To Find You Again (11 page)

"Sleeping on the ground, eating cold biscuits and tough jerky, not being able to take a long, hot bath?" He flashed her a wry smile. "Yeah, sometimes I miss it."

Emma laughed softly. "Yes, bathing in a mountain-fed stream isn't one of my favorite things either." She sobered and her gaze wandered across the wilderness. "But it wasn't a bad life. The People, they care for one another, watch out for each other's children." Her breath hitched in her throat. "They share their bounty with the rest of the tribe. When one suffers, everyone does. Not exactly how the whites see things, is it?"

"Two different kinds of people, Emma," Ridge began. "For one, the world is there for the taking and folks want the biggest piece they can get their hands on. It's like a grownup marbles game—whoever has the most wins. For the People, they look at things different. Respect for the land and honor of one another and those who came before them are their beliefs. Without them, they don't have anything."

Although surprised by his relatively long speech, she nodded, her gaze turning inward, to the reservation camp she'd visited before starting her search. "But that's changing."

"It's the way of life, Emma. Things're always going to change."

"But that doesn't make it right."

"I never said it did," he said patiently. "But you and me can't stop it, so it doesn't do any good to get all riled up about it."

Emma's thoughts turned to her son, a child of both worlds, but embraced by the Lakota. If she took him back to her parents' home, what kind of life would he have? But if she and Chayton stayed with the Indians, how much longer would her adopted people remain free? And she didn't want to raise her child on a reservation, unable to walk freely on the same plains as his father's ancestors.

"Maybe if enough people got riled up about it, we
could
change things," Emma said.

"Maybe." Ridge didn't sound hopeful.

Emma leveled her gaze at him. "Would you?"

Ridge rubbed a wind-weathered cheek with a gloved hand. "I'm a simple man, Emma. All I want is a piece of land I can call my own, some cattle to run on it, and a good woman to share my life and raise my children."

"What if someone stole your land, scattered your cattle, and hurt or killed your wife and children?"

He met her gaze. "Your pa already stole my land."

Emma flinched. From what she'd heard, her father hadn't exactly stolen the land, but what he paid for it was equivalent to cheap beads and cheaper blankets. She didn't know how to respond to Ridge's bitter statement so she chose silence.

Her thoughts returned to the People and where they might be headed. She knew there were a number of Sioux further southeast, in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory. However, many of the Tetons preferred the Powder River basin. Was that where her adopted people were going? Or was it Canada where the U.S. government couldn't touch them?

"What about Canada?" she asked.

"I already thought of that, but figured they'd more'n likely stay on land they know. The next camp I'm checking is about fifteen miles from here," he said, keeping his gaze aimed forward. "I should know if they're there once we get within a few miles of it."

It would be a long fifteen miles.

Chapter 7

By nightfall, Ridge was certain the Indians were nowhere near the second possible camp. His next guess was some fifty miles away and it would take the better part of a day to get there, provided the weather cooperated. As he unsaddled his horse, Ridge raised his head and sniffed the cool air. There was a change coming. He suspected winter was going to make another appearance.

He and Emma prepared their camp, moving around one another in companionable silence. Emma volunteered to make their supper, which consisted of rabbit, biscuits, and gravy. A jackrabbit had jumped out of a patch of brush in front of them that afternoon, and Ridge's shot had been true.

By the time the meal was ready, Ridge's stomach was grumbling. He accepted a tin plate with three biscuits slathered with gravy and a large portion of the roasted rabbit. Emma had used some of her dried plants to spice up the meat, giving it a rich flavor.

"That was real good, ma'am," Ridge commented after he mopped off his plate with the last biscuit.

He volunteered to clean their plates; Emma didn't argue. When he returned from the stream, she was sitting near the fire, her legs to one side and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. If not for her light skin and honey-brown hair, Ridge would've thought she was an Indian.

As he approached her, he noticed an open book held in her hands.

"Thank you," Emma said quietly as she looked up. The fire's glow glossed her face with warm tints. "I hope you don't mind if I read for a little while."

Ridge shook his head. "You don't need my approval, ma'am."

She tucked a finger in the book to hold her place and closed it, then rested her chin on her fist to simply look at him. Ridge tried to ignore her steady gaze, but his body felt it all the way down to his marrow. He lowered himself to a nearby log and opened his saddlebags to slide the clean plates and forks back into them.

"I know I don't need it," she said. "But it would be rude of me to ignore you all evening."

Ridge barked a short laugh. "We aren't at some icecream social, Emma, so there's no need for you to be so polite-like." He finished fastening the saddlebags' straps. "You don't owe me anything but one hundred dollars once I get you home."

Her mouth pursed, like she just bit into a rotten apple. "You'll get your money."

"I know."

The fire crackled between them, occasionally snapping and shooting sparks into the air.

"Would you like me to read aloud?" Emma asked quietly.

He kept his gaze aimed downward, afraid she'd see how much her simple offer touched him. He cleared his throat. "If you'd like. It won't bother me."

"I hope you like humorous stories." She smiled and mischief glittered in her eyes, along with the firelight. She dipped her head and began.
"The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County
by Mark Twain."

Ridge watched the movement of her bow-shaped lips as she formed the words effortlessly. The sight mesmerized him, and tempted him to run a gentle finger along the full lower lip. He could imagine the softness, like a wild rose petal.

He closed his eyes, afraid temptation would overwhelm his common sense, and merely listened. He liked Emma's mellow voice as it rose and fell in a pleasant cadence. The only other woman who'd read to him had been his mother, and her voice hadn't been as easy on the ears. Emma had a way of making the story sound like something special and magical.

The story was about some gambler who trained a frog named Daniel Webster to jump. To Ridge, training a frog to jump seemed a useless thing to do, but the Twain fella had written it in such a way that it made Ridge chuckle and shake his head.

Of course, Ridge wasn't certain it was the story or Emma's way of reading it that made it so amusing.

Some minutes later Emma stopped and rubbed her eyes. "I thought I could finish it this evening, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait for another time."

Although disappointed, Ridge shrugged.

A breeze kicked up, stirring the fire and sending sparks swirling upward. Emma shivered and closed the book. "Winter's reminding us it's still here."

"Feels like it," Ridge murmured.

"Did my reading aloud bother you?"

He jerked his head up. "No. You've got a pretty voice." He suddenly realized what he'd said and snapped his mouth shut.

Emma smiled and laid her hand on his coat sleeve. Despite the clothing between them, Ridge fancied he could feel the warmth of her delicate fingers. "Thank you. I've always enjoyed reading. It's one of the things I missed most when I was with the People." Her eyes focused inward. "Sometimes when Enapay returned from a raid, he would bring me back a book."

"Enapay?"

Emma's eyes widened and he heard a catch in her breath. "He was a friend."

Suspicion followed closely on the heels of unexpected jealousy. "Sounds like more'n a friend."

"If he was, that's my business," Emma said without meeting his gaze.

Ridge eyed her warily. Was Enapay the reason Emma needed to find the tribe she'd lived with? And if he was, was it any of Ridge's concern?

"We'd best turn in," Ridge said.

Emma placed her book in her saddlebags as if it were gold bullion. But, then, maybe books were Emma Hartwell's treasure.

Without exchanging another word, Ridge and Emma slid into their respective bedrolls.

Ridge pondered Emma's slip and his own reaction to it. It was only natural for a man to want to protect a woman, even when the woman didn't want protecting. A lot of folks already suspected Emma had been sullied by the Indians, but if she'd chosen an Indian lover, her life would be made more hellish by neighbors and so-called friends.

What if she
was
trying to return to an Indian lover?

Unsettled, he turned on his side so his back was to the woman.

The temperature fell rapidly overnight, and the following morning Emma and Ridge moved through their morning tasks quickly, eating jerky and leftover biscuits, and drinking icy water for breakfast. They readied their horses to head out just after sunrise.

Few words were exchanged between Emma and Ridge, and unwieldy silence hung between them. The horses tugged at their bits and danced nervously at skittering leaves as if sensing the tension. Emma kept a snug hold on the reins and tried not to think about the previous night's blunder. She'd been so careful for months. Why had she slipped up last night?

Because Ridge Madoc makes me feel too comfortable.

He could've continued questioning her about Enapay, but he hadn't. He also hadn't looked at her any differently this morning, although she had expected him to renege on their deal. However, he'd surprised her again. Any other man wouldn't have been so tolerant. Especially her own father.

The day remained cool as Emma and Ridge traveled through terrain which became more barren with every mile. The mountains were over their left shoulder, and the winds that swirled down from the snow-capped peaks battered at Emma, despite her warm coat, muffler, and scarf. During a short rest in the late morning, Emma added a blanket to her shoulders. Ridge cocked an eyebrow at her, but nodded when an especially vicious wind swept through, the bitter cold cutting to the bone.

Midafternoon brought an unholy scream that made the hair stand up on Emma's arms. The blood drained from her face as she cast about fearfully for the source of the inhuman sound. Or was this a vision reminding her of the danger ahead?

"Mountain lion," Ridge said, his breath misting through the scarf covering the lower half of his face.

Relief flowed through Emma. Ridge had heard it, too, which meant it wasn't part of her dreams. However, it still unnerved her.

"It's all right, Emma," he added. "It's half, maybe three-quarters of a mile away."

He obviously thought she was frightened of the animal, and Emma wasn't about to disabuse him of that notion. How could she explain her dreams without making him think she was crazy?

"Springtime. He's probably looking for companionship." Emma forced lightness into her tone.

"Not likely. They would've mated by now and the female would be carrying the young."

"Don't they mate for life, like wolves?" she asked, intrigued despite herself.

Ridge shook his head and his eyes twinkled above his wind-ruddy cheeks. "They're just like alley cats."

Emma recalled the hideous howls in the early spring from the feral cats, and her cheeks heated beneath her wool muffler. "Oh."

Ridge chuffed a quiet laugh.

Emma couldn't help but smile and her tension eased.

Half an hour later, they arrived at a river swollen with spring melt from the mountains. Chunks of ice streamed by occasionally, carried down from higher elevations.

"We'll have to find a better place to cross," Ridge said.

Emma's heart thumped loudly, and she fought the panic rising in her breast. "Good idea. This doesn't look safe," she agreed, raising her voice to be heard above the river's raging current.

Ridge turned his horse downstream and Emma followed, hunching her shoulders. They rode for nearly a mile before the river widened and the current slowed.

"How deep is it?" Emma tried to keep her gaze averted, but her attention kept returning to the streaming torrent.

A crease formed between Ridge's eyebrows. "If I remember right, not more'n two or three feet. The horses shouldn't even have to swim."

Emma studied the meandering expanse. Although it wasn't nearly as fast-flowing as upriver, fear clawed at her throat. Ever since she'd nearly drowned that fateful day seven years ago, she'd had an irrational fear of water. She hated crossing anything larger than a stream, but living with the Lakota, she'd been forced to do so or be left behind in the wilderness.

"Are you all right, Emma?" Ridge's concerned voice broke through her heart-pounding fear.

"Fine," she answered too quickly.

"If you're scared, we might be able to find a better place farther downstream or—" He paused deliberately. "We can go back."

"I'm not scared," she snapped.

Ridge scrutinized her and Emma held his gaze, unwilling to let him use her fear as an excuse to abandon her quest.

"All right," he said grudgingly. "Take off your boots and stockings, and carry them around your neck so they don't get wet."

Emma didn't want to expose her feet to the cold air and colder water, but recognized the wisdom in Ridge's suggestion. She dismounted and removed her boots. She glanced at Ridge to find his back to her and she quickly rolled down her heavy black stockings. Bunching the stockings, she placed them in her shoes. She tied the laces together and placed them behind her neck.

Before she could return to the saddle, Ridge joined her and cupped his hands. After a moment's surprise, Emma smiled gratefully and placed her bare foot in his warm palms. He raised her up and she gracefully swung her right leg over the saddle. As she fitted her right foot in the stirrup, Ridge gently guided her left foot into the other one, but didn't immediately release her.