Captive Heart by Michele Paige Holmes Page A

it had brought up clean, clear water. Thinking of it now and hearing her stomach grumble, she picked up the canteen and took a long drink. The water soothed her raw throat but did little to ease her hunger. Was it only this morning Mr. Kendrich had fed her that delicious wild game? So much had happened in the hours since that it seemed as if days had passed.
    Emmalyne fervently hoped days wouldn’t pass before Mr. Kendrich returned to his usual bossy self. Even the prospect of being traded to Indians seemed better than indefinite days of starvation out on the prairie. Placing her palm across his brow, she checked for fever and felt reassured that he had none. She sat beside him and drew her knees up to her chest, watching as the sun sank lower on the horizon.
    A coyote howled somewhere in the distance, and Emmalyne shuddered. Dark was coming on strong now. Scooting closer to Mr. Kendrich, she curled herself in a ball on her side and fell into an uneasy sleep with one hand on the gun.

Chapter 9
    The morning sun was already beating down on them when Emmalyne finally opened her eyes. She struggled to sit up, her arm numb from acting as a pillow much of the night. Shifting her weight, she turned to Mr. Kendrich, who was lying completely still—in the exact same position she’d left him last night. Her own pulse quickened as she placed her hand to his chest. She was relieved to feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.
    Keeping her hand on his skin a moment longer than necessary, she took comfort in his presence. Before yesterday, she’d never seen a man without his shirt on. Now, curiosity held her riveted. A variety of scars—large and small—spread over his muscled arms and chest, indications of a hard life. He is an outlaw, she reminded herself. Though nothing like those men who were here yesterday. She studied Thayne’s face and was surprised to see worry and pain etched there, even as he slept. Who are you? Not a cold, heartless man as I first believed. A shudder of fear rippled through her as she realized how easy it would have been for him to simply hand her over to the Martin brothers. Instead, he’d handed her his only gun and faced them unarmed, risking his own life. What kind of an outlaw does that? She didn’t know and was not inclined to find out. He’s still dangerous, she reminded herself. He’s the reason I’m stuck out here.
    Gently touching the rust-colored strips of fabric covering his wounds, Emmalyne was pleased to find the blood dry. She was not pleased a moment later when her stomach grumbled and she felt the gnawing ache of hunger. With a groan, she stood and stretched her sore muscles. Now what?
    Yesterday’s “rest” hadn’t really been a day of rest at all—what with the Martin gang, the fire, and Mr. Kendrich’s gunshot wounds. As Emmalyne carried the empty bucket to the well, she realized she felt more physically and emotionally drained than she’d felt in her entire life.
    In a strange sort of way, neither feeling was wholly unwelcome. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? To have an adventure? To do something with her life? To have purpose—other than being a banker’s sweet, docile bride?
    Water sloshed down the front of Emmalyne’s skirt as she hauled the pail up from the well and lugged it back. The past few days definitely qualified as adventurous. But purpose? Certainly it wasn’t her purpose in life to be traded to an Indian tribe. And now was her chance to do something about that.
    She stopped beside Mr. Kendrich, stooping to take the strip of petticoat from his forehead. The cloth felt dry—warm even. Emmalyne touched his brow. Hot. Enough for concern? She didn’t know.
    Lines of worry creased her face as she brought her fingers to her lips, thinking. Fever or not, Mr. Kendrich needed care beyond that which she could give. Perhaps she could leave him and go for help. He’d said she could make it to Sidney in one day.
    She rose slowly and stood, looking down on him.