Captive Bride

by Sandi Hampton

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Sandi Hampton and…

  Dedication

  Other Works by Sandi Hampton

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Captive Bride

  by

  Sandi Hampton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Captive Bride

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Mary S. Hampton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-808-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Sandi Hampton and…

  SAMANTHA’S SACRIFICE:

  “I sat down to read this story…and didn’t stop until I finished. Yes, folks. It’s that good.”

  ~Long and Short Romance Reviews

  “I could not put the book down. Ms. Hampton did a great job… Overall this was a fabulous book.”

  ~The Romance Studio

  LAST CHANCE FOR LOVE:

  “An endearing story worth reading more than once. …Keep[s] you turning the pages.” ~WRDF Review

  “Beautifully written with a strong plot.... I was completely captivated.” ~Coffee Time Romance

  WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT:

  “The wild west, rugged lawmen, and heroines who are strong and sexy.” ~Seriously Reviewed

  THE OUTLAW'S DAUGHTER:

  “Fresh and fast moving with a bit of suspense at just the right time to keep us guessing.” ~The Romance Studio

  “I really enjoyed Ms. Hampton's story about love and redemption...this is a good western story.”

  ~You Gotta Read Reviews

  "Fun, action packed, and very sexy.”

  ~Happily Ever After Reviews

  GAMBLING ON LOVE:

  “Just the right amount of heat to keep me wanting more…a sexy romantic read you will not want to put down.” ~Romancing the Book

  “Full of twists and turns throughout that held me on the edge of my seat until the end.” ~Sizzling Hot Books

  “WOW. Worth recommending.” ~Fallen Angel Reviews

  Dedication

  Thanks to my wonderful family and friends

  for their continued support and encouragement.

  Other Works by Sandi Hampton

  Samantha’s Sacrifice

  Last Chance for Love

  When You Least Expect It

  The Outlaw’s Daughter

  Gambling on Love

  Miss Lily’s Boarding House

  Chapter One

  Abigail O’Sullivan gathered up the train of her wedding dress and stepped onto the carpet leading to the rose-covered altar. The big day had arrived. Mixed feelings warred within her chest. She wasn’t sure she was ready to take this step. Oh, she wanted to marry Philip...just not so soon. She’d only been home from school for two months.

  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, and she fought the urge to turn and run back to her bedroom and hide in the closet like she used to do when she was a child. She sucked in a deep breath and told herself not to be an idiot. Every girl in the county, maybe even in the whole state of Texas, would give everything she had to be in her position.

  Charles Philip Winston, III, waited at the altar. His blond hair gleamed in the bright Texas sun. He towered over the other men. It’d always been assumed she’d marry Philip, and she’d always looked forward to her wedding. What girl didn’t? But now that the time was here, she hesitated. While Philip was good-looking, well educated, a wealthy lawyer and respected member of the community, life with Philip would be...boring...stuffy. Like the horsehair sofa in the parlor. At first, it was comfortable but after a while it wore on you. After four years of boarding school, she wanted some excitement in her life before she settled down and gave her father the grandchildren he craved.

  Her father appeared at her side. “Abby, darlin’, you look so beautiful. You remind me so much of your dear sainted mother.” He made the sign of the cross. “May she rest in peace. You’ve got the same coal black hair and blue eyes and her flawless skin. Thank God, you don’t look like me.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then lowered the veil over her face.

  As she gazed up at her father, his good looks struck her. While he didn’t have Philip’s polished look, his rugged appearance appealed to many of the town’s widows who had been chasing him. His ruddy skin and reddish hair declared his Irish heritage. “Daddy, I’m not sure this—”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just got the jitters. Sure and begorra, it’s perfectly natural. I remember when your mother and I got married. She couldn’t stand still, and I think she almost backed out on me.” He grabbed her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “So let’s get this shindig started.” He pointed at the altar. “The men did a good job of setting up the altar, didn’t they? It’ll be cool out there under the oaks.”

  “But, Daddy, can’t we wait—”

  “Abby,” his voice took on a warning note. “We’ve been all over this. We have over a hundred guests waiting. For God’s sake, the governor is here.”

  Abby huffed out a resigned sigh. “Very well.”

  “Good girl.”

  Good girl. I’ve always been a good girl and did what I was told, and everything has always worked out. It will be all right, she told herself, because she did care for Philip. He was handsome, kind and considerate, yet he didn’t set her heart pounding or her pulse racing. His kiss didn’t send stars swirling before her eyes. Maybe that didn’t really happen, or maybe it only happened in the dime novels she read in secret.

  She caught Philip’s admiring gaze and smiled. She walked slowly toward him. As she neared, he stepped forward and held his hand out. The preacher motioned for them to move closer. As she took Philip’s hand, gunshots pierced the stillness. Masked riders appeared around the corner of the house, and dust swirled under the horses’ hoofs. With guns blazing, they surrounded the altar. They fired into the air, then at her father’s and Phillip’s feet. Abby screamed and darted behind Philip.

  “What the hell’s going on? Who are you?” her father yelled.

  “Get your hands up,” the closest rider ordered. His horse reared, but the man easily brought the animal under control. “Nobody makes a move, and nobody gets hurt.”

  Her father lunged forward, but a bullet at his feet stopped him.

  “Daddy, don’t—”

  “You sonofabitch. I’ll kill you for this.” Her father shook his fist at the gunman.

  “Sam, no.” Philip grabbed her father’s arm and pulled him backward. He faced the masked man. “What do you want?”

  The gunman spurred his horse toward Philip. He leaned over and knocked Philip asi
de, then spurred the animal toward her. Everything moved in slow motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw guests running for cover, musicians scrambling from the dancing platform, and several ranch hands running toward the bunkhouse for their weapons. The horse reared again, it hoofs slashing at the air. She could see its wild eyes and smell its heated breath. She screamed and stumbled backward. The rider leaned over the horse, grabbed her around the waist and dragged her up in front of him. She clenched her hands into fists and swung at him, but her blows were ineffective. He shoved her face downward over the saddle while his hand on her rear-end kept her captive.

  Her father rushed forward and grabbed the reins. The rider slammed the butt of his pistol on her father’s head. He crumpled to the ground like a broken toy.

  “Daddy!”

  Dust rose up to meet her, choking her, and she gagged. The man dug his heels into the animal’s flanks, and the horse surged forward. The breath left her body in a painful swoosh. Her veil came loose and fell beneath the horse’s hoofs. Gunshots followed them out of the yard. To her relief, her father staggered to his feet. Thank God he was alive.

  When Abby regained her breath, she screamed again. Over the pounding hoofs, she heard a laugh that sent chills racing down her spine. This man meant to hurt her.

  But why?

  And who was he?

  The ground rose sharply, and she could tell they were riding up into the foothills but she couldn’t tell in which direction. The horse labored up the rocky slope. The sun beat down on her like a hammer. A headache formed behind her temples, and nausea rose in her throat. With every mile, Abby vowed her abductor would pay dearly for this. Her father and Philip and all the Triple S ranch hands would be on their trail. She had to hold on until they found her. When they found her, all hell would break loose. These devils would be lucky to escape with their lives.

  Stars swirled before her eyes, and she fought the urge to lose herself in the merciful blackness closing in around her. No! She had to stay awake, had to keep control over her emotions and be aware of her surroundings, and had to leave a trail if at all possible. Without raising her head, she pulled a few of the bead pearls from her gown and dropped them on the ground.

  When they crossed a wide, shallow river, she smiled to herself. Now she knew in which direction they were headed. The river lay west of the main ranch house, so they had to be going west. Water sloshed over her. She sputtered as she swallowed a few gulps of the muddy liquid. She coughed and spat it out, but she welcomed it for the icy water helped clear her head. As they left the river, she threw a few more of the bead pearls on the ground.

  After what seemed an eternity, they stopped in the shade of several pine trees. Abby recognized the area. She knew every inch of the Triple S. The man dismounted and pulled her to the ground. Her legs collapsed under her, and she would have fallen had he not caught her to his chest. The bunched muscles of his arms were like iron bands around her waist.

  Another man rode up leading a horse with an empty saddle. Her captor turned her to face him. Dark brown, angry eyes stared at her over the mask. Hair as dark as her own fell across his brow. Shivers ran down her spine. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  She reached for the mask, but he knocked her hand aside.

  “Hurry up, amigo,” the second rider yelled. “O’Sullivan will be hot on our heels.”

  “Yes, he will, amigo,” she said with a disdainful curl of her lip, “and I wouldn’t want to be you when he finds you.” Abby shook her fist in the man’s face.

  Again he slapped it aside. “Shut up.” He turned to his saddlebag and pulled out a piece of rawhide.

  “Oh, no, you’re not.” She backed away, then turned and ran. In the back of her mind, she knew she couldn’t get away, but she wasn’t going to stand there like a lamb being led to slaughter. She hitched up the long skirt and ran for her life.

  Footsteps scrambled behind her. A quick glance said he was only a few yards behind. Her skirt caught on a clump of cactus, and with a muffled curse she jerked on it. Her feet slipped out from under her, and she fell, hitting the ground hard, the rocky ground scraping her face. Abby gasped for air.

  Then he was beside her. He rolled her over on her back. As he did so, she grabbed a rock and hit him with it. The blow careened off his shoulder like water off a cat’s back.

  “You little hellion” He snatched the rock and tossed it out of reach. “Be still or else I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, amigo?” she taunted. Even as she said the foolhardy words, she regretted them. This man could snap her in two like a twig.

  He grabbed her wrists and tied them, then stood and pulled her to her feet. The rope cut into her skin, and she grimaced. “You bastard. You’ll pay for this. I hope my father kills you.”

  “I hope he tries.”

  Her heart rose into her throat. This man not only meant her harm, but her father as well. “What do you want? If it’s money, my father will pay you anything you ask for my safe return.” She stressed the word safe.

  “I want justice.”

  “What are you talking about—justice? Since when is kidnapping...justice?” She wrinkled her brow. “You must be crazy.”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe I am.”

  “Let’s go, dammit.” The second rider spurred his horse forward and handed the reins of the tow horse to her captor. “You’re wasting time.”

  “All right. Wait a minute.” He pulled a kerchief from his pocket, stepped behind her and blindfolded her.

  Abby struggled against him, calling him every curse word she could think of.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such language for a lady. Don’t make me gag you too.” He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle.

  She bit back more angry words. She had no doubt he’d do just that. She grabbed for the saddle horn. At least she was upright.

  “Everybody split up like we planned. We’ll meet later.”

  “All right. Let’s go, men.”

  The ground shook as the riders galloped away. She was alone with her kidnapper. Her spirits sank, and she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Now hold on,” he yelled, and the horse surged forward, almost jerking her from the saddle.

  They rode for hours, up rocky slopes and down deep ravines. Evidently her captor was trying to hide his tracks. But it would do no good. Her father’s Comanche tracker, Silver Feather, could follow anyone’s trail. It was said he had no equal.

  After so many twists and turns, and being blindfolded, Abby lost her bearings. She had no idea where they were. The sun beat down relentlessly, burning her neck and bare shoulders. Tears threatened to fall, but she wouldn’t let them. She bit down hard on her bottom lip. She’d not show weakness in front of her kidnapper.

  To her chagrin, she had to relieve herself. When she could stand the pressure no longer, she hollered at him. “Hey you, amigo. Stop, please.”

  He reined in his horse. “What’s the matter?”

  “I need to, well, you know...”

  “You need to what?”

  Warmth crept up her neck and across her face. Even though she had a hunch he knew what it was, the bastard was going to make her say the words. “I’ve got to...relieve myself.” Even though she hated doing it, she added, “Please.”

  For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse but then she felt her hands being untied. She pulled the blindfold off. The bright sunlight hurt her eyes, and she shielded her eyes with her hand. She glanced at the man. His face was still masked. He motioned her to dismount.

  “Over there. Behind that tumble of rocks. Don’t try any funny stuff or else.” The threat hung heavy in the hot air.

  Too tired to do anything but nod, Abby slid from the saddle. She held on to the pommel until her feet were steady, then stumbled across the rocky ground and stepped behind the boulders. When she was don
e, she peeked out from her hiding place. The man had uncapped his canteen. He pulled his mask down and took a long drink.

  She dashed to the other side of the rocks and peered out, looking for what she didn’t know. She didn’t recognize anything. No familiar landmarks dotted the horizon, only snow-capped purple mountains loomed in each direction, imprisoning her in this empty nothingness with him. Overhead, a lone eagle soared in a cloudless, brilliant blue sky.

  “Hurry up,” he yelled.

  With a resigned sigh, she joined the man. He hadn’t pulled his mask up, so for the first time she saw his face clearly. With his dark hair and dark eyes, still full of hostility, he was a handsome devil, rugged and confident. His nose was a harsh slash against his dark skin, and his high cheekbones denoted that he had Indian blood. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. His name wasn’t important because once her father caught up with them, he wouldn’t need a name—except to go on his gravestone.

  “Do I know you, amigo?”

  “Stop calling me that. I’m not your friend.”

  “Well, you could’ve fooled me there.” Sarcasm hung heavy in her voice.

  He barked out a sharp laugh. “You’re real funny, aren’t you?”

  “Can I have a drink of water?” Again, she thought he would refuse her. Then he held out the canteen. She took it and uncapped it. She sipped the tepid liquid, knowing her stomach would rebel against too much water, then handed it back to him. “What are you going to do with me? Are you going to kill me?”

  “What?” He glanced sharply at her.

  “I’ve seen your face. I can identify you. Are you going to kill me?” She tried to hold her voice steady but failed miserably.

  “I don’t make war on women,” he said.

  “No? You just kidnap them?”

  He ignored the question. “Mount up.”