"Thank you for your assistance, Captain Rivers," Emma said with more warmth.
"My pleasure. If you don't mind, I'd like to ride alongside for a little while."
Although Emma wasn't certain about his motives, she did see the wisdom in his suggestion. "We don't mind."
Rivers touched the brim of his hat and moved to Sarah's side of the buggy. As they traveled down the rutted road, Rivers made small talk with Sarah and Chayton, allowing Emma to ponder her own thoughts.
Chapter 20
It was early afternoon when Emma caught sight of Sunset. She halted the buggy and Chayton, who'd fallen asleep against Sarah's side, awakened. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. At that moment, he looked no different than any other sleepy child, white or Indian.
"Would you like to see a town?" Emma suddenly asked.
"Emma," Sarah spoke up. "We can't."
"Why not?" Although Emma's suggestion had been impulsive, she found herself wanting to defy all those people who felt it was their right to judge. What did they know of her experience with the Lakota? For that matter, what did any of them know about Indians, besides what they'd read in dime novels and newspaper articles that were meant to shock and titillate?
"Your sister's right," Captain Rivers said seriously. "Folks here won't like having a half-breed boy shoved in their faces."
"We're hardly shoving anybody in anyone's face," Emma retorted coldly. "Women bring their children into town all the time."
Sarah folded her hands in her lap and remained silent.
"What's a town?" Chayton asked, oblivious to the adults' undercurrents.
She pointed to the gathering of buildings half a mile away. "That's a town, where the whites—we—gather to buy food and supplies, and attend dances and socials."
Chayton's blank expression made Emma smile. She gave him a one-armed hug as she looked at Sarah and Captain Rivers. "Gertrude has known us ever since we were children. We could eat lunch there."
"I still don't think it's a good idea," Rivers said skeptically.
Sarah's gaze jumped from Emma to the captain and back to her sister. Her backbone straightened. "I'll do whatever you decide."
Emma's stomach fluttered. Now that she actually thought about it, she was uncertain. She peered at Chayton, noticing the excitement in his expression as he stared at the town.
Taking a deep breath, she hiyahed the sorrel and steered it around the edge of the town to enter on the side closest to Gertrude's restaurant. She wished Ridge were with her instead of Captain Rivers. Ridge's presence calmed her, made her feel as if nothing could harm her, including words.
People paused on the boardwalk and stared at her and Chayton. Fortunately, the boy was too busy oohing and aahing the unfamiliar sights, but Emma noticed. So did Sarah and Captain Rivers.
She drew the buggy to a stop in front of the restaurant. She'd been coming here with her family since she was Chayton's age. Surely Gertrude would treat her decently.
The cavalry captain dismounted and assisted Sarah down from the buggy, then Chayton. Rivers walked around to her side since no one offered to help her. It wasn't because there was a shortage of men. Most of them were gaping at her—some with disgust, others with curiosity, and a small number of them with something akin to lust.
Bees buzzed in her belly, but Emma pasted a smile on her face. She thanked Captain Rivers and joined Chayton and Sarah on the boardwalk.
One woman standing in front of the restaurant swept her skirts aside so they wouldn't touch Emma or Chayton. Lifting her chin, Emma eyed her coolly until the woman looked away and whispered something to her companion.
The moment they stepped inside Emma realized she'd made a mistake. The interior grew silent and everyone stared at them as if they were part of a circus.
Gertrude met them at the door.
"I can't serve you in here, Emma," she said furtively.
"You've known me since I was a child," Emma argued.
Gertrude wrung her hands. "If it were up to me, I would do it, but if I serve you and your son, I'll lose business. Folks don't want his kind in here," she whispered as she deliberately looked down at Chayton.
"Thank you for your honesty, Gertrude," Emma said, her throat thick.
Emma, Sarah, and Chayton returned to their buggy, where Captain Rivers helped them into it. He placed Emma and Chayton in the backseat, then tied his horse's reins to the end of the buggy and joined Sarah in the front.
"Hungry," Chayton complained.
Relieved he hadn't noticed the disgust aimed at him, Emma wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "We'll eat when we get home."
Chayton pouted, but didn't fuss.
As Captain Rivers drove the buggy out of Sunset Emma stared down at her hands, which were the same hands she'd always had, and then looked at her laced-up shoes, skirt, blouse, and shawl. From the outside, she was the same as everyone else in town, yet a chasm of experience separated her from the others—experiences that made her different and alien. A stranger. She'd experienced the same sense of dispossession the second time she'd been among the Lakota, and even more so at the reservation.
With startling clarity, she realized it was only with Ridge that she felt like she belonged.
Ridge made it back to his place in six days. The bull had shed some weight with the rushed journey, but the animal could spend the rest of the spring and summer grazing and growing fat.
Once home, Ridge got the bull settled in its pen and the lean-to he'd built while waiting for Colt to return. He planned to comb the government-owned broken hills to the west for unbranded cattle to start his herd. Ridge hoped to use the open range since he didn't own enough land to graze them. If Hartwell hadn't bilked Ridge's stepfather out of his land, Ridge wouldn't need the open range.
By evening, Ridge was restless. Although it'd been a long day, he saddled Paint and rode into Sunset. He claimed a table in the saloon, ordered a thick steak, and a shot of whiskey with a glass of beer. As he waited for his supper, he sipped his beer, and it eased the burn of the stronger liquor. He listened to the muted conversations around him, ignoring most until he heard Emma Hartwell's name.
"I heard she came into town today with her half-breed boy. Gertrude threw her and her nit out of the restaurant."
Ridge recognized the man who spoke as the foreman from the Circle C, where he'd worked before taking off to find Emma. Sam Pesant was a fair man, treating all the hired hands, including Ridge, equally. It surprised Ridge that he was bandying around Emma Hartwell's name in a saloon like she was less than a lady.
Unable to stop himself, Ridge leaned his chair back and said to Pesant, "Miss Hartwell know you're spreading rumors about her?"
The foreman turned toward Ridge and his ruddy face was flushed. "I'm not saying anything that ain't already been said. That scout, Cullen, has been pretty free with his words."
"Cullen? I thought he was in the stockade."
Another man playing poker with Pesant barked a humorless laugh. "Cullen? Word is he's got Colonel Nyes wrapped around his finger."
Nyes. Ridge should have known. Nyes was going to protect his ass, which meant he had to protect Cullen.
"Damn shame about Miss Hartwell, though," the foreman added. "Too bad the Indians weren't taken care of years ago before one of the sons of bitches got her with child. Nobody wants a squaw woman with a half-breed bastard. She would've been better off if she'd died instead."
"Hell, maybe she enjoyed it," a man with a missing front tooth said with a crude gesture.
"That's enough, Harley," Pesant warned.
"I don't know what Cullen's been saying, but Miss Hartwell wasn't used like that. The Lakota adopted her, treated her like their own," Ridge refuted sharply.
"If that's so, what about the kid?" the foreman asked with more curiosity than meanness.
"That ain't for me to say," Ridge replied, afraid he already let too much slip. "I was with her in the village for almost a week before the soldiers came. They treated Emma
respectfully, which is more than I can say for anyone in this town."
Ridge thumped his chair back around to his table. Josey, the waitress, set a plate covered by a thick steak in front of him.
"Anything else I can get you?" she asked with a deep-throated purr.
Ridge shook his head at her obvious invitation. "No thanks, ma'am."
Josey's practiced smile was replaced by the girl beneath the face powder. She patted his arm. "You enjoy your steak, Ridge. I made Floyd give you the biggest one he had."
"Thank him for me, Miss Josey."
"I will. You need anything else, just holler."
Ridge cut into his steak.
"You know, you oughta take her up on her offer sometime. Might make you less ornery." Ridge smiled as Colt joined him.
"Maybe you oughta take your own advice," Ridge bantered.
The two men shook hands over the table.
"You just get back?" Colt asked, slumping in his chair.
"This afternoon."
"Pushed pretty hard."
"The bull's in good shape." Ridge forced himself to chew a piece of steak. "What's this I hear about Emma Hartwell?"
Colt propped his elbows on the chair arms and clasped his hands. "What'd you hear?"
"That she and her son were in town today."
"You heard right. Her sister was with her." Colt described the short, but disastrous visit.
"I s'pected that'd happen, but it doesn't make it go down any easier." Ridge stared at his steak, his appetite gone. "I heard about Cullen, too."
"Hell, I'm lucky Nyes didn't throw me in the stockade when he let Cullen walk out."
Josey brought two beers to their table and took away the empty one in front of Ridge.
"You know an Indian named Hotah?" Colt asked.
"Yeah. How'd you hear about him?"
"He was bothering the Hartwell sisters and the boy on their way back from the reservation."
Ridge swore. "I told her not to go there."
"That old squaw you talked to died."
Ridge scrubbed his face with his palms. "Dammit. How did Emma take it?"
"'Bout how you'd expect. Good thing her sister was with her. She seems to be a levelheaded gal. Pretty, too." Colt finished his beer and called for another. "It'd be better all around if Emma and her son left town."
"Where the hell would they go?"
"Any place has to be better than here. No one wants anything to do with her."
"That's not true," Ridge said quietly.
Colt took a sip from his second beer that Josey brought. "I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."
Ridge angled a scowl at his friend. "What if I am?"
"First off, old man Hartwell won't allow it. Second, if you manage to get past Hartwell, folks around here won't be forgiving. Third, that boy's going to be running into even bigger problems as he grows up."
"She started helping me figure out words and numbers."
"I thought—"
Ridge angled a look at him. "I just see things different than other people."
Colt shook his head, obviously catching the double meaning. "You always have." He sighed. "If you're hellbent on doing this, I'd be wasting my breath trying to talk you out of it."
Ridge grinned. "That's what I like about you, Colt. You never did like wasting time."
"Except when I'm in a saloon with a beer."
Ridge chuckled and found his appetite had made a rebound.
"I'm gonna take a walk out back," Colt said. He wended his way to the door that led to the outhouse.
Ridge continued eating the steak, washing it down with warm beer. He finished the entire slab and pushed his plate away with a quiet burp.
Just as he began to wonder what was taking Colt so long, Josey scurried over to him, her face pale and eyes wide.
"Captain Rivers is hurt," she whispered hoarsely.
Ridge grabbed his hat and followed the woman out the back door into the alley. A dark figure lay on the ground and Ridge could smell the coppery scent of blood. He dropped to his knees beside Colt as Josey hovered anxiously.
"Go get the doc, Josey. Hurry!" Ridge hissed.
The girl dashed away.
Dark liquid pooled on the ground beside Colt and Ridge frantically searched for the wound. He found a stab wound above the heart, which continued to beat slowly.
Someone had tried to kill him, and might very well have succeeded.
Wings fluttered almost soundlessly in the darkness. Only the sigh of air across feathers gave away the owl's presence. It swooped onto a tree branch, its talons curling around wood with innate grace.
The female wolf peered upward, into the crown of the tree where the owl perched. "I've come."
"The lion is gone."
"The pup?"
"Gone."
"Where?"
"Must find."
The wolf growled. "How?"
"The search must be yours alone."
The wolf lifted its muzzle to the full moon and howled.
Emma lurched up, struggling to breathe past the crushing weight on her chest. She crossed her arms as she bent at the waist, her forehead touching her drawn-up knees.
It was happening again.
The same messenger animals, the same full moon, the same breath-robbing fear.
Her heart gradually slowed its frantic pace and the sweat began to cool, causing her to shiver. She leaned back against her pillows and tugged the blankets up to her chin.
The last time she'd dreamt of the wolf and the owl, the full moon came and went without a ripple of trouble. The trouble had come three nights later when the soldiers found the village.
She mentally calculated the number of days before the next full moon. Would her dreams become increasingly vivid over the next week? Or was this only a remaining fragment of the former vision, meaning nothing?
A horse galloped into the yard, startling Emma. She jumped out of bed and pressed aside her curtain. Blinking against the morning sunlight, she focused on the horse and rider. She recognized the black-and-white horse immediately.
Ridge.
Why was he here? And why at such an early hour?
She donned her dressing gown and tied the sash snugly around her waist. She heard the pounding on the door as she flew down the stairs. Her father, who'd been eating breakfast, made it to the door seconds before Emma and swung it open. His scowl deepened.
"What do you want?" her father demanded.
"Captain Rivers has been hurt," Ridge replied coolly. "I need to talk to your two daughters."
"Why? They don't even know him."
"Yes, we do," Emma said as Sarah, also dressed in her robe, joined them. "What happened, Ridge?"
"Girls, return to your rooms and put on decent clothing," their father ordered.
Martha Hartwell glided in from the dining room wearing her morning wrapper. "Don't be silly, John. Mr. Madoc wouldn't have come calling so early if it weren't important. Come in, Mr. Madoc."
Despite the situation, Emma had to restrain a smile at her mother's graceful maneuvering.
Ridge stepped across the threshold and removed his hat. Sooty smudges lay beneath his eyes and whiskers shadowed his lower cheeks and jaw. Rust-colored stains on his buckskin jacket and tan trousers appeared to be bloodstains.
Concerned, Emma grasped his hand, which was shockingly cool. "What happened?"
"Colt was stabbed in the alley behind the saloon. I think someone was waiting for him," Ridge explained grimly. His shoulders slumped. "I was talking to him right before it happened. He told me he'd spent time with you and your sister and Chayton yesterday."
Her father's lips thinned as he brought his glare of disapproval to bear on Emma. "What was he doing here while we were away?"
Emma didn't hesitate to correct him. "He didn't come to the ranch. I took Chayton and Sarah to the reservation, then we stopped in town. Captain Rivers escorted us from the reservation to Sunset and then home." She was m
ore worried about Ridge and his friend than her father's pique.
"He said Hotah was bothering you," Ridge pressed.
Emma tightened her grip on his hand as anxiety washed through her. "Hotah showed up out of nowhere. He wanted Chayton. He wants to train Chayton to be a warrior in Crazy Horse's camp."
Her father was staring at her as if she'd sprouted a third eye.
"When we were at the village, I heard talk among some of the young bucks that they were going to join up with Crazy Horse," Ridge said. "Hotah might've had a hand in stirring them up. It would explain why there was already bad blood between him and the chief."
"Yet it was Akecheta's village that was attacked by Cullen and the soldiers." Emma felt sick to her stomach.
"One Indian's the same as another to most white folks," Ridge said quietly. "Did Colt have words with Hotah?"
Emma focused on the dilemma at hand. "No. Hotah rode away when he saw Captain Rivers riding toward us."
"How is he, Mr. Madoc?" Sarah asked, her doll-like face marred with worry.
"Doc says he was lucky. He was stabbed in the back. An inch lower and it would've gotten his heart," Ridge answered, his jaw taut.
"Have you been with him all night?" Emma asked.
Ridge gazed down at her and Emma floundered in the eyes she'd seen filled with impatience, exasperation, shame, humor, affection, and desire. And she realized she knew this man better than she'd known her own husband.
"Yeah. It was close," he finally replied with a raspy voice.
"You're going to keel over if you don't rest and have something to eat," Emma scolded gently.
"Emma," her father growled in warning.
"Emma's right. Join us in the dining room," her mother insisted, overruling her husband without a flicker of hesitancy.
John Hartwell balked, his fists clenched at his sides.
"Father, are you coming?" Sarah asked innocently as she wrapped her arm around his.
Their father glared at Ridge, and Emma stepped between them defiantly. Her father deflated before her, and allowed Sarah to lead him into the dining room. Emma and Ridge followed.
To Find You Again Page 26
