To Find You Again

by Maureen McKade

  He cursed loudly and fluently, drawing shocked looks from Sarah and their mother. Chayton buried his face in the curve of Emma's neck. "And now you want to raise your half-breed bast—"

  "Hold on, Hartwell," Ridge broke in, stepping forward. Every taut line in his muscular body radiated furious indignation. "Chayton's parents were married so he's no—" He crushed the brim of his hat in his fists. "He's an innocent little boy who don't deserve your narrow-minded insults."

  Emma's throat tightened and her eyes smarted. If she didn't love Ridge already, she would've fallen for him at that moment.

  Timidly Sarah stepped forward, her hands twisting together in front of her. "Mr. Madoc is right," she stated, shocking Emma with her mettle. "Emma and Chayton have had a long journey and would probably like to clean up and rest before dinner. Isn't that right, Emma?"

  "Yes, thank you, Sarah," Emma managed to say past her shock at her sister's newfound assertiveness.

  Sarah smiled, but when she laid an ice-cold hand on Emma's arm, Emma knew how terrified she was defying their father.

  "Could you take Chayton upstairs?" Emma asked her sister. "I'll be up shortly."

  Sarah's smile wavered for only a moment. Emma spoke some soothing words to Chayton and passed him to his aunt. Once Sarah and Chayton were out-of-sight, Emma faced her parents. Never before had she felt so many mixed emotions—anger, disappointment, resentment, and fear. But it was anguish which prevailed and enveloped her heart.

  "When do you want us gone?" Emma asked her parents bluntly.

  Her father's jaw muscle clenched. "Why didn't you tell us?"

  Emma laughed bitterly. "After your reaction to Chayton you have to ask?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ridge shift uncomfortably. "Maybe you should pay Mr. Madoc so he can leave and not be witness to any more of our family squabbles. Oh, and you owe him another hundred dollars."

  "Why?"

  "I promised him a bonus for bringing Chayton back," Emma said. She figured Ridge would accept the hundred from her father more readily than from herself, and she would pay her father back. Someday.

  "Did you come through town?" her father asked with a scowl.

  Emma shook her head, immediately guessing the reason for his question. "No. And Mr. Madoc brought us around to the back door so none of the hired men saw us either."

  "Emma, go upstairs. Madoc, come with me into my study," her father commanded. He gave his wife's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Keep the cool cloth on your brow, Martha, and don't try to rise until I return."

  "What are you—" Emma began.

  "I'll pay him. Go upstairs."

  Emma didn't like being ordered about like a child, but the long journey had exhausted her. A bath and clean clothes were also enticing. It seemed like she'd been living in the same skirt and blouse for months rather than days.

  Realizing she might not see Ridge again, her heart skipped a beat. For three weeks they'd not been far from one another. Thinking of the nights they'd lain together, Emma shivered with longing. But she reminded herself she'd known it couldn't last. Ridge had his own life to attend to, and she had a son whose needs came before her own.

  "Thank you for everything, Mr. Madoc," Emma said formally, refusing to give her father another reason to hate Ridge Madoc.

  His warm blue eyes caressed her but he kept his expression bland. "You're welcome, Miss Hartwell. You take care of yourself and that fine boy of yours."

  "I will," Emma whispered, her emotions overcoming her.

  Before she did something she'd regret, she hurried up the wide staircase. Suddenly weary beyond words, Emma wanted to ensure Chayton was all right, then sleep for a week.

  She only wished it would be in Ridge's bed.

  Chapter 18

  Ridge's gaze followed Emma until she disappeared from view and a sharp ache arrowed through him. Already he could feel unfamiliar loneliness, the kind he hadn't felt since his ma had died. But Emma didn't need him anymore. Her sister would stand beside her, and hopefully her parents would come around to accept her son.

  Suddenly weary, Ridge followed John Hartwell into his fancy office. Books lined the bookshelves that covered two of the walls, and Ridge had this vision of a young Emma sneaking in here to search for one to read. A fireplace encompassed much of the third wall, and the fourth was dominated by large windows.

  Hartwell sat behind his desk, looking like some king presiding over his kingdom. He didn't invite Ridge to sit, but Ridge did so anyhow, and earned a scowl from Hartwell. After dropping into a brown leather chair, he eyed Hartwell's cool mask.

  "The boy wasn't part of the deal," Hartwell said.

  Ridge shrugged. "I didn't even know about him until we found the village."

  "'We?' You were only supposed to find Emma and bring her home immediately."

  Cursing his unintentional slip, Ridge propped his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers, effecting a nonchalance at odds with the tight coil in his gut. "You didn't say when you wanted her home. I signed on to find her and bring her back. I fulfilled my end of the bargain." He inwardly flinched at the inference that Emma was merely a business matter—the subject of a black-and-white contract. She'd long ago ceased being a means to an end.

  Hartwell slumped back in his chair and his face sagged, as if he'd aged twenty years. "Do you realize what kind of life she'll have raising a half-breed child?"

  Ridge felt a fleeting sympathy for the man. "Yes, sir. For what it's worth, I tried to talk her out of bringing him back."

  The rancher blinked in surprise, but quickly covered it with a scowl. "When people find out, she's going to be turned away from businesses and respectable folks won't want anything to do with her. Her son won't be allowed to attend school and the children will tease him, and worse."

  "She knows." Ridge narrowed his eyes. "What about you? You gonna turn her away, too?"

  Irritation sharpened Hartwell's features. "She's my daughter."

  "And Chayton's your grandson."

  Hartwell flinched. "I can send them away someplace where no one will know about her unfortunate past."

  "You might be able to hide her past, but Chayton can't be hidden away and Emma won't be parted from him. He's her flesh and blood." Ridge paused. "Unless you're only getting rid of them because you're embarrassed by her."

  "Emma's my daughter!" Hartwell spun his chair around to stare outside, hiding his face from Ridge. "I'll do what's best for her."

  "She's not your little girl anymore, Hartwell, and she won't take kindly to you making her decisions."

  Silence filled the room.

  Finally, Hartwell opened a desk drawer and counted some bills. He held them out to Ridge. "Two hundred dollars. The one hundred we agreed on, and another hundred to keep your mouth shut. It'll get out soon enough but as long as her bast—her boy stays inside, nobody will find out."

  "You can't hide him away forever."

  "No, but the longer I can keep him out-of-sight, the longer I can protect Emma."

  Ridge debated whether to tell him about the soldiers who had seen Emma and Chayton together in the village, but decided that was Emma's business. If Hartwell wanted to pay him an extra hundred, he wasn't going to argue. In fact, he even felt a measure of satisfaction. Hell, the man owed him that and more for cheating Ridge out of his rightful legacy.

  "I won't tell anyone," Ridge promised. He stood and pocketed his money, then walked to the door. Halting, he looked at Hartwell over his shoulder. "Instead of being ashamed of her, you ought to be proud of her."

  With that quiet remark, Ridge strode out by way of the kitchen to gather Paint and lead Clementine over to the hostler. As he rode away from Hartwell's ranch, loneliness settled like an iron mantle across his shoulders.

  The following days dragged for Ridge. With the needed money in his pocket, he sent a telegram to the seller of the bull in Cheyenne and told him he'd be down to purchase the animal soon. The only reason Ridge didn't leave Sunset right away was because he'
d promised Colt he'd pay a visit to Colonel Nyes if the captain didn't show up.

  Five days after returning to Sunset, Ridge dropped by the hardware store to talk with Howard Freeman and ended up taking his daughter Grace to lunch at the cafe. By the time their meals were served, Ridge was certain he'd go crazy with Grace's prattling on about this person's dress and that person's hair. When Grace clumsily turned the subject to Emma Hartwell, Ridge recognized the baited hook.

  "I just can't imagine living among the savages like she did," Grace said, round-eyed and a little too innocent. "Why on earth did she want to go back to them?"

  Ridge wiped his mouth with his napkin as his appetite fled. "You'll have to ask Miss Hartwell."

  "Oh, I could never. Some things just aren't discussed in polite conversation."

  Ridge bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from biting off the girl's feather-brained head. To his way of thinking, bustles and coiffures weren't polite conversation either.

  "Nobody's seen Emma since she's been home," Grace said.

  "She probably needed to rest up," Ridge replied. He'd kept his word and told nobody about Emma's son, but it wasn't Hartwell's money that bought his silence. It was his sense of protectiveness toward Emma and Chayton. "I'd best be getting back to my place."

  Grace deliberately looked down at her nearly full plate. "I haven't finished yet."

  You would've if you hadn't been running off at the mouth, Ridge thought peevishly. He forced a smile that barely made it past a grimace. "Don't hurry. I'll pay the bill on my way out." He stood and grabbed his hat before she could argue. "Good day, Grace."

  He paid for the two meals and escaped outside. Why had Grace's chattering bothered him so much today? He'd spent some time with her before, and had managed to nod and utter the right comments at the right moment. But this time, her high-pitched voice and endless claptrap had nearly driven him crazy.

  His gaze strayed up the road, to where Emma Hartwell and Chayton were hidden from prying eyes at her father's ranch. At least a dozen times a day he had to talk himself out of riding over to see how they were faring.

  Be honest. You want to see Emma.

  He thought the pang of missing her would fade, but it only gnawed at him, like the hollow left by a pulled tooth. If Colt would just return, Ridge could take off to Cheyenne and pick up the bull. Time and distance would help him get past his pining for Emma.

  Disgusted with his weakness, he stepped off the boardwalk onto the main street. Puffs of dust arose around his moccasins. While he'd been chasing after Emma in the wilderness, the snow had melted and the ground had dried, leaving the town coated with a fine layer of grime.

  He climbed into his saddle and, without making a conscious decision, headed toward the fort, which lay seven miles east. Maybe Colt had made it back last night, thus freeing Ridge from his obligation. Forty-five minutes later he could tell by the signs that no unit with a passel of Indians had come near the fort. He veered Paint away from the military post and rode in the direction from where they'd be coming. If they weren't far off, Ridge could leave for Cheyenne with a clear conscience.

  After an hour of steady travel, he spotted a plume of rising dust. Another hour and he called out to Colt who rode at the front of the column. Dust coated the captain's face and uniform, but his smile was welcoming when Ridge approached him.

  "You never were much on waiting," Colt said.

  Ridge ignored the familiar jibe. "Any trouble?"

  Colt shook his head. "Quiet as a horse thief after a hanging. How about you and Miss Hartwell?"

  "No problems unless you count her ma fainting when she saw her grandson."

  "How was old man Hartwell?"

  "Just what you'd expect. He's only worried about how it'll reflect on him." Ridge stood in his stirrups to study the column. "I see you still got Cullen tied up."

  "Gagged him, too. Son of a bitch wouldn't stop cussing. Every time we took the gag off, he'd start in on how the colonel's going to have my bars."

  Ridge studied his friend who had dark crescents beneath his eyes. "Any truth to it?"

  Colt looked away. "It isn't a secret that me and the old man don't see eye to eye. That was one of the reasons I was surprised he assigned me this mission. Nyes also knows I have no respect for Cullen."

  "And Nyes and Cullen are thick as thieves," Ridge interjected.

  "Yep. The problem is I don't have any proof Cullen was intending to kill every man, woman, and child in that village. All I got is my gut, and Nyes isn't going to accept that."

  "But Sarge and Pres—they'll stand behind you."

  Colt dragged his bleak gaze to Ridge. "Nyes also knows they're loyal to me."

  Ridge shook his head slowly, pondering something that had been stuck in his craw since he and Emma arrived at the destroyed camp. "How'd you get past the sentries? They had a natural defense with that narrow trail into the valley and guards always watching it."

  Colt shrugged. "We didn't run into anybody until we almost stumbled into the camp. The lookouts must've been sleeping, or maybe they thought they were safe enough without them."

  "Maybe." Ridge didn't think it likely but he couldn't come up with a better excuse. "You're close enough to the post now that you shouldn't have any problems."

  "You in a hurry to get somewhere?"

  "Cheyenne. I'm going to pick up my bull."

  Colt grinned. "Congratulations. It won't be long until you're an honest to God rancher."

  Ridge chuckled. "I need more than a bull for that, but it's a good start."

  "Good luck to you."

  "Thanks." Ridge paused and fixed a serious gaze on his friend. "I know you and me don't agree about Miss Hartwell, but could you keep an eye on her? With the soldiers back, things might get ugly."

  Colt narrowed his eyes. "She really got under your skin."

  Ridge scowled and shifted his backside on the saddle. "Would you do it?"

  "Yeah, but I doubt old man Hartwell will be letting her out of her cage."

  That's probably what the ranch felt like to Emma—a gilded cage with everything but the one thing she truly wanted—her and her son's freedom.

  "Thanks. I'll stop at my place, then head out. I should be back in a week, maybe ten days," Ridge said. "Good luck with Nyes."

  Colt grimaced. "I'll need it."

  Ridge glimpsed Talutah in the line of Indians, and he gnashed his teeth at her weary shuffle and slumped figure. "You mind if I talk to her a minute?"

  Colt shook his head, his face somber. "You're welcome to try. She doesn't speak to anyone. I'm not even sure she knows where she's going."

  "She knows," Ridge said softly.

  He nodded to Colt and trotted closer to the Lakota woman. Dismounting, he fell in step with her. Her hair, which she'd hacked off during her mourning for Fast Elk, lay uneven and straggly across her shoulders.

  "Winona and Chayton are safe and well," Ridge said to Talutah in her language.

  A slight stumble in her plodding shuffle was Ridge's only sign that she heard him. He continued walking beside her, leading Paint. Finally, Talutah raised her head. Ridge was shocked by the grayness of her pallor and the lifelessness in her eyes.

  "It is good," she said, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Chayton will grow strong, like his grandfather Fast Elk."

  "Ha. You taught Winona well the ways of the People. She will honor you and Fast Elk, as will her son."

  Talutah grasped his hand with cold, bony fingers. "Be well and live with honor."

  Ridge gently squeezed her painfully thin hand. "I'll do my best," he whispered.

  She released him and her gaze dropped to the ground once more. Ridge stepped out of line and watched the ragtag Indians pass by in silence. A group of soldiers brought up the rear. They glanced at Ridge curiously, but they, too, seemed to understand the sad injustice done to their Lakota captives.

  Once everyone had passed, Ridge reined Paint around to ride back to his home.

  The slant of the sun
told Emma she could wait only five more minutes. She'd been pacing outside Ridge's small cabin for the last twenty minutes, hoping to speak to him one more time. When she'd arrived, she'd called out his name but he wasn't around. Neither was Paint. He might have already left for Cheyenne to pick up the bull he'd proudly told her about some nights ago. It was the reason he'd come to find her—he needed the money to buy the animal. After everything that happened on their journey, she wondered if he regretted taking the job, and shuddered at the thought of someone like Pony Cullen coming after her instead.

  Emma spied a rider coming down the road, and the black-and-white horse was easily recognizable as Ridge's. Relief made her shoulders slump, and awakened awareness made her heart race. Although she thought of him often, it couldn't compare to seeing him in the flesh, his lean, muscular body flowing smoothly with his horse's gait. Awareness of the man brought flutters to her belly, and her breasts became heavy and more sensitive. Glancing down, she could see her hard nipples clearly outlined by her dress.

  Scolding her body's wanton response, she smoothed back her hair and attempted to gather her composure as she watched him approach.

  He kicked Paint into a ground-eating canter and jumped out of the saddle before the horse came to a complete stop. "Is something wrong? Is it Chayton? Are you all right? What happened?" he asked in alarm.

  Emma shook her head and almost put her palm to his mouth to halt his questions, but doubted she could withstand the temptation of his lips against her skin. "Chayton's fine. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong." That wasn't exactly true, but she couldn't afford to weaken.

  "Where's Chayton?" Ridge looked around.

  "Sarah's watching him."

  He removed his hat, wiping his brow with his forearm. A hat mark flattened his hair in a circle around his head, giving him a boyish look, which made Emma smile with affection.

  "Do you want to come inside? I can warm up a pot of coffee," Ridge said.

  "I can't stay long," she said with genuine remorse. "I just wanted to be certain Father paid you."