Colorado Captive

by Charlotte Hubbard

  He felt her trembling and sensed it was as much from being held Donahue’s prisoner as it was from having no coat. “Unbutton my jacket,” he murmured against her hair. “Put your arms underneath it. We’re not going far—giddyap, Arapaho!”

  Emily burrowed beneath the fleecy lining of his coat as the horse’s rhythmic stride rocked her against Matt’s solid chest. The saddle horn cut into her backside and she had to hang on with all her strength, but she was so glad to be safe she barely noticed the discomfort. Matt’s beard brushed softly against her forehead, and she found herself reaching for him, kissing him so fiercely that her lip hurt and she nearly knocked his hat off.

  “Easy, rosebud—save that for when we can do it right,” Matt said with a chuckle. He hugged her hard, suddenly choked up to think he’d almost lost her—and their child—again. “I suppose Donahue’s chasing us?”

  “He just got on his horse,” Emily confirmed, and then she rested against McClanahan’s shoulder as they cantered past the houses and mine buildings on the outer edge of town.

  “How heavily armed is he?”

  She thought for a moment. “He was wearing a pistol, but he might have other weapons in his saddlebags. He…he’s got his whip, too.”

  Matt’s hold on her tightened instinctively. “Did he use it on you? Did he—”

  “No. He slapped me around some, but come time to bed down, he fell asleep,” she replied quietly “Drunk, and tired, I guess.”

  McClanahan chortled. “You must be losing your touch, Miss Burnham. Or maybe you weren’t wearing any of your fancy underwear.” When Emily jerked up in his lap to protest, he groaned playfully. “Do that again and you’re on your own, woman.”

  “Sorry, I…” She relaxed against him, her heart swelling with love as his arms tightened around her. They were descending into Phantom Canyon now, leaving Victor behind. “Lord, but I was never so glad to see your face, McClanahan” she murmured. “How’d you find me?”

  Matt saw that the trail ahead was rough and snow-covered, so he reluctantly slowed their gait. “We knew there was trouble when Sundance came home without you. Silas and I rode out to Pisgah, figuring you had to come down to travel anywhere else, but the hoof prints wound all over the mountain. Was Donahue lost, or was he trying to elude us?”

  “I don’t know. I was unconscious.” Seeing his concerned scowl, Emily added, “I passed out from morning sickness, right after I threw up all over him.”

  “Serves him right,” McClanahan muttered. He brushed his lips over her forehead, not daring to check Clancy’s progress for fear he’d dump her out of his lap. “We finally tracked you to the hills outside of Victor—smelled the smoke from your fire. Silas went back to Cripple to get some men. I hated like hell to just keep watch, but I couldn’t risk taking Donahue on alone. I was afraid he’d come out of the cave shooting, holding you in front of him.” Matt paused to get his voice under control, and to search the canyon ledges and rock formations above them.

  “You…tracked me through the snow all night, and then waited out in the cold for me?” Emily whispered.

  “Of course I did. I love you, remember?” he answered hoarsely. Then he smiled, and decided she would enjoy hearing the rest of the story. “Actually, I wasn’t out in the snow the whole time—I heard Donahue’s snoring, so I sneaked into the cave. Wanted to rip the bastard limb from limb when I saw him holding you, but I would’ve wakened him had I gotten close enough to put the bullet through his head without hitting yours.”

  Why hadn’t she sensed his presence? Had she known McClanahan was on guard, she would have rested better. Yet common sense told Emily that her excitement at seeing Matt would have awakened Clancy, too, and his anger could have been fatal to both of them in the confining walls of the low-ceilinged cavern. “I must’ve gotten more sleep than I thought,” she said in a sheepish voice.

  “You were probably too wrung out to do anything else, honey,” he said gently. “But it was a small consolation to hear my name mentioned in your mumblings.”

  Emily smiled and snuggled closer to him. They were going at a slow lope, following the same trail they’d searched for signs of Nigel Grath’s explosives, but the canyon looked entirely different with snow and icicles hanging off its rugged ridges. She glanced behind them, and saw that Donahue was catching up. “Do you think it’s smart to go into the canyon?” she asked nervously. “There’s only one way out.”

  “I told Silas to have Thompson and his men posted so they could ambush Clancy after we led him in here. Arapaho can’t stay ahead of him for long, with both of us riding him. Easy boy…watch these rocks, now.” McClanahan searched the railroad tracks and ledges around them, looking for better footing, and he felt Emily shiver against him. “We’ve got to get you into one of those abandoned cabins before you catch pneumonia, rosebud.”

  She nodded, her eyes widening when she saw that Donahue was rapidly closing the gap between them. She turned to face forward again, and spotted Barry Thompson behind a rock formation, and then saw Silas’s dark,

  slender form behind a tree, raising his rifle to his shoulder. “There they are, Matt,” she murmured.

  “Don’t let on that you see them,” he replied quietly. “There’s our favorite cabin, up ahead. Just a few more minutes, and this whole ordeal will be behind us, honey.”

  As though Clancy had heard them talking, he fired two shots. He was so close now that they could hear his horse’s footfalls, and Matt urged Arapaho faster, over the icy railroad tracks and up the little rise toward the weathered shanty. Emily felt his heart beating harder, and she suddenly realized that Silas and Thompson might have to start firing before she and McClanahan were out of their bullets’ paths. She clutched his lapel, trying to remain calm. “I—I love you, Matt,” she whispered urgently. “First thing we’ll do when we get back to Cripple is get married, all right? I was stupid to—”

  Matt crushed her against himself, knowing they didn’t have a split second to spare if they were to avoid getting caught in crossfire. “I love you, too, Emily. When I stop the horse, we’ll make a run for the cabin—and regardless of what I do, don’t come out till we give you the all-clear. Understand?”

  She nodded emphatically, determined to follow his instructions this time. Shots were ricocheting around them now, and when Matt wheeled Arapaho in a half-circle so the horse would shield them from Clancy’s gunfire, she saw that the outlaw was only a matter of yards behind them.

  “Better come back with me, little girl,” Donahue hollered in a menacing voice.

  Emily gasped when her feet hit the ground too hard, yet she scrambled toward the weathered cabin, running on raw, nervous energy. Matt had dismounted and was returning Clancy’s fire, but when she tripped and fell into a snowdrift he was hauling her up immediately. “Come on, rosebud! Hurry now—get inside.”

  She found her footing, but suddenly the cabin blurred before her, and the gunfire and voices jumbled in her ears. Emily shook herself, gasping as they rushed up to the rough little building. McClanahan was shooting, covering them as he urged her forward, and the last thing she heard as she reached for the handle on the door was Matt screaming, “Emily, NO! Trip wire!”

  And then there was the sound of a full charge of dynamite exploding as it carried her into the air, along with the splintering logs and shattering windows of the abandoned cabin.

  Chapter Thirty

  Emily opened her eyes and saw that the soothing warmth circulating in her hand came from the withered brown fingers massaging it. She tried to smile, but the change in Idaho’s expression—from a careworn gaze to a startled grin—warned her that something wasn’t as it should be.

  “Lord, missy, but I wondered if I’d ever see those pretty eyes again! Silas! Mr. Silas!” he hollered toward the door. “It’s Miss Emily—she’s come around!”

  She blinked and wondered why she was in her bed at Silas’s…must’ve been a dream she’d had, where she’d been entering Papa’s study at the ranch, and h
e and Matt had looked up from their cigars and talk to smile fondly at her. “Why am I—”

  “It’s the answer to my prayers, child,” the colored man murmured as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Three days I’ve been begging God not to take you Home just yet. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed, too.”

  Emily heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs and then Silas burst into the room. “How are you, sweetheart? How do you feel?” he asked breathlessly.

  “I…I don’t know.” Something was wrong. Why couldn’t she remember whatever catastrophic event had caused these two men such extreme worry?

  “Idaho, bring her some broth. She must be starved,” the mine manager said as he eased onto the edge of her bed.

  “Yes, Mr. Silas,” the cook answered jubilantly. “Lord, it’s a miracle! It’s a miracle!”

  Emily gazed at Silas, searching his intense gray eyes for answers to the questions that boggled her mind. “Have I really been unconscious for three days?” she mumbled.

  “Three of the longest days of our lives,” he replied in an urgent whisper. He stroked the hair back from her forehead, his expression turning cautious. “How much do you remember, Emily? Dr. Geary warned us that you might not be able to recall what happened to you, after the nasty bump you took on the head. When I heard the charge ignite—saw you and McClanahan flying into the air—well, I—” Silas looked away. “Here I am babbling like an idiot, not giving you the chance to answer.”

  Something in his manner told her he’d said more than he intended to, but what could it be? Emily was now aware of how one side of her head and neck ached, and when she glanced down, she saw that her right arm was heavily bandaged. It felt numb and useless. “Guess I must’ve landed on this side when I fell, huh?” she asked quietly.

  “The doctor said he’d put your arm in a sling when you came around. Said that if it hadn’t been for…well—you could’ve been killed by the force of the blast.”

  His face betrayed emotions Emily had never seen there, except when she’d first told him Papa had been shot. It was as though something snapped into place in her mind, and she recalled a grueling night in a cave with Clancy Donahue, and the ride into Phantom Canyon on McClanahan’s lap. His words of love echoed in her head, and she and Matt had been rushing toward the cabin, where weeks before they’d made love by the fire—

  Emily, NO! Trip wire!

  She felt the blood drain from her face as the subject Silas was avoiding became clear to her. “It’s Matt, isn’t it?” she said in a voice she could barely hear. “Tell me what happened. You saw it all, from up on the ridge.”

  Silas aged visibly as he let out a sigh. “Emily, my concern now is you. There’ll be plenty of time—”

  “Stop stalling.” She stared at the man beside her, her very soul going numb. “He…Matt’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Idaho entered the room, his smile fading when he realized what they were talking about. Silas nodded for the old cook to set the tray on the night stand, and placed his hands gently on Emily’s shoulders. “When he saw the wire—must’ve been at the bottom of the cabin’s door—he yelled, but it was too late. He was pulling you away from the building, putting himself between you and the blast as he tried to scramble for cover. One of the timbers caught him on the head. He was still breathing when I was on my way to the Victor hospital with you, so I thought it might be just a bad concussion.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  Silas shook his head, turning away from her. “Barry Thompson came by with the news that night. Wanted you to know that Matt’s last words were about how happy you’d made him—how he wanted to see the…I—I’m sorry, Emily,” he mumbled. “I know that despite your squabbles with him, you loved him, too.”

  Silas was doing his best to soften the blow, yet his unspoken message was achingly clear. “The baby…I—”

  “You’ll have other babies, child. Lots of babies to love,” Idaho said in a halting voice. When he wrapped his arms around her, she shrugged away almost violently.

  “But I won’t have Matt!” she shrieked. “Without him, there won’t be a chance—I couldn’t let another man—”

  “You’re young, sweetheart. Your heart’ll heal, even though right now that seems impossible,” Silas said as he, too, tried to comfort her in his arms. He turned to Idaho and nodded toward the night stand. “Better give her some of that sedative, Idaho. Doc Geary said she was to be kept calm.”

  “Like hell I will!” Emily snapped as she struggled against his grip. “You tell that doctor—”

  “We’d better get him over here, before she hurts herself,” Silas said quietly.

  With eyes that were liquid brown, the old colored man nodded, handed the bottle to Hughes, and went downstairs. Emily continued to shove at Silas’s chest, but with only one strong arm she soon tired. He held her tightly while he unscrewed the cap from the medicine, eyeing her as though she might bite his hand.

  “Please, Emily—don’t fight me, sweetheart. Nobody’s happier than I am to see you conscious again, but this is no time for Burnham stubbornness.” His gray eyes were tender yet unwavering. “Now open your mouth and swallow this. If the doctor thinks we can’t care for you here, he’ll take you to the hospital. I’ve heard rumors that they tie incorrigible patients’ hands and feet to the bedposts there. Think about it.”

  He wasn’t threatening her, exactly, but she refused to be coerced. Emily clamped her jaws firmly shut, gazing defiantly at him until he lowered the bottle. “I’ll take that stuff when all my questions are answered,” she stated under her breath. “Now what about Donahue? If he lived through this, I’ll—”

  Silas’s expression confirmed her blackest suspicions. “We were all startled by the blast, and our first concern was for you and McClanahan,” he mumbled. “Donahue saw that we’d set a trap and just kept riding. Escaped the flying debris somehow.”

  “That bastard!”

  “Emily, swallow this before you—”

  “So help me, I’ll—” Her sentence was cut short when Silas quickly slipped the bottle to her lips and tipped it up so she had to drink the bitter, burning sedative. Emily coughed, glaring at Silas as he patted her back to settle her choking. “You tell—Thompson—”

  “He’s got men searching the mountains, and every little town between here and the Springs,” he said with quiet urgency. “He’s doing all he can, and your job is to rest, Emily. Now lie back for me. Would you like some of Idaho’s chicken broth?”

  “No!”

  “He made tea, too, with—”

  “I want Donahue swinging in a noose,” she said bitterly. “I won’t rest until he pays for killing Papa and—and—” Emily suddenly ran out of words and stared at Silas. “What is that stuff?”

  Silas smiled and eased her back toward the pillows. “Strong medicine, to put that rambunctious mind of yours out of gear so you can rest. Are you sure you don’t want some soup? I’ll help you with it.”

  Emily shook her head, a curious sense of lethargy stealing over her as she looked into his kind face. “I’ve been nothing but trouble for you, have I?” she mumbled as she sank back. “The only reason I let Clancy think I was marrying him was so you could keep running the Angel Claire. He threatened to tell—”

  “Shhhhh…I can well imagine what sort of blackmail he had in mind.” Silas tucked the blankets around her shoulders, his smile wistful. “You rest now. Things will look better when your bruises and sprains start to heal.”

  But each time Emily awoke from what seemed like an endless nap, she found fewer reasons to go on living. She’d lost her baby, and the only man she could ever love was gone, too. And because she hadn’t married Matt when he’d proposed, he had to rescue her from a heartless criminal and had lost his life in the process. It was her fault that McClanahan was dead—her fault that Papa’s killer still ran free.

  As her skin and muscles mended, she needed less of the pain killer Dr. Geary prescribed. Yet Emily still spent most of her waking ho
urs in limbo, lost between a daze and a stupor. Time had no meaning, now that her life had no purpose. She was vaguely aware that Idaho tried to feed her several times a day, and that Silas fussed over her sling as he tried to draw her into conversations. But she had no interest in Cripple Creek’s gossip. Matt was dead. Why couldn’t she have been killed in the explosion, too?

  Each morning when Idaho raised the window shades, Emily blinked at the bright winter sunshine and ordered him to shut it out. He set bouquets of flowers, baskets of fruit, and numerous trinkets where she could enjoy them from her bed—gifts from well-wishers, he explained. But she glanced at the items without seeing them, and refused to talk with the friends who brought them by. It became a game to see how quickly she could wipe the dogged smile from the housekeeper’s face; it fascinated her to watch the flowers wither and die, as she knew she was doing. If only these people would leave her alone, so she could suffer the fate she deserved!

  One afternoon, however, Idaho’s voice was firm with purpose. “Miss Emily” he said as he sent the window shades flying wildly around their rollers, “Marshal Thompson’s here to see you. He’s stopped in every day, and he says if you won’t go downstairs, he’s coming up to your room.”

  Emily shielded her eyes from the sunlight as she gave him a surly frown. “Forget it. Whatever he has to say couldn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  The colored man scowled. “I won’t have any more of this insolence, Miss Emily. The marshal, and Miss Victoria, and your papa’s friends have been worried sick these past few weeks, and you haven’t had the decency to even acknowledge their gifts and concerns.”

  “You’d think they could take a hint. Tell them to save their flowers for my funeral.”

  Idaho blanched. “Emily Rose Burnham,” he said in a strained whisper, “if your father could hear you—”

  “Good afternoon, Emily,” a hearty voice came from the doorway. “Since you’re not able to receive visitors in the parlor, I took the liberty of coming upstairs. Hope you’ll excuse my breach of manners.”