The sun was just coming up on the horizon, casting its early morning light upon the prairie. Irma began to cry, knowing that now all was lost, for she would surely be forced to return to her uncle now, her money and possessions all gone. A few feet away lay the copy of The Portrait of a Lady, splayed open and stamped upon, its pages torn. It felt like a symbol of her life at that moment, the hopes and dreams of something better now discarded.
Again, she struggled with the cords that bound her wrists, wincing at the pain and letting out a cry as she felt the warmth of blood trickling down her arm. Her head was becoming heavy, aching and dull. The wound to her forehead throbbing in pain. She tried her best to remain conscious, but she could feel herself slipping away, as though her whole body were shutting down.
“Stay aw …” she muttered, “sta …” but before she knew it, she was gone, lying unconscious upon the trail, her shattered dreams about her.
Irma blinked as she opened her eyes, her left eye congealed and sticky with blood. For a moment, she had no recollection of where she was, but as she tried to move, the memories of her ordeal came flooding back. Her whole body ached, and as she tried to sit up, the cords which bound her wrists cut once again into her flesh.
“Oh, where … Sandy?” she called out, the taste of that foul-smelling rag still in her mouth, which was dry and parched.
But the horse was gone, and no sounds came from around about, just a gentle breeze and the swishing of the prairie grass. The sun was up now, and she could see around her more clearly, though the pain in her head caused her to shy away from the glare of the sun. She was on the trail, close to where the outlaws had robbed her, above her the wide-open blue skies, stretching endlessly into the beyond.
“Is anyone there” she called out, “can anyone hear me? Help me!”
But there was no one about, and she guessed that it was still early, the sun not yet a quarter of its path up into the sky. Her stomach ached with hunger, but it was her thirst which she knew would kill her first. The day would be hot, and if she didn’t drink, then she’d soon die, prey to whatever wild animals might come stalking her as she lay, helpless and tied.
If she could just get the cords off her hands, then she would be free, and with a further effort, she tried to remove them again. But all she did was cut herself further, for the cords were tied tight, and with blood seeping down her wrists she gave up, sighing and sobbing as she rolled over in the sand.
It was then that she heard the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching. A regular clip-clop along the track. There were wheels too, and Irma sat up, ready to call out, as soon as whoever it was came into sight. The wave of relief that went through her was palpable, but it was matched too with the fear that the driver of the trap could well be just as treacherous as the men who did this to her.
She’d known when she set out that it was inadvisable for a woman to be alone on the old wagon trail. This could be the Predator himself coming, and then she’d have more than cuts to her wrist and blow to the head to worry about. A moment later a horse, followed by a horse and trap, appeared around the corner, and Irma was relieved to see two women riding in it, and a man in the saddle.
They hadn’t noticed her at first, and it was only as the trap came within a few feet that one of them let out a scream, just as Irma was about to call out to them.
“Ma’am, sir, look, look, a girl on the side of the track,” the younger of the two said, and she pulled up the horse’s reins, as her companion also let out a cry of horror.
“Oh, my goodness, the poor dear. Whatever has happened to her? Come now, we must help her, quickly,” the older woman said, as the man on horseback leapt down and rushed to Irma’s side.
“I …” Irma began, but the man shushed her and began fumbling with the cords that bound her wrists.
“You’re alright. My goodness, what has happened to you? Outlaws or some wickedness for sure. This trail is becoming more lawless by the day; you’re safe now, though,” He said as the cords were removed, and Irma collapsed into his arms.
“Here sir, some water for the poor thing,” Liza said, passing the man a cup from the bucket meant for the horse.
“Try and drink this,” and he raised the cup to her lips, as Irma slurped the water in and thanked her profusely, “slowly now, that’s it, slowly does it. My name is Anthony and this is my grandmother Margaret Maynard, and Liza, you’re safe now. What’s your name?”
“Ir … Irma,” she gasped.
Her head felt heavy once again, the relief of having been found too much to bear. She fell forward, the water spilling everywhere, unable to keep conscious any longer. The last thing she remembered was Anthony’s arms about her, and the soothing words repeated.
“It’s alright.”
She was not unconscious for long, and when she awoke, she found herself lying in the back of a trap, jolting along the track. She rolled over and groaned, trying to sit up.
“She’s coming around,” Liza said, turning around and placing her hand gently on Irma’s forehead. “It’s alright, miss, we’re taking you home.”
“Home?” Irma said, “No, no, I can’t go home,” for home was the last place she wanted to be.
“To our home,” Margaret said, her hands on the horse’s reins, as Anthony rode at their side. “You need patching up properly, and we need to find out where you’re from. But don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe. You’ve had a nasty ordeal, now just lie there, we’ll be there soon.”
Irma nodded, thankful at least that she was not being sent back to Thornedge or to her uncle. If her plan had worked, she would be halfway to Deadman’s Basin by now, and her uncle would be none the wiser, but now she dreaded being sent back and into the clutches of Grover Hurst and the ill-gotten wager.
As the trap came to a halt, Irma looked up. Around her were ranch buildings and large barn. She could hear cattle and men at work some distance off, the sounds of an ax chopping into wood and pigs grunting, but her head was still woozy and keeping her eyes open for long hurt her head.
“We’re here now, Thornedge Ranch, let’s get you inside,” Margaret said, as the man lifted Irma gently down from the trap.
It was a strange sensation to be entirely in the hands of others. Irma had no power over herself and was being forced to trust entirely in the kindness of strangers. But so far, they seemed nice enough, and Irma had no reason to doubt that they would not do as they had promised.
The two women were talking over where they should lay her and who they would send down to Thornedge to bring up Doctor Isherwood to tend her. Irma was listening with her eyes closed, a further cup of water having restored something of her humanity
“Whatever is this?” a voice said,
“It’s alright, Sam. We found her on the trail about a mile away. She was in a nasty way; some rogues had tied her up and robbed her. They’d left her for dead. If we hadn’t come along when we did Lord knows what might have happened to her,” Anthony said, as Irma blinked and opened her eyes.
Above her stood the two women who had rescued her, their faces set in motherly expressions of concern. And now she got a proper look at the man who’d rescued her he was, perhaps a few years older than herself, an attractive man with short black hair and blue eyes. He looked down at her with a worried expression on his face, and as she looked up at him, he shook his head.
“How could someone do this to an innocent little thing like this? I’m sorry for your ordeal, miss. and I assure you that you’re safe here with us. If any outlaws try anything here, I’ve got ranch hands to see them off, not to mention my grandmother and Liza, you should see them with a pitchfork in hand,” he said, “ain’t no one going to mess with them.”
She smiled weakly at him and nodded her head, a pain shooting through her wound and causing her to wince.
“Liza, go get a cold cloth for her and close the curtains. It’s too bright in here for the poor thing,” Margaret said, stroking her head. “You just try and rest now; when y
ou’re strong enough, you can tell us what’s happened. Until then you just rest, you hear me? Do you want something to eat?”
Irma nodded, and Margaret had Liza bring some porridge, which she struggled to eat, though she knew she must.
“I need to go off and see to the ranch hands, but I’ll be back,” Anthony said, as Liza knelt at Irma’s side.
“Don’t force it now,” Liza said, as Irma choked a little and spat it back into the bowl.
“Let her sleep for now, we got some water down her, that’s the important thing,” Margaret said, and the two women left Irma alone.
She could hear them talking on the other side of the parlor, but it was not long before a wave of fatigue overcame her, and she closed her eyes. What a terrible ordeal it had been, but now she was safe, and all she wanted was to sleep and forget what had happened. As her eyes closed, she pictured Anthony and his grandmother, they were so kind, and she was ever so grateful to them. Would they let her stay? The thought of being returned to her uncle filled her with dread. But before she could think anymore, she fell into a deep sleep, punctuated with dreams of outlaws and the terrors of the trail.
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Thank you very much!
Also by Cassidy Hanton
Thank you for reading A Courageous Bride to Bring Him Hope!
I really hope you liked reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read! ♥
Some other best sellers of mine:
A Blossoming Love in a Time of Peril
A Love Worth Fighting For
A Healing Love for the Broken Cowboy
A Love Defying the Odds
Longing for the Tormented Sheriff
The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride
Also, if you liked this book, you can also check out my full Amazon Book Catalogue HERE.
Thank you for being part of my journey!
Cassidy
About the Author
Born overlooking the Jefferson river in Montana, Cassidy Hanton has always been attracted to the nature of the West. As the only girl of six siblings, her mother used to tell her stories that she later on discovered they came from her favorite romance novels.
With a double major in Philosophy and Creative Writing, Cassidy started writing contemporary romances, only to realize that the American Frontier Era was her favourite. That was back in 2008. Now, she writes overlooking another Montana river and a beautiful ranch that she shares with her husband and three children.
Cassidy delved into the Western Frontier history and the local native stories only to provide her readers with the intrigue and authenticity of the era. She hopes her stories satisfy their thirst for love and adventure and inspire them to live every day with a smile.
A Courageous Bride to Bring Him Hope: A Historical Western Romance Book Page 31