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Chapter One
Toni held her breath, biting back the scream that fought to tear itself from her dry, aching throat. Bronze, nearly naked bodies sat regally, cruelly, atop painted ponies, as fearsome as the masters who rode them. Under a flag of truce these warriors had ridden into camp; wanted to make a trade. And, unless Toni missed her guess, she was the one they had come to acquire.
"Don't worry." Standing next to Toni, her friend and traveling companion, Fannie Caldwell, slipped her trembling hand into Toni's damp palm and nearly squeezed the blood from her fingers. She spoke with a confidence Toni was far from feeling. "Sam and Blake will never let them take you. Even if they have to kill every last one of those half-naked savages."
The words brought little comfort, considering the lecherous stare coming from the one who appeared to be the leader. A thick-chested, flat-stomached man with hair as black as pitch and eyes that gleamed with unmistakable intent. Lust looked the same no matter the color of a man's skin. Toni should know. She'd seen it more times than she cared to remember.
"Looks like they're offering three horses for you." Kip Caldwell, Fannie's thirteen-year-old brother spoke up, obviously impressed. "That's a good offer. That chief is serious as all get out to have you, Miss Toni."
Fannie reached out and gave the boy a hard pinch. "Kip, hush your mouth, for mercy's sake!"
"YOW!" His yelp drew attention from the warriors near the end of the line. They stared, scowled, then turned away. Kip remained belligerent. "You know derned well Blake ain't gonna let her go for that."
"Blake isn't going to let her go at all," Fannie hissed. "You either hush or you can just get yourself inside the wagon. And what have I told you about saying ‘derned'?"
"Aw, Fannie. What's wrong with it?"
"Never you mind, just do as I say."
Toni barely listened to the whispered argument as she kept her gaze focused on the bargaining going on a few yards away. She could feel the accusing glares of the other pioneers around her. She could guess what they must be thinking. Once again, the no-good fancy woman had brought danger in their midst. Sweat trickled down her spine, and beneath her arms her dress had grown damp.
Dear Lord, is this what I deserve for all the sins I've committed?
The small band of Cheyenne warriors had been following the wagon train since daybreak. The wagon master, Blake Tanner, had called a halt at noon and ordered the wagons circled just in case the Indians planned to attack. Only now, in the mid-afternoon heat, had the fearsome creatures ridden into camp with trade on their minds. Given the wagon master's obvious disdain for her, Toni couldn't be as certain as his fiancée Fannie seemed to be that he wouldn't take the opportunity to be rid of her once and for all.
With the firm shake of Blake's head, the negotiations appeared to be reaching a frustrating peak for the chief. He tried to force the reins of three horses into Blake's hands, but the wagon master stepped back, shaking his head again and holding up his hands, palms facing outward. Sam, the half-Sioux scout spoke to the warrior, his tone polite and respectful, but leaving no room for doubt as to the refusal of the Indian's offer.
Nearly weak with relief, Toni swallowed hard and tried to control the urge to vomit. As much as she longed to avert her gaze from the fearsome lot of men with oil-slicked, painted torsos, she felt compelled to look on. She'd heard of the mesmerizing effects of terror that compelled a person to look into the face of a storm or stand unmoving before the dripping teeth of a grizzly bear. But only now had she ever experienced it firsthand.
The Indian loped up onto the back of his horse. He whipped his pony around to face Toni. Terror fused her knees straight and she couldn't have run even if she'd had the presence of mind to do so.
"Woman!" The Indian shoved his finger toward her, then turned it back and thumped his chest. "You come with Swooping Eagle?"
Toni shook her head so fast and vehemently the Cheyenne began to spin before her. The warrior's eyes narrowed to black, glittering slits.
He whipped his pony around once more, his broad, brown back glistening in the beating sun. He held up his arm for the twenty other warriors to follow.
One by one the pioneers lifted kerchiefs and aprons to cover their faces as the horses kicked dust into the dry air in the wake of their departure. Silently, they watched until the last Indian crested a hill on the horizon and disappeared down the other side. Then the buzz began, like a hive of angry bees.
Blake raised both arms and called for quiet. "Listen folks. We haven't seen the last of the Cheyenne. They've been stirring up trouble in these parts for the soldiers and wagon trains for months. It's going to be dark in a couple of hours, so we're going to keep the wagons circled and post extra guards. Especially around the women."
Toni's face burned as slowly the attention of the wagon train folks shifted from Blake to her. "I say we let the chief have her," called Mr. Kane. "I ain't riskin' my neck over some whore."
Fannie gasped and shot into the middle of the circle. "How dare you! Toni can't help what she was before. But she isn't that kind of woman now. So don't you even think about turning her over to that savage. You should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting such a cowardly thing."
Blake strode forward and placed his arm around his fiancée. "It's all right, Fannie. No one's turning Toni over to the Indians." He pierced Mr. Kane with a look . . .
Distant Heart. Copyright © by Tracey Bateman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Excerpted from Distant Heart by Tracey Bateman
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