January 2006
Chapter 1
Yuma Prison
Arizona Territory
Nathan Chasing Elk stared out the window, his hands fisted around the bars as he watched the setting sun slip behind the distant mountains in a blaze of bright crimson. One more day gone.
Moving away from the window, he paced the confines of his cell. Three long strides took him from one end to the other. There was nothing to impede his progress save for the narrow wooden beds that were stacked three high on the long sides of the cell. He glanced at one of the narrow cots with its bug infested straw tick. Given a choice, he would have preferred sleeping outside on the ground. It would have been cleaner, he mused, and far more comfortable.
He paced for hours, restless as a caged tiger, but it did nothing to cool either his rage or his frustration. Or calm the fear that threatened to engulf him. The fear that, in the end, he would stop fighting and they would win.
Sweat dripped from his brow, ran down his back. The summers in Yuma were like hell, with temperatures soaring above a hundred degrees.
How long until he lost the will to keep fighting, the will to live, and simply gave up?
He stared at the walls that surrounded him on three sides. They were made of granite, granite he had helped quarry with his own two hands. The granite had been plastered over and whitewashed. The doors were made of strap iron. Four years, six months and thirteen days since they had arrested him, four years of it spent in this hell hole. How much longer could he survive being locked in a cage, a cage that he had been forced to help build?
He swore under his breath. He thought it ironic that a number of the men who now inhabited the prison had helped to build it. The prison, situated on a bluff above the Colorado River, was located in what was surely the hottest, most isolated stretch of ground in the territory. The nearest town was Phoenix, which was over a hundred and fifty miles away. Prisoners from all over the country had been sent to the Hell Hole in the four years since the place had been built. There were even a few women confined behind the walls. One had been convicted of killing her brother, another for attempted robbery.
He stared out the barred door of his cell. Across the way, another prisoner stared back at him. Chasing Elk’s hands fisted around the bars. Did he wear the same disconsolate expression? Were his own eyes as sunken and devoid of hope?
Despair settled on his shoulders at the thought of never seeing his home or his daughter again. He knew that other prisoners had obtained pardons and been released early. So far, he’d had no such luck. But then, he’d been convicted of a far more serious crime than robbery or theft.
Escape. The word whispered through his mind, as fervent as the prayer of a dying man. Escape. It was his one hope. His only hope.
His hands tightened around the bars until his knuckles were white. There might come a time when he could no longer withstand the cold walls, the wormy food, the beatings, when thoughts of suicide would tempt him to put an end to his misery.
But it would not be today.
REVIEWS........
Romantic and easy-to-read, with good dialogue, DAKOTA DREAMS has an entertaining plot, and is peppered with real events of famous men from the West as well as some charming Indian fairy tales. There is adventure with the hero and heroine running from the law, and the book is a road trip through the wilderness and in the old Western towns of the 1800s. Most of all, it is a romance between two people who need each other for survival and happiness. Readers who like well-written Indian romances are sure to enjoy DAKOTA DREAMS.
Marilyn Heyman
Romance Reviews Today
* * *
DAKOTA DREAMS by Madeline Baker is a captivating tale that will enchant and delight all western romance fans. You will love her intriguing characters that will capture your imagination as well as your heart.
Lose yourself in the vivid and detailed setting, and sigh over a romance that is truly memorable. This is one novel you won’t want to pass up.
Nadine from Romance Junkies
* * *
---- DAKOTA DREAMS is a tense Indian romance starring a courageous heroine and a battered male with demons screaming at him to avenge the death of his wife and to bring his daughter home, which he wants to believe, is Catharine’s ranch. The character driven tale is loaded with plenty of action as the key players will converge in a showdown. Though the support cast seems somewhat one dimensional, Madeline Baker’s latest nineteenth century star-crossed romance contains a fresh fun story line. ---- Harriet Klausner
Original cover
September 2004
"An exciting western romance." Midwest Book Review
Chapter 1
The sound of gunfire rolled through the early morning air like summer thunder. Muttering an oath, Ridge Longtree holstered his Colt. He hadn’t wanted to kill the kid, but the young would-be gunman hadn’t given him any other choice.
Swinging onto the back of his horse, Longtree urged the big black stud into a lope. The shocked faces of a young mother and her little girl flashed by in a blur as the black raced down the dusty main street, headed for the open prairie beyond.
So much for hanging up his gun and settling down. He had lost track of the men he had killed, the times he had tried to settle down, only to have some young gunsel discover who he was and push him into a showdown. The results were always the same…a blast of gunfire, the stink of death, a quick exodus from whatever town he was in at the moment.
In the beginning, he had relished the thrill of it, the exhilaration of pitting the speed of his draw against that of another. He had lived for the quick rush of fear and excitement as he put his life on the line. But now…hell, now he was just tired of it all.
The black slowed of its own accord after a few miles and Longtree let the horse set its own pace. Lost in thought, he paid little attention to the direction the stud was taking other than to note that they seemed to be drifting west.
Drifting, he mused. That was all he’d done in the last twelve years, just drift, like some rootless tumbleweed. Of course, for a man who had no ties, and no place to settle down even if he was of a mind to, there wasn’t much else to do but drift.
Good whiskey, easy women, and bucking the tiger, those had been his main pursuits since he left home. Somewhere along the way, he had discovered he could draw and fire a gun in the blink of an eye. In addition to being shit fast, he was possessed of an uncanny knack to hit what he aimed at. He had been pushed into killing his first man. He had been young and impulsive at the time, quick to anger, quick to take offense when someone called him a low-down dirty half-breed. Until that fateful night, he had never fired his Colt at anything more dangerous than jack rabbits and empty beer bottles. But that night, goaded into a showdown, he had drawn his gun and killed a man. He would never forget that night, the recoil of his Colt, the quick flash of muzzle fire, the acrid stink of gunpowder. The sickly sweet coppery smell of blood that had overpowered everything else.
His first reaction was that he was glad he wasn’t the one laying face down in the dirt. It was only later, after the first rush of adrenaline had passed, that the full impact of what he had done hit him.
He had killed a man only a little older than himself.
He had been arrested and spent the night in jail, only to be released when witnesses declared that Ridge had fired in self-defense. During that one night in jail, he had discovered that he had a powerful dislike for being locked up in small spaces.
He had seen the grief he had caused at the funeral three days later, seen it in the eyes of the young man’s mother and father, in the tears that flowed down the cheeks of his intended bride. He had heard the sorrow in the voices of those who had been the young man’s friends.
Muttering an oath, Ridge thrust the memory from his mind. He had killed a dozen men since that first one and in doing so, he had made quite a name for himself. His reputation followed him from town to town, as relentless as his shadow. There was no way to outride it, no way to get shed of it. It stuck to him like a burr to a saddle blanket. In time, he had learned to live with it.
It was near dark when he spotted the house, a sprawling two-story place located in a shallow valley. There were a couple of peeled pole corrals filled with horses on one side and a big red barn on the other, along with a bunkhouse, cookhouse, and springhouse. Several tall trees shaded the front porch. A long plume of smoke spiraled from the chimney of the main house and even as he watched, lights appeared in the windows.
The place looked downright prosperous.
Prosperous enough to maybe give him a place to bunk down for the night.
Clucking to the black, he rode down the hill.
