"I think I'll have a talk with him."
"Be careful, Ridge. Cullen reminds me of a mad dog."
She guided him to a chair by the table then went to retrieve a plate of food from the sideboard for him and herself. As she returned, Chayton with his hair tousled and wearing a nightshirt, joined them.
"Leksi," the boy shouted. He threw himself at Ridge, who caught him and plopped him on his lap.
"What did he call you?" Emma's father demanded.
"Uncle," Emma replied. "It's a term Indian children use for a man who teaches them. Ridge taught Chayton his first English words." She didn't think her father needed to know those were learned over animal tracks and piles of scat.
Father studied Ridge, his expression blank but his gaze oddly speculative.
"You going to live here, too?" Chayton asked Ridge.
Emma choked on her coffee. Ridge leaned toward her and patted her back. After a minute, she nodded that she was fine.
"This isn't my home," Ridge answered Chayton after he settled back in his chair. "Maybe someday you'll see my place."
Chayton bounced on Ridge's lap. "Today?"
"I don't think so, cub. Maybe next week."
Emma leaned over Ridge's arm. "You should eat breakfast, Chayton. I'm sure Mrs. Wright would make up a special plate for you if you ask nicely."
The boy scrambled off Ridge's lap and scampered toward the kitchen.
"I'll go with him and make sure she doesn't spoil him." Sarah rolled her eyes. "He could charm the spots off a cat."
Ridge, Emma, and her mother laughed, and Emma was surprised to see a flicker of amusement in her father's face.
Ridge leaned close to Emma and whispered in her ear, "I think your father might be warming toward Chayton."
Emma nodded, oddly pleased that Ridge had noticed, too. It was like sharing a secret—another secret—with him.
Sarah and Chayton returned from the kitchen, bearing a plate piled high with hotcakes and syrup—Chayton's favorite, which the cook had obviously made special for him.
"It's a good thing you went with him, Sarah," Emma teased her sister.
Sarah's cheeks flushed and she shrugged helplessly.
Emma glanced at Ridge, who grinned and winked, sharing the good-natured jest.
The family ate in companionable silence and Emma's father even stopped glaring at Ridge. Far too soon, empty dishes were pushed aside. Emma was glad, however, that Ridge ate everything on his plate. His haggard expression had lessened and his face had more color to it.
"Thank you, ma'am," Ridge said to her mother. "I guess I was hungrier than I thought."
"You're welcome, Mr. Madoc. Besides, it's the least we could do considering what you've given us—our daughter and grandson," the older woman said.
Over the past few days, Emma's mother had become more spirited and didn't blindly agree with John Hartwell anymore. Emma found it oddly disconcerting, although she approved wholeheartedly. Maybe her mother had just needed a reason to stand up to him.
"I'd best get going," Ridge said, pushing back his chair and standing. "I want to check on Captain Rivers before heading home."
"Emma, why don't you escort him to the door?" her mother suggested.
Emma smiled. "I'll do that, Mother."
She walked Ridge to the door and picked up his hat from the table where he'd left it. She handed it to him and their fingers brushed.
"Tell Captain Rivers we're thinking of him and praying for his swift recovery," Emma said.
Ridge's shy smile made Emma's heart quicken. "Thanks. I will." He fiddled with the brim of his hat. "Colt told me what happened yesterday in town. I'm sorry, Emma."
The sour tang of humiliation rose in her throat. "You warned me. So did my parents and Captain Rivers, but I'd hoped..." She shrugged, although she hardly felt indifferent. "I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to leave Sunset, but I don't have a choice. Father's contacted Aunt Alice, but we haven't heard back from her. Maybe she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore." Unwelcome tears stung her eyes and she savagely ignored them.
Ridge lightly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. "It's not you, Emma. It's them and you can't make folks change their minds. It's something they got to do themselves." He took a deep breath. "You have another choice, Emma."
"I'm not Catholic so I don't think a convent would take me," she joked weakly.
A slow, sweet smile curved Ridge's lips. "You could marry me."
Emma's heart tripped and stumbled, then pounded with joy and hope. She hadn't even allowed herself to think about being Ridge's wife—it hurt too much. But now he was offering... and she couldn't accept. "No. If you marry me, you'll be treated the same or worse than Chayton and me. You don't deserve that, Ridge."
"That doesn't matter—"
"Yes, it does," Emma argued. "You won't be able to buy your supplies in town anymore."
"I'll get them in Redfield."
"Until they find out about your squaw wife and her half-breed boy." Emma kept her tone caustic.
"Not everybody is like that." He grabbed her shoulders. "Dammit, Emma, I want to protect you."
"I can protect myself," she snapped. "Besides, it's too big a sacrifice for you to make."
"I'm a grown man and I can make my own decisions. I'd be honored to have you as my wife."
Ridge didn't say he loved her, but he seemed sincere in wanting to marry her.
"If I say yes, Chayton and I get a home and your name. But what do you get, Ridge?" she asked softly.
"I get a son to raise like he was my own, and I get Emma Hartwell in my bed every night."
Lightning arced through her veins and settled beneath her belly. Suddenly too aware of her thin nightclothes and Ridge's masculinity, she took a step back. She smiled through her misery. "Sounds like you're getting the short end of the deal."
His heated gaze traveled down her body, pausing at her breasts, and then moved back up to her face. "I don't see it that way."
She peered at him, at the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes, his generous lips, and thick tawny hair. What lay beneath his handsome exterior, however, was infinitely more attractive—his honesty, integrity, honor, and shy tenderness. There was no doubt he'd honor their marriage vows and treat her and Chayton well. But what of love? Where did that figure? Or was she asking too much?
"Madoc has a point, Emma."
She swung around to see her father coming around the corner. It was obvious he'd been listening to their conversation.
Ridge straightened and met her father's gaze. "I'd like your permission to marry your daughter, Mr. Hartwell."
Emma's mouth gaped as John Hartwell seriously considered Ridge's request. "No, I won't let him do it, Father," she said.
"I'd say you don't have a lot of choice in the matter, Emma," her father said.
"He's right," Ridge added, although she could tell he didn't like her father's cutting bluntness.
Emma glared at one man, then the other. "I can't believe you two are actually agreeing on something."
Her father scowled. "I'm only stating the obvious. Madoc isn't the man I would've chosen for you, but considering the circumstances, he's probably the best you can do."
Furious indignation clouded Emma's thoughts. "How dare you! Ridge Madoc is a decent and honorable man. He doesn't cheat men out of their land or treat people like dirt just because they weren't as fortunate."
Father's eyes glittered with anger, but his voice was steady, almost calm, when he spoke. "It sounds to me like you wouldn't mind becoming Mrs. Ridge Madoc."
Emma's mouth fluttered open, then snapped shut, and her face burned with embarrassment. Her father struck too close to the. truth.
"I only asked your permission, Hartwell," Ridge said. "It's up to Emma whether she agrees or not. I won't marry her because you order her to."
Emma found her voice. "Don't worry, Ridge, he can't force me. I'll make my own decision." She crossed her arms, suddenly chilled. "I have to
think about it."
"How long?" Ridge asked.
"Two days."
"That's fair enough. I'll come calling Wednesday afternoon."
"Come at five. You can have dinner with us," Emma said. She sent her father a pointed look. "Isn't that right, Father?"
His lips pressed together, he nodded once.
Emma turned back to Ridge. "Is Captain Rivers at the doctor's office?"
"Yeah," he replied somberly. "I'm hoping he woke up so I can talk to him. I want to find out if he saw who did it."
"Be careful," Emma said.
He lent her a wan smile. "I will. Goodbye."
"Bye." It was difficult to ignore the passion that sparked between them, but Emma did so, ensuring they didn't touch as he walked out.
She closed the door behind him and peered up at her father. "He didn't have to offer marriage," she stated.
He glanced away. "I know."
"It's not fair to him."
Her father's gaze shot back to her. "What about you? You didn't ask to be in this position."
Emma stiffened her backbone. "I made the decision to marry an Indian and I willingly had his child. If that's a sin, it's mine to bear, not Ridge's."
She marched up the stairs, needing to be alone to think and make a decision that would directly impact two lives other than her own. It was a responsibility she feared almost as much as she loved Ridge.
Chapter 21
The doctor had closed the curtains so the corner room was dim and gloomy. Colt lay still and pale in the single bed, but the rise and fall of his chest assured Ridge he was alive.
"Any change?" Ridge asked Dr. Harold Winters.
"He's breathin' easier," the gray-haired doctor replied. "And the wound's stopped bleedin' completely. I've been tryin' to get him to drink some water, but more comes out than goes in. Once he wakes up, we gotta get some in him to replace that blood he lost."
"So he'll make it?"
"I reckon. He's young and strong."
Ridge breathed a sigh of relief and leaned one shoulder against the wall. Crossing his arms and ankles, he asked, "Has anybody else checked on him?"
"The sheriff stopped by 'bout an hour ago. Said he didn't have much hope in findin' whoever did it."
Ridge sighed. "Doesn't surprise me. Nobody saw anything and the bastard didn't leave anything behind."
"You got any idea who might've done this?" Dr. Winters asked.
"One or two," Ridge answered coolly.
"Don't you be doin' somethin' stupid, Ridge Madoc. I only got one bed."
"Don't worry, Doc."
"Goes along with the job, Ridge." Winters removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. "Pony Cullen is a poor excuse for a human being," he suddenly commented. "And it's no secret that he and Rivers don't see eye to eye."
Ridge smiled darkly. "Nope."
Colt shifted and moaned. Ridge straightened as he watched his friend fight his way to consciousness. A low groan accompanied his opening eyes.
"Lie still, Captain," the doctor ordered.
Colt focused on Winters. "Wha—"
"You were stabbed, Colt," Ridge said, stepping up to the side of the bed.
Colt peered blearily up at Ridge. "Stabbed?"
"We were in the saloon having a drink. You went out to use the privy and someone put a knife in your back," Ridge explained.
"Remember goin' out... then heard something." He frowned. "Turned, but—" Confusion clouded Colt's eyes.
"Did you see who it was?"
His eyelids drooped. "Smelled—"
Ridge leaned nearer. "Smelled what?"
"Dirty. Sweat, stink."
"That would describe Pony Cullen," Dr. Winters said dryly.
"Do you remember anything else, Colt?" Ridge asked. "Anything at all?"
"Hurt. Blood."
Ridge touched his arm. "It's okay. I'll find him."
"You need to drink somethin', Captain," Dr. Winters said, holding a glass of water to Colt's lips. The officer drank it all, then closed his eyes and his breathing evened out.
"Best thing for him now is rest," the doctor said quietly.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Ridge said.
"See that you are, and in one piece."
Grinning, Ridge waved and strode out. Once he stood on the boardwalk, his smile turned feral.
Clouds slid across the night sky, obliterating the nearly three-quarter moon and casting a pall over the shantytown. Nearly every post had a nearby shantytown where laundresses and others whose main trade was with the soldiers lived. Some of the women who took in laundry also took in men at night, making more money on their backs than sweating over the washtubs during the day. But the washing kept them reputable and out of trouble with the post commander.
Ridge had paid a laundress once for more than cleaning his uniform, but even as his body had gained its release, his conscience hadn't let him enjoy it. It was a sad life for the women, many of whom were widows of soldiers who'd been killed doing their duty, and they had children to feed and clothe. Doing what they did was the only way to keep their babies from starving.
Emma might very well have ended up as one of those women if her parents had disowned her. Ridge's gut churned at the thought of Emma lying on her back to make enough money to keep her and Chayton alive.
Shaking the morbid thoughts away, Ridge focused on one specific shanty, a small lean-to with just enough room inside for a bed and little else. From what he'd gleaned from talking to people, Cullen's current squaw lived there. She was like Chayton, part Indian and part white. Cullen had bought her from her father with a jug of whiskey and put her in the dilapidated building so he could visit her whenever the urge took him. Word was the urge took him pretty much every night, so Ridge figured he'd be showing up soon.
A nearing horse caught Ridge's attention and he squinted to make out the rider in the dim light. It wasn't a soldier this time. Cullen. Finally. The scout reined his horse in front of the shack and dismounted. He rubbed his crotch as he wound the reins around a crooked post. Ridge would give Cullen time to get down to business, then make his appearance.
After a few minutes, he heard a loud steady thumping and a woman's muffled cries. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Ridge darted across the open ground and to the shanty's door. He kicked it open with a thunderous crash.
Before Cullen could recover, Ridge grabbed his greasy ponytail and jerked him off the woman. Her eyes widened and she quickly covered her bruised and emaciated body with a thin, dirty blanket.
The fully clothed Cullen struggled to escape, but Ridge tightened his grasp and forced Cullen's head back as he caught the scout's left arm, bending it behind him.
"What the fu—" Cullen growled, awkwardly tucking himself into his grimy trousers with his free hand.
"Sorry to bother you at such a delicate time," Ridge said with sarcastic apology. "But I wanted to have a little talk with you and this just seemed the most private place to do it."
"What the hell are you doin' here, Madoc?"
"Didn't you listen? I said I wanted to chat," Ridge scolded.
"About what?"
"Where were you two nights ago, about nine o'clock?"
"Here. Just ask her." He motioned to the terrified girl who didn't appear more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Ridge pressed Cullen's pinned arm upward, and the scout cursed. "She's so scared of you, she'll say anything you want her to, you son of a bitch." He slowly eased his grip on Cullen's arm. "Let's try this again, where were you two nights ago around nine o'clock?"
"I don't know," Cullen replied sulkily.
"Let me help you remember. You were behind the saloon where you waited until Captain Rivers came out, then you stabbed him in the back like the craven coward you are." Ridge's anger climbed and he fought the impulse to break Cullen's arm. It would be so easy, a bit more pressure and...
"You're gonna break my arm," Cullen said through thinned lips.
"That
's the idea," Ridge stated coldly.
Cullen hissed and Ridge reluctantly loosened his grip.
"Tell me where you were," Ridge reiterated.
"I was in town, yeah, but I didn't stab Rivers. But I wouldn't mind shakin' the hand of the man who did."
Ridge shoved Cullen away, afraid he'd kill the man. "You're lying."
Cullen flexed his twisted arm as he glared at Ridge. "You can't prove it."
"I know you are, and I'm going to keep digging until I find the proof." Ridge paused, fighting for control. "Or I get a confession out of you."
"Don't hold your breath, Madoc."
"Be damned glad Captain Rivers didn't die or I'd just be shooting you down instead of trying to put you in jail."
"Yeah, I hear you're good at shootin' down men," Cullen baited. "Got enough practice when you were bounty huntin'."
Ridge clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. He hadn't broken the law bringing in outlaws dead when they were wanted dead or alive, but he wasn't proud of what he'd done either. He'd been a kid back then, not much older than Cullen's squaw.
"I'm gonna be keeping an eye on you, Cullen." Ridge pivoted on bis heel and stalked out of the filthy hovel.
He wended his way back to Paint and stood for a moment, leaning against the gelding's side. Ridge had no doubt that it was Cullen who'd stabbed Colt, but to prove it would be damned near impossible. If only Colt could identify Cullen as his attacker, but the captain hadn't seen anything.
Cullen may not be bright, but he was smart enough to hide his tracks. If Ridge was the same person he'd been fifteen years ago, he would take justice in his own hands, but he couldn't do that anymore. It was simple—he'd have to get Cullen to confess.
Simple. Right.
Emma rocked gently on the porch, the chair making soothing creaks with every forward motion. Her gaze followed Chayton who was "helping" Rory take care of the horses. Although she hadn't seen Hotah since the confrontation on the way back from the reservation, he was never far from her thoughts. She made certain Chayton was either in her sight, or in her sister or mother's. Hotah might be desperate enough to come into the yard to steal him away, and Emma couldn't bear the thought of losing her son ever again.
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