Captive Heart (11 page)

“Clearer than what?” Thayne asked.

“Than me sitting in the middle of nowhere, having polite conversation with the man who kidnapped me.”

“You’re thinking too much,” he advised. “Listen to your intuition. What’s it telling you? Am I good or bad?” He waited, but she didn’t answer. “It’s when we don’t feel it, when we
don’t
listen, that we find ourselves in trouble. It’s as simple as you knowing that marrying Wilford would make you miserable.”

“My family is different,” Emmalyne insisted. “Money and social status govern decisions. There is no need for intuition.”

“Deny it all you want, Emma. But something led you here, and you followed.”

He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly across her cheek. She was half asleep and, by her own admission, confused. It was the perfect opportunity to kiss her again. He didn’t.

“All I’m asking is that you quit fighting it, fighting me. Trust that I’ll take care of you and everything will turn out all right.” His thumb caressed her lip.

Emmalyne’s eyes sprang open. She lifted her head, looking up at him from beneath long lashes.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Thought I’d kissed you again, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Disappointed?”

“Maybe.”

Her admission both captivated and worried him. It was all but an invitation, and suddenly he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. It was exactly what he could not do. Emma was to be his son’s teacher; anything beyond that was impossible.

“Tomorrow, when you’re not sleepy, I’ve no doubt your answer will be different. You didn’t come here for a husband, and I didn’t fetch you off that train because I wanted a woman. That line is crystal clear. I won’t use you ill, Emma. I’ll be keeping my earlier promise.”

He rose, then reached out, taking her hands and tugging her to her feet. They stood facing each other in a path of moonlight, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, trusting—finally. Thayne felt emotions stirring to life that he’d long thought dead.

He forced himself to break the spell, keeping one of her hands in his as he pulled her toward the horses. “We’d best be off. It’s a long piece back to the wagon.”

She followed silently behind, and Thayne was left with the uncomfortable feeling that
he
was the one who’d just completely ignored what fate was trying to tell him.

Chapter 17

Sitting in front of Thayne, Emmalyne clenched her teeth against each step their horse took. Its steady gait felt more like a wild gallop, jarring her along one miserable mile after another. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she moved her head from side to side and tried to stretch her aching back and neck muscles.

“It’s no use,” Thayne said at the exact moment her mind came to the same conclusion.

“I guess not.” She sighed and leaned back against his arm, giving in to both the idea that he often seemed to know her thoughts and that she needed his support if she was going to make it back to the wagon. She could barely endure sitting as she was—sidesaddle in front of him—and couldn’t begin to contemplate straddling her own horse again.

“Are you sure today wasn’t the first time you’ve ever ridden?”

“No, but it was certainly the
last
,” she vowed, grimacing against a jolt as their horse climbed the embankment leading to the main road.

Thayne chuckled. “I’m impressed you held on as long as you did. Must’ve been two hours of he—” He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. “You’ve a powerful lot of determination for such a slip of a woman.”

Emmalyne tilted her face up to his, letting him know she’d caught his near blunder. “I was determined to escape.”

“
Was?
” he asked. “That mean you’ve changed your mind?”

“For now.” She voiced the truce they’d reached silently earlier in the evening. She still wasn’t entirely sure of her feelings, though the knowledge that he’d sent a telegram to alleviate her father’s worry had definitely changed things. No longer could she think of Thayne as an outlaw. A true blackguard would never do something so kind. As for Thayne’s declaration that he’d had his own selfish motives . . . Emmalyne knew he could have found other ways to get her out of town quickly—or to get rid of her father.

The telegram wasn’t the only thing weighing in Thayne’s favor. There were other things she hadn’t seen or hadn’t
wanted
to see before. He
had
saved her life—and likely risked his own—when he’d pulled her out of the way of the train and cushioned her fall. Then there was the not-so-small matter of his climbing down a dangerous well because she’d needed water so badly.

He’d been shot twice while she was hidden safely away with his gun.He’d rescued her from a fire, treated her snake bite, carried her to Sidney, and found a doctor.
He’s spent the past two weeks trying to protect me. Why didn’t I see it before?

With sudden clarity, she realized she was no longer afraid but felt safe and secure—content, save for her aches and pains—as they rode, Thayne’s arms circled protectively around her. Along with this new sense of security, other feelings bubbled to the surface—feelings she didn’t dare examine too closely. Though she knew if being in Wilford’s arms had felt half this good, she would never have left Boston.

But she had left, and here she was. In the middle of the wilderness with a virtual stranger—a stranger she suddenly felt she knew better than many of her longtime acquaintances back home. Could Thayne possibly be right?
Did some instinct or higher power lead me here?

Emmalyne remembered the minute the idea to go west had seized her. By then, she’d already secured a post as a nanny in Virginia, but something about the advertisement for a teacher in Sterling had captured her attention. By the end of the day, she’d made up her mind, making bold plans that would take her over a thousand miles from home. At the time, she’d rationalized that traveling farther made her plan that much better, but now she wondered if other forces had been at work too.

She had imagined teaching a classroom full of children in Colorado versus tutoring the pampered children of a wealthy family in Virginia. There was no doubt she would have a harder time in the West, but the appeal of actually doing something worthwhile was too much to resist. At the time, it had seemed vastly important. It still was.

“You asleep, Brownie?” Thayne asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“No.”

“Thought you might be since you stopped your fidgeting.”

“Just thinking,” Emmalyne said quietly. “Why do you continue to call me that—Brownie? I haven’t worn that awful suit for days.”

Thayne chuckled. “Doesn’t have anything to do with your dress. It’s your eyes earned you the name.”

Uncertain if he was complimenting her, Emmalyne felt an unsettling flutter inside. That he’d noticed the color of her eyes and commented on them at all was more than any other man had ever done.

Thayne misinterpreted her silence. “If you’re not partial to the nickname, I’ll stick with Emma—or Miss Madsen.”

“Emma is fine,” she said, her heart strangely warmed by the liberty he’d taken with her name. Only her closest friends called her Emma. To everyone else—her father and Wilford included—she was always Emmalyne.

“Well,
Emma,
is that your stomach grumbling or mine?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand went to her middle.

“At least one of us is hungry. You still have that apple?”

“I think so.”

“Fish it out of your pocket, then, and let’s eat.” He pulled on the rope, slowing the horse’s pace.

Emma carefully patted the side of her skirt, searching for the apple. Feeling a bump, she ran her fingers over the fabric and located the pocket. She pulled the apple out and held it up to him.

“Here. You can have it.”

He shook his head. “We’ll share. Ladies first. Take a bite.”

Realizing it probably was
her
stomach that had growled—and was doing so again—Emma didn’t argue but brought the apple to her mouth and took a big, juicy bite. “Mmm.” She caught Thayne’s grin as he looked down at her.

“Have you always been so outspoken about your food?”

“What do you mean?” She moved the apple out of his reach.

“You either love it or hate it. You acted like the prairie dog was a gourmet meal, but you whine for an hour about the oatmeal every morning.”

“Am I that bad?” she asked, chagrined. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve said two words about food in all my life before last week. At home, it’s served at the same time each day, and we eat in the dining room, making polite conversation. It would be strange—likely considered impolite—to speak of what we’re eating.”

“Sounds boring,” he said. “I guess I prefer you overjoyed or ornery. Keeps things interesting.”

“But out here,” she continued, wanting him to understand, “I’ve been hungry for the first time in my life. I never know when or if I’ll eat. I guess I no longer take a good meal for granted. That’s it.” She nodded. “I’m simply being appreciative of a good meal—or piece of fruit, as the case may be.” She held the apple up to him.

“Appreciative and
pick
y
,
” Thayne corrected, amusement in his voice. “Though I am sorry you haven’t had decent food out here. Starving you was never part of the plan.” He took the apple from her, turned it in his hand, and took a deeper bite—right where she had.

Emma swallowed slowly as she watched him, appalled her gaze so often strayed to his mouth.

He caught her watching and, once again, seemed to guess her thoughts. “If we eat one side first,” he explained, “my hand won’t get sticky.”

“Of course,” Emma said.

Instead of returning the apple to her, he kept it, lowering it close to her lips. “Go ahead,” he urged.

Left with no choice, she bent her head forward and took a smaller bite next to the one he’d taken. It tasted even better than the first, but this time she kept quiet.

Thayne lifted the apple, again biting where she had. He held it for her once more. She took another bite, feeling her face flush as her lips brushed his finger.
Thank goodness it’s dark.
Against her better judgment, she looked up, watching his teeth sink into the apple. She closed her eyes, head forward.

“Want some more?” he mumbled as he chewed.

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you.” She was afraid of what would happen if she ate any more. Earlier, she’d all but asked Thayne to kiss her, and he’d calmly refused—for very logical,
right
reasons. Now, here she was again, barely able to keep her eyes or her thoughts off his mouth.

She groaned.

“Soreness getting worse?” Thayne asked. He finished the apple and tossed the core away. “Lean against my chest and go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

She knew he would. No longer afraid of him but of herself, she resisted the urge to snuggle against him. But the lure of worry-free sleep combined with the steady plodding of their horse finally lulled her eyes closed.

She was sound asleep when, sometime later, Thayne’s arm tightened around her and he bent his head for just a moment. Cheek pressed to her hair, an almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips.

* * *

Bleary-eyed, Emma stared at the fire, trying to make sense of her surroundings, the morning—last night. Snatches of their conversation replayed in her mind, leaving her on edge, her emotions in no better state than they’d been the past several days.

Yesterday things had been simple. Thayne Kendrich was bad. He was the outlaw who’d kidnapped her and committed who knew how many other unlawful acts. But last night he’d shattered that image, telling her what she believed to be the truth—about himself and her abduction.

She vaguely remembered falling asleep, and she was fairly certain she remembered Thayne lifting her from the horse sometime later. It was what she thought happened next that had her puzzled.

He had given her a blanket, and she’d curled up and gone right back to sleep—or had she? Was it a dream, or had Thayne leaned down beside her, tucked her in, and told her he’d wanted to kiss her too?

“But I won’t let you down, Emma. And I pray you won’t let me down either.”

Words remembered or imagined, she wasn’t sure.

“Breakfast by the wagon wheel, promptly at sunup,” Thayne said, reaching down to hand her a steaming bowl.

“Oatmeal, what a surprise.” The words were out before she’d had a chance to think. Emma bit her lip and looked up at Thayne, but if he’d heard or minded her sarcasm, he didn’t let on. Vowing to be silent, she lifted the spoon, blew on the oatmeal, and then took a bite.

It tasted delicious. “This is good,” she blurted, completely forgetting her vow. She leaned forward, looking around the wagon, teasing about the possibility that someone who could actually cook had joined them in the middle of the night. “Did
you
make it?”

“Added more water and a bit of the brown sugar,” Thayne said. “We’re celebrating today.”

“We are?” She settled back on the blanket and dug her spoon into the bowl again.

“Yup.”

Emma noticed he seemed to be enjoying breakfast as much as she was.

“What exactly are we celebrating?”

Thayne rose, went to the fire, and refilled his bowl from the pot hanging there. He turned, fixing a look on her. “You’re not running away anymore
and
—” He lifted his face, gazing out at the prairie. “By tonight we should be in view of the Hills.”

Chapter 18

Thayne pulled back on the reins, bringing the animals to a stop a good distance from the road. Dropping the straps, he raised one hand, stretching awkwardly. Aside from being dead tired, his side was stiff and sore from Emma leaning against him the past three hours.

“Emma. Wake up.” Thayne reached over, lifting her head from his shoulder. She barely moved, and though she’d been sleeping, he knew she was at least as tired as he. It was the first night of the past three that she’d fallen asleep, and he’d watched her fight it as long as she could.

Her eyes flickered open, and she looked at him. Thayne recognized her moment of panic as her mind tried to register where she was. The worry etched in the features of her young face caused him a moment of guilt.

Just a couple more days,
he thought as he climbed down from the seat.
And then you’ll meet Joshua, and everything will be all right.
He hoped—had even offered several silent prayers—that it would indeed be all right. But doubts nagged him. Christina hadn’t cared for Joshua, and he was her own flesh and blood.
All women aren’t like Christina
, Thayne reminded himself. Emma was, in fact, quite different from her.
Different enough that she’ll agree to care for and teach a troubled boy?
He didn’t know.

“Careful now,” Thayne said. He held his arms up to help her from the wagon. Without standing fully, Emma leaned toward him, took a step, and caught her thick sock on a splintery floorboard. Still only half awake, she lost balance, pitching forward into his outstretched arms.

He caught her easily and swung her down from the wagon, wishing once more that his circumstances were different, or, at the least, that there was an easier way to travel—without Emma in such close proximity.

She steadied herself and murmured her thanks. Thayne was struck again by what a good woman she was. How many women would thank a man for a simple thing like help down from a wagon when they’d been forced to sleep sitting up in that wagon all night because they were being dragged—as Emma had put it—to the middle of nowhere? Not many, he imagined.

Since their conversation several days past, she’d been cooperative, amusing, even pleasant to be around. He felt bad now that he’d told her the horses had a better disposition than she. Turned out, Emma hadn’t been lying when she’d told him she was perfectly nice—until he came along. He’d seen the other side of her these past few days, and he liked what he saw. Too much. Several times he’d caught himself laughing with her or telling her more of his past than he wanted, and he’d had to stop himself. There was no sense in getting too close to Emma or any other woman ever again.

Thayne tossed her a blanket, resisting the urge to unfold it himself and tuck her in for what was left of the night. But he’d done that much already and knew the more they shared moments like that, the harder their situation would get. He had hoped their truce would make things easier, but instead, it had only brought new, more serious problems. It would have been simple enough to keep Emma from running away, but it wasn’t so easy to keep himself from running to her. A man got lonely, and a fine woman like Emma was a sore temptation.

He turned away, but not before noticing she took all of two seconds to throw the blanket over her and fall back on the grass, exhausted. Her sense of propriety was breaking down in more ways than one. Hunger and sleep deprivation made niceties like a proper table setting and a bed seem less than necessary.

It’s good
, he thought,
that she’s leaving behind her citified ways.
Also fortunate was the fact that Emma seemed to be pulling away from him. While outwardly she was pleasant, Thayne could tell that inside she was worried. He sensed her agitation increasing the closer they got to their destination. He wished he knew what to say to alleviate her fears, but he wasn’t certain what that was. Several times he’d started to bring up Joshua, only to back down. Somehow he didn’t think telling her about his boy was going to help any. Likely, she was expecting a normal student—the kind she would have had in Sterling.

Still, Thayne reminded himself, Emma’d all but been dropped in his lap—quite literally when she was pushed out of that train—and he felt strongly she was the right one to help him.

He tended to the horses, then took his bedroll from the seat and spread it out a good distance from her. A sliver of moon hung low in the sky, and Thayne took comfort in knowing it wouldn’t be half full before he held Joshua again.

* * *

The endless knoll of black—as it had appeared from a distance—gradually turned into a forest of deep green as the wagon rolled from the barren prairie up into the pines. Despite her fear over what lay ahead, Emma couldn’t help but enjoy the change. Fields of wildflowers, rushing creeks, and tall pines surrounded them—right up to the very edge of the road in some places. The Black Hills
were
beautiful, and reflecting on the one and only time she and Thayne had talked about Indians, she suddenly could not fault the Lakota for wanting to keep this land to themselves.

Still, dread grew in her heart as did the silence between her and Thayne as they traveled. He’d hardly spoken two words to her today. He was lost in his own thoughts again, and that troubled her all the more. That and the fact that they were traveling by day now. Thayne had announced it safe to do so two days back when they left the main road toward the gold fields and Deadwood and headed northeast toward the Touch the Clouds Agency—one of several Indian agencies within or around the Black Hills.

If she’d thought the sand on the road outside of Sidney made for rough traveling, she was wrong. The roads in the Hills were like nothing she’d ever encountered. In several places, she could hardly tell they were riding on any sort of trail at all. Tall grass surrounded the wagon, and hidden within that grass were hundreds of good-sized rocks, just the sort for upsetting wagon wheels. Her hands ached from clinging to the side of the seat for hours on end, and she wasn’t at all certain she’d ever be able to stand straight again after all the jarring and bouncing her back had endured.

“Might you—drive a bit—slower?” Emmalyne ground out as they covered a particularly rough patch of ground and she tottered to the side once more.

Thayne shook his head. “If we continue this pace, we’ll cover thirty miles today. Only a couple more days, then.”

Her stomach lurched despite its emptiness. She closed her eyes, wishing fervently that this was a nightmare she might awaken from.
Why didn’t I tell him I wanted to go home? How am I ever going to teach an Indian?
And who is this student and
why
does he wish to be taught?
If only Thayne would answer her questions, but every time she tried to find out more about her teaching assignment, he brushed her off, telling her he’d explain things when they got there.

Hopefully that meant he wasn’t just going to drop her off, turn the wagon around, and leave. Perhaps he might even be staying a while himself. That possibility sparked new hope. She’d grown to depend on Thayne.

Looking sideways at him, she decided to find out. “How long will we be staying in the Lakota camp?”

“Not long,” he said, eyes trained on the unmarked road before them.

The stirring of hope grew. She’d purposely said
we
and—

“I’ve got two dozen head of cattle and a crop to get home to,” Thayne continued. “I can’t spare but a day in the camp.”

Emmalyne’s heart plummeted. He’d said nothing about her leaving with him. It was as she had believed all along. She was a trade for whatever it was he needed from the Indians.

Nothing more.

She let her eyes close again and even allowed herself to lean against his shoulder, certain she’d faint if she didn’t. A moment passed, and she was surprised to feel Thayne’s arm around her. It was oddly comforting and brought to mind the kiss that seemed an eternity ago. This time Emmalyne allowed herself to think of it without shame, knowing it might be one of a precious few memories she would have to hold on to as she lived and worked among a strange people.