She kept up a brisk pace through the wooded path as the sun peaked in and out of the clouds, shifting the shadows of the trees. Some of the trees had shed their leaves, but the mighty oaks still clung to theirs, and they rattled in the breeze. She kept her arms under her cloak for warmth but slowed momentarily when the sound of the rattling changed. She did a quick turnaround but saw nothing. “Must have been some critter scampering about,” she said, and picked up her pace again.

It happened so fast it scarcely registered.

Large hands overpowered her and grabbed her from behind, one covered her mouth, the other circled her waist. A surge of adrenaline triggered a painful heartbeat in her chest. She screamed through the clamped hand, but the sound was choked off. Lila struggled to free her arms from inside her cloak while she wildly kicked backwards. The harder she fought, the fiercer the grip. Lila raised her leg and shot it backwards again, this time hitting a shin. A rough voice cursed in her ear.

She was lifted off her feet and shoved against a tree, snapping the side of her head against the trunk. Pain shot through her head. Dazed, she made a feeble attempt to grab the arms. A hand slapped hard against her face. Spots danced before her eyes with the disappearing daylight, then nothing.

When Lila came out of the fog of unconsciousness, she found herself in darkness. She was blindfolded. She was on a horse with someone sitting behind her, someone with unspeakable body odor whose breath reeked of whiskey. What was happening? Who has done this? She had a throbbing headache, made worse with each step of the horse over the uneven ground.

Reaching for her head, she realized her hands were bound together. Why am I tied up? This makes no sense. She was a captive and there was nothing she could do to give herself any advantage. The realization sent her into a frenzy of fear, and tears swelled under her blindfold. Dear God, what am I to do?

Now fully awake, her heart pounded as she tried to clear her head. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, no idea where she was, no idea who sat behind her in the saddle. She shuddered to think who her captor was and what he had in mind.

About the Author

When she’s not writing, Jane is singing in a choir, exercising in some fashion, or soaking up nature from a shady spot in the yard with a good book. She and her husband live in Kansas and have two children and six grandchildren. She treasures time spent with their far-flung family and still entertains the fantasy of appearing on Dancing with the Stars for Grandmas, although the clock is ticking. . .

Jane is a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of America, and Wyoming Writers, Inc.

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