A Heart Divided (5 page)

“Sarah? Are you all right?”

“Y-yes,” she choked out the word. “Just go away. L-leave me alone.”

“I’ll do that soon enough.” Cord withdrew a pocketknife. “For now, though, just roll over and let me cut your hands free.”

She shot him an uncertain glance, then turned her back to him. He slid the knife blade beneath her bonds and began sawing at them. As he worked, he heard her moan.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pausing in the task of cutting through the last thong.

“My . . . hands!” she said on a shuddering breath. “I can’t feel them, yet they hurt so bad! Oh, I can’t stand it!”

Cord sliced through the last rawhide strip, then gently brought her arms around to her sides. The lamp’s glow illuminated Sarah’s wrists, bathing them in an eerie red light. Cord sucked in a horrified breath.

For the first time, he noted the deep gouges the cords had made in Sarah’s flesh. How had it happened? He thought he’d tied them loosely enough. Had he, in his anger, bound her tighter than he’d intended, unconsciously venting some of his frustration at the robbery on her? The possibility sickened him.

She was weeping now, softly, lightly, in an apparent effort to keep him from noticing. Even so, the sound reached his keen ears. Something twisted deep in his gut. Cord took her abraded wrists and began gently to massage them.

“S-stop!” she cried. “Don’t . . . touch . . . me. It hurts too much!”

“I have to.” There was the merest catch in the dark register of his voice. “I’ve got to get some circulation back into your hands.”

Eyes that were little more than gleaming emerald pools stared up at him, and then she sighed. “Do what you must.”

Do what you must
 . . .

As the minutes passed, the words echoed endlessly in Cord’s head. Every sharp catch in her breath, every silent tear that spilled from her eyes, sent the phrase reverberating through his mind. Was this what he’d sunk to? Torturing some hapless girl?

“Ahhh . . .” Sarah finally said, her voice shaking. “My hands are starting to tingle.”

Relief surged through Cord. “Good.”

He studied her. She needed her wrists tended, and though a bath and clean clothes had originally been planned as a reward for her eventual cooperation, that plan had died an ignominious death at the first sight of her tears. But that was all, he hastily cautioned himself. She was still a prisoner and would be treated as one.

Moving closer, Cord gathered her into his arms, then rose to his feet.

Sarah turned to him, startled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to the kitchen. Emma’s heating water for laundry, and we might as well use it instead for your bath.”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed and rested her head on the hard-muscled expanse of his chest. “That’d be nice.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No sooner said than done.”

The kitchen was a large, cheery room. The windows were dressed in a bright blue checkerboard print. A solid oak, well-scarred worktable graced the room’s center, and three of the walls not lined with shelves or glass-fronted cupboards were strewn with hanging metal molds, cooking utensils, and colorful pictures. Along the fourth wall stood a cabinet with a sink and a highly ornamented cookstove, richly gilded with nickel plating, a pot of something savory simmering upon its cast-iron top. Nearby, a small door opened onto a large, well-stocked pantry, and directly catty-corner to it, a tall, wooden folding screen stood guard in one corner.

The woman named Emma walked in from the back door. Noting their arrival, she paused expectantly. Warm brown eyes in an apple-cheeked face curiously examined Sarah. There was kindness there, and after the terror of the past few hours, Sarah felt strangely safe in her presence. A shy, hesitant smile slowly spread across Sarah’s face.

“Well, young man,” the older woman began, bustling toward them, “are you going to complete the introductions, or have you forgotten all the manners you were ever taught?”

Cord rolled his eyes, then lowered Sarah to her feet. “No, I haven’t forgotten. Sarah, please meet Emma Duncan.” He glanced down at her. “Emma’s the family housekeeper. She’s been with us since the dawn of time. If you’re her friend, she’ll move heaven and earth for you, but don’t ever cross her. Even my father knows better than to get in Emma’s way.”

“Land sakes, Cord Wainwright,” Emma chided, moving to take Sarah’s arm. “Don’t go and frighten this child with your tall tales.” She intently surveyed Sarah. “So, you’re the Caldwell girl. You’ve certainly blossomed into a lovely young lady.” Emma glanced at Cord. “Is it safe to assume you changed your mind and brought her here for a bath?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She turned her attention back to Sarah. “Looks to me like you’re in sore need of some cleaning up and a good, hot meal. For starters, though, let’s get those filthy clothes off.” With her free hand, she made a shooing motion toward Cord. “Get out of here. Scat.”

Cord gave a wry laugh and walked to the work table, where he pulled up a chair and sat. “Sorry to disappoint the two of you,” he said as he poured himself a glass of cider from the crockery pitcher in the middle of the table, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

He took a long swallow of the drink. “One way or another, Sarah’s not leaving my presence. That screen will adequately preserve her ‘modesty,’ though considering her decided lack of it the last time we met, I’m not sure why it’s suddenly so important. But I promise not to peek around it, though that’s the limit of my concessions.”

Sarah drew herself up to her full height, fresh indignation sending a surge of energy through her. Her fists balled at her sides. “Why, you ill-bred, lecherous—”

“Hold on, now,” Cord interrupted with a laugh. “Call me what you will, but don’t malign one of the women who helped raise me.” As he indicated Emma, his features slowly turned serious. “Now, make your choice and make it quickly. I’m not going to sit here all day.”

Emma’s hand tightened on Sarah’s arm. “Come, come, child. It’d be a shame to waste a nice bath, and Cord can’t see a thing behind the screen.”

For a brief moment more, Sarah glared at him. Then, with a disdainful sniff, she turned on her heel. “If you think you’ve won anything with this, Cord Wainwright, you’ve got another think coming!” she said as she disappeared behind the tall, paneled barrier.

“Seems like I’ve heard that threat somewhere before. And I’m still waiting to see what comes of it.”

Sarah ground her teeth in frustration as she sat on a stool and proceeded to pull off her boots. Emma made several trips from the stove to the metal bathtub, emptying four pots of boiling water. In the background, she could hear Cord at the hand pump near the sink, filling each emptied pot with cool water, which Emma next retrieved. Sarah’s bath was soon ready.

As Sarah removed her shirt and tossed it atop her jeans, socks, and boots, Emma’s eyes widened and she sucked in her breath. “Land sakes!”

She peeked around the screen. “Cord Wainwright, what in the world did you do to this girl? Have you seen her wrists? How could you be so cruel?”

He sighed. “It was an unfortunate oversight, Emma. I never meant—”

“Well-meant intentions never did hold much water with me,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Her wrists are bleeding, for goodness sake!”

She ducked back behind the screen. “Here, child. Let me help you. There, that’s it,” she crooned as she took Sarah by one elbow to assist her. “Just slide down into that nice warm bath and soak yourself. And keep those wrists out of the water until I get back. I need to fetch my salve, bandages, and a set of clean clothes.”

In a flurry of calico skirts, Emma hurried from behind the screen and across the kitchen. Sarah heard her chidingly cluck her tongue, most likely as she passed Cord, before exiting the room. Then, save for an occasional splash of water as Sarah moved about in the tub, the kitchen was silent.

“Sarah?”

She flinched, far preferring to imagine she was alone rather than admit there was a man on the other side of the screen, with her naked in a tub of water. Still, the only hope of keeping him exactly where he was until Emma returned was to answer him.

“Yes?”

“Your hands. How do they feel?”

Now, what kind of question is that?
she thought in exasperation.
They burn like fire, you big knot head!

Common sense, however, prevented her from telling him that, so Sarah swallowed hard before replying. “They’re fine, thank you.”

She could hear him set down his glass.

“I’m sorry that happened. I never intended to hurt you, only scare you a little. I need to get back that money.”

Here we go again.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. What money?”

The creak of a chair signaled he was now probably leaning back in it.

“Can’t you ever stop the games?” Cord’s voice dripped with irritation. “There’s no one around to hear your lies, and we both know the truth, don’t we?”

For a long moment, Sarah didn’t reply. Honesty warred with continuing the deception, and honesty finally won out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you without hurting my family. And I’ll never do that. They’re all I have . . .”

“Family loyalty.” Cord snorted in derision. “An admirable quality that’s placed us both in untenable positions.”

A strange sentiment
, she thought.
Leastwise, coming from his side of it anyway.

“It doesn’t matter, Sarah. I won’t let you go until I get what I want. And I’ve
got
to have the money.”

What am I supposed to say to that?
She moved uncomfortably in the tub, the water sloshing about.
Where’s Emma?
Sarah wished the kindly housekeeper had never left.

“It’s not going to matter in the long run,” Cord said. “Either you’ll eventually tell me or we’ll catch your family. Who knows? Maybe they’ll even try to rescue you from my evil clutches. I’d like that. There’s a matter of a beating that needs repaying, and I’m just the man for it.”

Yes, I’ll bet you are.
“What will you do with me in the meantime?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “What do you think? A bath and some clean clothes don’t constitute forgiveness. As I said before, you’ll stay in the cellar until I get the information I want.”

The next few days passed uneventfully in a stalemated battle of two equally stubborn wills. In that time, Cord was careful never to visit Sarah, sending one of the servants to bring her meals or attend to her needs. His decision to let her stew, however, was one of the most difficult he’d ever made. Though he stayed close to home in case her family attempted a rescue, burying himself in ranch paperwork to keep busy, Cord’s thoughts frequently drifted to the blonde beauty in the cellar.

She deserved her prison, he reminded himself over and over. She deserved that and worse for her part in the robbery. His father wouldn’t go half as easy on her when he returned and found out what had happened.

Father
 . . . Cord’s musings suddenly took another, even more unpleasant path.

The uneasy truce between them had stretched thin in the past month. Increasingly critical of everything Cord did, Edmund Wainwright seemed oblivious to how close his son was to his breaking point. And the robbery could well be the last straw. Justified anger or not, if his father made one more disparaging remark . . .

Cord rose from his desk and strode from the library. It didn’t matter how hard he tried! Every time the thought of Sarah Caldwell entered his mind, he ended up angry.

Well, he’d had all he could take. Something had to be done about her. He needed his money back—and fast! Today, one way or another, he’d show her who was boss.