Captive Heart Read Online Free Page A

time he’d untied a corset. Christina’s image was burned in his mind.
    Thayne squeezed his eyes shut against the vision of her beauty. Why must everything relate to a memory of her—even a plain schoolteacher in an ugly brown dress?
    He forced himself to look down at Miss Madsen as he struggled to untie the bow. “Ridiculous contraption.” His frown deepened when, after a couple of seconds, the knot remained firm. Pulling out his knife, he bunched the blouse up higher and sliced through the strings. A sudden popping sounded, and the whalebone stays shifted beneath his fingers. Working quickly, he pulled the remaining strings loose and then gave one side of the corset a good tug. It budged a little.
    Frustrated, Thayne studied her face for any sign of awakening. It’d be just his luck she’d choose that moment to return to consciousness, and she’d think him—what was it she’d said— a despoiler of women.
    Better despoiled than dead, his common sense told him. He reached for the corset again, this time successfully wresting it from her body. He flung the intimate article away, but not before he’d noted it was as fancy as Christina’s had been. Surprising for someone who dressed in brown wool.
    Thayne pulled the hat from his head and began fanning Miss Madsen once more.
    A minute or so later, he was rewarded for his efforts when she began to stir.
    “No, Papa. I can’t. I won’t . . .” Her protests trailed off, as her head moved side to side.
    Obstinate—even when she’s half asleep. “Good to know I’m not the first man who’s had to suffer your tongue.” Thayne stood, picked up her brown jacket, and then lifted her into his arms. Tired as he felt, she seemed light, and he realized just how petite she was. His worry intensified. Someone so little would die a lot faster out here. Dehydration was no idle threat. With determined steps, he continued walking, carrying her in his arms as he headed north.
    * * *
    Thayne cranked the windlass, his parched lips anticipating fresh, sweet water as the bucket drew nearer to the top of the well. He could hardly believe their good fortune, and not for the first time, he wondered if the abandoned homestead were some kind of mirage. Having gone three quarters of the day without water and having gone two days now without food, hallucinating seemed a very real possibility. But the wood handle was smooth beneath his palm, and the rope taut as he drew up the bucket. Strange, he thought, that whoever had left this place hadn’t taken the bucket with them. Thayne decided he’d be sure to take it when they left. He’d be only too willing to carry it and the extra water along.
    At last the bucket reached the top, and Thayne pulled it from the well. Brackish water floated on the top of mud. Disappointment surged through him as he angrily tossed the mixture to the ground. Thayne leaned forward on the platform, peering down into the depths of the well. He glanced over at Miss Madsen, lying on the grass. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. They had to have water. He would have to go down.
    Thayne removed his hat and checked the knot on the windlass as well as the entire length of rope. It seemed to be in satisfactory condition. Satisfactory enough—with a little luck—that it would hold him. Glancing into the well again, Thayne’s wish, next to water, was for a candle. Who knew how long it was since the well had been used—or what noxious gas might be lurking below the surface? Shoring up his courage, Thayne lowered the rope and bucket and swung his legs into the hole. He perched on the edge, looking down. Hopefully a dozen or so bucketfuls and the water would flow clear again. It wouldn’t be easy without a spade, but he had no choice.
    Grasping the rope, Thayne took a deep breath and began lowering himself hand over hand down into the black hole. He told himself it was no different than working his mine. If he’d been able to find gold in the Black Hills,