High Country Hearts

by Dolly LaMar

As the civil war rages in the east, Kelly seeks refuge on her father’s ranch in the Colorado Territory. Unfortunately, she finds no sanctuary there. With the drain of troops and able bodied men for the war effort, both Indians and outlaws have become more bold. After a raid on the ranch Kelly becomes the captive of a man with every reason to want revenge on her father. In the depths of a Rocky Mountain winter will Kelly find a way to thaw his cold heart?

ISBN 978-1-59431-912-9 Historical Romance

Also available in RTF and HTML formats.

CHAPTER 1

Colorado Territory, 1863

Kelly knew she must flee her hiding place or die in the flames rapidly consuming the stable. Tears streamed down her face from the sting of thick smoke. Her lungs filled with hot, acrid smelling fumes and she choked at each attempt to breathe.

In agony, and the chaos of the fire all around her, only one thought remained clear—Better to die than to be taken by the Indians. From the looks of them, they were Comanches. They had plagued her father for years, but never before had they attacked the main house.

She fervently wished she hadn’t neglected her rifle when checking the horses. She would have gladly set her sights on those evilly painted faces.

Part of the roof caved in and fell, not feet from her, showering her with embers. Despite her terror of the Indians, Kelly couldn’t endure anymore. She simply couldn’t sit still and die in this hellish fire. With a cry of anguish, she leaped to her feet and ran to the door.

She burst through the opening, hoping she could elude the Indians and find another hiding place. To her horror, she literally stumbled into the midst of a group of mounted warriors. They gave triumphant whoops and instantly surrounded her, blocking all avenues of escape. She frantically turned about, trying to find an opening among them.

Their horses were exceptionally striking animals, and under other circumstances Kelly would have greatly admired them. At the moment all her attention focused on one brave as he dismounted from a golden-coated palomino. Both horse and rider had been gaudily painted.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as the young, fierce looking warrior, came toward her. Her earlier resolve to die rather than be taken came back to her at the imminent threat he presented. She may have learned lady like manners at an eastern boarding school, but she had spent most of her life on the ranch, surrounded by rough cow hands. She had seen her share of fights and was well aware of what were the most successful, if not exactly sportsman like, techniques. She lifted the skirt of her gingham dress to free her legs.

The Indian narrowed his eyes and gave a smirk, obviously thinking the foolish white woman meant to try and run. Instead she kicked him square between the legs with all the strength she could muster. He crumpled to the ground as if she’d cut him off at the knees with an ax. He lay in the dust writhing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Kelly’s satisfaction was short lived. An arm closed about her chest from behind and pulled her up against her attacker with such force that her feet left the ground. With her arms pinned and no solid footing, she used the only weapon left her, giving his forearm a vicious bite. The Indian cried out in pain and tried to shake her loose, but Kelly hung on stubbornly as the coppery taste of his blood filled her mouth. She didn’t release him until a blow to the side of her head sent her staggering. Another warrior made a grab for her, but the sleeve of her dress gave way with a loud rip, freeing her enough so she was able to bring her elbow back with a savage jab to the warrior’s midsection. He crumpled to the ground beside the first brave who had accosted her.

She looked up and saw the man she had bitten, his teeth bared in a snarl, draw his knife. She felt strangely calm as she realized she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do, to goad them into killing her. She closed her eyes, sure it would all be over soon, but before the warrior could reach her, Kelly heard a sharp word of command spoken in their unusual language. She looked up to see an older, but still formidable looking warrior, sitting straight and dignified on a breath taking black and white pinto.

The warrior standing before her reluctantly sheathed his knife and stepped back, deferring to the other who seemed to be their leader.

As she met the calm, dark eyes of the chief, he spoke to her. He seemed to be asking her a question, but of course she couldn’t understand him. She could only look at him with confusion, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

“He wants to know if you want to live,” a deep voice said in unaccented English from behind her.

Kelly whirled and found herself looking at a