To Find You Again

by Maureen McKade

It was as simple as that.

  Tomorrow she would have to live with her decision, but today she would surrender to the dictates of her heart and body.

  She lifted her gaze and shivered at the naked passion that darkened Ridge's eyes. She cupped his cheek and his whiskers rasped against her palm, making her shiver with longing. Drawing closer, she gazed at his lips—lips that had spoken kind, soothing words to her; lips that had defended her; lips she'd fantasized about as she lay in her bed late at night.

  He lowered his head, tilting it so their mouths matched perfectly. She'd always imagined his lips would be firm like the rest of him, but they softened beneath hers. Their breaths mingled as the kiss grew deeper. Ridge's tongue swept across her lips and she opened to allow him entry, tasting him for the first time. He caressed her palette and played across her teeth and the inside of her cheeks. He was devouring her as she pressed closer, allowing him everything he wanted.

  Ridge drew away and rested his forehead against hers, his breathing swift and shallow. "If you don't want this, Emma, say so now. I can't promise I can stop later."

  Emma considered his words for only a second and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't want you to stop. Not now, not later," she whispered.

  With one fluid motion, Ridge scooped her into his arms and carried her the short distance to the bed. He laid her down and straightened, gazing at her with hot, lust-filled eyes. He slipped his hands under his suspenders and drew them off his well-shaped shoulders. "I wanted you the first time I saw you walking down the road, your shoulders so straight and proud." Passion roughened his voice.

  Emma's heart tripped and words abandoned her. Kneeling on the bed, she helped him remove his shirt, leaving him in a wool undershirt. She tugged it out of his waistband and glided her hands beneath the material, losing herself in the sensation of his smooth warm skin. Her mouth grew dry as he lifted the shirt over his head, baring a sleek, well-muscled chest.

  Running her hands up his planed torso, Emma felt his nipples pucker beneath her palms. With a little smile, she leaned forward and latched onto one, sucking it to pebble hardness.

  Ridge moaned and his hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers wrapping themselves in her silky hair. "Emma."

  She kissed a line across his chest and teased the other crest with her tongue and lips. Growing bolder, Emma stroked his back and sides, and felt the goose bumps that arose on his fevered flesh.

  Suddenly her shoulders were grasped and she raised her head. Ridge crushed his lips down upon hers, and she met him without flinching, matching his passion with her liberated desire. Clumsy fingers opened her blouse and a work-roughened hand slid under her camisole. He cupped her breast with a tenderness that belied the primal urgency of their bodies. He rolled her nipple between his fingertips and she broke away from his savage kiss, panting heavily as arousal pulsed through her body in unending waves.

  With unspoken agreement, they quickly shed the remainder of their clothing. Emma tossed hers onto the floor, uncaring as to where it landed, only wanting to have Ridge's nakedness against her own.

  She lay back on the bed and drank in Ridge's virile beauty. He stood at the foot of the bed, solid and self-assured, with his hands on his hips as he stared down at her, his hot gaze caressing every inch of her body. Curious, she brazenly inspected his impressive masculinity, hard and curved against his belly. There was a glimmer of moisture at the tip, and it tantalized her.

  She shifted over on the bed and patted the mattress in clear invitation. Ridge immediately settled beside her, his arms coming around her waist as he drew her flush against him. They kissed for lingering moments, then Ridge began to nuzzle her jaw and neck, and lower. He worshiped her body with his hands and mouth, and Emma's breasts tingled beneath his devotion. Her womb felt swollen and damp, and the pressure within rose with each caress.

  Ridge cupped the source of her heat and eased a finger into her wetness. He teased the nub, sending a bolt of lightning through Emma's loins. Gasping, she reached down between their bodies to encircle his erection. He throbbed within her fist and she brushed her fingertip across the drop of moisture.

  Ridge's muscles bunched and he inhaled sharply. "Emma."

  Her heart kicked against her ribs and she tried to calm her stumbling breath. She released him and clutched his rock-solid arms. "Yes. Now Ridge." She hardly recognized the needy voice as her own.

  Ridge paused to gaze down at her, as if gauging her readiness. A moment later, he guided himself to her opening and teased her sensitive folds.

  Emma pumped her hips upward, straining toward him as her fingers dug into his arms. "Now. Please."

  Ridge planted his hands on the mattress on either side of her and raised himself up so they touched only where they were joined. He continued pressing inward at a snail's pace, moving forward with agonizing deliberation.

  Emma tensed only for a moment, having forgotten how it felt to be filled by a man. But her body had no trouble welcoming him and opened fully to his breadth. Tears gathered in her eyes and she tried to blink them away.

  Ridge froze and a tender finger brushed away one tear that escaped her. "Emma?" he asked with so much concern, she wanted to sob.

  She wound her arms and legs around Ridge, drawing him so close not even air could get between them. "I'm fine. It's just so good. Been so long," she whispered.

  After a moment's startled hesitation, he began to move. He inched out, then eased back into her moist heat. He had to fight his body's insistence to take her fast and hard, to release the tension gathering in his groin like thunderheads before a storm. But she felt so tight, so hot, and he wanted to bury himself in her, never to come out.

  Emma grasped his buttocks, urging him deeper. He could feel her pulsing around him and he groaned.

  Capturing her lips with his, he thrust with more force and speed. His urgency boiled hotter and hotter.

  He focused on Emma's face—her closed eyes, her arched brow, and her swollen lips. She was so beautiful, so courageous, so giving.

  Suddenly, she opened passion-filled eyes and they widened when they met his. She tipped her head back and her body arched upward as a low keen spilled from her parted lips.

  Her flesh tightened around him and he thrust into her one final time, spilling his seed deep within her. His heart thundered and he gasped for air as he held his weight on trembling limbs.

  Emma peered up at him, her face flushed and damp from her climax. There were no regrets, nor condemnation in her eyes, only warmth and gratitude. She reached up to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. The gesture was so artless, Ridge's throat threatened to close.

  He eased out of her and shifted to her side to lie down. Emma immediately curled against him, her arm draped across his waist. Unwilling to surrender their intimacy too quickly, Ridge embraced her. Her breasts flattened against him, tempting him with their plump softness. His groin twitched, but that was all he could manage after his shattering release.

  He caressed her thick braid, the motion cozy and soothing. The fire crackled in the stove and the wind rattled icy snow against the windows. Ridge couldn't think of a single place he'd rather be.

  "Enapay was my husband," Emma broke the silence some minutes later.

  Ridge's fingers stilled. Of course he'd known she wasn't a virgin when he'd entered her, but he hadn't expected her confession. "'Was'?"

  "He died during a raid over two years ago," she replied quietly.

  The whispers about her back in Sunset weren't far from the truth, and Ridge wondered why he wasn't outraged that she'd slept with an Indian. "Was he good to you?"

  He felt her nod. "We were married when I was seventeen. He was twenty-one."

  Ridge continued to stroke her hair as he digested her words. "Do your parents know?"

  "No. You're the first person I've told." She turned onto her side and rested her cheek in her propped-up hand as she gazed down at him. "I thought you would understand."

  Her trust in him hu
mbled and touched him. "If he's dead, why do you need to find his people?"

  She looked down and stroked his chest with featherlight fingertips. Despite himself, his nipples hardened and renewed desire arrowed to his groin.

  "I want to see his family one last time to make sure they're safe and well." She lifted her gaze and sadness shadowed her brown eyes, and Ridge sensed something more in her hesitation. "He was a good man, Ridge."

  Jealousy sucker punched him and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He didn't own Emma and he sure as hell shouldn't care that she'd been married to an Indian. "I reckon that's a good enough reason."

  "Thank you." She leaned down and brushed a kiss across his lips.

  Lightning arced through Ridge's veins and he rolled Emma on top of him, so he could feel her bare skin from chest to toe. Emma smiled impishly and wriggled against his growing hardness. All thoughts of her past lover disappeared as Ridge growled and, with one smooth motion, had her lying beneath him.

  Emma laughed brightly and Ridge suddenly wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession.

  Chapter 10

  Emma awoke with a shiver, alone in the bed, and with a driving need that she had to do something. But no matter how hard she focused, she couldn't determine what that something was.

  She blinked in the dwindling light of the afternoon and spotted Ridge wearing his trousers and untucked undershirt by the stove. He was adding another chunk of wood.

  She lay unmoving, not knowing what he expected. After their second joining, both she and Ridge had collapsed from exhaustion and fallen asleep. Her body twinged pleasantly in places she hadn't felt since her husband died. But there was still an unappeased hunger biding within her, a hunger to lie again and again with Ridge. Although Enapay had been a considerate lover, she had always kept a part of herself separate from their lovemaking. But with Ridge, she didn't want to hide any part of her from him, and that frightened her.

  Her prediction had been too true. Now that she and Ridge had made love twice, it would be so easy to succumb again. Watching him, his face reflecting the fire and his motions as graceful as a cat's, Emma wasn't certain how she would close her Pandora's box now that it had been unlocked.

  Knowing she was only prolonging the inevitable, Emma sat up, hiding her nudity beneath the blanket. "Is the blizzard letting up?" Although she kept the question casual, the urgency she'd awakened with kept prodding at her.

  Ridge turned, startled. His gaze slid over her covered breasts then back up to her face. Banked passion flickered in his eyes. "Some. It should quit tonight."

  "Which means we can continue on our way tomorrow."

  "If the snow ain't too deep for the horses." Ridge gave his attention to the embers. "You'd best get dressed, Emma."

  With Ridge's gaze averted, Emma jumped up and tugged on her scattered clothing. The scent of their joining rose around her and embarrassment heated her cheeks. However, she had no regrets for what they'd done.

  "I'll make supper," she said.

  Ridge straightened and closed the stove. "Good idea." He turned his back to her as he tucked in his undershirt and drew on his wool shirt, then slipped his suspenders back in place. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

  Emma nodded and sliced salt pork as Ridge donned his boots and warm outer clothing. He slipped outside without another word and the cabin felt empty without his presence. Emma wondered if he regretted his loss of control. Or perhaps now that he had time to think about it, maybe he was repulsed by her marriage to an Indian.

  That thought troubled her as she went about finding something to eat. As she was preparing a batch of biscuits, the door swung open and Ridge entered, his head bowed. Snowflakes peppered his hair and shoulders.

  "How're the horses?" she asked, anxious to fill the silence.

  "Fine." He removed his coat. "The snow's definitely letting up. We should be able to leave tomorrow."

  "That's good."

  Now that Ridge knew about Enapay, Emma's conscience nudged her to tell him about Chayton. If he could accept that she'd been married to an Indian, wasn't it a small step for him to accept that she had a child? She opened her mouth to confess, but courage deserted her. She wasn't even certain Ridge was comfortable with her marriage to one of the People, and Chayton was tangible proof of that union.

  Emma continued to prepare their supper and when Ridge acted as polite as he had before they'd made love, she began to relax. Half an hour later, they sat down to eat fresh biscuits with beans and pork.

  Ridge swiped his plate clean with the last biscuit. "Thanks. That hit the spot." He gave her a shy smile reminiscent of the first time she'd met the man.

  She smiled back. "You're welcome."

  After washing and drying the dishes, Emma donned her coat.

  "Where're you going?" Ridge sat by the table where he was working on a bridle by the light of two candles. "I want to take a sponge bath."

  Ridge rose. "I'll fill the pan."

  Before she could argue, he was out the door. He returned less than a minute later.

  "Thank you, but you don't have to wait on me." Emma took the kettle from him and placed it on the stove.

  "We do for each other. You made supper and did the dishes," he simply said, and then returned to his task at the table.

  Emma hadn't considered it that way, and suspected few men were as thoughtful as Ridge. Her admiration for him, already considerable, rose another notch.

  Knowing it would take some time before the water heated, she joined Ridge by the table and opened her book. But instead of reading, she watched his fingers work the leather with sure, deft motions. Maybe he couldn't read or write, but he had other talents, such as mapmaking, tracking, and mending leather with infinite patience. Where had he learned those skills?

  Frowning, she realized how little she knew about him despite the time they'd spent together. "So you fought in the war, Ridge?"

  He nodded.

  "Union?"

  "That's right."

  "You don't like to talk about it."

  Ridge's gaze turned to something only he could see; something she suspected he wouldn't want her to see. "War isn't pretty, Emma."

  She remembered the night the soldiers came to the People's camp—the screams, the blood, the dead and dying. "You're right, it's not," she said, her voice husky. "War. It's such an ugly word—rhetoric used to defend hatred."

  "It's man's nature. To fight for what he believes is righteous."

  "Who decides what's righteous and what's not?"

  "Each person has to make his own decision."

  Emma listened to the sizzle of wood in the fire, an oddly comforting sound. "You made the choice to leave the army. Why?"

  His gaze dropped and it was a long moment before he answered. "The war changed and I realized I wasn't fighting for a righteous cause anymore."

  She touched his sleeve lightly, ignoring the spark between them. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice."

  "I made the only choice I could," he said quietly in his husky timbre. "Just like you did."

  Emma nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. Nobody else could understand that—not her parents, and certainly not the townsfolk.

  "Shall we start your lessons?" she asked a few minutes later.

  Apprehension flitted across Ridge's face, but he set aside the bridle.

  Emma moved her chair next to his and tried to ignore his masculine scent and the curve of long eyelashes framing smoky blue eyes. "Did you say you memorized some words when your mother used to read to you?" she asked. "That's right. Just smaller words, like 'the' and 'now.'"

  "It sounds like memorization might be the best way for you to learn."

  Emma wrote twenty-five words on the back of a poster she'd found in the shack. She read them and spelled them aloud twice, then had Ridge do it. He stumbled more than once, but was persistent.

  "Now try writing them as you say them," Emma suggested, handing him th
e pencil.

  He stared down at the list of words. "I ain't going to get them right."

  Emma cupped her hand over his. "What matters is that you keep trying, Ridge." She smiled tenderly. "You're not a quitter."

  Ridge took a deep breath and nodded gamely.

  Emma wanted to hug him, like she'd done to Chayton when he needed reassurance, but settled for giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She rose and removed the large kettle from the stove. The water was just right for a sponge bath. She glanced back at Ridge who was concentrating on his task. She took a moment to simply look at him, to admire the strong slope of his forehead and nose, to remember the softness of his hair, which brushed his shoulders when he turned his head, and to recall the lines of muscle beneath his clothing. But right now, it was his intense concentration that she found most compelling. For a little while, that look had been aimed at her as they'd pleasured one another.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest even as liquid heat poured into that place beneath her belly. How could she have thought that lying with him twice would slake her desire for him? That she could forget his protective embrace and his body's coiled strength?

  She halted the dangerous line of thought and physically turned away. Clearing her mind, she unbuttoned her blouse, then dipped the cloth in the water and squeezed out the excess. She ran the damp cloth around her neck and across her chest, refusing to dwell on why her puckered nipples were so sensitive.

  She rebuttoned her blouse and glanced over her shoulder to see Ridge's attention on the words and not her. She chastised herself for feeling a twinge of disappointment. After removing her stockings, she leaned over and trailed the damp cloth up her left leg, then her right. She bunched the front of her skirt in her free hand and held it up as she carefully washed the juncture of her thighs. She closed her eyes at the unintentional pleasure the gentle friction created.

  A tingle at the top of her spine caused her to look over her shoulder... and her gaze collided with Ridge's. His eyes smoldered and Emma welcomed the heat. Without breaking eye contact, Emma dropped the hem of her skirt.