Ridge glanced away, as if embarrassed. "Wasn't nothing, ma'am."
Emma smiled. "Maybe not to you." Her smile disappeared. "I have to find them, Ridge." It seemed ridiculous to call him Mr. Madoc after she'd spent the last ten minutes within his capable arms.
"You don't know where they are," he stated.
"I know the general direction. With your tracking skills, you might be able to find them."
Ridge allowed a tight grin. "Seems to me you have more than enough savvy to find them yourself, with you knowing how to hide your tracks and all, ma'am."
"Hiding a trail and following a trail aren't the same. You see things I don't." And I see things you don't, she thought, remembering her visions of the wolf, the lion, the eagle, and the owl.
"Your father hired me to bring you home."
"He didn't give you a time limit."
"Don't go playing with words, Emma. We both know what he meant."
"It means you'll get paid whether you bring me back before or after I find them," she insisted.
"I don't have time to be running around the country after you," he argued. "I got work to do back at my place."
"How much is he paying you?"
"One hundred dollars," Ridge replied after a moment's hesitation.
"How would you like to double that?"
He narrowed his eyes. "How?"
"You find my—" She broke off, shocked she'd almost given away her secret. "My people and I'll pay you another hundred dollars."
"And where're you gonna get a hundred dollars?"
"Do you think I'm lying?"
"Ma'am, I think you'd say or do damn near anything to get what you want."
His words cut deep, especially knowing he was right. "Maybe. But you will get the extra money. I swear it."
He didn't refuse her outright, which gave Emma hope. She pressed her advantage. "Think of how much more two hundred dollars will help you and your ranch than one hundred."
He scowled, but didn't reject her offer. Emma remained silent, intuitively knowing she'd pushed him as far as he would go.
"How long do you plan on visiting with the People once you find 'em?" Ridge asked.
Emma squelched a smile of victory and considered his question. "Long enough to make sure they're all right and to say my goodbyes."
"A day? Two days? Five?"
Irritation quashed her growing sense of relief. "Five, maybe more."
"How much more?"
"I don't know."
"One week, Emma."
She opened her mouth to argue, but clamped it shut. Ridge had a stubborn set to his grizzled jaw. "One week," she repeated, but didn't promise.
"Then we go back to your ranch, and you and your pa'll pay me."
"That's right." Emma's own jaw ached with tension. Her plans were dependent upon whether or not she found Chayton. If he wasn't with the first group they stumbled across, she planned on continuing her search. And if he was there, she wasn't certain whether she'd stay at the village or bring Chayton to the ranch.
Ridge stood, his movements more graceful than Emma would've expected for an injured man. "You'd best get back to sleep. We'll have a long day tomorrow, ma'am."
"Do you have any idea where they might be?"
"Maybe."
"Where?" Emma demanded, coming up on her knees.
Ridge squatted beside the coals and coaxed them back to life with some small twigs. Then he added a handful of larger pieces until the fire illuminated his face, which possessed a calmness Emma didn't share.
"Where?" she repeated with more impatience.
"Places I remember from when I lived with them."
Emma's mouth gaped. "You lived with the Lakota?"
"Long time ago. Things were different then."
"Were you a captive?"
"No."
"Then—"
Ridge held up his hand. "Go to sleep, Emma."
She studied his expression, which gave away nothing. "That's why you were such a good scout." She didn't intend for it to come out accusingly.
He merely stared at her, until she looked away. She smoothed her bedroll, anxious to have something to do.
"Are you going to tie me up again?" she asked quietly.
"Do I need to?"
"No."
Ridge tilted his head, but didn't speak.
Self-conscious, Emma settled in her makeshift bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her cheeks felt stiff from dried tears, and her body ached, but it was a good ache, like she'd spent the day scraping buffalo hides with the other women after a successful hunt.
"Goodnight, ma'am," came Ridge's soft drawl.
After a moment, she whispered back, "Goodnight."
Accustomed to waking at dawn, Ridge opened his eyes to find the first streaks of light appearing in the dark blue sky. He turned his head and spotted Emma's head peeking out of her bedroll. He hadn't expected her to run off again, but she had a habit of doing things he didn't expect.
The fire had died down, but embers remained because of the late night addition of wood. He stifled a sigh and rose to answer nature's call. When he returned to the camp, he recoiled the rope which he'd used to tie Emma to the tree, and set it beside his saddle.
Fifteen minutes later, he leaned over, intending to awaken Emma by touching her shoulder. His bandaged arm reminded him that wasn't a good idea and he drew back. "Wake up, Emma," he said in a low, firm voice.
She immediately stirred and lowered the blanket from her face, revealing eyes more alert than Ridge expected. Glancing up at the lightening sky, she levered herself to a sitting position. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so late."
Ridge allowed a slight smile. "Sun's just coming up. Most folks would call this early."
Emma wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, keeping the blanket over her lower body. Her lips tilted upward. "True. Mother and Sarah think dawn is the middle of the night."
"What about your father?"
Emma's smile disappeared and she pulled her knees closer to her chest, as if protecting what lay within it. "He'd be eating breakfast now."
Ridge cursed himself for bringing John Hartwell's specter between them. "Coffee?"
"When I get back," Emma said, throwing her blankets off.
"Where're you going?"
Emma stood and gazed down at him, amusement in her twitching lips. "Where did you go when you first woke up?" Ridge's face heated and she laughed lightly. "You heard me?" Ridge asked.
Emma shrugged. "I'm a light sleeper, remember?" She leaned down and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. I didn't peek."
Ridge kept his attention on the tin cup he clutched in his hands as she walked into the brush. He wasn't used to women teasing him about such personal matters. Hell, he wasn't used to being around a woman, teasing or not. It was going to take some getting used to.
A few minutes later Emma returned and Ridge handed her a steaming cup of coffee.
"Thank you." She eased down on the ground and sipped the hot bitter liquid.
Ridge expected her to talk, to ask him about the time he'd lived with the Lakota, but she remained silent. He had his own questions for her, but it didn't seem right badgering her when she seemed content to let him keep his secrets.
It wasn't until they'd saddled their horses that Emma spoke.
"I know this wasn't what you signed on for when you agreed to find me, but I'm grateful for your help," Emma said, meeting his gaze squarely.
Ridge shifted under her direct look, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He adjusted the brim of his hat and eyed the fat fluffy clouds. "Like you said, ma'am, two hundred dollars'll do more than a hundred."
Her eyes flickered downward, to where the reins were threaded through her gloved hands. When she looked up again, her expression was neutral. "They're headed northeast."
Ridge nodded. "Figured so by the direction you'd been riding."
"Do you think we'll find them in the next day or two?"
"Mayb
e, but might be closer to two or three." He felt a twinge of irrational annoyance. "I promised you we wouldn't go back until we found them, and I aim to keep that promise."
"I trust you."
Although Ridge's chest tightened with her soft declaration, he couldn't fully believe her. As sure as he knew the mountains wouldn't fall down overnight, he knew Emma Hartwell was hiding something.
He only hoped her secret wouldn't get them both killed.
The spring day warmed as the sun rose higher in the endless blue sky. Emma opened her jacket and loosened the wool scarf from her head so that it draped around her neck. Before they'd hit the trail that morning, she'd pinned her hair into a bun at her nape to keep the strands out of her face.
Content to bask in the uncommonly warm rays, she didn't attempt to speak with her former captor. She also suspected Ridge was a man who didn't tolerate empty conversation, which suited her fine. However, her gaze often strayed to his easy rocking motion, which belied the thin slash of his lips and clenched jaw. She wondered if his memories of this area were pleasant or something he preferred to forget. She opened her mouth to ask, but abruptly chose silence. It would be discourteous—in both white and Indian societies—to ask such a personal question.
"They aren't there," Ridge announced in the late morning.
Startled by his voice's intrusion after hours of silence, Emma glanced at him. "What?"
A minute shift of the reins and Ridge halted his pinto pony. Emma drew up beside him, their stirrups brushing.
"One of the places I thought they might be holed up." He pointed to a line of trees a mile or two away. "If they were there, I'd've seen some sign by now."
Disappointment weighed heavily on Emma as she slumped. She knew it was unrealistic to think finding them would be so simple after just a week of searching, but she'd hoped that with Ridge's knowledge it would be easier. However, the people she'd lived with were desperate and wouldn't settle for a traditional camp location. Food wouldn't even be their major consideration—concealment and security would be until they found a larger group to join.
Ridge's gloved hand settled on hers as it rested on the pommel.
"We'll find them, Emma," he assured.
The weight of his hand was comforting and something else—something that dipped into her belly and lay there warm and tingly. She lifted her gaze to meet sincere midnight blue eyes and managed a smile. "I know you'll do your best."
Ridge searched her face and Emma's cheeks heated. He abruptly removed his hand and his attention drifted forward again. Emma's mare followed without urging.
While she'd lived with the People, they'd ranged for miles in the wilderness, following the food supply. She kept hoping to spy something that looked familiar. Instead, her attention kept wandering to Ridge and the way he set the saddle and the keen eyes that saw so much more than even her own. It was obvious he was comfortable in the untamed land. Perhaps even more so than so-called civilized towns. He was a man she could admire and respect, but it saddened her to think his thoughts weren't nearly as charitable of her.
Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then inhaled again, filling her lungs with fresh air. Clearing her thoughts like the shaman had taught her, she pictured the bright, pure air swirling through her body, illuminating the dark, stale places. She imagined the life pulsing around her, from the most insignificant ant to the greatest buffalo. All were connected as one through Mother Earth, each an integral part of the cycle of life and death; of rebirth and transformation.
An increasingly familiar scent intruded—Ridge's unique blend of deerhide, woodsmoke, and honest labor. His masculine essence triggered a new awareness to her body that she tacitly ignored.
Emma placed her unwelcome attraction to Ridge into the far recesses of her thoughts. She couldn't afford to be sidetracked from her mission by long-denied needs, especially with a decent man like Ridge Madoc. But then, it was his very decency that attracted her even more powerfully than his muscular body, smooth-shaven features, and clean scent.
Ridge slowed and Emma's horse came abreast so they rode side-by-side.
"I've missed this," Emma said quietly. At Ridge's questioning glance, she waved her hand outward. "This. The land. Quiet. Peace." A magpie flew past and the sunlight turned drab feathers to shiny blue. "Freedom."
Ridge remained mute, but Emma knew he'd heard her.
"Do you miss it?" she asked curiously.
"Sleeping on the ground, eating cold biscuits and tough jerky, not being able to take a long, hot bath?" He flashed her a wry smile. "Yeah, sometimes I miss it."
Emma laughed softly. "Yes, bathing in a mountain-fed stream isn't one of my favorite things either." She sobered and her gaze wandered across the wilderness. "But it wasn't a bad life. The People, they care for one another, watch out for each other's children." Her breath hitched in her throat. "They share their bounty with the rest of the tribe. When one suffers, everyone does. Not exactly how the whites see things, is it?"
"Two different kinds of people, Emma," Ridge began. "For one, the world is there for the taking and folks want the biggest piece they can get their hands on. It's like a grownup marbles game—whoever has the most wins. For the People, they look at things different. Respect for the land and honor of one another and those who came before them are their beliefs. Without them, they don't have anything."
Although surprised by his relatively long speech, she nodded, her gaze turning inward, to the reservation camp she'd visited before starting her search. "But that's changing."
"It's the way of life, Emma. Things're always going to change."
"But that doesn't make it right."
"I never said it did," he said patiently. "But you and me can't stop it, so it doesn't do any good to get all riled up about it."
Emma's thoughts turned to her son, a child of both worlds, but embraced by the Lakota. If she took him back to her parents' home, what kind of life would he have? But if she and Chayton stayed with the Indians, how much longer would her adopted people remain free? And she didn't want to raise her child on a reservation, unable to walk freely on the same plains as his father's ancestors.
"Maybe if enough people got riled up about it, we could change things," Emma said.
"Maybe." Ridge didn't sound hopeful.
Emma leveled her gaze at him. "Would you?"
Ridge rubbed a wind-weathered cheek with a gloved hand. "I'm a simple man, Emma. All I want is a piece of land I can call my own, some cattle to run on it, and a good woman to share my life and raise my children."
"What if someone stole your land, scattered your cattle, and hurt or killed your wife and children?"
He met her gaze. "Your pa already stole my land."
Emma flinched. From what she'd heard, her father hadn't exactly stolen the land, but what he paid for it was equivalent to cheap beads and cheaper blankets. She didn't know how to respond to Ridge's bitter statement so she chose silence.
Her thoughts returned to the People and where they might be headed. She knew there were a number of Sioux further southeast, in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory. However, many of the Tetons preferred the Powder River basin. Was that where her adopted people were going? Or was it Canada where the U.S. government couldn't touch them?
"What about Canada?" she asked.
"I already thought of that, but figured they'd more'n likely stay on land they know. The next camp I'm checking is about fifteen miles from here," he said, keeping his gaze aimed forward. "I should know if they're there once we get within a few miles of it."
It would be a long fifteen miles.
Chapter 7
By nightfall, Ridge was certain the Indians were nowhere near the second possible camp. His next guess was some fifty miles away and it would take the better part of a day to get there, provided the weather cooperated. As he unsaddled his horse, Ridge raised his head and sniffed the cool air. There was a change coming. He suspected winter was going to make another appearance.
He and Emma prepared their camp, moving around one another in companionable silence. Emma volunteered to make their supper, which consisted of rabbit, biscuits, and gravy. A jackrabbit had jumped out of a patch of brush in front of them that afternoon, and Ridge's shot had been true.
By the time the meal was ready, Ridge's stomach was grumbling. He accepted a tin plate with three biscuits slathered with gravy and a large portion of the roasted rabbit. Emma had used some of her dried plants to spice up the meat, giving it a rich flavor.
"That was real good, ma'am," Ridge commented after he mopped off his plate with the last biscuit.
He volunteered to clean their plates; Emma didn't argue. When he returned from the stream, she was sitting near the fire, her legs to one side and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. If not for her light skin and honey-brown hair, Ridge would've thought she was an Indian.
As he approached her, he noticed an open book held in her hands.
"Thank you," Emma said quietly as she looked up. The fire's glow glossed her face with warm tints. "I hope you don't mind if I read for a little while."
Ridge shook his head. "You don't need my approval, ma'am."
She tucked a finger in the book to hold her place and closed it, then rested her chin on her fist to simply look at him. Ridge tried to ignore her steady gaze, but his body felt it all the way down to his marrow. He lowered himself to a nearby log and opened his saddlebags to slide the clean plates and forks back into them.
"I know I don't need it," she said. "But it would be rude of me to ignore you all evening."
Ridge barked a short laugh. "We aren't at some icecream social, Emma, so there's no need for you to be so polite-like." He finished fastening the saddlebags' straps. "You don't owe me anything but one hundred dollars once I get you home."
Her mouth pursed, like she just bit into a rotten apple. "You'll get your money."
"I know."
The fire crackled between them, occasionally snapping and shooting sparks into the air.
"Would you like me to read aloud?" Emma asked quietly.
He kept his gaze aimed downward, afraid she'd see how much her simple offer touched him. He cleared his throat. "If you'd like. It won't bother me."
McKade, Maureen Page 8
