Only His Kiss
© 1999 Sherrie Lord

From Chariot Victor Publishing
Used by permission
(ISBN: 1-56476-707-8)

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, either."

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 muleís 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.

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