Hope's Captive by Kate Lyon

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Zach McCallister is a man on a mission. His son has been kidnapped by the Cheyenne, and he vows to find the boy. All he needs is someone to get him into the Cheyenne camp. And Caroline Whitley seems to be the answer to his prayers. She needs Zach to help deliver medicine to the people, but after long nights on the trail, Zach finds himself hopelessly mesmerized by the inner strength of the determined beauty.

Caroline trusts only one man in her life: Little Wolf, the brave Cheyenne chief who had saved her from an abusive Kiowa captor. One man, that is, until she meets Zach. His very presence calms her fears, and his gray eyes reassure her that he is a man of his word. But until Caroline finds the courage to open her heart and tell him the truth, she will remain…hope’s captive.

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Hope's Captive

Dorchester Publishing

Chapter One

September 1878

Caroline Whitley paused in the darkness beyond the circle of light streaming past the saloon's swinging half-doors. She clutched the pouch hidden in the secret pocket in her full skirt and drew a deep breath. After the hell of life as a Kiowa captive, this would be easy as catching a lame horse. She could do it. She had to. Her people needed her help.

Face your enemy with pride. The words of Little Wolf rang in her ears. She raised her chin and stood tall, as he had taught her. Never let them smell your fear.

She took a deep breath, then pushed through the swinging doors and paused, blinking in the sudden brightness. The tinny patter of a piano off to her left combined with the long, slow beats of her heart, muffling the shouts and curses of the men seated around small round tables playing cards or standing along the high, wooden counter straight ahead. A gray, smoky haze hung over the place, making her eyes tear, and the stench of unwashed bodies nearly gagged her.

A half-naked woman wrapped around a scrawny man at the counter turned and stared. Instinctively, Caroline patted the hair over her left ear as she returned the woman's insolent stare.

The woman nudged her companion and whispered something that made him whip around. Caroline stared as his hand dipped into the woman's corset, which was cinched so tight that her sagging breasts spilled out the top like over-ripe bread dough. Her black stockings revealed more of her flabby legs than they covered. Her face, with its harshly rouged cheeks and lips, seemed garish in the bright light of the chandelier overhead.

Ah, Caroline thought, this is a whore. Her own dress covered her from neck to toe and she had never painted her face. So why did the townspeople call her by the same name they gave this woman, a woman who let men use her body for money? The noise from the piano stopped and Caroline suddenly felt the men's silent stares like hands upon her flesh. Panic rippled through her, stealing her strength.

"Stinkin' squaw," someone growled from her right. The title echoed across the room.

Don't show your fear. Realizing she should not have let the painted woman distract her, Caroline raised her chin and ignored their stares. She searched the room, seeking a man she could trust, but found only hatred and suspicion in each face. Her gaze slid over three men seated at a poker table at the back of the room, and paused on the fourth.

Though his low hat-brim shadowed his features, his dark gaze caught hers. His eyes, his face, kept his secrets. He sat with his back to the wall. Smart. Cautious. From there he could see the entire room. No one could get the drop on him. He wore faded black, no bright colors, nothing to mark his appearance or draw attention, yet she would have noticed him anywhere.

"Cheyenne whore," the man closest to her snarled. Then he spat. His spittle hit the hem of her new blue-dimity dress leaving a dark, spreading stain.

She pressed her hand over the knife strapped to her thigh, and fought down the urge to strike out at him. So he'd ruined her only dress. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting the wagon full of blankets and medicine to Little Wolf and his people before more of them died.

"Whatcha want, squaw?" the scrawny runt at the high counter bellowed as he fondled the whore's breast. "You fixin' to join up with the other whores?" His gaze slid to her own chest, then lower. He licked his lips and grinned, revealing rotting teeth. Caroline's stomach pitched.

She waited for the laughter to die down. "I need a guide."

"I kin take ya whar ya wanta go, squaw," a deep voice drawled. "I'll ride ya better than ole Little Wolf ever did."

Guffaws and more filthy comments followed. Caroline shot the ugly brute a knowing glance. She recognized his type by the look in his squinty, wide-set eyes - mean-spirited and cruel to anyone weaker than himself, but a sniveling coward when faced with a man like Little Wolf.

Foolishly, she had expected better. She had hoped to find an honest man. She had no choice now. There was only one way she was going to find someone to help her.

"I can pay," she cried, and held the pouch of gold over her head.

Every man fell silent. Their faces no longer held hatred, only greed as their eyes fixed on the pouch. Caroline turned, seeking the man in the corner. A wary stillness had come over him. One hand below the table, he met her questioning gaze straight on, then something in his eyes changed. He looked away.

Disappointment stabbed through her, but she turned back to the other men. Their hungry expressions made her tense, wary.

Had she overplayed her hand? she asked herself. Too late to change her mind now.

"Why, I'd be right proud to help you, ma'am," the scrawny man piped up, and shoved the whore away. He jabbed an elbow into the man beside him and started across the saloon. "Me and my two compadres here would be right happy to take you wherever you want to go."

She ignored the snickers that followed his offer, well aware of the double meaning in his words. The rest of the men turned their backs, resuming their card play. There were no other takers.

"Fine." She tucked the pouch back into the secret pocket, aware that the scrawny one followed her movements closely. "Come with me." She glanced once more at the man in the corner.

He stared back, a warning in his dark gaze that she intended to heed.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Hope's Captive by Kate Lyon Copyright © 2004 by Dorchester Publishing. Excerpted by permission.
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