Dalton

by Vivi Holt

  * * *

  Hazel closed the door to her dorm room and locked it behind her. Class was done for the week and she was tired. She’d forgotten how intense it was to have a full load of classes, and her eyes were weary from all the reading over the past five days. Now it was the weekend, and she would spend it at the ranch with Dalton. Her fiancé. The thought buoyed her spirits, and she began to whistle as she skipped to her car.

  The drive to Cotton Tree Ranch was quick, the sun not yet at the horizon when she pulled up in front of the house. She waved to Rocket Peak, who had a new companion sharing his pasture, then braced as Harley launched himself at her, his tail wagging ferociously. He licked her legs, her hands and her arms, then her face when she squatted. “Hey, buddy. You gonna give me a bath?”

  When the front door opened, she stood as and ran into Dalton’s arms, burying her face between his neck and shoulder. He lifted her into the air and kissed her hard on the lips. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He lowered her to the ground again and his hands caressed her back. “How was school?”

  “Great. But my brain is fried.”

  He chuckled. “Good to hear. Hey, I have something to show you. How’d you like to see the latest addition to our little herd?”

  She clapped her hands. “You got the chestnut mare?”

  “I sure did. And her foal’s only a few months old – a real handsome little fella.”

  She took his hand and leaned into his side as they walked to the stables together. The first stall they came to housed the new arrivals. Hazel peered over the door and laughed as the golden foal frolicked around his resting mother. “He’s gorgeous!” She reached in a hand and brushed his coat as he ran by. He lifted his tail high and bucked, and she giggled. “I spoke to Jen yesterday. She says hi.”

  Dalton smiled. “How’s her new boyfriend? What’s his name again?”

  “Chris. She sounds like she’s completely smitten.” Hazel missed her friend, but they caught up at least once a week by phone. And it was only a few hours’ drive for her to visit, which she planned to do during the winter break when her parents would be back in the city. They’d forgiven her for putting them off for so long that summer when she showed up on Jekyll Island with her new fiancé. With Dalton there as her buffer, they had to at least pretend to be supportive of her life-changing decisions.

  Of course, phone calls since then had proven otherwise, but she was confident she’d made the right choice. She’d never felt happier or more at peace.

  They left the stable and Hazel tugged on Dalton’s arm. “Let’s watch the sunset. It’s always so beautiful the way it lights up the ranch just before it disappears.” She leaned her arms on the top rail of the yard fence.

  Dalton looped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. Harley settled at her feet – whenever she visited, he rarely left her side.

  “I told my parents we were planning a July wedding – how does that sound?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He frowned and chuckled. “Hot. Humid.”

  “Should we aim for spring break, then?” She’d really wanted a long honeymoon, and summer vacation was the best time for that.

  “No, summer is better. You don’t want to have to worry about going back to class. Not right away – you’ll have your hands full with me.” He laughed suggestively and planted a hot kiss on her lips.

  “I’m sure I will. Okay, summer it is.”

  A shout behind them made her turn her head. Eamon and Parker waved from the front porch, then jogged over. Eamon wrapped her in his long arms and spun her around, making her legs fly out. “Hey there, Slick – how’s it going?” he asked, setting her feet back on the ground.

  “Great, thanks.”

  Parker hugged her and released her quickly. “Good to see ya, sis.” He’d taken to calling her that ever since Dalton popped the question. She liked it.

  “Did he tell you?” Eamon asked. “We passed the one-year mark on the ranch and the paperwork was all finalized this week. This place is officially ours.” He held up his hand for a high-five.

  Hazel slapped it. “That is awesome! Congratulations, you guys.”

  Dalton took her back in his own arms, planting a kiss on top of her head.

  She rested her cheek against his chest as the last rays of sunshine glanced off the bowing heads of grass. “I never would have imagined this is where I’d spend the rest of my life,” she whispered.

  “On a ranch in south Georgia? Or in my arms?” His breath was warm against her hair.

  She lifted her gaze to meet his, and her pulse raced at the look of love in his eyes. “Either. Both.”

  He grinned and his cheeks dimpled. “Well, I never could have imagined I’d be here with you either. I guess some things are just meant to be.” He placed his lips over hers, and the heat of his touch took her breath away.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Captivated (Cutter’s Creek, Book 18)

  Chapter One

  September 1868

  Near the Bozeman Trail,

  Montana Territory

  Maria Holloway shivered as the pony dashed through the woods and away from the trail. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she moaned into the wind that whipped her face. A strong, brown arm wrapped tightly about her middle, and another held fast to the reins as they galloped along an unmarked path, leaping over fallen logs, and darting between the thick trunks of the evergreens that reached skyward to form a dappled canopy overhead.

  They’d killed Fred. Her darling Fred. Fresh tears burst from her reddened eyes and trickled along the paths forged by their predecessors. The cries of the natives while they’d attacked the wagon train had stopped. The men rode in silence now, their faces impassive as they made their way south. Only the staccato rhythm of hooves on soft earth, punctuated by her moans, broke through the silence of the woods.

  A stab of terror sliced through her, ripping her breath from her chaffed throat and she struggled against the arm that bound her, pushing back as hard as she could and hitting it with closed fists. “Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted. But the chest behind her back was immovable and the arm ignored her blows.

  One of the other men, riding close by, did glance her way as she fought. He had an impressive display of beads woven into a thin headband and down the sides of his deerskin pants. He rode on a brown and white pony, proud and silent, and she shuddered at the sight of him. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, as if to block out everything around her.

  But the image of her husband, a long knife being pulled across his bearded throat, leaped out at her, and she opened them again with a cry.

  What did they plan to do with her? Where were they taking her? Her thoughts swirled, dark and fearful. Surely if they intended to kill her, they would have done it. Perhaps they planned to ransom her, or make her their slave. Or maybe she’d be eaten! She’d heard enough stories of Indian brutality during her time on the trail. The thought made her shudder and she pressed her fingertips against her eyes, hoping to push the image of her husband’s murder from her mind. “Oh God, help me!”

  She had to keep her wits about her. Already they were miles from the Bozeman Trail and her friends. She knew they were nowhere near civilization, and fast putting distance between them and the closest town, Cutter’s Creek, where she and Fred had planned to set up a homestead. Her heart lurched at the realization that all their dreams were now lost. Every step the horse beneath her took carried her further away from Cutter’s Creek, civilization and anyone who might care about her.

  She wished, not for the first time, that she’d never let Fred convince her to take this journey, never listened to his talk of adventure and pioneering. They’d had a good life in London together – he an accountant, she the daughter of a middle-class financier. She’d loved to shop, danc
e and attend soirees. But that wasn’t enough for him. Fred insisted they set off for the New World and take every adventure life offered.

  And now he was dead and she was stuck on the back of a scraggly painted pony; kidnapped by a group of wild men who likely intended to kill her. Or worse.

  A fresh wave of sobs overcame her and she bowed her head in her hands. She couldn’t die here. She’d never even wanted to come here. Mother and Father would have no idea what had happened to her. When her regular stream of letters dried up, they’d soon fear the daughter they’d so lovingly raised had simply disappeared from the face of the earth.

  They reached a clearing where a brisk, thin creek bubbled and chattered over smooth rocks. For the first time since their journey began, she became aware of her senses. She smelled the sweat on the horse’s coat, felt the brush of the crisp air across her bare neck, heard the quiet breath of the man behind her. Her own whimpering reached her ears and surprised her, since she’d imagined herself silent.

  The hand resting on the pony’s withers in front of her lifted and the horse slowed, then stopped. All around her, painted warriors emerged from the thick woods and dismounted, snatches of low conversation and bursts of laughter drifting through the clearing.

  For the first time she saw the face of the man who’d ridden behind her for hours, holding her tightly in place with his muscled arm. He dismounted, nodded and said something to her in his native tongue, his black eyes regarding her coldly. He reached up with both hands and grabbed her around the waist. She gasped as he lifted her from the pony’s back and placed her feet gently on the ground beside him. Then he turned and strode away without a backward glance.

  Another man handed her a canteen made from animal skins and waited while she gulped down the refreshing water, her body aching for more even as she swallowed. Soon she was satisfied and handed it back to the man, who hurried away without a word. The rest of the group seemed to be ignoring her, and she wondered if they’d even notice if she simply walked away. But where would she go? She had no idea which direction to take, and it would be days before she reached Cutter’s Creek even if she chanced to find the right path.

  Still, it was worth a try, since she didn’t know yet what the men intended to do with her and the uncertainty had her stomach in a knot. The warriors sat or squatted in a circle near the center of the clearing, eating and joking. She turned her back on them, unwound the reins of a nearby pony from a tree branch and slowly walked away, with no way of knowing if they were witnessing her escape.

  She winced when the pony’s hooves crunched on the dried pine straw that coated the ground, breaking the silence of the woods as she led the animal from the clearing and the green grasses behind them. She stopped and looked at the horse, wondering how she might climb onto its bare back without a stirrup to stand in.

  Just then, she heard a step behind her. She spun around, coming face to face with the warrior who’d been her companion over the miles between the Bozeman Trail and the clearing. “You frightened me!” she cried, her hand covering her mouth.

  His eyes narrowed. He pointed back toward the clearing.

  “Fine, yes. You want me to go back. I understand.” She wasn’t surprised she’d been stopped, but the hopelessness of her situation made her eyes smart with tears. What if she never escaped? She’d never see Mother or Father again. She’d never go home.

  She sobbed, then took a deep breath. She wouldn’t let them see her tears, wouldn’t let them know how afraid she was. The thought crossed her mind that her only real hope of survival, if there was any, was for her to cooperate and make as little trouble for her captors as possible. Maybe if she behaved and made them like her, they’d let her live. If she slowed them down or made too much noise or continued attempting to escape, she was certain they’d kill her without a second thought.

  She handed the reins to the man and stumbled back to the clearing with him striding behind her. She wondered how long they’d traveled – it had been a blur for her, and the landscape looked the same every way she turned. She should have paid more attention. If she was able to escape, she’d never find her way back if she didn’t keep watch and make an effort to memorize landmarks along the way.

  The man indicated she should sit on a fallen log. She complied, tucking her skirts around her legs as she sat. Then he wandered off, leaving her surrounded by the other braves.

  Careful not to draw attention to herself, she cautiously scanned the faces of the men. There were a dozen of them, ranging from youth to middle age. One in particular caught her attention, the one she’d spied riding alongside them earlier. He sat apart from the group and drank slowly from a canteen while the other men chatted and laughed together, sharing strips of cured meat between them. He stared off into the distance, leaning back against a smooth boulder with a sigh

  Who was he? His clothing would suggest he was someone of importance in the group, but he didn’t appear to be in charge. His face was smooth and brown and his hair hung in two shining braids, one on each side of his head. His shoulders were broad and his thick chest well-defined. He wore no shirt, only buckskin pants, low on his waist and decorated more grandly than the others’ clothes with brightly colored beads.

  He seemed to sense she was studying him and turned his head to catch her. His black eyes found hers, and she saw pain in them before he looked away a moment later.

  Her guardian was soon back and ushered her to his pony. He helped her up, then climbed behind her before offering her a drink from his canteen and a thin piece of cured meat. She took the meat and shoved it between her teeth, biting off a big piece with a shake of her head. It was tough and had a strange flavor she’d never tasted before, like venison but different somehow. Her stomach objected at the idea of food, and she covered her mouth to stifle a great heave. Her hand shook, and she closed her eyes to gently swallow the meat.

  Before long they were off again, moving now along a well-worn trail through the woods. They passed through the creek at a shallow crossing, frothy water licking at her boots as it bubbled in rapids over the smooth stones beneath its surface. A hillside loomed, and they struggled up it along a path that seemed to go up almost vertically - her companion dropping nimbly to the ground to walk beside her as they climbed. She leaned forward over the horse’s mane and prayed she’d have the strength to hang on as it lumbered upward with jerking leaps. It slowed its pace near the top, panting heavily from distended nostrils and walked the last few feet, its head hanging low. Her guardian seemed not to feel the strain, his breathing regular and his face relaxed as he jogged alongside the pony. After a short rest at the summit, he climbed back onto the pony, and adjusted himself behind her, his hands once again taking hold of the reins in front of her.

  The sun was sitting golden on the horizon now and the woods were thrown into shadow as it inched downward. She wondered if they’d travel through the night. She felt the warmth of the man behind her and shuddered, pulling herself as far away from him as she could. When they descended the other side, he pressed against her and she felt a flash of anger, wishing she could run a blade through him for what he’d done – what they’d all done to her and to Fred.

  Her back ached, her legs felt as though they might detach from her body at any moment and her head throbbed with a dreadful ache. Just as she felt she could go no further on the bony back of that little pony, the group stopped once more. This time when they alit, she saw they were making camp for the night. The men wandered around, finding suitable places to lie down. It seemed they weren’t even going to allow themselves the luxury of a fire that night, probably for fear of pursuit. She shivered at the thought of an entire night spent on the cold ground with no fire to warm her back. The journey from east to west with Fred had been hard at times. Living in a wagon, wondering whether their food supplies would see them through, listening to the calls of wolves and other wild animals as they circled their tents at night. And yet these people seemed to live in a way that made the covered wago
n seem almost luxurious.

  Her captor pointed to the ground, and she settled down as best she could in the pine straw and dry leaves. She pressed her hands together and laid her head on them, watching as he sank to the ground close by, his back against the trunk of a tree. He watched over her like a sentry and seemed to have no intention of sleeping, though the others were half asleep already. She’d have no chance of escape that night, though she dreaded the idea of running through the dark woods alone in any case.

  Sleep came quickly, but she tossed and turned on the cold hard ground. Her captor and another man took turns watching her, and each time she woke she glanced about to see one of them seated close by, staring off into the darkness, apparently lost in thought, or pacing back and forth beneath the sliver of moonlight that filtered through the leaves overhead and bathed the party in a pale, eery glow. Just the sight of them set her heart pounding and covered her goose pimpled skin in a cold film of sweat. Every time she stirred, she forgot where she was for a few moments, and wondered whether Fred had stoked the fire or if she should rise to do it, before the realization of where she was, and that Fred was gone, thundered into her foggy brain and fired a bullet of piercing pain through her chest. Then she’d settle back down again onto the cold, hard ground, and sob quietly against a soiled handkerchief held in one dirty, frozen hand.

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