Lydia's head throbbed, and it was hard for her to open her eyes. As her stomach churned from nausea, her head spun from dizziness. Someone had hit her from behind, and she wished to blazes she could have seen the dirty-rotten coward because she would have fought for her life no matter what the consequences.

Once she had packed the things in her room and headed out of the hotel to stay with her sister, she stepped past an alleyway and felt the blow to the back of her head. Now, as she fought to stay awake and keep the contents in her stomach down, she struggled to gaze around the small room.

The low burning fire was the only light in the room, but she could see there wasn't much to this room, anyway. A slight breeze coming from the cracked window let her know she was held in a rundown shack. She couldn't see any other door, although there were a few heavily shadowed walls, so she was certain there had to be another room somewhere.

She was lying on a blanket which was the only thing between her and the floor. Her body ached from the cramped position.

Taking slow and deep breaths, she listened for any moments around her. The popping of the fire was the only thing she heard. She doubted she was alone. Why would someone kidnap her and not stick around? Yet... she didn't know why anyone would want to take her in the first place. Her family wasn't wealthy. None of her sisters had anything worth a lot of money. Obviously, her kidnapper must have mistaken her for someone else.

Lydia's hand trembled as she lifted it to the back of her head, brushing her fingers near the pain throbbing from her skull. Her hair was matted with a damp, sticky substance. Inwardly, she groaned. Blood. Hopefully, she hadn't lost too much of it.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been unconscious, but when she left the hotel, it had still been light. And now, judging from the cracked window, night had fallen. Even if she wanted to escape this place, she wouldn't find her way back to Stumptown. Perhaps that was the kidnapper's plan. Whoever had done this must know that she was just a visitor in this town. And now she wondered if the kidnapper was the person who ransacked her hotel room.

Groaning, she dropped her hand back to her lap. She was probably thinking too much about this. Sadly, this was the only thing she could do.

She glanced toward the fireplace again. Several large logs were stacked near the hearth. If she didn't throw on another log soon, the fire would be out, and staying in this place without light wasn't something she wanted to do.

Shifting on the ground, she scooted slowly toward the fireplace. The muscles in her body screamed in discomfort, but she ignored their protests. Keeping the fire going was more important than aching muscles. At least she didn't think she had any broken bones. She should be relieved about that. However, her ankle felt swollen, so she was certain she had twisted it after she'd been knocked out.

Once at the hearth, she picked up a log and threw it on the fire. She blew into the embers, helping to stroke the fire. Soon, the flames licked at the new log and caught on fire. It didn't take long before the heat expanded in the room.

She scooted away from the fire and back to the blanket. With the larger blaze, she was able to see more in the room. She'd assumed corrected the first time. It was a one-room shack, and she was the only one in it. Still, she wondered if the person who kidnapped her was waiting outside. They wouldn't have been foolish enough to leave her here alone.

Leaning carefully against the wall, she closed her eyes. Her sister would be worried about her when Lydia didn't come back as promised. Hopefully, Victoria would have her husband find the sheriff and search for the missing sister. Of course, if Alan got the sheriff involved, that meant Nicholas would be there.

She sighed heavily as rejection filled her. Why had she allowed him to kiss her? And why had she allowed her heart to become affected... again? It wasn't fair. She hadn't known many men, and only a few had courted her. Yet here was a man who kissed so passionately but he didn't want her.

Although she still wanted Hannah Easton to fix her up as a mail-order bride, Lydia would wait until after Nicholas left town for good. Having him around confused her too much. It also made her heart hurt more than it should.

She didn't think she was in love, but what other reason could it be? No other man had taken her in his arms and devoured her with sultry kisses. She never thought she could feel such joy and contentment, either. Nor had she felt so much pain when that same man stomped on her heart.

A tear slid down her cheek and startled her. Quickly, she blinked her eyes open and wiped the moisture off her face. Why had she been crying? Nicholas Drake wasn't worth it. Or was he?

Angrily, she shook her head. No, he wasn't. Whether he was injured or not, he shouldn't have treated her that way. He shouldn't have yelled at her when she tried to help, and he definitely shouldn't have tried to comfort her with kisses – again. No man should treat a woman in such a way, and it would be a cold day in Hates before she forgave him.

Staring into the fire, she pushed her thoughts of Nicholas out of her mind and tried to think of happier times. Sadly, there weren't many in her life. Lydia couldn't find many happy memories growing up without a father and a mother who worked herself to death to feed her daughters. That would all change when she became a mail-order bride.

She'd meet the man Hannah Easton would set her up with, and Lydia would search the man's heart for the type of person he really was. She wouldn't be caught off guard by his good looks like some men she knew. Certainly, her mail-order husband would be a good and honest man. It would take a while to fall in love with him, but eventually, she would. And eventually, he'd love her for the kind and caring woman she was.

They would have a house full of children. Of course, living in the same town as Victoria, their children would play together and become best friends. They would always have support from their family – the way it was supposed to be.

A noise from outside startled Lydia from her dreams of the future. Holding her breath, she listened closely to what she'd heard. It couldn't possibly be a horse.

Her body shook in panic. Perhaps her kidnapper was returning.

She glanced at the fire and the logs stacked beside it. She had no weapon unless she took a log and knocked it over the man's head when he came inside. Maybe then she would be able to take his gun away and hold him hostage.

Determination surged through her as she moved toward the fire again. She took deep breaths, fighting through the pain in her limbs. She made it to the logs and grabbed on. Then, praying for more strength, she stood and slowly walked toward the door. The room spun around her, but she wouldn't let it stop her. This was the only way to take control.

She stopped beside the door and raised the log over her head, preparing for anything. Please, Lord. Help me!

* * * *

Jakeson sat in the corner of the saloon where it was darker. He didn't want anyone to recognize him, especially the agent. Although the Pinkerton agent was already trying to find Lydia, so Jakeson didn't have to worry about that particular man. But because the agent had been with the sheriff behind closed doors, that worried Jakeson. He was certain Nick Drake had told the lawman all about the train robber that had slipped from his fingers.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Jakeson stared at his empty mug as he waited for the serving girl to bring him another one. The more whiskey he consumed, the faster he would forget about the pain in his heart from the memories that had resurfaced. It couldn't happen fast enough, in his opinion.

Guilt was not an emotion he was used to dealing with, which was why it surprised him when he had brought the Pinkerton agent's woman back to the shack to hold her hostage... and discovered her identity.

He groaned and pushed his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Where was that blasted barmaid, anyway? He needed whiskey now. What did he need to do to get the girl's attention? Throw the mug at her?

After a few annoying minutes passed, she finally came to his table and refilled his mug. He grumbled and grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving. He lifted the drink to his mouth, gulping it back as fast as he could, and then presented her with the empty mug.

"Fill it up," he snapped. "And leave the whiskey bottle here. I'll be drinking it all."

Her eyes widened. "That will cost you more, sir."

He dug through his money belt and pulled out some gold coins. "Will this suffice?"

She gasped as surprise registered on her expression. "Oh, yes. Most definitely."

He didn't care that he had just given her coins from the last train robbery he'd done. At this moment, whiskey was more important than coins.

He tipped the container of whiskey to his mug, filling it again. He didn't gulp down the liquid as fast this time. Instead, he sipped and stared toward the stage as the dancing girls entertained the small crowd. It didn't take long before his vision began to blur. That was good. He was nearly ready to pass out. Of course, he'd leave this place – and the town – before that happened. He wouldn't put himself in the way of the sheriff stumbling over him in some alleyway.

Closing his eyes, his thoughts jumped back to the shack where he'd left Lydia. When he'd hit her over the head and knocked her out cold, he had plans of drawing the Pinkerton agent out. But once Jakeson carried the woman into the shack and laid her on the blanket, he realized she looked very familiar.

At first, he had wondered if she'd been traveling on one of the trains he'd robbed, and that's why he recognized her. Then, he noticed her necklace. His memory had fully returned at that point.

Nervously, he had removed the necklace from around her neck to study it closer. With a sinking heart, he knew this had been the one he'd given to Miss Charity Lange as a young man before making the woman his wife.

After their first daughter was born, Jack Swanson had been happy that he was a father, although he had wanted a boy. Then, when the second daughter was born, and she wasn't a boy, Jack had taken up the sport of heavy drinking. When the third daughter was born, Jack was completely disgusted with his wife. Charity had failed three times to give him the son he'd always wanted.

As a way of punishing his wife, he had spent many days at the local saloon, which was where he met up with some outlaws. They taught him how to rob trains, which soon became his profession. He also called himself Jakeson because Jack Swanson no longer existed. If Jack had had a son, the boy's name would have been Jake – a name he'd wished his parents had named him.

Jakeson shook his head and downed another large swallow of the vile liquor. After learning of his Charity's demise all those years ago, he had hoped to never come in contact with the daughters he'd never wanted. Yet, fate had a way of messing things up for him because his daughter Lydia was the one he'd knocked unconscious.

His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly. Soon, he'd have to leave the saloon before he dropped in a heap on the floor. But drinking would take away the pain and his memories. He hoped it would erase the guilt as well. Although he didn't want to be a father to Victoria, Lydia, and Racheal, they were still his daughters, and he didn't want to see them harmed.

So, what had he done? He'd whacked a large stick across Lydia's head. Her wound bled like he had gutted a small animal. Thankfully, he had stopped the bleeding. She would live. Yet, he couldn't bear knowing he'd been the one to hurt her.

No matter what happened, he didn't want her to know who he really was. Of course, in light of this discovered identity, he would have to figure out how else to toy with the arrogant Pinkerton agent.

Jakeson couldn't allow his daughter to be harmed by anyone – even if it meant killing Nicholas Drake.