"He did. All two hundred dollars."
"I'm glad. He may be a stubborn man, but he does pay his debts."
Ridge rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and she nearly wept with the tender feeling that swept through her. "Has he been able to accept Chayton?"
"Yes and no," she replied.
"Let's go inside and sit down."
Emma should have argued with him, but after being apart for so long, she craved his company—the sight and sound of him. He guided her into his tiny cabin and she perched on a straight-back chair. After slipping his hat off his head, Ridge placed the other chair in front of her and sat down, their knees brushing.
"Tell me," he commanded gently.
His compassionate eyes invited her to lay out all her troubles, but she steeled herself against the seduction of his kindness. "He doesn't talk to Chayton directly, but doesn't ignore him either. He had Sarah buy some clothes for Chayton, and I cut his hair." She smiled wryly. "It's a good thing all the hands were out working when I did, or they would've come running in to see who was getting killed.
I'm still trying to convince him mat since we live with the wasicu now, we have to act and dress like them."
"I'll bet he doesn't like that one bit." Ridge sent her a crooked grin.
"You'd win that bet. Getting him used to wearing so many pieces of clothing has been even harder. The first time he took them off faster than I could put them on him. The second time they stayed on for all of ten minutes. I followed the trail of clothes to find him naked in the dining room. Mother had a fit." Emma laughed, remembering her prudish mother's expression when she'd caught sight of Chayton running atop the oak table without a lick of clothing.
Ridge chuckled. "That must've been quite a sight."
"Oh, it was." She sobered. "Until Father showed up to see what all the commotion was about. He had Chayton in tears by the time he was done, and Chayton didn't even know what he was saying."
Ridge's strong hand covered Emma's clutched ones. 1 m sorry.
Emma embraced his concern and acceptance, fighting the yearning to unload all her fears and worries upon his broad shoulders. "Don't be. It's not your doing."
"Have things gotten better?" Ridge asked.
"They haven't gotten worse," she answered evasively, and then forced a smile. "What I came over for was to give you something." She rose and went back outside.
Ridge followed her to her horse, where she opened one side of her saddlebags and tugged out a cloth bag. She handed it to him. "I want you to use this to practice reading and making your letters."
He took the bag from her and, with a puzzled expression, withdrew the book. She'd put the papers he'd practiced writing the alphabet, between the pages. "It's the same one you read from."
She nodded, ignoring the lump threatening to clog her throat. "It's my favorite."
He thrust the book back in the bag and held it out to her. "I can't take it."
"I want you to have it," she argued, pressing it back to him. "If nothing else, keep it as a remembrance of our time together."
"I don't need anything to remember you, Emma," Ridge said huskily. He cupped her face with his free hand, and slid his fingers into her hair as his thumb stroked her cheek. "I don't think I could forget you if I tried."
Emma's heart threatened to gallop out of her chest and she didn't know where she gained the strength to step away from him. She even managed light laughter. "You'll forget me easily enough once you find the right woman. Then you'll have a whole wagonload of beautiful children with dark blue eyes, who'll do you proud and carry on your name."
She quickly mounted Clementine, overtly aware of Ridge's hand above her elbow as he helped her. Intending to leave before he suspected her feelings, she reined her mare around. But Ridge caught the horse's bridle.
"I saw Talutah. They should be at the reservation tomorrow," he said quietly.
Emma's stomach dropped. "How was she?"
Ridge glanced down and shook his head. "Not good. Sounds like she's willing herself to die."
Emma squeezed her eyes shut and her breath stammered in her chest. It didn't come as a complete surprise, but she'd been hoping and praying that Talutah would overcome her sorrow and grief. "I'll go see her after they're settled."
"That wouldn't be a good idea."
She glared down at him. "I don't care what people think."
"What about Chayton? Do you care about him?"
Bitterness welled in her throat. "Nothing I say or do will change anyone's mind about a half-Indian, half-white child."
Ridge dropped his forehead to her thigh for just a moment, but it was long enough to inflame the smoldering spark between them. She ignored the bittersweet ache.
"Think about it before you go, Emma," he said quietly. "Just promise me that."
The reins cut into her palms. She nodded. "I'll think about it."
The furrows in Ridge's brow eased. "I'm headed to Cheyenne to pick up the bull. I should be back in a week."
Emma's heart clenched. A full week with no chance of seeing him, even from a distance. "Have a good trip," she said. "Goodbye."
She kicked Clementine's flanks, urging the mare into a trot. Although she felt Ridge watching her, she didn't dare turn around for one last look, afraid he'd see in her face what she had to keep hidden.
"Take him to the stockade, Sarge," Captain Rivers ordered.
"With pleasure, sir," Gabe Sanders replied with a jaunty salute.
"Not too much pleasure, Sergeant."
Gabe merely smiled crookedly.
Colt watched Sarge escort Cullen to the stockade, then turned to his men in formation behind him. "Dismissed," he commanded in a strong voice.
The exhausted soldiers headed to the corrals to take care of their equally tired horses.
Colt smiled at Pres, who remained beside him. "That order was for you, too."
"Would you like a corroborating witness when you beard the lion in his own den?" Pres asked.
"If Nyes won't listen to me, he won't listen to you either." Colt held up his hand before Pres could argue. "Go on, clean up, get something to eat at the mess, and then get some sleep. Something tells me we're going to be busy with the general showing up later this week."
Pres snorted. "Busy polishing our boots."
"Whatever needs to be done," Colt said. "Go on."
Reluctantly, he left. Colt remained sitting atop his horse in the middle of the parade ground for a moment longer.
Five minutes later he took a steadying breath before knocking on Colonel Nyes's door.
"Enter," the colonel barked.
Colt marched in, stood at attention, and saluted his commanding officer. He held the position until Nyes saluted back.
"Our mission was successful, sir. The Indians have been returned to the reservation."
Nyes smiled widely. "Good, good. I knew I could count on you, Captain. How many of the savages were eliminated?"
Colt stiffened. "I believe our mission was to return the Indians to the reservation, not kill them, sir."
The colonel's smile vanished. "The more we're rid of, the less to make trouble. How many, Captain?"
His muscles taut with anger, Colt replied tersely, "Ten killed, including the chief of the village."
"Well done, Captain Rivers. Obviously, Cullen was able to track them to their lair."
"He's in the stockade, sir."
Nyes rose and leaned forward, flattening his palms on his desktop. "Why in blue blazes is he there?"
"He incited the men to murder everyone, including the women and children, in the camp, Colonel."
"Can you prove this?"
"I know what I saw and heard, sir," Colt stated curtly.
"Perhaps you misinterpreted."
"I don't believe so, Colonel."
"You don't believe so?" Nyes roared. "Cullen has done an exemplary job as a scout. You can't have him arrested for something you can neither corroborate nor quantify, Captain."
&
nbsp; Colt remained silent, his hands clasped at the base of his spine. Too angry to look directly at the colonel, Colt gazed out the window, over Nyes' shoulder.
"Corporal," Nyes boomed out.
The clerk in the outer office scurried in and saluted. "Sir?"
"Have Pony Cullen released from the stockade immediately."
The enlisted soldier bobbed his head. "Yes, sir."
Colt clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to countermand his commanding officer.
Nyes sank back into his chair. "Perhaps you should take some time off, Captain," he suggested coolly. "Maybe think about what you want to accomplish in the military."
"Yes, sir." Taut with suppressed anger, Colt barely managed a civil tone.
"You're dismissed, Captain."
Colt saluted sharply and marched out of the office. Back on the parade grounds, he paused to watch Cullen swagger out of the stockade. The scout spotted him and made a bee-line toward him.
"You better sleep with one eye open, Rivers, 'cause I ain't gonna forget what you done," Cullen threatened.
"That's Captain Rivers," Colt said, his tone low and warning. "And you're not the only one who won't forget."
Colt pivoted on his heel and strode to his quarters. He'd take the time off and keep his word to Ridge by checking on Miss Hartwell.
And maybe make some long overdue decisions in the process.
Chapter 19
Ridge made thirty miles before nightfall and set up his sparse camp like he'd done uncountable times in the past. Only the memory of those times he shared with Emma remained the sharpest in his thoughts.
Sitting cross-legged by the fire, he sipped a cup of coffee. A faint sense of unease made Ridge's gaze survey the surrounding shadows. He had the impression someone was watching him from the darkness, but Paint would've made a fuss if something or someone was out there, and he was placidly foraging at the edge of the camp.
Unable to find any reason for his disquiet, Ridge set aside his empty tin cup and reverently opened the bag containing the book Emma had given him. He drew it out and something dropped onto his leg. He picked it up, recognizing it as Chayton's moccasin that Emma had held close for months. It must have gotten into the sack by accident.
He fingered the soft, supple deerskin, noting the intricate bead design across the top. Emma had obviously spent a fair amount of time sewing it.
As he reluctantly placed the small boot back in the sack, he felt something within the moccasin. Pulling the small shoe back out, he peered inside to find a folded piece of paper. Staring at the confusing mix of words, Ridge struggled to read the note. He recognized his name at the top, but then had to focus, using the tricks Emma had taught him to figure out the remainder.
Finally, after long frustrating minutes, he was able to piece the words together.
Ridge. Remember Chayton and me with fondness, and may his moccasin bring you the good fortune it brought me. Yours, Emma.
He clutched the moccasin in one hand, rereading the message over and over until he had it memorized. That Emma had given him something that meant so much to her humbled him. Nobody had given him a gift since he was Chayton's age, but it was nothing like this one—a gift that couldn't be bought.
The book and his lessons forgotten, Ridge stared into the fire's flames, the moccasin cupped within his palm.
It didn't take long for the news about Emma's son to circulate once the soldiers returned. Her father was furious she hadn't told him about meeting them at the Indian village. She refused to explain the circumstances, but John Hartwell wasn't stupid. He'd figured it out through her non-answers.
Sitting on the porch one warm spring afternoon a week after she'd arrived home, Emma watched Chayton play with a litter of kittens. His trousers were already dirt-stained, but at least he had stopped removing them. His dark hair, once covering his back, was trimmed above the collar of his blue plaid shirt. It had taken Emma more time than Chayton to get accustomed to his short hair.
Only old Rory the hostler was left in the ranch yard, which was why she and Chayton were allowed outside. When the ranch hands started returning, she and Chayton would be relegated to the house again, which was growing increasingly frustrating.
What did it matter if they saw Chayton? Everybody knew. Cullen made sure of that, spreading the rumor with, according to Sarah, sadistic enthusiasm.
What Emma wanted to know was why the murderer had been set free. The last time she'd seen Pony Cullen he was a prisoner, arrested for inciting a massacre. She'd taken solace in the fact the captain was Ridge's friend and hoped he would see justice done. But it seemed Captain Rivers wasn't any better than many others who believed the only good Indian was a dead Indian. So why had he gone through the trouble of pretending to restrain the scout? The most painful question, however: Was Ridge part of the deception?
Movement on the road caught her eye and her pulse quickened. Had Ridge returned early? She shaded her eyes against the glaring sun and her excitement died. It was only one of the ranch hands coming in.
Disappointment weighed heavily upon her although she knew she had no right to feel that way. She had no claim on Ridge Madoc despite her heart's insistence.
Already accustomed to staying out of sight, Chayton joined her on the porch. "Go in?" he asked.
Emma stopped herself before nodding. "No, not this time." She was tired of acting like a wanted outlaw around her own home. "You can stay outside if you'd like."
Chayton grinned impishly and ran over to the corral to watch the man ride in. Emma recognized the ranch hand but didn't know his name. She stood and leaned against the porch post to watch closely and to ensure that the man didn't get ugly toward her son.
Although she couldn't hear the words, Emma saw Chayton's mouth moving and the startled man replying. When the hired hand smiled, Emma relaxed. And when he lifted Chayton onto his horse to give him a ride around the yard, tears filled her eyes with gratitude. She'd thank him later for his kindness.
"Are you all right, Emma?"
She turned to see her sister standing behind her, and dashed the moisture from her eyes. "I'm fine, Sarah. Better than fine, actually."
Sarah's gaze found Chayton and his new friend. She smiled. "Father won't be very happy."
"Not happy at all," Emma agreed with mock severity.
Emma and Sarah looked at each other and broke into laughter.
"It's nice to hear you laugh, Emma. I've missed that," Sarah said after their mirth faded.
"I haven't had much to laugh about. I've been so worried about Chayton, but I was afraid to tell anyone about him," Emma admitted. "Ridge didn't even know about him until we rode into the village where Chayton was."
"Mr. Madoc?"
Emma warmed under Sarah's scrutiny. "Yes."
"Was he angry?"
"Not that I had a child. He was upset that I hadn't told him."
"Father doesn't like Mr. Madoc, but I always thought he was nice and kind of shy."
Emma chuckled. "He's not really shy—just quiet. He and Chayton got on like two peas in a pod when we were at the village. It was Ridge who started teaching him English. He has a way with children."
"Why, Emma Louise Hartwell, I do believe you're sweet on him," Sarah teased.
Much to her chagrin, Emma's cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Like you said, he's a nice man. He treated me like a lady, even after I knifed him."
Sarah gasped. "What?"
Emma reluctantly told her about the night Ridge found her, and how she used herbs to put him to sleep. Then she kept on talking, telling Sarah about him finding her again, tying her up, how she fell in the river, and finally locating the Lakota. She left out their nocturnal activities in the cabin, and the other nights she'd willingly crawled into his arms.
"You love him," Sarah said softly.
"I've only known him a month," Emma argued, keeping her gaze on Chayton who was now petting the hired man's horse through the corral poles.
"Did you tell hi
m?"
Emma sighed, wishing Sarah wasn't quite so perceptive. "He doesn't love me."
"How do you know? Did you ask him?"
"He brought me back and hasn't tried to see me since we returned. That isn't what a man in love does."
"Did Mr. Madoc kiss you?"
"Sarah! You're impossible." Emma descended the porch steps. "I'd best get Chayton inside. The rest of the men will be coming in soon."
Emma ignored her sister's speculative gaze as she gathered her son and returned to the house. The coolness of the interior made her shiver, or maybe it was the occupants who chilled her.
Her mother walked into the front room. "Sarah, is that—Oh, it's you, Emma."
"Yes, Mother, it's only Emma," she said churlishly. "And don't forget her son Chayton. Oh, that's right. You are trying to forget him."
"Emma Louise Hartwell," her mother rebuked.
Twice in less than half an hour she'd been called by her full name. She was either being especially peevish today or her family was growing increasingly impatient with her. Perhaps both.
She sighed. "Did you want something, Mother?"
"Would you like a cookie, Chayton?" the older woman asked her grandson.
Chayton nodded eagerly. Cookie was one of those words he'd quickly learned. After a moment, Martha Hartwell extended her hand to Chayton. He took it eagerly with a shy smile.
Emma followed them into the kitchen, unable to believe her eyes. Although Emma had caught her mother watching Chayton numerous times, she hadn't gone out of her way to get to know him.
The older woman had Chayton wash up first, then sat him down beside the small table in the corner. Emma's mother placed two molasses cookies on a plate and poured him a glass of milk. She placed the snack in front of Chayton and tentatively laid a hand on his head.
"I'm sure you're hungry after playing with the kittens," she said with a smile. "When your mother was your age, she enjoyed playing with the animals, too." She smiled wryly. "Of course, I tried breaking her of the nasty habit, but her father only laughed and said I should leave her be."
"I didn't know that," Emma said quietly.
To Find You Again Page 24
