, too, was stuck.

Sarah glanced up the track and forgot about the pain. Her skin crawled and a slow, cold sense of doom wormed its way through her body. She shivered.

“Oh, God. The trains.”

* * * * *

His heart pumping from exertion, Daniel ran around the corner of Depot Street and approached the station, figuring it was the most likely place to find Sarah. He’d been irrational and hurtful, and he sure didn’t want to waste time running all over town when he needed to be apologizing to the woman he loved. He sidestepped to avoid a section of ice, and slowed as he neared the slick spots near the door. Stepping with care, he entered the depot.

A dismal silence lingered in the room and a chilly blast of air assaulted him from the open door on the trackside of the building. He moved across the lobby and into Sarah’s office. Aside from the odor of stale coffee, it, too, was empty.

A sharp twinge of disappointment struck him. He should never have left her in the first place.

A wooden box, sitting next to the telegraph key, caught his attention. The figurine Kate and Molly had given Sarah as a director’s gift topped the contents. Daniel approached the box, uncomfortable with its implication. His gut tightened.

On the counter, next to the box, Sarah’s penmanship graced the bottom of an official letter. Spying her name elsewhere, curiosity picked at him and his gaze drifted to the body of the letter. He skimmed its contents, looking for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted. Addressed to Frank Bates, the missive confirmed an investigation into allegations against Sarah and requested documents to support that she was using the telegraph to prostitute herself. It also indicated questions about her relationship with Jim Wilson, the stationmaster.

Daniel slammed his palm onto the counter and swore aloud.

Christ, no wonder she was packing. He’d all but accused her of unscrupulous intent himself and now this.

They’d fight it, together. It wouldn’t take much. Who would believe Frank Bates, anyhow?

“Sarah?” His glance swept across the office and into the main lobby, settling on the open door to the tracks. Maybe she was outside. He strode across the room and exited. Once on the wooden platform, he scanned the yard until he saw her, hunched over the tracks not too far from the bottom of the hill.

His pulse quickened and he moved forward, anxious to clear the air and offer his apology. He just hoped she’d let him get it out before she started scolding him.

What a fool I’ve been.

He trotted down the platform stairs and began to jog across the wide rail yard toward her, slowing for each patch of ice. A quarter mile ahead, Sarah struggled with something. “Sarah?”

She turned toward him and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Daniel, thank God you’re here.”

The strange desperation in her voice caught him by surprise and he ran the last hundred feet to her. Once there, he saw her face was knotted in pain, tears welling in her big violet eyes. Following her glance, he found her foot stuck tightly between two rails, a large boulder wedged against one of them.

Worry jabbed at him and he bent down, touching her foot with care. “Sarah, honey, hold still. I’ll get this thing moved.” He braced himself and tried to lift the rock, only to have his feet slide out of control on the ice.

The whistle of a train shattered the air. Daniel’s heart jumped at the sound, pounding in his chest as the meaning became clear. He regained his footing, glared up the tracks for a split second then shoved at the boulder.
Jesus
.
Where was the pick? Didn’t she bring a pick?

“Daniel, listen to me. They’re going to collide.” She pointed northward, at the small rise and its drop into the train yard.

His breath stalled. “Who?”

“The Northbound and the Special.”

“Good God.”

“You need to signal the Special.”

He shook his head. “Let’s get you out. We just need to pry this rock up and—”

“No time. There are people on board. You need to stop that train before it tops the hill. It’s their only chance.”

Daniel eyed Sarah’s position on the track and shook his head, her full implication finally hitting him. “But the Express—”

“I can signal the Express myself. It’s flat ground, the engineer will have plenty of time to stop.”

Over the hill, the Special sounded its second whistle blast and a cold chill grabbed at Daniel’s heart.

“God, Sarah. That train’s too close.” He turned and saw the calm assurance in her eyes shift to panic, intense enough to confirm he might not make the run in time.

“Run, Daniel,” she commanded. “Wave it down, before it tops the hill.”

He glanced at her, his pulse pumping hard against the fear. She was wearing red. “I need your clothes,” he blurted, the words forming as fast as the thought registered.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

He grasped her red plaid skirt, ripped it down the front, and tossed it into her arms, certain she would know what to do. Ignoring her confused squeal of protest, he reached for her red flannel petticoat, tore it away, and sprinted up the hill. Behind him, he heard the imperative warning blast of the Express’s whistle. The engineer had seen Sarah. He resisted turning, forcing himself to trust the makeshift flag and that there would be enough distance for the train to stop. The screech of grinding brakes filled the air.

His legs pumped harder, straining against the incline of the hill. The churning roar of the unseen Special grew louder and the clack of its wheels against the rails became distinct. His lungs protested in the icy air.

Oh, God, please let me get there.
He topped the hill and saw the train. Billowing smoke poured from the encroaching engine.

Daniel stepped onto the track and swung Sarah’s red petticoat into the air above his head. A warning sounded, filling the air. Brakes ground, straining against the rails. The locomotive loomed, huge and powerful, as it slid toward him.

* * * * *

Sarah pivoted southward, Daniel’s fleeting form giving her renewed hope, and watched the Express roar into the station.

She lifted the plaid skirt and waved it overhead, shutting her mind against the pain radiating from her trapped foot. The garment arced across the tracks, the icy wind making it billow with each sweep. In front of her, the Express whistled a warning and began to brake.

Lord in heaven, what if it doesn’t stop?

Cold sweat formed on her bare skin. She hadn’t considered that the train might not be able to stop. She moved her arm faster, then realized it didn’t matter. The engineer had already seen her. There was nothing left to do except wait.

I should have told him.

Her heart trembled. By now, Daniel would be on the other side of the hill, standing in front of his own fast-approaching train. And if either of them failed in their efforts, he would never know how much she loved him.

The screech of grinding metal crept across the rail yard and acrid smoke filled the air. Sarah held her breath as the train neared, grinding to a halt with agonizing slowness.

Less than thirty feet away, the engine shuddered to a stop.

Sarah stared at it through the smoke, slowly becoming aware of her cold, tear-stained cheeks and bare goose bumped skin.

Good God, she was standing in her drawers!

* * * * *

Sparks strayed across Daniel’s shoes as the train slid past him. Heat filled the empty air as the engine strayed toward the crest of the hill. He coughed in the swirling coal dust and turned.

Sarah.

He dropped her red flannel petticoat on the pale snow and scrambled after the locomotive. Near the top of the hill, he realized it had stopped. He slowed, exhaling his relief, and looked out over the tracks.

She was there. Safe.

He released a pent-up breath, closed his eyes, and offered a whispered prayer of thanksgiving.

Behind him, the engineer had climbed from the engine and was crunching across the snow.

“What the Sam-hill is goin’ on here?” he demanded.

Daniel nodded downhill. “See for yourself. I’ve got something that needs to be done.” Leaving the puzzled engineer standing there to figure it out on his own, he jogged down the hill, intent on seizing life before he lost the chance.

“Sarah?”

She turned, all soot and grime in her ragged plaid bodice and a pair of white drawers with lace trim, and burst into fresh tears.

Pure relief bubbled through him. He swallowed her in his arms and kissed her dirty face. “Oh, God, Sarah, I thought I’d lost you. I love you.”

“I was so afraid I’d never get a chance to tell you that I love you. I never thought it’d come that close.” She stared past him, her eyes huge.

He turned and saw the engine from her perspective, close and monstrous.

Daniel’s heart thumped wildly and he kissed the top of her head. “Me, either, darling. Tell me you’ll let me make you an honest woman.”

“An honest woman?”

“I figure it’s the best way to fight Bates. Besides, I’m standing here holding a half-naked woman while a whole trainload of suffragists looks on from the top of the hill.”

She turned and followed his gaze. A crowd of women peered down at them.

“What d’ya think? You ready to take a chance?”

“I am, Daniel.”

“Good. Now let’s give those ladies something to talk about.” He lifted her chin, slid his hands around her body, and kissed her.

Epilogue

August 1878

Sarah stepped out of the depot and squinted into the bright afternoon sunshine. Her hand moved to her lower back, nursing the steady ache that had settled there during her brief stint at the telegraph key. Next time Jim needed a fill-in operator, she’d have to decline. Thank goodness she’d given up her permanent position last month. She stretched, patted her growing girth, and waited.

Across Depot Street, a crowd of kids had gathered in the empty lot, brewing trouble. Sarah shook her head and glanced up the street. Daniel approached, his easy stride sending a shiver of desire through her. Beside him, Molly and Kate bounced in animated conversation.