Captive Heart (4 page)

“Oh. Of course.” She folded her arms across her chest and seemed to look down at him, though she had to be close to a foot shorter. “You’re an outlaw. You don’t
have
a home.” She turned on her heel and, with a swish of her ugly skirt, walked around the corner of the cabin.

Thayne pulled the dusty hat from his head and wiped perspiration from his brow. The storm had only added to the humidity, and his attempts to help Miss Madsen had only upset her more. It seemed today was going to be more miserable than the previous.

Chapter 6

Thayne emptied the bullets from the chamber into his palm, then closed the gun and handed it to Miss Madsen. “It’d be better if you could shoot at some targets, but we haven’t got bullets to spare.”

She looked up at him. “Just how many do you have?”

“Three.” He took her shoulder and turned her away. “Hold your hand like this. Index finger on the trigger.”

“
Three?
How many Martins are there?” She tilted her head back to see his face.

“Six. Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna want to wait till he’s close, then aim dead center. As long as you hit somewhere on his torso you’ll do some damage—hopefully enough you can get away. But if you go too high, your target just got smaller. There’ll be a kick, so—”

“Are you planning to stack them up and hope one bullet will go through two at a time?” Emmalyne asked sarcastically. She knew her question was absurd but couldn’t imagine what else he had in mind.

“Would you pay attention? This might save your life.”

At the unmistakable irritation in his voice, she lowered her head accordingly, trying to listen as he explained how to shoot a man. As if she could do such a thing.
Could I?

“You may have to.”

Emmalyne jumped at the words whispered in her ear. It was more than unnerving that Mr. Kendrich seemed to hear her thoughts. She felt her cheeks heat once more. Had he known what she was thinking a few minutes ago as he put on her shoes?

Heaven help her if he had.
Heaven help me anyway,
she thought, scandalized again by the improper feelings that came over her every time he got too close. When he’d held her foot, she’d felt so dizzy and light-headed she thought she might faint. Now, as he stood close behind to show her how to hold the gun, she felt the same agitation start in her stomach. It was not wholly unpleasant, and
that
was what worried her most. Some part of her wondered if this was why she’d been so insistent on going against her father’s wishes.
Was this why I couldn’t marry Wilford?
Whenever
he
had tried to hold her close, all she’d ever felt was repulsion.

“Got it?” The outlaw loosened his grip on her hand and stepped back. “Now turn around and pretend to shoot me.”

Emmalyne’s eyes widened. “I can’t. What if there’s a bullet you missed? What if—”

“Do it,” he ordered tersely. “Think of all the trouble I’ve caused you and get mad and shoot me.”

“All right.” Her eyes narrowed as she took aim.

“Arms straight. Feet planted,” he ordered. “It’ll send you back when you really shoot.”

She grimaced and pulled the trigger, squeezing her eyes shut as she did.

“No. All wrong.” He came toward her, grabbing her hand and yanking her to him. “If you don’t shoot me, I’m going to take my knife to your throat. I’m going to throw you down on the dirt and—”

“All right, I understand.” Emmalyne jerked away from him.

“I don’t think you do.” He looked down on her. “The Martins are ruthless killers. They’ll use you any way they want, and then—if you’re lucky—they’ll shoot you.”

“Then why did you rob that train with them? If they’re so awful and you’re not, then why am I here? Why did you take up with those men anyway?”

“Because I was desperate,” he said. “We don’t have time to discuss this again.”

“Why don’t
you
keep the gun?” She shoved the offensive weapon back into his hands. “I don’t understand why you expect me to do the shooting.”

“I don’t. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if it does, I want to know you can handle it.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“You’ll have to.” He looked past her, out across the prairie.

Emmalyne followed his gaze but saw nothing.

“Get inside.” He took her arm again, guiding her into the cabin. “We’re real lucky I found this place. It’s got two root cellars, and we’re gonna pray like mad the Martins don’t notice the second one.” He went to the bed, lifted, and tugged it a couple of feet away from the wall.

She looked down at the dirt floor, not seeing anything at first. He stepped behind the bed and began brushing the dirt away, revealing wooden boards beneath. After a minute he removed his knife and pried one of the wide planks from the floor. She crept closer, peering into the dark below.

“We’re hiding down
there
?” It didn’t look big enough for the two of them.

“You are.” He took her hand, guiding her toward the hole.

She balked.

“Tell me you’re not afraid of the dark,” he grumbled.

Emmalyne shook her head. “No, but where are you going to hide?”

“I’m not.”

Her eyes met his, and she became truly frightened when she saw his own worry. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain later. Come on.” He pulled her closer, and Emmalyne complied. He took her arms. “I’m going to lower you down slowly.”

She nodded, holding her breath as he lifted her and then lowered her through the hole. A few seconds later, her feet hit the ground below, and he released her arms.

“All right?” he called down.

She nodded, though she felt anything but all right. The cellar wasn’t very deep. Her head was only an inch or two below the floor. But the space was wider than she’d first thought. She suppressed a shudder as her imagination ran wild. “What if there are other things down here—spiders or mice?”

“Then you might have some supper.” His words were teasing, but his tone was not. He left her, returning a minute later with the gun and his canteen. He handed her the latter first, then, butt down, gave her the gun. “It’s loaded now. Be careful.”

She shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. “Am I supposed to sit on the floor?”

He frowned but left the opening, returning with the stool a minute later.

“Thank you,” she said after he’d lowered it through the hole. “What if—”

His finger to his lips cut her off. “From now on, you’re quiet. And no matter what you hear, stay put until I come get you.”

“And if you don’t?” She clutched the gun to her chest as she looked up at him.

“Then wait until you don’t hear nothin’ for a good
long
time.” He paused, as if he were deciding what else he should tell her. “Due west, about a day’s walk, you’ll hit Sidney. If I don’t come for you, get yourself there as fast as possible.” He shifted the board back into place, and Emmalyne was left alone in the dark.

* * *

Though Thayne itched to go to the window to check things just one more time, he forced himself to stay put, resting—or so it appeared—on the bed. Slouched against the headboard, his eyes took in the cabin, sweeping carefully over the floor, checking again for any trace, any footprint, a single thread, a track of dust that might reveal Miss Madsen’s presence. He saw nothing, but that didn’t ease his worries for her, for himself . . . for Joshua.

Thayne was furious that he’d gotten them into this situation, and more than that, he was furious with Christina because it all circled back to her. He didn’t much care what happened to his own sorry life anymore, except that others were depending on him—Joshua and now Miss Madsen. Thayne was pretty sure that so long as the Martins didn’t find her, she’d make it okay. He smiled faintly. She was one tough nut. Whether she realized it or not, he was pretty certain she could use that gun if she had to.

Joshua was another matter entirely. There’d be no one for him if his dad didn’t make it. Once again, the weight—and joy—of being a father descended. Thayne closed his eyes, picturing Joshua, his sweet smell, his chubby hands clinging to him. Guilt and sorrow bubbled to the surface, and Thayne swore another oath to be a better father, to return and take care of his son.

Several more minutes passed, and Thayne felt his eyelids growing droopy. How long had it been since he’d had a decent night’s sleep? He couldn’t remember, and dozing for even a few minutes became a delicious temptation. A foolish idea—one he couldn’t afford to indulge.

At last, he heard horses approaching. They weren’t galloping but cantered into the yard at a slow, steady pace. From behind half-closed eyelids, Thayne peered at the open doorway, willing the tension to leave his face as he heard men dismount and walk toward the soddie.

“Well, well. If it ain’t the deserter.” Adam Martin tipped his hat in Thayne’s direction. “Looks like we found him, boys. But where’s the lady?”

“She’s gone.” Thayne opened his eyes all the way and feigned surprise as he took in Adam and his two brothers.
Just three. Where are the rest?
“And
deserter
seems a bit strong, considering you all took my horse and supplies and left
me
behind
.
” Thayne shook his head as he made sitting up on the bed appear to take great effort. “Pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me.”

“Don’t recall asking. Do you, boys?” Adam glanced at his brothers. They shook their heads in unison. “Didn’t think so. But I am asking—for the last time—where’s the woman—and
the gold
?” Adam pulled his pistol from its holster and pointed it at Thayne.

He held his hands up. “Whoa. I don’t have any gold, don’t even have my gun, and I’m too sick to try anything else, so there’s no point in waving that around. If you’ll listen a minute, I’ll explain.”

“Go ahead.” Adam made no move to put the weapon away.

Stick as close to the truth as possible,
Thayne reminded himself. He licked his lips and began. “I took my time on that train, looking for a woman Russell would really like—one that hadn’t been used before. And I’d just found her when the train started up again.”

Next to Adam, Michael pulled his gun out as well. “Hurry it up. I don’t have no patience for long stories.”

“She fought like a mad cat,” Thayne said emphatically. He held out his arm. “See here where she bit me.” He pushed back his sleeve, revealing the bruised oval Miss Madsen’s teeth had left. “I knew for sure then I’d chose well. Russell was gonna be pleased as punch when he saw her.”

“He’s none too pleased right now,” Adam said.

“Well, neither am I.” Thayne sat up straighter, warming to his topic. “You took my horse, water, food, rope—near every last thing I had, and I was left alone with a more resourceful woman than you can imagine.”

“I’m having a devil of a time believing your tale,” Michael said. He looked at Adam. “Can’t we just fill him full of lead and get back?”

Thayne didn’t wait for Adam’s answer. “Where is Russell, anyway?”

“Back at camp,” Adam said. “Enjoying himself with the whiskey and women, while we traipse after the likes of you.”

Thayne cursed himself silently for not keeping his gun. He was a good marksman and could have picked off at least two of the three—evening the odds quite a bit. But, believing he’d face all six, he’d thought the only way to protect Miss Madsen—to convince the Martins she truly was gone—was for them to think he was ill and she’d taken his gun and escaped.

Adam walked to the center of the room and knelt on the muddy floor. It took him only a few seconds to find the hole and pull the board loose, revealing the empty root cellar below.

Thayne leaned his head against the wall and looked bored. “I told you, ain’t nothin’ or no one here. Last I saw, Mark had his paws all over that sack of gold. And I
did
have a woman, but she escaped—passed out on me first, though. I carried her here, found this well, and thought we’d been saved. But the water wasn’t clear, so I went down to see if I could dig past the murk. I near died from the fumes—barely crawled outta there before passing out myself. When I came to last night, the woman and my gun were gone.”

“Nice story,” Clay, the youngest Martin, said as he stepped forward. “Except you left out one part . . .” From behind his back, he withdrew Miss Madsen’s discarded corset.

Thayne shrugged. “Michael didn’t want a long story, so I left out the details—like how I cut that off her so she could breathe or how I been puking my guts out since last night. If you don’t believe me, go outside, walk around and see.”

“I believe you,” Adam said, rising from the floor and slipping his gun back into the holster. “Mark’s the one told us you had the money—right before he took off himself. Dirty double-crosser. We’ll find him next.” Adam glanced at his brothers then back at Thayne. “I told Russell—first time we met you—that you didn’t have the brains to be an outlaw. Problem is, what are we gonna do with you now?”

“Just shoot him and be done with it,” Michael suggested.

Adam shook his head. “Too easy. We’ve got to do something to appease Russell. He’s so mad now, thinking you took his loot and his woman . . . I know what we’ll do.”

Thayne didn’t much care for the evil glint that came to Adam’s eye.
Stay calm. Think of Joshua. Keep your wits, and you can get out of this.
Thayne forced his hands to stay relaxed. Adam was watching him closely.

“Take a real good look around, boys. See if you can’t find the gal, and then . . .” Adam’s lip curled. “Thayne here’s gonna have a little swim.”

Chapter 7

Behind his back, Thayne rotated his tied hands, trying to keep the circulation flowing. He was going to need all the feeling he could get in them if he was going to be able to untie the rope once they lowered him down into the well.

Across the room, Adam Martin sat on the floor and chewed a piece of jerky as he watched Thayne. “Failed at farming, failed at mining, even failed at being an outlaw. You should thank me for putting you out of your misery.”

Thayne’s reply was merely a grunt. For the past hour, he’d mostly listened as Adam had carried on a one-sided conversation. After searching the well, cabin, and surrounding area, Michael and Clay had ridden out in opposite directions to see if they could find Miss Madsen.

Left behind with Adam, Thayne had been forced to listen to the coarse details of Adam’s time with the captured women—one of whom had already died. Thayne was repulsed and more than a little guilt stricken for his part in the abductions. Miss Madsen’s accusations rang true, and after listening to Adam, Thayne couldn’t even rationalize Joshua’s care as a good excuse for joining up with outlaws. A woman had died; several others were being terrorized, and he was at least partially responsible. He vowed that if he got out of this alive, he’d get the necessary information to the law so the Martins could be captured.

The sound of a horse galloping into the yard brought Adam to his feet. Gun drawn, he walked to the window. When he saw it was his brother, he moved to the door.

“No sign of her anywhere,” Michael said as he dismounted.

Clay rode up behind him. “Nothing my way, either. She mighta made it to Sidney if she left last night.”

Adam turned to Thayne. “Too bad. Time’s up.” He waved Thayne outside with his gun.

Thayne leaned forward, again exaggerating weakness as he struggled to rise from the bed.

They’d left his feet untied, so he walked slowly toward the door.
Stay put, Miss Madsen. Just stay quiet and stay put a while longer.

Once outside, he squinted against the sun. Adam’s pistol at his back prodded him toward the well. Thayne thought of the little stub of candle he’d made from bits of wax melted on the mantel. He wished he’d had the foresight to send it down this morning to see if it burned. Then again, if he’d known he was only going to face three Martin brothers, he’d have kept his gun and wouldn’t be facing a trip down the well.

Looking up, Thayne watched as Clay knocked the remaining piece of wood from the platform. The splintered windlass fell to the ground, the fraying rope coiled beside it. Thayne thought it a miracle it had held his weight the previous day. He was in need of another miracle now—a few of them—if he was going to survive this.

“Up,” Adam ordered Thayne. He and Michael each grabbed one of Thayne’s arms and lifted him the couple of feet onto the stone side of the well. Adam leaned over, looking down. “It’ll be the gasses or drowning—either one ought to assure Russell you’re no longer a nuisance.”

Thayne didn’t say anything but looked down, judging his chances for surviving the fall without breaking a leg or bashing his head open. He had no hope they would lower him down gently.

“You gonna jump, or do I push you?” Ever impatient, Michael put his hand on Thayne’s back.

Thayne shrugged it off and barely managed to contain his anger, reminding himself it was his fault he was in this situation.

Without a word, he put his foot out and stepped into the hole, eyes closed, back straight as he plunged down the narrow shaft.

* * *

Emmalyne huddled on the stool, arms wrapped around her, eyes squeezed shut as she listened to the gunshots.

One. Two. Three.

She bit down on her cracked lip and drew blood. The taste was bitter in her mouth and brought forth an image of Mr. Kendrich, sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his chest. Terror enveloped her. They’d killed him, and now it was only a matter of time before they found her.

Body trembling, she began rocking back and forth on the stool, willing her heart to stop racing and her mind to clear. She needed to think, to formulate a plan. What to do? Wait. Mr. Kendrich had told her to wait a good long time. Had he known they’d kill him? He must have. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and an unexpected sense of loss washed over her. Rational thought told her she ought to be relieved. He was an outlaw too, for heaven’s sake. He’d threatened her with his gun, he’d removed her corset . . . he’d saved her.

Hearing voices overhead, Emmalyne ceased her rocking and sat perfectly still, save for her hand, which crept to the pistol in her lap. Furniture scraped across the floor above, and she held her breath, pointing the gun upward, waiting for the moment the board was pulled loose and her hiding place revealed.

She no longer had any doubts about her ability to pull the trigger. After listening to the Martins talk of what they’d done to the other women from the train, Emmalyne knew she’d fight with everything she had. Mr. Kendrich had left her three bullets, and she intended to use every one of them. Carefully, she backed the stool against a solid wall of earth, lending her the support she needed.

Her hands wavered under the weight of the pistol, and she fought to steady them. Above, she heard a final shout, then the sound of feet running toward the door. A few seconds later, a deafening explosion threw her to the ground. Her head slammed against the wall as dirt and debris crumbled down on her. The gun flew from her hands, and blindly she crawled around the floor, groping for the weapon. Keeping it now seemed the only thing that mattered.

At last, her fingers closed over the barrel, and she picked it up, positioning it in her hands as Mr. Kendrich had shown her.

She stood several minutes, anxiety building as she waited for them to find her. But she heard no voices.
Maybe they’ve left. But Mr. Kendrich said to wait a good
long
time.
Her fingers trembled, the pistol quavering in her hands. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and she raised her arms, trying to wipe it away. She realized suddenly that the cellar had gone from cool to warm. Emmalyne felt her eyes watering again, not from tears—they were burning from the dust . . . no, smoke.

Fire. The cabin is on fire.

She bit back a scream as she looked up, imagining the wood planks burning, crashing down on her. Sharp cracks sounded overhead as she felt for the stool, then righted it and climbed on top. She could face the enemy outside, or she could die in this furnace.

It didn’t take long to decide. Tucking the gun in her skirt, she reached her hands up, feeling the floorboards above. They were hot, but she continued to touch each until she felt one shift a little. With both hands she pushed again and again until the board popped loose, sending a blaze of heat her way.

Emmalyne cringed back down into the hole, then forced herself to look up once more. Thick smoke filled the soddie, obscuring everything but the bright orange flames burning the bed in the center of the room. She could still make it outside. Reaching her arms up, Emmalyne struggled to lift herself out. Smoke filled her lungs, and her eyes burned, watering so badly she could barely see. As she lifted her knee to crawl out, a calloused hand closed around her arm.

Emmalyne screamed as she pulled away and fell back into the hole beneath the floor.