leapt.
The handhold slid out of his grasp. Grant’s gloved hands slipped, and he opened them to let himself fall, tucking in before he hit the gravel just outside the rail. He rolled like crazy, away from the clacking metal wheels, tumbling down the little embankment to prickly weeds.
Carter came riding up, looking like a real bandit in his duster, a bandolier of bullets across his chest. “You okay?” he called.
Grant rolled to his feet and brushed the dirt and dried grass off his clothes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Carter said nothing. He never admonished them for a fall, although he was the one who answered to the producers if they were late with their material. He simply waited for Grant to make sure he hadn’t broken or sprained anything, then indicate that he was all right to go again.
The advantage of Bobby was that he’d come when called, so precious time wasn’t wasted chasing down a horse. Bobby had good manners, but even so, he didn’t have the edge Buster did. Buster always got the job done. Then he ran off and was a total shit.
Grant mounted, rode Bobby around a little to work off his own stiffness, then ran the horse at the train again.
This time when Grant jumped, he caught the bar he aimed for, though barely. He felt his hands slipping, but he clung on grimly, swinging his legs until he found purchase on the step.
Then he was up and tearing inside, staying in the character of a man with one thing on his mind—robbing all the sitting ducks.
No one waited in the passenger car, because they’d film the interior scenes on a different day. Today was about jumping on and off.
The small train slowed and ground to a halt. The engineer had explained he couldn’t run the train constantly because the engine used a lot of fuel, and the antique needed a rest.
Grant went out to the back platform. Tyler followed him, and Carter dismounted and joined them.
They spent a few minutes simply resting, three bandits taking a break. Grant sat with his back to the door frame, one leg drawn up, arm on his knee. Tyler swung his legs off the back. Carter remained standing, leaning against the railing, the three of them enjoying a quiet moment of Texas springtime.
Grant’s cell phone jangled. His two brothers looked at him in surprise, knowing Grant’s record for losing his phone. He ignored them as a hundred terrors slammed into his head—Christina in a car wreck, in a hospital, car-jacked or robbed …
He grabbed the phone, not recognizing the number. “Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Karen. You need to get over to Christina’s place. I mean right now.”
“Why? Is she all right? What happened? Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have let her go …”
“Stop talking and take yourself over there. I couldn’t stay with her—I have to meet someone in Austin.”
“What happened to her? Is she hurt—?”
“Christina’s fine … Well, that’s not for me to say. You need to get over there. And go easy on her, Grant. This has been tough for her. Buh-bye.” Karen clicked off.
“Wait a minute— Shit.” Grant shook the phone as though that would make Karen’s voice come back.
Carter eyed him narrowly. “What’s wrong?”
“I gotta go.”
“Christina okay?” Tyler asked, concerned.
“I don’t know. I need to go find out.”
Grant whistled through his fingers for Bobby, who raised his head and then half walked, half trotted over.
Grant leapt from the train platform, swarmed up onto Bobby’s back and rode hell for leather to the depot.
Chapter Fourteen
Grant slid off Bobby at the depot and yelled at the stable hands waiting at the horse trailers. “Walk him around, cool him down.”
Without bothering to explain, he jumped into the one truck not hooked up to a trailer—Tyler’s—and gunned it, sliding around in the dirt before the pickup straightened itself out.
He bumped over a mile of dirt road, then turned onto a highway, where he opened it up and roared toward town at eighty miles an hour.
He reached Christina’s house, stopped the truck and leapt out, racing up to her porch. He banged on the door, but there was no answer.
Grant rattled the handle, but the door was locked. He banged again. “Christina, let me in!”
A soft step behind him made Grant swing around. Small Mrs. Kaye from next door stood on the step behind him.
“Her spare key, dear,” Mrs. Kaye said, handing it to him. She looked him up and down. “My, don’t you look handsome?”
Grant was still in his long