His strong arm imprisoned both of hers and pinned her to his chest. Immediately the rapid beating of his heart and the labored breathing in his chest vibrated through her back. A ripple of defeat flowed through her. Her victory was short lived. But at least he wasn’t taking her without a fight.
“Now you just settle down, Miss. We’ve got some riding to do.” He urged the big horse forward and in a moment they were off at a gallop.
Charlotte, sitting at an awkward angle, held to the saddle horn until her knuckles were white. Her fingers ached beyond anything she had endured, but she couldn’t let go, else her silk skirt would cause her to slide even further. He had been right about one thing– silk was not the ideal fabric for riding.
Blinking away the sand that stung her eyes, she began to look for the nearest hope of escape from this crisis and the arms pinning her in place Somewhere there would be a farmhouse, or cabin, anywhere she could shout for help. She forced her eyes to stay open against the dust and wind, watching in vain for any chance of help.
But nothing appeared. His tight hold around her waist made it impossible to escape– and where could she go if she broke free? Her heart sank as she surveyed the bare landscape they were rushing through. Justice had described Texas as the most beautiful country he’d ever seen, but around her was a desolate landscape of open country, barren and lonely. Perhaps beauty was two hours away in Black Well.
The powdery dust beneath them had began to change to a more solid soil as the men rode on towards the shifting scenery of hills instead of plain dusty fields, their rolling surface covered with trees.
As the horse began to slow, her heart raced ahead as she spotted a cabin. Small and weather beaten, the logs grey from constant exposure to sun and rain. Not much more than a shack.
“I need to stop,” she shouted, half turning her head toward him. Surely he couldn’t deny her that personal necessity.
His arms barely loosened their hold on her. He turned the horse onto the trail leading to the house and her heart picked up its speeding pace. There would be someone here to help her escape. Someone to sympathize with her if she could get a moment to speak with them alone.
The men that had been riding behind them pulled ahead and stopped at the gate, opening it wide for them.
“This is our first stop,” he announced, pulling the horse to a halt and allowing her to slide to the ground.
First? Her heart sank like an anchor in a stormy sea. He had already planned to take a rest at this house. There was no hope for assistance here. She was still at his mercy.
Charlotte wobbled and almost fell as her feet touched solid earth. Her legs threatened to fold beneath her. Streaks of pain shot down her arms and into her hands from her tight hold on the saddle horn. Her whole body trembled, as if it had been trodden and beaten. She grasped the mane of the horse and steadied herself. The kidnapper dismounted and stood beside her.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
The concern in his voice sent her temper rushing to her mouth. How dare he pretend he cared after the way she’d been treated. She swiveled and met his eyes, shouting her answer to him.
“No, I am not all right! I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, forced to ride at your mercy on a galloping horse, and now you want to know if I’m. . .I’m. . .?” Her breath caught in her throat as the man drew his bandana down around his neck, his lips curved in a half smile, revealing a row of perfect teeth. The dimple on his left cheek gave his expression a boyish look.
He was not at all the scowling, menacing figure she had imagined from the moments since he forced her from the stagecoach, nor like the villainous posters of outlaws she had seen on display before. His nose was strong and straight, his features comparable to the handsome figure in a magazine serial or one of the novels she read from time to time.
She willed her gaze away, but his deep blue eyes held hers in a near trance, enticing her thoughts. How could she possibly be attracted to such a man as this ruffian?
She cleared her throat, recovering her voice. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I can assure you that it won’t be long before my fiancé is looking for me, you. . .” Fury engulfed her very being as a flash of amusement crossed his face.
He shook his head. “You're a lively one and a little too bold for your own good. Old Justice might have gotten more than he planned on with you.”
His words knocked the rest of the retort from her thoughts. “Justice? You know him?”
He took the hat from his head and shook the dust from his sand colored hair. His amusement vanished as a scowl flashed across his face. “More than I care to. Now, let’s get you inside, so we can continue on with our business.”
She hesitated. If this man knew Justice personally, then it was possible her kidnapping wasn’t just an attempt to secure a ransom. Was it a grudge or revenge against him for some imagined offense?
Whatever he and these other two lawbreakers were up to, she wasn’t going to let them get away with it. Charlotte crossed her arms and set her jaw. “I don’t think I’ll be going inside.”
He snorted. “Oh, yes you will. You can walk or I’ll carry you. Take your choice, Miss Turner.”
A ripple of uncertainty washed over her. “How do you know my name?”
He shoved his hat back on his head. “We’ll get into all that later. Right now I need to know if you’re going to walk inside the house or am I going to carry you?”
“You wouldn’t have the ner–PUT ME DOWN!” She kicked and struggled against his hold as his arms swung her in the air. She threw her fists wild and knocked him in the jaw. A moment later, she hit the ground with a thud. Pain bolted through her hip, but she was back on her feet at once. “You dropped me! How dare you even touch me, you clumsy, cowardly thief!”
He adjusted his hat and stuck his thumbs in his gun belt. “No ma’am, I didn’t drop you. I put you down, just like you asked.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “And I did say I’d carry you inside if you weren’t going to walk in on your own.”
She forced back the tears that pricked at her eyelids. It was so infuriating to cry when she was angry. Trying to be serious, her emotions made her appear as a child. “You’re nothing but a low life ruffian," she snapped. "Justice is twice the man you’ll ever be.”
A shadow crossed his handsome features and his deep blue eyes narrowed. “I’ll appreciate you not to compare me to that man.”
As if there could be any comparison between the two of them! Justice was honest, kind…not a condescending thief like this conceited scoundrel standing in front of her. “That’s nothing you’ll ever have to worry about, Mr…Mr…”
“Anderson. Sam Anderson,” he supplied.
She raised one eyebrow. “Anderson. Are you sure you want to use that name? I’d have figured you to be a Smith. You know, to put on the wanted poster your picture is going to be on.”
His laughter filled the air. “If the law played fairly, the man you’ve come to meet would have his own picture on one of those posters.”
She gasped. “How dare you slander the name of an honest man like Justice Fletcher!”
His eyes narrowed once more. “We’re wasting time, Miss Turner. Now you’re either walking inside, or I’m carrying you. Make a choice or I’ll do it for you.”
Fury burned in her throat as she turned and walked to the front door of the house, pushing it open herself.
Inside, no rug to muffle her steps, bare wood puncheon floors echoed under her feet. The walls were the same plain, unpainted logs as the outside. Light crept in between them, casting lines of shadows on the floor. The structure was all one room, save a blanketed partition in the back corner.
Sam Anderson, following close behind, handed her a package he’d untied from the back of his saddle. “I’ll thank you to go behind that curtain and change into what’s in the package.”
“Change?" she repeated, indignantly. "You want me to– change clothes? What kind of kidnapping is this?” Her ey
es met his in a defiant glance, despite the chill of fear she felt over this strange request.
“Just get behind the curtain, Miss.”
Reluctantly, hesitantly, she stepped beyond the blanket and drew each side as close to the walls as possible. Other than a small wooden table, the space was empty. He was standing just on the other side, only a scrap of fabric separating the two of them. Her heart thudded as she blinked back another round of angry tears. She had no choice. She was trapped into doing whatever this man forced her to do.
Pulling the heavy string on the package, it broke open, revealing tan trousers, a red shirt and a small pair of men’s boots. She felt her heart slow, even as her confusion grew. She wasn’t sure what she had expected in the packet, but this wasn’t it.
“You want me to dress like a man?”
****
Crossing his arms, Sam rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. She was a whole lot more trouble than he had expected. The meek, simpering woman of his imagination had vanished into thin air the moment he’d looked into those dark eyes, snapping with fury and confusion as he offered to help her from the stage. For better or worse, he was in charge of a smart aleck firebrand, very pretty in comparison to the mousy, love-starved creature he envisioned coming west to make a successful mail-order match.
“I’m not sure these are going to fit correctly,” she complained, from behind the curtain.
Sam sighed. Maybe he should have let her go on to her fiancé. Serve the man right, being stuck for a few days with such a smart-mouthed bossy woman. But he couldn’t take the chance of allowing another woman to marry someone like Fletcher. Sam banished the thought with a sigh. How could he even think such a thing after what happened?
Gritting his teeth, he brought to mind his self-promise to leave the details behind, else he’d never be able to think straight about what had to be done. And right now, that included taking care of this strong-willed woman. Give me strength, Lord.
“I will not wear these clothes!”
Count to ten, Sam reminded himself. “Look, Miss. . . ” he grinned. “You either put them on yourself or I’ll have to dress you.” It had worked with threatening to carry her inside, anyway.
Her voice was raspy and cold. “Why you. . .you wouldn’t dare to do such a thing. You’re nothing but a. . .a. . .”
“Now be careful there, ma’am. Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want your preacher to hear.”
***
Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. He was taunting her. When Justice found him, he’d take care of him–of all of them, she decided. Removing her dress and shoes, she donned the trousers over her drawers and stockings. Slightly large, she used the belt from her dress to hold them up. She pulled on the soft black boots and wiggled her toes in them. They were more comfortable than she had guessed they would be.
The shirt was more difficult. The corset would be impossible to wear under it. Praying Mr. Anderson was at least gentleman enough not to look, she unfastened her corset and pulled her shimmy over her head. She closed her eyes and breathed in the most air she’d had in two days. With nothing stabbing into her sides, the cotton shirt felt soft and comfortable against her skin. Maybe she wouldn’t complain too much about not being able to wear the tortuous requirement for every lady.
Folding the undergarments, she put them on the table with the dress and scarf, careful to tuck her precious cameo in the folds. A light brown object caught her eye in the pile of garments: a stay had broken and escaped from the corset’s stitching.
She pulled the piece of cracked whale bone from its casing and stared at the sharp object that remained. In an emergency situation, the jagged edge would make it work well as a knife. A weapon against her captor, perhaps. If he allowed her to keep her things, she would have more stays to work with. Quickly, she eased the shard of bone inside the belt she’d taken from her skirt. It fit nicely between the seams of fabric; its presence might mean her only chance of escape when the moment came.
Carefully opening the locket hanging round her neck, she smiled at the picture of Justice. His handsome, intense, confident face gave strength to her resolve. She would find a way to escape from this man holding her prisoner.
“You about ready?”
She jumped and shoved the locket inside her shirt. Had he spied on her? He was a smart aleck and a scoundrel, but surely he would have respect for a decent woman. “Yes. Almost. I still have to wrap up my clothes.” Her fingers shook as she tied the string.
“Well, hurry. We need to get home before dark.”
Home?
Chapter 2
Outside, she was presented with a hat and her own horse, a brown, somewhat smaller equine than the big gray one Sam called Smoke.
She stared at the mount in front of her. “Does she have a name?”
Sam nodded. “My ranch hand calls her Coffee.” He hesitated as he motioned for her to put her boot in the stirrup. “Can you ride?”
“Some,” she nodded, avoiding his eyes. It was the best answer without lying. Having her own horse was a surprise. It could be her way to get away, ride free of her captor. Truth was, she’d ridden horseback for years on her uncle’s ranch. Her awkward ride on Mr. Sam Anderson’s saddle had given the impression that she hadn’t a clue. Maybe it could work in her favor.
One hand on his gun, he helped her on the animal, then mounted his own. Keeping the reins of her horse in his hand, he pulled her close beside him.
“Where are the others?” She looked behind, realizing they were alone as they started on their way.
“They’ll meet up with us in a day or so. Nothing for you to worry about. We’ve still got a long ride ahead of us.”
She grabbed his wrist that held the reins of her horse. “I don’t understand what is going on, but if you know anything about him, you have to know that Justice Fletcher will come looking for me.”
His gaze met hers. “He may. He may not. Either way, I’ll be meeting up with him pretty soon.”
She gasped and jerked her hand away. Her kidnapping was nothing more than a ruse to trap the man she loved. “This isn’t about me at all. It’s Justice you want, isn’t it?”
He laughed and urged the horses forward. “It is. But the kind of justice I’m looking for has nothing to do with Mr. Fletcher’s name.”
She cringed at the coldness in his voice. She had to be strong, But the truth was, her courage was beginning to fade. Bucking against adversity was part of her makeup, but not in this extreme measure.
She had endured losing her parents at the age of twelve, adjusted to living on her uncle’s ranch. He and her aunt had been kind and well meaning, but it had been a hard change for her. Then there was the war. The terrible, brutal war that had changed all of their lives, draining her aunt’s strength and eventually taking her life. It had seemed unbearable last year when Uncle Edward passed away, yet she had managed to get through it.
That was survival of the will– this, however, was a form of physical survival she had never before faced. She couldn’t sustain her bravery much longer without knowing that Justice would rescue her and keep the promise in his letters. When would he realize that she needed him to come for her?
Her back ached from the bumpy stage ride. The agony of the horseback ride against her will had only served to make the pain worse. And now she was to have the humiliation of masquerading as a man, with the last shreds of comfort and familiarity removed from her and packed in a saddlebag. How much more was she to endure? She glanced at Sam Anderson. He appeared deep in his own thoughts.
I don’t know what he wants with me, Lord, but please give me the strength and courage to endure whatever is ahead. I want to escape, but I have no idea how to survive alone in this desolate country. Please give Justice wings to rescue me.
***
“Wake up!”
Charlotte jerked awake as Sam Anderson’s strong hand touched her shoulder.
“Dozing on horseback isn’t such a good idea,” he s
aid. “If you want, I’ll stop and you can ride with me and sleep all you want.”
She blinked and glanced apprehensively at the scenes around her. How long had she slept? Not long, if the landscape was any indicator. But for all she knew the entire Texas country looked like it had for the last hour; a few scrubby trees and hills always just out of riding distance.
“I would prefer to ride alone,” She answered, stiffly. The fleeting thought of such sensations as nestling against his broad chest, his arms holding her safe, sent a shudder through her, when compared to the loyalty to her fiancé and his waiting embrace.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Her horse whinnied and sidestepped at the noise. Sam pulled the reins in closer and Charlotte grabbed the saddle horn as she began to slide towards the ground. If she fell, he would be forced to dismount and help her. It might be her chance to take his own horse and gallop away. There was no way the little chestnut would catch her. And he wouldn’t dare shoot– would he?
“Hold tight with your legs,” Sam shouted over the sudden howl of wind.
Despite her urge to disobey, she steadied herself, grabbing the horse’s mane. A fine mist of rain began to fall.
“Over there,” Sam pointed. “That looks like a cabin. We can wait the storm out before going on. C’mon” He urged the horses on into a fast trot.
Ahead was a small building, its gray logs much like the one they’d left an hour ago. It shimmered in the hazy air like a mirage in a desert of sand and sagebrush. A few trees in back of the structure, shading a small barn and corral, waved in the wildly blowing wind. Maybe the trees meant water. Her scratchy throat could use a little bit of wetness.
The air became eerily quiet as they rode quickly towards it, her captor still in possession of her horse’s reins. Charlotte’s hair began to stand away from her head as if drawn by an unseen force. Prickles of fear rushed through her body as the air crackled with tension. Sam shouted something, but it was muffled by the bolt of lightning that shot from the sky. Several yards in front of them, the largest of the trees gave a loud crack as it split and bits of wood exploded in the air.
Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride) Page 37