McKade, Maureen

by To Find You Again

  "Who do you got trussed up?" Ridge asked.

  "Pony Cullen. Son of a bitch tried turning this into a massacre. If Cap'n Rivers hadn't winged him, it might've happened."

  Ridge stared at Colt, who met his gaze without flinching. "Why didn't you say so?"

  Colt's eyes glittered ice blue. "You didn't give me a chance."

  "When I saw—" Ridge broke off. "Me and Emma lived in this village for a week. They're not part of a war party."

  Gabe and Colt's gazes flickered to the side and Ridge turned to see Emma walking toward them. She carried Chayton, who had his head tucked against her shoulder and his legs wrapped around her waist. The boy didn't even look up when Emma stopped in front of the men.

  "Miss Emma Hartwell," Ridge said, reverting back to formality. "This is Captain Colt Rivers and Sergeant Gabe Sanders."

  Colt and Gabe tipped their hats politely.

  Despite the paleness of her complexion, her eyes blazed with rage. "These people were no threat to you. All they wanted was to be left in peace."

  "Yes, ma'am," Colt replied. "But we were ordered to find those who left the reservation. We followed them here."

  "So you decided just to kill them instead of going through the trouble of taking them back?" Her voice trembled with derision.

  "We were attacked," Colt explained. "We defended ourselves."

  "You'd attack people who invaded your home, wouldn't you, Captain?"

  Ridge squelched a smile of admiration. "She's right. These folks were only defending their home."

  "Cullen reported that some of the warriors here had ridden with Crazy Horse," Gabe added.

  "And you believed him?" Emma asked.

  Gabe shook his leonine head. "If we believed everything he said, ma'am, everyone in this here village would've been killed."

  Colt held up a hand. "Cullen tried to incite the men to a massacre. We stopped him, but there were casualties."

  "Fast Elk was one of them," Emma said, her anger replaced by grief.

  Ridge snapped his gaze back to Emma, whose eyes filled with tears. Without thought, he hugged her and Chayton. Emma leaned heavily against him and the boy roused enough to wrap a thin arm around his neck.

  "I'm sorry, Emma," Ridge whispered, massaging her back soothingly.

  Chayton began to whimper and Ridge cupped the back of his head. "You're safe, cub," he said in Lakota.

  Chayton quieted and laid his head back down on Emma's shoulder.

  "Who's Fast Elk?" Colt demanded.

  "My adopted father." Emma raised her chin defiantly.

  "We're taking them back," Colt replied stiffly.

  "Why? They're not hurting anybody."

  "We have our orders, ma'am."

  "Orders ain't always right," Ridge interjected. "They're mostly women and kids."

  "I can't leave them here," Colt stated.

  Clenching his jaw, Ridge steered Emma toward what remained of the lodge they'd used and lowered her to the ground. He knelt beside her, unsure of what to say.

  He lifted his head and took in the carnage. A dog's carcass, barely recognizable, had been trampled into the ground, and two dead horses lay at the edge of the village. The chief's tipi, along with another half-dozen were completely destroyed with only ashes and tufts of buffalo hide marking where they had been. The pit fires were cold and the embers scattered. Kettles were upended and their contents spilt across the ground. Skinny dogs were lapping up the food, growling at anyone who came near them.

  Naked children around Chayton's age were held tight in women's arms. Tears stained both young and old ruddy cheeks, and shoulders hitched with sobs that were eerily silent. There were two dozen men and boys being guarded, and many of them were bloodstained. It appeared their wounds had gone untended.

  "How's Talutah?" Ridge asked Emma.

  "Grieving." Her red-rimmed eyes stared past him.

  Ridge restrained a sigh. "I'm sorry."

  "Tell them." She made a wide arcing motion toward the People.

  "I'm going to see what else I can find out," Ridge said. "You stay here."

  "No, I'm going to help."

  "You'll be safe here."

  Emma's laugh was brittle. "From who?"

  Ridge gritted his teeth. He'd noticed the soldiers' disrespectful gazes at Emma and he knew it was only the beginning. Once the cavalry unit returned to their post, word would spread fast about Emma and her son. She would be accosted like a whore and her son taunted with cruel barbs.

  "Could you get my saddlebags? I need my herbs," she said.

  He muttered an oath and helped her to her feet. "What about Chayton?"

  She hesitated only a moment. "I'll leave him with the women."

  Emma was arguing with one of the men guarding the warriors when he returned with her saddlebags.

  "I'm only going to take care of their wounds," she snapped at the soldier.

  "Nobody's allowed near them," the guard repeated.

  "Who said that?"

  "Captain Rivers."

  Emma turned her glare on Ridge. "He's your friend." The way she said "friend" made Ridge cringe inwardly. "What does she want?" Colt Rivers's voice startled Ridge.

  "'She' wants to treat their injuries since you don't seem to care whether they live or die," Emma replied curtly.

  Colt fixed his frigid gaze on Emma. "If you're willing to risk your life, go ahead."

  "They won't hurt me," she argued.

  "You don't know that, ma'am. But like I said, it's your neck."

  Emma wavered only a moment. "I'll take that chance."

  "I'll help," Ridge offered.

  "Leave your weapons out here," Colt ordered.

  Ridge reluctantly did as he said. Irritated, he followed Emma, aware of Colt's stare burning a hole between his shoulder blades.

  Despite Colt's dire warnings, the warriors allowed Emma to examine their wounds. Four had been shot, while another had been slashed with a knife across his chest, and most all of them had minor cuts and bruises.

  Akecheta, the old chief, had the most serious wound—a bullet in the chest. He'd been propped up with a rolled-up buffalo skin and his weathered face was washed-out and slack.

  Emma examined the wound carefully, but even Ridge could see there was no hope. She sat back on her heels and her eyes welled with tears.

  "My time has come. I will join those who have gone before me," the chief said, his voice so weak Ridge had to strain to hear it.

  Ridge didn't bother with pointless platitudes. "You ruled your people well."

  Akecheta coughed and blood flecked his bluish Hps. "Help them," he wheezed. "Honor the dead."

  Ridge had seen an Indian burial or two and knew of the ceremony, but he wasn't certain he could convince Colt to allow them time to take care of their dead.

  "We will," Emma promised.

  Ridge flashed her a dark look, but her gaze was locked with Akecheta's. Then the chief closed his eyes and his breathing grew labored, until it stopped altogether.

  Ridge removed his hat and bowed his head as Emma touched his forehead, as if in a benediction.

  "Good journey," she said in a husky whisper.

  The guard closest to them called for two other soldiers to take Akecheta's body to lie with the others.

  Although the sun was warm, a chill swept through Ridge. He raised his head and settled his hat back on his head. He followed Emma and assisted her as she diligently took care of the others' injuries.

  Just as they finished, a woman's wail broke the silence, followed by another and another until the air seemed to vibrate with the unnatural laments. The mourning had begun.

  He felt Emma shudder beside him.

  "I hate that sound," she confessed. "When Enapay died, I mourned until I was so hoarse no more sound would come. I had nightmares every night for a week." She swallowed hard. "I expect the nightmares will last longer this time."

  Ridge guided Emma past the guards, some of whom appeared irritated by the anguished cries
. Most of the soldiers, however, kept their gazes averted from the Lakota. Ridge escorted Emma to the women and children, where Chayton was more than ready to return to her arms.

  "I have to go talk to Co—the captain," Ridge said. "Will you be all right?"

  She nodded but didn't meet his gaze.

  Ridge went in search of Colt and found him by Pony

  Cullen, along with Gabe and Pres. At one time, Ridge had called the three men friends. Now, he wasn't certain.

  Cullen glared at Ridge. "If it ain't the Injun lover himself."

  Gabe kicked the scout's outstretched legs. "Shut up, Cullen."

  "What do you want?" Colt asked Ridge, his expression stony.

  "Akecheta, the chief, just died. He asked me if his people could have proper burials."

  Cullen snorted, but one look from Gabe ensured that the scout kept the rest of his comments to himself.

  "How long is it going to take?" Colt asked.

  "Probably a day, maybe two."

  Colt scowled and swore under his breath.

  "It's the right thing to do, Captain," Pres Wylie said in his soft Southern drawl. "I'll help them, sir."

  Colt nodded sharply. "All right. Get them started."

  "Yes, sir," Gabe replied without hesitation.

  Pres and Gabe headed toward the survivors.

  After a curt command to Cullen's two guards, Colt walked away in the opposite direction and Ridge followed. Once they were out of Cullen's hearing, Colt stopped.

  "I didn't want this to happen, Ridge. In fact, I was hoping Cullen wouldn't find them," Colt admitted in a low voice.

  "But he did, and you weren't able to maintain control of your men," Ridge said.

  Two red splotches colored Colt's cheeks. "Dammit, Ridge, I did what I could."

  "You could've done more."

  "Do you actually think I wanted this to turn into a massacre?"

  "Maybe it was payback for what the Indians did to your wife down in Texas."

  Colt's face whitened and his eyes glittered with rage. "No!"

  Ridge took a step toward him. "These Indians saved

  Emma Hartwell's life and gave her a home. In fact, the Lakota who found her and adopted her was killed by your men." He punctuated his words with a forefinger to Colt's chest.

  The captain grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip. "If you actually believe I could order the murder of innocent lives—Indian or otherwise—you don't know me at all."

  Ridge stared into Colt's piercing blue eyes. "Maybe I don't," he finally said.

  Colt released him with a flicker of disappointment, which he masked immediately. "Did you know about the Hartwell woman's son?"

  "Not until we got here."

  "Bastard?"

  Ridge stifled his impatience. "She was married to the boy's father."

  Colt's lips turned downward. "Once word gets out, her past few months in Sunset will have been a Cakewalk compared to what's ahead."

  "We left the boy here and were headed back to Sunset when—" he broke off, unable to explain Emma's gift. "When we had a feeling something was wrong."

  "And now?"

  "Now there's no way in hell she'll leave her boy behind to be raised on a reservation."

  "Old man Hartwell's going to have a fit."

  Ridge snorted, not giving a tinker's damn about Hartwell. "Good for the son of a bitch."

  "What about Miss Hartwell and her son?"

  Ridge only shook his head, unwilling to think about Emma's upcoming trials. "Me and Emma'll stay through the burials; then we'll be heading back. Emma will want to see Fast Elk laid to rest." Ridge turned to leave, but Colt's hand fastened on his sleeve.

  "She's a squaw woman, Ridge," Colt stated. "With a half-breed son. She'll only bring you trouble."

  Ridge's muscles bunched, but he managed not to take another swing at Colt. Besides, Colt was only repeating the same thoughts Ridge had already had.

  "I know." And with that, Ridge trudged back to Emma.

  Emma moved in a daze, helping prepare the bodies for burial by dressing them in their finest clothing and painting their faces. A little girl whom Chayton had often played with, was the only child casualty. However, four of the nine warriors killed were younger than Emma.

  Smudges of pungent smoke that purified the living and dead surrounded the women as they silently performed the final preparations for the burials. Two of the soldiers, those whom Emma had seen Ridge speaking to, helped the Indians build the wooden platforms for the bodies. She was grateful for their help but it still took the rest of the day and into the evening to complete them.

  Once she'd walked within ten yards of Pony Cullen, outwardly ignoring his taunts but barely controlling the impulse to take a knife to his heart. She'd never felt such overwhelming hatred for another person, and it frightened her to know she could.

  As she worked, Chayton slept with the other children on a buffalo skin pallet in the middle of the camp. Four young girls watched them closely. Every few minutes Emma would glance at him to reassure herself he was alive.

  Emma was concerned with Talutah's stoic silence as the older woman prepared Fast Elk for his final journey. She didn't even seem to know Emma was there, nor did she search out Chayton. Talutah focused entirely on her husband of many years.

  A long shadow fell across Emma and she looked up.

  "How's Talutah doing?" Ridge asked softly.

  Emma followed the woman's deliberate motions with growing trepidation. "Not very well."

  "Once the shock wears off, she'll be able to grieve and move on."

  Emma shook her head. "She was only able to give Fast Elk a daughter, and she died. I remember her telling me how she urged him to take another wife to bear him a son, but he wouldn't." Emma absently wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek.

  Ridge shifted uncomfortably. "Indians don't show their feelings much, but I know Fast Elk loved you like you were his flesh and blood."

  More tears coursed down her cheeks, but she wasn't crying. "I know."

  Ridge took Emma's arm and helped her to her feet. He remained standing close and cupped her face to wipe away the tear tracks with his thumbs. She grasped his wrists and lowered his hands.

  "Would you mind staying close to Chayton tonight?" Emma asked. "I'll be sitting with Talutah."

  "I'll watch him," Ridge reassured. He lowered his hands to his sides and opened his mouth as if to say something more. Instead he spun around and strode away.

  Too tired to look away, Emma followed his progress across the camp. He didn't pause until he joined Captain Rivers.

  She didn't know who to trust. Although she'd treated their wounds and helped them with the burial preparations, the Lakota avoided her like the plague, and Talutah was lost in misery. Most of the soldiers were eyeing her like she was a bottle of whiskey in a dry town.

  Emma rubbed her throbbing brow and pulled her hand away, only to notice dried blood across her knuckles. She wondered whose it was.

  She lifted her gaze to Chayton and a tiny shimmer of light broke through the black sorrow. Her resolve strengthened. No matter what anyone said, she wouldn't leave him behind again.

  The long night passed, underscored by the survivors' grieving for their dead. Moans rose and fell, interspersed with an occasional wail which ululated through the camp. Fires flickered brightly, but smoke hazed the air and the cloying scent of cedar infiltrated everything.

  Ridge lay on his side facing Chayton who slept restlessly beside him. Every time Ridge closed his eyes, he saw blood being lapped up by the earth beneath still bodies. He couldn't distinguish between memory, reality, and nightmare. The massacre he'd unwittingly been involved in last fall blurred with the one that had occurred twenty-four hours ago. Unknown victims took on the faces of those killed here.

  As an army scout, Ridge had believed in what he was doing—making the wilderness safer for the incoming tide of settlers. However, on his last scouting mission, he'd been ordered to find a band of renegade I
ndians who'd attacked a wagon train. Ridge tracked them to a village. Instead of culling out the guilty, the army unit had ridden into the camp with guns blazing and swords flashing. Ridge had tried to stop the bloodlust, but he'd only been able to watch in horror as women and children were cut down, screams dying in their throats as their bodies fell under bullets and blades. He would never forgive himself for his part in the bloody massacre.

  Ridge sat up, careful not to wake Chayton. As exhausted as he was, Ridge knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep any time soon. He added some wood to the fire and settled beside its warmth.

  A figure emerged out of the shadows and Ridge tensed until he recognized Emma's slumped figure. She sank to the ground beside Chayton, her legs folded to the side. Gazing down at her son, she brushed her hand across his long, straight hair.

  Ridge didn't break the companionable silence, leaving that to Emma if she was inclined to talk.

  "Sergeant Sanders ordered me to get some sleep," she said, minutes later.

  Ridge smiled. "He's hard to ignore."

  Her lips curved upward, but the smile was fleeting. "I like him."

  Ridge felt a stirring of jealousy. "He doesn't judge folks by the color of their skin."

  Emma continued to stroke her son's hair. "What'll happen to them?"

  "They'll be taken to the reservation."

  "Will your friend let them take their belongings?"

  "He's a fair man. He'll give them time to get their things together."

  "If he's so fair, he'd let them stay here."

  "He's only doing his job, Emma." Ridge felt compelled to defend him.

  "He should find another job," she shot back.

  After the somber task of preparing bodies for burial, Ridge was glad to see some of her spirit returned. "Colt's got his reasons for what he does."

  "Maybe so, but it doesn't make it right."

  Ridge sighed and lifted his gaze to the star-filled sky. "I didn't say it did."

  Low voices crawled through the night and a muffled snore or two came from the soldiers who slept some forty yards away. The Lakota's wrenching moans continued unabated.

  "Get some sleep, Emma. After the dead are put to rest, we're leaving for Sunset," Ridge said.

  "With Chayton."