Captive Heart by Michele Paige Holmes Page B

Leaving was the smart thing to do. Alone like this, she was no good to him. They had no shelter, food, or medicine. Stark reality dictated she should definitely go. So why do I feel so guilty? She bit her nail in indecision.
    Because I’m leaving as much for myself as to help him. “And just what is wrong with that?” Emmalyne said aloud. “The man kidnapped me. Why shouldn’t I try to get away?” With those words, she turned resolutely from the sorry sight of Mr. Kendrich sprawled helplessly in the dirt.
    She would go. She would find the railroad line, and she would find Sidney. Once there, she could send someone back to help Mr. Kendrich while she stayed in town and sent a telegraph to Sterling. Surely her teaching position hadn’t already been filled. She’d ask the school board to wire her money for another ticket, and she could pay them back from her salary. Most likely, her trunk had already made it safely there. The lines of worry eased as she thought of such a happy possibility.
    Dipping the cloth in the water, Emmalyne wrung it out and placed it across Mr. Kendrich’s brow. He didn’t move—didn’t even stir. Guilt tore at her. How could she leave him? How could she not? He’d saved her twice. She owed him one more. She would pay her debt by getting help.
    Turning her back to the sun, she looked west over the prairie. Could she find Sidney on her own? Doubts crept into her mind. But if someone had asked her last week if she could dig a bullet out of a man’s shoulder, she would certainly have said no.
    And somehow she’d done that.
    Somehow she would make it to Sidney—and get them both out of this mess.
    Emmalyne filled the canteen, picked up the pistol, and looked longingly at her jacket, balled up beneath Mr. Kendrich’s head. She supposed she’d better leave it to provide what comfort it could, though the thought of walking into town without it, in her dirty shirtwaist—with no corset beneath—was appalling. She tried not to think of the embarrassment, reasoning instead that it would likely be dark by the time she arrived.
    Looking around one last time, she made certain the bucket of water was within his reach.
    She took a step backward, nearly crushing his worn hat. She picked it up, holding it thoughtfully. It was filthy to be sure, but . . . With a grimace she plunked it on her head. The hat might save her from further sunburn and maybe keep her going a little longer. She glanced down one more time.
    “Good-bye, Mr. Kendri—” Her voice caught. “Good-bye, Thayne.”
    * * *
    Using his good arm, Thayne lifted the pail, purposely dumping half the water down the front of his shirt. It brought immediate, though short-lived, relief, and he savored the moment before starting out after Emmalyne Madsen.
    “Fool woman,” he muttered under his breath as he felt for his hat and remembered it was gone. What he didn’t remember was when he’d lost it—before he jumped into the well or when he’d rescued her in the fire—but he knew without its protection he was in for a long, hot walk. He already felt unnaturally warm, and letting the sun beat down on his head all day was going to do nothing to improve his situation. He eyed Emmalyne’s crumpled wool jacket, still lying on the ground. She must have put it under his head last night after he’d passed out.
    Thayne frowned, disgusted with himself for such unmanly behavior over a couple of little gunshot wounds. As if to prove he was stronger than that, he rotated his injured shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain then cursing when he saw the bright red stain of fresh blood appear. Maybe it was worse than he’d realized. He only hoped Miss Madsen had been successful in getting the bullets out.
    Doing his best to ignore his shoulder, he bent and picked up the jacket, dipping it in the bucket. When it was good and wet, he tossed it over his head, arranging it so the sleeves hung down on either side of his face, over his ears. The wet wool