Captive Heart by Michele Paige Holmes Read Free Book Online Page A

Thayne. He and Michael each grabbed one of Thayne’s arms and lifted him the couple of feet onto the stone side of the well. Adam leaned over, looking down. “It’ll be the gasses or drowning—either one ought to assure Russell you’re no longer a nuisance.”
    Thayne didn’t say anything but looked down, judging his chances for surviving the fall without breaking a leg or bashing his head open. He had no hope they would lower him down gently.
    “You gonna jump, or do I push you?” Ever impatient, Michael put his hand on Thayne’s back.
    Thayne shrugged it off and barely managed to contain his anger, reminding himself it was his fault he was in this situation.
    Without a word, he put his foot out and stepped into the hole, eyes closed, back straight as he plunged down the narrow shaft.
    * * *
    Emmalyne huddled on the stool, arms wrapped around her, eyes squeezed shut as she listened to the gunshots.
    One. Two. Three.
    She bit down on her cracked lip and drew blood. The taste was bitter in her mouth and brought forth an image of Mr. Kendrich, sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his chest. Terror enveloped her. They’d killed him, and now it was only a matter of time before they found her.
    Body trembling, she began rocking back and forth on the stool, willing her heart to stop racing and her mind to clear. She needed to think, to formulate a plan. What to do? Wait. Mr. Kendrich had told her to wait a good long time. Had he known they’d kill him? He must have. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and an unexpected sense of loss washed over her. Rational thought told her she ought to be relieved. He was an outlaw too, for heaven’s sake. He’d threatened her with his gun, he’d removed her corset . . . he’d saved her.
    Hearing voices overhead, Emmalyne ceased her rocking and sat perfectly still, save for her hand, which crept to the pistol in her lap. Furniture scraped across the floor above, and she held her breath, pointing the gun upward, waiting for the moment the board was pulled loose and her hiding place revealed.
    She no longer had any doubts about her ability to pull the trigger. After listening to the Martins talk of what they’d done to the other women from the train, Emmalyne knew she’d fight with everything she had. Mr. Kendrich had left her three bullets, and she intended to use every one of them. Carefully, she backed the stool against a solid wall of earth, lending her the support she needed.
    Her hands wavered under the weight of the pistol, and she fought to steady them. Above, she heard a final shout, then the sound of feet running toward the door. A few seconds later, a deafening explosion threw her to the ground. Her head slammed against the wall as dirt and debris crumbled down on her. The gun flew from her hands, and blindly she crawled around the floor, groping for the weapon. Keeping it now seemed the only thing that mattered.
    At last, her fingers closed over the barrel, and she picked it up, positioning it in her hands as Mr. Kendrich had shown her.
    She stood several minutes, anxiety building as she waited for them to find her. But she heard no voices. Maybe they’ve left. But Mr. Kendrich said to wait a good long time. Her fingers trembled, the pistol quavering in her hands. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and she raised her arms, trying to wipe it away. She realized suddenly that the cellar had gone from cool to warm. Emmalyne felt her eyes watering again, not from tears—they were burning from the dust . . . no, smoke.
    Fire. The cabin is on fire.
    She bit back a scream as she looked up, imagining the wood planks burning, crashing down on her. Sharp cracks sounded overhead as she felt for the stool, then righted it and climbed on top. She could face the enemy outside, or she could die in this furnace.
    It didn’t take long to decide. Tucking the gun in her skirt, she reached her hands up, feeling the floorboards above. They were hot, but she continued to touch