To Find You Again

by Maureen McKade

  Ridge noticed Hartwell and his wife chatting with Thomas Lyndon, the mayor as well as the bank president. Hartwell caught his eye, scowled, and turned away. Ridge frowned—the two men were probably scheming to force some small farmer into selling out to the mighty rancher.

  "Maybe not, but men like Lyndon and Hartwell don't see it that way," Ridge said, his lips curled in distaste.

  "They ain't bad men, Ridge, just used to things bein' a certain way." Freeman clapped him on the back. "You shouldn't be standin' around jawin' with me. In fact, I think Grace is just waitin' for some fella with two left feet to ask her to dance."

  Ridge followed Freeman's pointing finger to the man's daughter, a red-haired gal with freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. She was standing by the refreshment table, watching the dancers as she swayed to the music. "I don't know anyone with two left feet, but I reckon I could handle her."

  "Just don't be handlin' too much. Even though you're a friend, you're still a man and she's my daughter," Freeman warned, his eyes narrowed.

  Ridge held up his hands, palms out. "I'll behave."

  "See that you do." Freeman winked and moved away to greet someone else.

  As Ridge wandered through the crowd, he spotted Hartwell's youngest daughter dancing with a boy he recognized as the banker's son. At least they'd be able to marry off one daughter well.

  He swept his narrowed gaze across the room, looking for the elder Hartwell girl. Not that he expected to find her—the merciful thing would be to leave her at home, safe from the narrow-minded folks. But Miss Hartwell didn't strike him as one to back down. He admired her for that.

  Strangely disappointed when he didn't see her, he continued to ease his way through the crowd, bumping and jostling and mumbling apologies as he made his way toward Grace Freeman.

  Suddenly his path was blocked by a man wearing a dark blue double-breasted coat with the insignia of a cavalry officer. Silver eagles with spread wings decorated his shoulders.

  "How've you been, Madoc?" Colonel Nyes asked, his voice politician-smooth.

  "Busy." The word came out tersely.

  "I heard you were working for the Circle C, getting a hired hand's wages." Nyes took a sip from his punch glass, which had more than punch in it by the smell of the officer's whiskey-scented breath.

  "You heard right."

  "I thought you'd be working on your own place." The colonel smoothed his pale blond mustache with his thumb and forefinger over and over, a smug habit Ridge hated.

  "I'm doing both."

  "We both know you could be earning twice as much working for me."

  Ridge laughed without a trace of humor. "Blood money. No thanks, Colonel."

  Anger glittered in Nyes's narrowed eyes. "Since when do you care about that? I've heard rumors about what you did before you joined the army. This isn't much different."

  Ridge stiffened. "Anybody ever teach you not to listen to rumors?"

  "Rumors are often reliable fonts of knowledge. Surely you should know that, Madoc." Nyes eyed him closely. "I can use someone with your talents. We've got murdering redskins on the loose and you can help us find them."

  "So we can be the murderers instead?"

  Nyes stared at him with something akin to disgust. "I never figured you'd go soft, seeing as how you never had any trouble killing undesirables before."

  Ridge fought the urge to smash his fist into the colonel's aristocratic nose. "Go to hell, Nyes."

  The pompous bastard smiled. "That's your destination, Madoc."

  Ridge spun away before his tenuous control broke, and nearly plowed down a couple dancing at the fringe of the swirling bodies. The room was suddenly too damned hot and he fought his way to the nearest door, forgetting about Grace Freeman and everything else in his need to escape. Stumbling into the cool night air, he breathed deeply to exorcise the sleeping demons Nyes had stirred.

  Raised voices caught his attention and he searched the shadows for the source. A man and a woman stood close to one another about thirty feet away, beneath the outspread limbs of an oak tree, telling Ridge he was an uninvited witness to a lover's spat. He clapped his hat back on his head, intent on going home where he heard only the wind and the coyotes.

  "Let me go," the woman cried out.

  Ridge recognized the voice and the desperation in the tone. Even before he made a conscious decision, he was striding toward Miss Hartwell. The man was gripping her arms and had pinned her against the tree as he nuzzled her neck. She was struggling to escape.

  Ridge grabbed the taller man and jerked him away from her. The man flexed his hands at his sides as he stared down at him. Ridge balanced on the balls of his feet and his hands closed into fists. "Come on, Cullen. Or is it only ladies you can beat up?"

  "She ain't no lady, Madoc." The scout Nyes had hired to replace Ridge motioned toward Miss Hartwell. "She spread her legs for them; I figger she'd spread 'em for anybody."

  Rage poured through Ridge's veins and he swung, catching Cullen on the jaw and spinning him around. With a roar, Cullen charged and Ridge tried to sidestep him, but the man managed to knock him off-balance. Cullen followed with a blow that snapped Ridge's head back. Although Cullen was rail thin, he had deceptive strength. Ridge staggered and ducked, barely escaping a second fist aimed at his face. He kicked Cullen in the groin and the scout dropped to the ground, clutching his privates.

  Ridge leaned over the fallen man. "Keep your filthy mouth shut and your goddamned hands off Miss Hartwell." Ridge grabbed a handful of Cullen's greasy hair and jerked his head back so they were eye-to-eye. "You understand?"

  Cullen stared at Ridge, his narrow-set eyes flat and filled with pain and hatred.

  Ridge tightened his hold and felt a measure of satisfaction when Cullen grunted. "I said, you understand?"

  "I understand," Cullen said through clenched teeth.

  "Good. 'Cause if I hear about you bothering her again, I won't be so forgiving."

  Ridge released him and backed away. He watched while the sorry son of a bitch pushed himself to his feet and stumbled away. Only after Cullen was gone did Ridge give his attention to Miss Hartwell. Her face was silvery-white in the moonlight and one sleeve had been tugged down, leaving a pale shoulder bared. Ridge had to restrain himself from going after Cullen. "Are you all right, Miss Hartwell?"

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she managed a small nod, but her voice was surprisingly steady. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Madoc."

  The woman had grit, but she was shy of brains coming out here with Cullen.

  "You should get back inside."

  She glanced in the direction Cullen had gone, then looked back at Ridge. "It's not what you're thinking."

  "You don't know what I'm thinking, ma'am."

  Her lips thinned. "I didn't lure him out here and I didn't invite his attentions."

  Ridge, starting to feel the ache from the scuffle, shifted restlessly. "Then what were you doing?" The question came out more accusing than he'd intended.

  The woman straightened her backbone and raised her chin. "I offered him a job. I want him to track down the Indians I used to live with."

  Ridge cussed inwardly and reined in his temper. "I'd sooner trust a rattlesnake than Cullen."

  "I realize that now. I made a mistake."

  "Why do you want to find them?"

  She glanced away and her spine stiffened even further. "That's none of your concern."

  "Fine. I suggest you get back inside now." Ridge leaned over to pick up his hat and slapped it against his thigh before settling it on his head. "Evening, ma'am."

  He turned to leave but she caught his coat sleeve.

  "I have to find them," she said with quiet intensity.

  He met her scrutiny with his own and read the sincerity and desperation in her eyes. His gaze flickered across her shoulder and he spotted bruising on her milky white skin. Rage burned through him anew at the evidence of Cullen's violence. Gently, he reached out and pulled the dress back into place, h
iding the signs of Cullen's attack.

  Miss Hartwell's eyes widened, and he heard her soft inhalation of surprise and saw the delicate flare of her nostrils. Ridge forced himself to release the cloth and stepped back.

  "The best thing you can do is forget about 'em and move on with your life, ma'am," he said quietly. He touched the brim of his hat and strode away.

  All the way across the street he could feel Emma Hartwell's sharp gaze drilling into his back. She was a fool to want to go back to the Lakota. There'd be some hotheaded braves who'd blame her for what had happened to them and vengeance wouldn't be pretty or swift. Although her life wasn't the best here, at least she was alive and safe.

  He tightened his saddle cinch and mounted up, but before riding out, he took one last look. Miss Hartwell was walking back into the hall, her proud carriage bowed. He shrugged aside the whisper of guilt and deliberately turned away.

  A full moon lit the night and a breeze stirred the leafless branches to create fluid shadows on the forest floor. A baby animal yipped, cracking the brittle silence, and an owl's hoot immediately followed. Moments later a wolf pup emerged from the scanty brush. He raised his head and let loose a pitiful howl that wavered and waned in the silvery darkness.

  A mountain lion's roar answered the forlorn call and the young wolf whimpered. The pup rose but immediately collapsed onto the dead leaves blanketing the earth. He whined, calling for his mother but only the owl, perched on an overhanging branch, heard the cry.

  The owl tipped its head, and its bright, round eyes focused on the weak animal. "The fearsome beast comes, little one," the owl spoke to the pup.

  The small wolf shuddered with both fear and exhaustion.

  The mountain lion stalked into the clearing, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. His nostrils flared and he swung his head unerringly toward his prey.

  The pup laid there silently, as if knowing there was no hope. The lion padded over and batted his shoulder with his massive paw. The wolf pup whimpered as he rolled over and over to finally rest on his side. The mountain lion bared his teeth as if smiling, and picked up the pup by his scruff and tossed the young animal into the air.

  The pup dropped to the ground and yowled in pain. The cat stalked back and continued its cruel game with his helpless prey.

  A full-grown wolf jumped into the clearing, startling the mountain lion away from his toy. The wolf laid back her ears and growled at the larger animal. The mountain lion snapped at the wolf, angered by the interruption, but the interloper refused to desert the pup.

  The cat roared and leaped toward the wolf, who jumped at the same moment. The two animals met in a clash of sharp teeth and razor-like claws. The wolf drew first blood and the shrill screams of the mountain lion filled the forest. The cat sprang at the wolf and buried his teeth in the side of her neck. The night echoed with the cries of a battle that would be fought to the death.

  And the pup lay unmoving on the cold, barren ground....

  "No!" Emma screamed, her eyes flashing open as she jerked up in bed. The dream held her in its talons for a brief moment longer before releasing her and fading away, leaving an aching emptiness in its wake.

  Sweat covered her brow and rolled down the scar between her breasts. Her hands shook as she drew them across her face.

  The bedroom door flew open and her sister ran into the room, her robe flapping behind her. "Emma, are you all right?"

  Emma nodded and clasped her sister's hand, pulling her down to perch on the bed beside her. "I-I had a dream."

  "More like a nightmare," Sarah guessed.

  "No. A vision. I saw—" Emma closed her eyes, knowing to continue would only make her sister think she was crazy. She met Sarah's puzzled gaze. "You're right. It was only a nightmare." She gave her younger sister's hand a final squeeze and released it. "I'm all right. You can go back to bed."

  "Would you like to talk about it? I know I always feel better after I talk to someone." Sarah brushed a strand of hair back from Emma's damp forehead and kept stroking her brow gently, like their mother used to do when they were children. "I had nightmares for weeks after you disappeared. I kept hearing you cry for help, but I could never find you." A tear slid down her wan cheek.

  Emma's own eyes filled with moisture and she wrapped her arms around her little sister. Sarah's shoulders shook as she cried soundlessly against Emma's neck. Emma hadn't even considered how her absence might affect her sister, who'd just turned thirteen when she'd disappeared. Her memories of Sarah were those of a brat, throwing a tantrum when she didn't get her way. Their father had spoiled her, giving her gewgaws and making allowances for her, something he'd never done for his eldest daughter.

  Emma remembered her resentment at the unfairness, and the deep-seated bitterness flared briefly. But the past was gone; in fact, it seemed a lifetime ago. There was no doubt her sister had been changed, too, by Emma's disappearance.

  "At first I was scared," Emma said softly as she continued to rock the younger woman. "After I was brought to the village, I was taken care of and adopted by Talutah and her husband Fast Elk, the brave who found me. They'd had a daughter who would've been my age but had died only a month earlier." Emma easily remembered the fondness and patience her adopted parents had shown her as they taught her their language and customs. "They live in a harsher world, which is why their ways seem so barbaric to us. But deep down, they're a lot like us."

  Startled, Sarah drew back to look at Emma. "You can say that after what they did to you?"

  Emma cupped her sister's tear-dampened face and peered into her eyes. "They saved my life, Sarah. I know people around here say i was their captive, but i was free to leave if I'd wanted to. But where would I have gone? I was miles from any town. i lived with them and didn't allow my fear to turn into hatred, and I became friends with them. After a while, I learned to enjoy my new life."

  She wished she could confess everything—her marriage, her child, how she came to love her adoptive parents—but fear kept her from doing so. Sarah might understand or she might not. Emma couldn't take that chance, especially now that she knew what must be done.

  Sarah clasped her hands. "I'm glad, Emma. I'm glad they saved your life and I'm glad you're home."

  Emma's throat tightened and she hugged her sister one last time. "Thank you for coming to check on me."

  Sarah rose and smiled tremulously. "You used to do it for me when we were little. Goodnight, Emma."

  "Goodnight."

  After Emma heard her sister's bed frame creak in the room next to hers, she threw back her covers and rose to sit in the window seat. Pushing aside the curtain, she gazed into the darkness, lit only by a slivered moon. In two weeks the moon would be full, just as in her vision.

  And Emma was certain it was a vision, sent to her by Owl, the messenger. For the past week, he'd been trying to tell her something. Now she understood. She had to find Chayton, the wolf pup in her vision, before he was killed by the lion.

  Who was the mountain lion? Or had the large cat only been the symbol of approaching death? The unease she'd been experiencing throughout the past days bloomed to full-grown dread.

  She'd been preparing to escape before she was forced to travel to St. Paul, but she'd wanted to find a guide. Her aborted attempt to hire Cullen had been a desperate measure.

  Even now, in the security of her own room, Cullen's dirty words retained their power to humiliate her. Emma drew up her knees, laid a burning cheek on their coolness, and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  She closed her eyes, remembering how grateful she'd been when Ridge Madoc had come to her assistance. But then she'd seen the look in his eyes. He thought little better of her for being alone with a man in the darkness. Maybe he figured she deserved what Cullen had done. But, no, if he thought that, he wouldn't have interfered. He'd heard her cry out and had acted like a gentleman to help her. But as much as she wanted to make Ridge the hero, he, too, couldn't look past her being a "squaw woman."

  Howeve
r, for a moment, when he'd so carefully fixed her dress over her shoulder, Emma couldn't deny the empty yearning in her chest. After Enapay had died, she'd buried her needs and found solace in caring for her child. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, she remembered how her husband had touched her and made her body writhe until he filled her and quenched the fire in her belly. When those memories became too powerful, Emma would touch herself under the curtain of darkness and find the release her body so desperately craved. But it was never enough. Ridge's touch reminded her of dark nights and shared pleasures.

  A breeze jangled the shutters and Emma ached with fear for her son. How could she have left him behind? It didn't matter that a soldier's saber had wounded her or that terrible screams and horrific sights had paralyzed her. She should have searched until she found Chayton or died trying. But that choice had been taken from her when a soldier had recognized her white features and whisked her away from the decimated village.

  Emma tried to quash the torment rising in her breast, but a tiny sob broke free. She had a choice now, and she chose to search for her son. Dear God, she prayed he was still alive.

  She would leave tonight under the cover of darkness. There was no time left to secure a guide, but at least she knew where to begin her journey.

  Dawn colored the sky coral, pink, and orange as Emma rode into the main encampment on the reservation. Exhausted, she kept her horse to a plodding walk as it wove in and out of the haphazard tipis. A skinny yellow dog yipped once, then slunk away. Emma's nose wrinkled under the barrage of rank sweat and both human and animal excrement. The smell was nothing like the village where she'd lived—the people there had kept themselves and their camp tidy and clean.

  She recognized hopelessness as the culprit here, where the Indians had given up and surrendered in exchange for handouts from their captors. Some of the Lakota on the reservation no longer even tried to retain and practice the old ways, which were frowned upon by the Bureau of Indian Affairs agents.