Captive Heart (7 page)

Chapter 12

Emmalyne piled her wet hair on top of her head, leaned back, and sank down into the tub until the warm water lapped at her chin. Her eyes closed in bliss.
Heaven. This is absolute heaven.
For the first time in nearly a week, her stomach was full and she was clean. Such luxury seemed positively decadent.

She relaxed for several minutes, thinking of her father and all else she’d left behind. A smile parted her lips. Back home, if someone had told her that a bowl of soup would seem a delicacy and a hot bath an indulgence, she would have laughed aloud. But then, who knew a few weeks ago that she would be thrown from a train, marched across the scorching prairie, trapped in a fire, chased by outlaws, and bitten by a rattlesnake? Not to mention being slowly poisoned by a country doctor’s wife.

With a sigh, Emmalyne opened her eyes and sat up in the tub. Recalling the list of horrors ended her peaceful respite. Luxury couldn’t last forever. The water was already growing cold and the night dark. She’d best finish her toilette, get dressed, and be gone as soon as possible.

For good measure—who knew when she’d have the chance to bathe again—she ran the lavender-scented soap over her shoulders and down her arms once more. Raising her leg to do the same, she spied the neat
X
a few inches above her left ankle. The red raised scab did not make her feel faint, nor did the thought of the snake any longer make her shudder, but the image of Thayne Kendrich, lips pressed to her skin, did cause her to blush profusely and sink back into the tub.

Her eyes slid closed again as mortification washed over her. It had been bad enough when he’d held her foot and put her boots on. It was appalling that he’d sliced through the strings of her corset so she could breathe. But the thought of him lifting her skirt—even slightly—and pressing his
lips
to her leg was enough to make her want to sink to the bottom of the tub in shame.

What would her father say about such behavior? That she was a ruined woman—fallen—and no respectable man would ever have her now. She thought of Wilford, as respectable as they came, and was relieved she felt no regrets on that account. Still, Emmalyne did not want her father to be displeased with her. She wanted him to believe, as she did, that she’d made the right decision in turning her back on Boston, marriage, and society. She’d given all of that up to do something with her life, to make a difference—a contribution much more than her attendance at the latest soiree.

Emmalyne pulled herself out of the bath and wrapped a towel tightly around her. Gooseflesh sprang up along her arms as she hurriedly dried off and ran the towel over her wet curls that tumbled from the top of her head, dripping trails of cold water down her back.

As she rubbed her legs briskly, her thoughts became determined once more. Her father never need know any of what had passed in the last week. She could still continue on to Sterling, where she could have her year alone. The townspeople would come to know and respect her. She would be a marvelous teacher; the children would adore her and she them, and maybe, just maybe, some kind, intelligent gentleman would sweep her off her feet.

Just as Mr. Kendrich swept you off that train? No. Absolutely not. Thayne Kendrich is neither kind nor intelligent, and he is certainly not a gentleman.

Emmalyne shook her head to dry her curls and clear her mind. She wanted nothing more to do with Thayne Kendrich. Tonight she would leave, and a week from now she would scarcely remember he existed.
You won’t forget him so quickly.
Her thoughts continued to taunt her. In truth, she knew it would be some time before the deep blue of his eyes left her memory or recalling the feel of his hand on her arm ceased to make her skin tingle.

Well, she would try hard to forget him anyway.

She reached for the package next to the basin and untied the string. Peeling back the paper, she saw a gown of soft blue calico. Her fingers traced the sprigs of white flowers dotting the fabric, stiff and new.
You cannot accept such a gift—especially from
him.

“I know,” she whispered, as if to appease her conscience, though she knew she really had no choice but to accept the clothing. She had no idea what had become of her shirtwaist and brown skirt, and she could not remain in Mrs. Beckett’s borrowed night rail forever. It was only right, Emmalyne reasoned, that Thayne had replaced her clothing. After all, it was entirely his fault that her garments were ruined in the first place.

Lifting the dress by the shoulders, she could not keep the smile from her face as her eyes took in the tiny buttons and lace edging at the neck and wrists. Though plain by the standards of Boston society, the dress seemed perfect to her. The lightweight cotton would suit the climate so much better than the wool of her traveling suit.

Setting the dress aside, Emmalyne removed a white bonnet, petticoat, bloomers, and corset—minus the whalebone stays. She felt her face warm again as she imagined Mr. Kendrich holding the corset and removing the stays.
Did he think he was doing me a favor?
She didn’t know what to think but continued to blush as she wondered if he had selected each of the articles himself. Another impropriety to be certain. She didn’t even know of any of her married friends’ husbands who saw to such intimate details of their wives’ wardrobes.

She tried not to imagine Thayne touching each of the fabrics as she pulled on the bloomers and wiggled herself into the corset, doing her best to tie the strings. Once the dress was on and she’d finished with the buttons, she chanced a look in the glass above the bureau. The reflection staring back so shocked her that she took a step away, her hand coming to her mouth in horror. Unable to resist, she leaned close once again, this time bringing her finger to the tip of her nose to examine the cause of her distress.

Bright pink and peeling, her nose practically glowed. The only thing saving it from being the entire center of attention was the peppering of freckles sprinkled across her cheeks.
Where did
those come from?
Pulling her gaze away from the appalling state of her skin, Emmalyne lifted her eyes, looking at her hair in the mirror. The soggy, tangled mass that hung limply over her shoulders did nothing to improve the picture. With a sigh that was part frustration and part despair, Emmalyne dug through her valise until she located a brush. With violent strokes, she began pulling it through her curls, wincing at each snarl.

“I
am
ruined,” she whispered, furious. “What will the good citizens of Sterling think when I arrive looking like this?”

She worked at the tangles several minutes until her hair hung smooth and flat down her back, then looked around on the bureau and night table for hairpins but found none. Searching through her bag yielded only four, plus her two tortoiseshell combs, usually reserved for special occasions. With no choice but to use them to secure her hair, she wove the wet strands into a tight bun at the nape of her neck—not enough pins for anything higher or more stylish. But her hair was soon forgotten as she retrieved the last item from the brown wrapping.

As she picked up the pair of white silky stockings, she realized she had no shoes. The parcel was empty, and her old ill-used boots were nowhere to be seen. Just to be sure, Emmalyne checked under the bed and in each of the bureau drawers.

Nothing.

With a groan of discouragement, she sat on the bed, the new stockings still clutched tightly in her hands. He’d done it on purpose. Of that she was positive. Thayne had likely guessed she’d try to leave before he came for her tomorrow morning, and to ensure she’d go nowhere, he’d left her without shoes.

“The gall of that man.” Emmalyne folded an arm across her middle and brought a hand to her chin as she contemplated what to do next. The Becketts were still downstairs. Perhaps she could sneak into their bedroom and see if Mrs. Beckett had an extra pair of shoes.

I can’t do that. It’s stealing.
Emmalyne’s hand moved to her forehead as she hung her head in shame. How could she even think such a thing? She supposed that’s what came of associating with a common criminal. She wondered how long it would take her to repent and get back to her strait and narrow ways.

She couldn’t steal a pair of shoes.
But perhaps I could borrow some,
she thought, with the intent to send them back once she had safely arrived in Sterling. But she knew at once that that idea was no good either. A thief was a thief, and that was exactly what she would be if she went poking around Mrs. Beckett’s bedroom.

If only she might ask to borrow a pair, but after eavesdropping on the earlier dining room conversation, Emmalyne knew Mrs. Beckett would not be accommodating. She was much too enamored with Thayne to believe anything Emmalyne said. There would be no assistance from that quarter.

Forlorn, Emmalyne looked down at the stockings in her hand. Realizing she had no choice, she rose from the bed and placed them inside her valise along with her brush and the bonnet. She snapped the bag shut and held it to her. Slowly, she turned around and looked toward the bedroom door. It was simply scandalous to imagine walking through town barefoot, yet that’s what she would have to do.

She had to get away from Mr. Kendrich. She had to get to Sterling.

And it had to be tonight.

Tiptoeing to the door, Emmalyne opened it slowly and looked down the hall and stairs. Voices came from below. She debated whether it was better to go now or wait until later when the Becketts had gone to bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided not to wait, in the hope she might still find someone at the telegraph or sheriff’s office.

With utmost caution, she descended the stairs, stepping near the edge lest she encounter a squeaky board. Once on the main floor, she paused to listen again. The voices came from the parlor on the other side of the wall. Could she make it past the doorway without being seen?

Taking a deep, silent breath, Emmalyne gathered her skirts, knelt down, and crawled toward the kitchen, hugging the wall as she went. Mrs. Beckett was a fastidious housekeeper, and Emmalyne’s knees, in her new bloomers, practically skimmed across the waxed floor. When she was safely away from the parlor, she stood again, heart pounding as she headed toward the back door, eyes focused on the brass knob, her portal to freedom.

Reaching the door, Emmalyne stood to the side, peeking through the lacy curtain to ensure no one was outside on the stoop. The alley appeared dark and deserted—exactly as she wished it to be. Still clutching her bag, she turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped outside, free at last.

Chapter 13

Emmalyne winced as her bare feet touched the cold, sharp gravel. She did her best to ignore the discomfort, walking as quickly as possible toward what she hoped was the town center.

“Bit cool to be without shoes tonight, don’t you think?”

She took another step before her mind registered Thayne’s voice. Snapping her head up, she saw him leaning casually against a clothesline post in the next yard. With a gasp, she turned and fled in the direction she’d just come, her panicked thoughts tumbling over one another as her feet did their best to keep her body upright on the uneven ground.

Racing up the steps, she flung open the Becketts’ back door, then slammed it shut, wishing she had the key for the lock. She hurried through the kitchen, slowing momentarily as she passed in front of the parlor on her way to the front door. Bobbing in a half curtsey, Emmalyne nodded to Dr. and Mrs. Beckett, half risen from their chairs.

“Thank you for your kindness. ’Tis most appreciated.” Emmalyne didn’t wait for a response but rushed to the front door, pulled it open, and ran down the walk—straight into Thayne Kendrich.

“Whoa there, Emma.” He held her arms firmly. “I was just coming to get you. We’re not quite ready to go yet.”

“You—” Emmalyne looked up at him, confused.

“Jumped the fence,” Thayne said, nodding toward the side of the Becketts’ house. He turned Emmalyne toward the street and the waiting team and wagon. “I guessed you’d try to leave tonight.”

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Beckett called from the doorway. The doctor came up behind her, concern etching his brow.

“Told you she was eager to get to her cousin’s,” Thayne called, looking back at them. He released one of Emmalyne’s arms and pried the carpetbag from her grip. She pulled her other arm free, but Thayne grabbed her hand before she could escape again.

“Let go,” Emmalyne sputtered.

“We’ll go in a minute, darling,” Thayne drawled, his tone solicitous. “Why, Emma,” he exclaimed, grinning as he shook his head. “You couldn’t even wait for me to fetch your new shoes.” He glanced down at her bare toes, peeking out from beneath the dress.

Mrs. Beckett clucked her disapproval and called out to him. “I think you’d best take some tonic with you, Mr. Kendrich. I’m worried she’s still a little touched from that bite.”

“No!” Emmalyne and the doctor both spoke at once.

“Come inside, Agatha,” Dr. Beckett ordered, taking her arm just as Thayne had taken Emmalyne’s. “Good eve to you folks. Have a safe journey.” He pulled his wife inside with him and began to close the door.

“Wait,” Emmalyne called. “I—” Thayne’s gun in her back silenced her.

“We both thank you,” Thayne called as he steered Emmalyne toward the street.

Behind them, the door shut soundly. Ignoring the gun, she began fighting for all she was worth, kicking and scratching. But in the dark and without boots, she was not nearly as effective as she’d been on the train. Thayne lifted her easily onto the wagon seat and, without letting go of her arm, climbed up behind her before she could jump off the other side. He tossed her bag in the back of the wagon.

“We can do this the easy way, or I can tie you up and feed you Mrs. Beckett’s brew.” He withdrew a familiar brown bottle from his pocket.

Emmalyne wrapped the fingers of her free hand around the far edge of the wagon seat and pulled, trying to free herself from Thayne’s grasp.

“Still stubborn,” he muttered, pocketing the bottle. He reached behind the seat to retrieve a coil of rope.

A flash of light at the front window of the Becketts’ home caught Emmalyne’s attention. “Go ahead and tie me up,” she said, suddenly smug. She let go of the wagon seat and held her hand out. “You’re being watched.”

Thayne glanced at the window, gave a friendly wave to Mrs. Beckett, then dropped the rope on the seat beside him. He turned to Emmalyne, a sly smile on his face. “Let’s give Mrs. Beckett something to talk about.” He took Emmalyne’s hand and pulled her into his arms.

Emmalyne opened her mouth in a shocked
O
then instantly realized her mistake as Thayne’s lips descended on hers. She tried to purse her lips, tried to bite him, tried to do
anything
other than participate in the kiss, but somehow he made that impossible.

His lips were surprisingly soft and warm. They moved against hers patiently as his arms wrapped around her. One hand pressed into her back, pulling her closer. The other crept beneath her bun, caressing the nape of her neck, playing with the hairs that had already escaped their pins.

Emmalyne’s eyelids fluttered shut, and for a moment she allowed herself to indulge in the entirely unexpected feeling of being held and touched.

Against her will, she felt her body leaning toward his, yielding to his demands. Her balled fists slackened, fingers sliding down his arms. A strange sense of desire stirred within her. Ever so slightly, she parted her lips again.

As surprised as she, Thayne pulled back and looked deep into her eyes.

“Well now.” The words rolled softly off the lips that had just been kissing her, shocking Emmalyne right back to the present. She brought a hand to her mouth, shamed with the reality of what she’d just done.

Thayne looked away, grabbed the reins, and snapped them hard. “Giddyap.”

The wagon lurched forward down the dark street. Thrown off balance, Emmalyne slammed into his side. He didn’t reach out to steady her, didn’t offer a word of assistance or even a threat to sit tight. Instead, he leaned forward, snapping the reins again.

Their pace increased, the wagon careening recklessly down the road and out of town, leaving Emmalyne no choice but to hold on for dear life.

At the window, Agatha Beckett let the parted curtains fall back into place. She stepped aside, one hand to her brow as she walked across the room and sank into her rocker.

“Well?” Dr. Beckett asked. “Will your patient survive? Are you satisfied?”

Agatha nodded absentmindedly as she picked up her embroidery and used it to fan her face. Somehow,
satisfied
wasn’t the word that came to mind just now after the shameful display she had just witnessed.

She crossed her legs, foot pushing off the floor as she began to rock back and forth, knowing no satisfaction as she realized her husband had
never
kissed her the way Mr. Kendrich had just kissed his new bride.

With a huff, Agatha pulled on her spectacles and picked up her needle, stabbing it into the embroidery. It all made sense now.

No wonder Emmalyne Kendrich was in such a hurry to leave.

* * *

Hearing Emmalyne stir, Thayne opened one eyelid and watched as she took in her surroundings, tried to sit up, and then discovered her hand was tied to the wagon wheel.

“Morning.” He tipped his hat. She turned away from him and began working the rope. He closed his eye again, resting a few minutes more, secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“I demand you untie me at once.”

Her tone was angry, as he’d expected, and he’d be angry too, waking tied up like that. But there wasn’t much he could do about it so long as she remained uncooperative. He only hoped that once they reached the Sioux camp and she met Joshua that she’d soften up a bit.

Thayne opened both eyes this time, reached his hands up to stretch, then stood and went to the wagon. Ignoring his captive, he retrieved the makings for breakfast.

“Mr. Kendrich, I insist—”

“Woke up on the wrong side of the wagon, did you?” Thayne chuckled as he scooped oatmeal into a pot. A rock came sailing past his ear.

“I’ll scream,” Emmalyne said. “Untie me immediately or—”

“Go ahead,” Thayne urged. “There’s no one around to hear you.” He ducked as a second rock flew past, then glanced down and saw she was shivering. He left the oatmeal, grabbing another blanket from the wagon as he walked over behind her.

“Here.” He wrapped it around her shoulders. “It’s not my intention that you be miserable.”

“Well, you certainly could have fooled me.” She sniffed loudly as she grabbed the blanket with her free hand and pulled it tight around her.

“If I could trust you not to run off . . .” Thayne let the statement hang in the air as he walked a few feet away and began clearing the ground for a fire.

“Where would I run?” she asked, looking around.

Thayne watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked so forlorn he almost felt guilty. Almost, but not quite. He had to think of Joshua first, and besides, Miss Madsen wasn’t getting such a bad deal, either. Her new situation wouldn’t be too different from what she’d have been doing teaching school in Sterling. When all was said and done, Thayne hoped she’d see that he’d been more than fair.

He gathered some kindling, then took one log from the small pile at the back of the wagon. In a few minutes’ time he had a nice fire going and their breakfast well under way.

He walked over to Emmalyne again, squatting down in front of her.

“Seems I owe you an apology about last night. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she snapped. “Kidnapping me again, scaring me half to death the way you drove this wagon in the dark, or—”

“Kissing you,” Thayne said. He caught her eye. “I’m sorry about kissing you. I had no right to do that. Didn’t think it through too well—just wanted to convince Mrs. Beckett—”

“Of your lie,” Emmayne finished.

Thayne stood again. “Guess that’s about right. Anyhow, I
am
sorry. It won’t happen again. And maybe we could call it even with the lying and try honesty from here on out.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I lied out of necessity.”

“So did I.”

She looked away, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “No. It was entirely different.”

Thayne shrugged. “Think what you like, Emma.”

She didn’t respond, but Thayne thought he saw her lip trembling, and he could tell she was even more upset than she’d been before his apology. “How about this, then? How about we make a couple of promises and then I untie you?”

She continued to look away, studying the wagon wheel as if it were a fascinating piece of art. “I don’t believe I can put much stock in a promise made by an outlaw.”

Thayne gave a wry smile. He walked over to check on their breakfast. “What I’m wondering is if I can trust
you
. It’s mighty nice over by the fire, and I imagine you’d rather eat on your own than have me feed you.”

Emmalyne finally looked up, eyes blazing. “I’d rather starve than have you feed me.”

“That bad, huh?” Thayne shook his head. “Let me know when you’re ready, then. You promise me you won’t run or try to scratch my eyes out, and I’ll untie you. I’m willing to give you a fair shake at honesty.”

“
You’ll
give
me
—” She gave a huff of anger and turned away from him again, muttering something about the pot calling the kettle black.

Thayne sat by the fire and ate his breakfast. He expected her to come around soon, but instead, she lay down and fell asleep once more. He knew she wasn’t pretending when he bent to pull the blanket over her feet. His hand brushed her foot accidentally, and she didn’t stir or kick him. Instead, her toes curled involuntarily, bringing a smile to Thayne’s face as he went about the rest of the morning’s work.