Captive Heart

Other books and audio books by Michele Paige Holmes:

Counting Stars

All the Stars in Heaven

Cover images:
Female Portrait
by McKenzie Deakins, For photographer information please visit
www.photographybymckenzie.com.
Old Paper ©
Marcin Pasko, iStockphoto.com.
Old Retro Steam Train
© remik44992, iStockphoto.com.
Luxury Floral Pattern #3
© Tatarnikova, iStockphoto.com.

Cover design copyright © 2011 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

American Fork, Utah

Copyright © 2011 by Michele Paige Holmes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect
the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

First Printing: April 2011

ISBN: 978-1-60861-309-0

I always had a way of just going ahead

at whatever I had a mind to do.

—Davy Crockett

This one is for the grandmas—

One with the kindest heart and most generous spirit. Grandma Howard, you were the first one who believed in me. Thank you for the hours you spent listening patiently while I told you the stories in my head.

One with red hair and a temper to match. Grandma Cramer, you never succeeded in teaching me to crochet, but you taught me to laugh during those magical summer weeks. Oh, the memories I have!

One who became a grandmother while still raising her own children. Grandma Ruth, thank you for never being too tired to play another game or do another project or give a lot more of your love. You taught me the most about love as you cared for Grandpa the last months of his life.

One I never knew very well but who I think of often when I face hardships in my life and wonder over those you endured. Grandma Marjorie, I look forward to getting to know you better someday.

Acknowledgments

Once again, I would not have a book in print without the help of generous, talented friends. Annette Lyon, Heather Moore, Lu Ann Staheli, Lynda Keith, and Jeff Savage went the extra mile with this manuscript, reading and responding via e-mail during the very stressful week I wrote over half the story (to meet a contest deadline—not recommended!).

I am grateful to my editor at Covenant, who went to bat for this book when she knew very little of me or my writing. Samantha, it was a pleasure to work with you, and I look forward to many more projects together.

My family gets much extra credit for this story as well for their willingness (most of the time, anyway) to drive all the way to South Dakota so I could experience the Black Hills in person. Dixon, thank you for driving all those miles and for traipsing around the forest with me, ignoring the No Trespassing signs and sharing my excitement at finding old, abandoned buildings and mines. I will always cherish the memories of that trip. I continue to appreciate all of your support and love.

Chapter 1

Aboard the Central Pacific Railroad, August 1878

“Outlaws—please, God. Don’t let them choose me.” Emmalyne Prudence Madsen whispered the prayer to herself as she looked down at her white knuckles gripping the handles of the valise on her lap. A drop of perspiration trickled down the side of her face, but she resisted the urge to lift her hand even enough to wipe it away. The heat was stifling—especially now that the train had stopped—but she didn’t dare move at all for fear one of the brigands would notice her.

She kept her gaze downward, eyes shifting only enough to look out the window for any sign of the law or a nearby town. She saw nothing but the flattened prairie grasses of Nebraska, and she remembered the conductor saying it would be nearly nightfall before they reached their next stop.

Nightfall. She shuddered with fear then stiffened her back, holding her breath as another pair of dusty cowboy boots strode past her seat. Thank heavens she wasn’t sitting by the aisle. The thought of one of those terrible men touching her—even unintentionally as they walked by—was horrifying. She felt a pang of guilt for the sweet old lady next to her who had offered the window seat. But, Emmalyne consoled herself, at least her companion was of an age to be safe from the men’s lecherous pursuits.

Emmalyne hoped she too looked of an age to be safe from these men. For once, she felt grateful for the distasteful brown wool suit she wore. Aside from being itchy and hot, she knew it was long out of fashion, and it modestly covered her from neck to wrist to ankle. Surely the men would be more interested in the other women on this train. She’d noticed many of them when they boarded two days ago. Their becoming hairstyles, pretty hats, and colorful gowns indicated they were headed west as brides or possibly even . . . She wouldn’t think it.

Emmalyne swallowed the lump that had formed in her dry throat. It was terrible of her to imagine such things of those women simply because they were attractive. It was as much their lot in life to be pretty as it was hers to be plain. And right now, it seemed
she
was the fortunate one.

“I’m wantin’ you, darlin’,” a deep voice rumbled somewhere behind her, followed by squeals from the next chosen victim.

Emmalyne’s grip on the carpetbag tightened until the dear lady next to her reached over and placed her hand over Emmalyne’s.

“It’ll be all right. They’ll go soon,” the old woman reassured her. “They’ve taken near a dozen.”

“A dozen?” Emmalyne whispered, appalled. “Those poor girls.”

Her companion nodded solemnly and squeezed Emmalyne’s hand. “But you’ve noticed,” the old lady continued, disapprovingly, “not all of them are protesting.”

Emmalyne’s eyes widened at her implication. “You can’t mean they
want
—” Her whispering ceased as another pair of boots slowly walked past.

“Hurry it up, Thayne,” a man’s voice called from the back of the car. “We been stopped too long already. Get yourself a pretty, grab the gold, and get off this train.”

“I’ll be along in a minute. And I don’t want no pretty.” The man directly behind her muttered the last bit under his breath. Just past their seat, he stopped. The old woman’s fingers squeezed hers.

“You. Look at me.”

Emmalyne kept her chin tucked but sensed movement from the seat beside her.

“Not you, old woman. The one next to ya. You, brownie.”

“No.” The refusal was out of Emmalyne’s mouth before she’d had a chance to think. A second later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Don’t think I heard you right, lass.”

Emmalyne raised her head and turned to face the man. Blue eyes pierced hers, and she sensed his scowl behind the faded bandana covering most of his face. Blond hair sprang out at wild angles from his head, and muscles strained beneath his worn, dirty shirt. She felt her nose wrinkle in distaste as she viewed the patches of sweat beneath his arms.

Along with the sheer terror threatening to overwhelm her, she felt a surprising spark of anger ignite somewhere deep inside. Her face grew warm as he sized her up.

“You a schoolteacher?”

“Yes. They are expecting me in Sterling. School begins Monday morning. Twenty-two students—”

“That’s enough,” he cut her off. “You’ll do. Come on.” He waved his gun toward the aisle.

Emmalyne thought her heart would leap from her chest. “No. I can’t. I-I’m—” She glanced at the elderly woman. “I’m traveling with my grandmother. She needs my help . . .”
It’s only a little lie, Lord. And for my safety, since You didn’t answer that last prayer a few minutes ago.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

To Emmalyne’s surprise, the man removed his hat and nodded to her companion.

“But I believe I’ve a greater need for your granddaughter right now. I wish you the best with your journey.” He placed the dusty hat back on his head and looked expectantly at Emmalyne. His surly tone returned. “Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

She shrank toward the window, a whimper rolling from her lips. “Please don’t do this. I’m not that kind of woman. I—”

A rough hand reached over, jerking her from the seat.

“Oh my,” the old woman exclaimed as the man dragged Emmalyne across her lap.

“Pardon us,” her abductor said, all politeness and manners as his grip tightened.

Emmalyne winced as his fingers dug into her arm. He hauled her into the aisle just as the train lurched forward. His arm wrapped around her middle, the gun wavering in front of them, warning off anyone who might try to help. No one looked inclined to anyway.

Apparently God had no intention of saving her. Emmalyne decided it was now or never. Bending her head, she sank her teeth into her captor’s hand.

He cried out, jerking his hand away. The gun clattered to the floor at their feet, and she kicked it as hard as she could, sending it spinning down the aisle toward the back of the car. The outlaw unleashed a string of obscenities in her ear, reinforcing Emmalyne’s belief that, at all costs, she
had
to get away.

Lifting her foot, she brought her heel down sharply on his toe, then worked to twist free of his grasp. Her other arm flailed in the air as he tried to capture it too. She squirmed and screamed, trying to reach his face so she could use her nails.

“Help me,” she cried. “Someone, please help me.”

Their car, Emmalyne realized, was strangely devoid of men—and nearly women, too, now that the outlaws had taken so many. Her only hope was her previous seat companion, who was rifling through Emmalyne’s abandoned valise.

“Get the dictionary,” Emmalyne shouted. “Hit him on the head with it.” She continued fighting, kicking ineffectively as he towed her to the door. Beneath her feet she felt the train picking up speed.

He finally succeeded in capturing her other arm and pinned it behind her back as he bent to retrieve his pistol and then shoved the door open with his shoulder. Emmalyne looked down at the rails sliding past. Did the madman intend to push her to her death? A swell of anger surged through her. She hadn’t come this far and fought so hard for her freedom for a stranger to take it away. He
wouldn’t
take it away, she vowed and threw her head back full force into his chest.

He let out a grunt of pain, loosening his grip on her wrist just enough that she freed her hand. Swinging around, she jabbed her finger in his left eye, hard enough that this time he released her to favor the injury.

“Dang woman! Ya didn’t have to go and blind me.” With one hand still covering his eye, he lunged to grab her again.

Emmalyne ducked and charged forward, using all the strength in her five-foot-three-inch frame to plow into him. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward, out through the open door of the train. Emmalyne screamed, scrunching her eyes closed, expecting to feel the jerk of the train as it ran him over.

Instead, she heard nothing but the steady clicking of the wheels against the rail. Holding her breath, she darted to the nearest window and was half relieved to see her would-be abductor on his feet, running alongside the train.

She hadn’t actually killed the man, then. Good. And she had saved her virtue. So much for her father’s dire prediction that she wouldn’t last a week in the untamed West. Feeling extraordinarily pleased with herself, Emmalyne left the window to close and bolt the door, lest the man should catch them and board again.

The elderly woman came up beside her.

“He’s gone.” It was Emmalyne’s turn to be the reassuring one.

The woman stepped closer, a peculiar look on her face.

“It’s all right,” Emmalyne said, turning away as she reached for the handle. “I’ll secure the door and—”

A shove from behind sent her sprawling forward, out the back of the car. Hands flying in front of her, she could do nothing but close her eyes as the track, gravel, and prairie rushed to meet her.