Only
His Kiss
Chapter
One
The Santa Fe Trail, 1858
"It's a girl, sir."
The wagon master's shoulders collapsed in exasperation. "I
can see that," he said, eyes flashing ominously. "What I
mean is, what's she doing here and where in the...blazes
did you find her?" His jaw clung to the "b" of "blazes" as
though it held back more energetic words.
Sonja glanced from the train's commander to her captor,
then searched each bullwhacker's grimy face as they
straggled in to see what had stopped the train. Her heart
fell. He wasn't here, the man with the brown eyes; no
chance for another gallant rescue. She tested the prickly
rope sawing holes in her wrists; no room for escape either.
"I found her a couple miles back, Captain," the rope's
owner continued from where he stood, the mule's reins in
hand. "She wasn't as wily in trailing us as she thought she
was. I don't think she counted on me sneaking up behind
her, neither."
Sonja glared at him. The evil man. Scared her half to
death, and for no reason. She wasn't hurting anyone.
The wagon master's right eyebrow arched dangerously, making
her heart trip. Her arms, tied behind her, threatened to
rip from their sockets, her captor's sweat tasted like
gritty salt in his kerchief stretched taut across her
mouth, and her right leg hurt like the dickens, but she
barely paused to blink. She had to be ready.
"Benton! Saxton! Untie her from that mule," the captain
barked with a jerk of his head. Then he stepped back,
waiting implacably while two of the bullwhackers snapped to
life and approached from either side.
Terror shot through her. No telling what he intended to do
with—or to—her. She screamed through the gag and lurched,
kicking at the bullwhackers reaching for her. The men
jumped back.
"Careful," the man at the reins warned. "I didn't tie her
up for my own entertainment. She isn't very big, but she
kicks like a shot of sour mash."
The audience laughed, prompting Sonja to scan their faces
again. Where was he? Surely this wasn't the wrong train.
Please, Lord, make this the right train.
It was a whole-hearted request, even if spoken from a
shadowed conscience. Wouldn't need God's rescue now if
she'd sought His advice earlier.
Her brain spun, aggravated by the mule's restless hoofing
beneath her. The May sun stared clammy sweat to a trickle
between her breasts and pasted her shirt to her back, but
her arms prickled with cold and her stomach roiled.
"You can fight all you want to," the captain said with
deadly calm, fixing Sonja in the paralyzing beam of his
stare. "It won't do any good, because I'm going to get some
answers out of you, young lady, and we're going to start
with what you're doing, all by yourself, two weeks' ride
from Independence."
Fingers jerked at the line binding Sonja's ankles under the
mule's belly and tugged at the rope around her wrists. The
cord pulled tighter just before it fell free, then clumsy
hands pinched around her waist, hauled her off the saddle,
and dropped her on her feet. She clawed at the bandana
slicing her mouth as she spun around to face the captain—
A shaft of white-hot pain seared her knee. She tried to
breathe, but the agony spread its angry tendrils into her
throat. Behind her eyes it burst, swallowing her in a wave
of dizziness and drenching her vision with star showers and
black.
