To Find You Again (25 page)

Ridge's solid hands settled on her shoulders and massaged gently. Part of her wanted to lean back into his touch, but she didn't even have the will to do that.

"You're Chayton's mother and you have to do what's best for him." His mouth was close to her ear, and his voice was raspy, as if he'd been hollering for a long time. "Think long and hard about your decision, Emma, because life doesn't give you second chances."

She closed her eyes, emptying her mind and merely feeling Ridge's fingers kneading the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders. She didn't want to think right now, and didn't want to make a choice that tore Chayton from her forever.

Her son awakened, postponing her decision. He relieved himself before joining Emma and Ridge.

"Walk?" he asked in English.

Despite the sharp ache in her heart, Emma smiled and nodded. "Walk," she confirmed.

Before Chayton could run ahead, she took his hand and followed the narrow game trail. As he walked beside her, he proudly pointed out plants, insects, and objects that he called by their English names.

Even if Chayton remained living with the Lakota he would need to know English in the years ahead. Years that Emma was certain would be filled with more bloodshed and an eventual conquering of many Indian tribes. If Chayton knew English, he could help his people with treaties and ensure they wouldn't be cheated.

She sniffed. Foolish thoughts. She and Ridge would leave tomorrow and nobody would continue Chayton's lessons.

Emma refused to dwell anymore on the future, but focused on the present. Chayton tugged away from her and she followed his every movement with a greedy gaze, storing pictures in her mind to bring out as cherished memories in the days, months, and years down the road.

Chayton making a face over an especially smelly pile of skunk scat. Chayton with wide eyes studying a piece of pink quartz. Chayton giggling as a furry caterpillar marched up and down his knuckles.

In some small part of her mind, she was aware of Ridge walking behind them, allowing her time alone with her son, but close enough he could protect them.

Hours later, after Chayton and Ridge had eaten, and darkness had fallen, Emma guided her sleepy son into their lodge. She settled him on the bed of skins and hugged him until he wriggled in protest. Keeping her expression bright, she tucked him in and sat beside him as he fell asleep, adding more portraits to her memory.

She glanced up when Ridge ducked under the flap and watched as he removed his hat and moccasins. He settled cross-legged on the ground and fed more pieces of wood to the fire. The flames leapt up, illuminating Ridge's handsome, square-jawed face.

"Talutah and Fast Elk will raise him as their own," she finally whispered.

She expected Ridge to smile and nod his agreement. Instead his expression overflowed with compassion and sorrow. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out, then he extended a hand toward her.

She crawled over to him and he enveloped her within his arms. Her grief came in ratcheting sobs as Ridge held her close and whispered soft words that could do nothing to soothe her anguish.

Chapter 15

Ridge woke before the sun and reluctantly extricated himself from Emma's limbs. She'd cried herself to sleep, and although his grief was only a shadow of hers, he'd felt the sting of tears for the first time in years. Emma was making a sacrifice no mother should ever have to make.

He tugged on his moccasins, then paused beside Emma to study her puffy eyes and pale complexion. Aching for her, he brushed her velvet-soft cheek with his thumb and fought the impulse to kiss her slightly parted lips. "It'll get better, Emma," he whispered.

Ridge grabbed his hat and left the confines of the tipi. Pausing outside, he stretched and his backbone popped. He and Emma wouldn't get far today, not after the restive night. But it was better to make a clean break rather than stay another day and allow the wound to fester.

Talutah dumped an armload of sticks on the ground and knelt to build up her cookfire. Ridge squatted beside her. She kept her gaze averted, but he knew she was aware of him, and probably had been since he'd stepped outside.

"Take care of him for her, Talutah," he said softly in Lakota.

She stilled, then settled a leathery palm on his forearm and met his gaze. "Take care of our daughter."

Ridge grasped the hand that rested on his arm. "I will if she allows it."

Talutah flashed him a gap-toothed smile and returned to her task.

Ridge disappeared into the brush, and after taking care of his personal business, he saddled Paint and Clementine. After nearly a week of lazing around, the two horses were spirited and didn't want to take the bits. But with a little friendly persuasion from Ridge, they finally gave in, then he left them in the rope corral with their reins wrapped around a bush.

He dragged his feet, unsure how Emma would react this morning. After her grief was spent last night, she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. He'd lain awake long after, savoring her warmth but only wanting to comfort her.

As Ridge rounded a corner, he spotted Emma standing beside Talutah. It was strange to see her wearing a gingham skirt and blouse again with a wool coat over them. Her hair was no longer braided but was pulled back and bound with a leather tie. The only remaining sign of Winona was the moccasins on her feet.

She glanced up at him but quickly averted her gaze. Ridge sighed. Peace would be long in coming for her, and he doubted she'd ever feel whole again. But she'd made the right decision, difficult as it had been.

Ridge nodded at Talutah and Emma, and slipped into their lodge. Chayton lay on his back, his mouth open as he continued to sleep. The familiar soft flutter of his breathing brought an unexpected lump to Ridge's throat. He, too, would miss the boy. Although Chayton was more Lakota than white, he possessed many of his mother's traits.

Blanking his thoughts before he became too maudlin, he quickly shoved his belongings into his saddlebags. After a last look at Chayton, Ridge left the lodge. An old woman with scraggly gray hair hobbled toward him. As she drew closer, he recognized her as the chief's first wife.

"Akecheta wishes to see you before you leave," she said to Ridge, her lively dark eyes belying her age.

Ridge nodded once, and she turned away, satisfied with his answer.

"What did she want?" Emma asked as she joined him. "The chief wants to see me."

She crossed her arms and watched the elderly woman duck into the tipi in the center of the village. "I'll go with you."

Ridge didn't bother to argue. Emma had more right than he did to visit with the elder one last time.

Talutah handed him some pemmican, which he washed down with water. Emma refused to eat, which earned her a concerned glare from her adopted mother. Instead, Emma returned to their lodge to say her final goodbye to her son.

"Her heart will take time to heal," Ridge said to Talutah.

"Ha.
But you will help her," Talutah replied firmly.

Ridge doubted Emma would allow him to. What would she do? Bury herself in her father's house and never come out? Or maybe leave Sunset altogether?

The last choice would be the best for Emma, yet Ridge couldn't find it in himself to favor it.

There was a third option, one he'd wrestled with long into the night. He could marry her.

However, his place wasn't big enough for a wife, and all the money he made was to be put into cattle to start his herd, and to buy back the land Hartwell had basically stolen from his stepfather. He couldn't afford a family yet. Would Emma wait for him? Did he want her to?

In all the plans he'd made lying on the hard ground near battlefields and in the wilderness over the last dozen years, he'd never imagined marrying someone like Emma. It had always been someone like Grace Freeman, a gentlewoman whose father was a respected member of the community. Of course, in the eyes of the townsfolk, that applied to Emma's father, too, but Emma herself had lost her respectability the moment she'd been rescued from the Lakota.

Ridge rubbed his aching brow. He had to separate pleasure from practicality. Leaving Sunset would be best for Emma and, despite her claim about never marrying, she'd have no trouble finding a husband.

So why did his gut feel like he'd swallowed glass when he thought of her lying with another man?

Emma ducked out of the tipi and Ridge was relieved to see her eyes were dry. She'd probably cried all her tears last night. She picked up her saddlebags that she'd left lying outside the lodge.

"I'm ready," she announced in a surprisingly strong voice.

But when Ridge looked into her amber eyes, he read the depth of her sorrow. He quickly turned away and nodded to Talutah in farewell. He'd spent an hour talking with Fast Elk last night, and in their own way, had traded unspoken farewells. The Lakota believed all were connected through the earth, and even if they were apart, they were never truly separated. It was a comforting thought, but Ridge wasn't certain he believed it. A belief did little to soothe a mother's loss of her son.

Or a son's loss of his mother.

He led the way to the chief's tipi and paused outside the door.
"Hau."

"Tima hiyuwo."

Ridge entered the lodge and Emma followed. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. The tribe's elderly chief sat cross-legged by the fire while the wife who'd summoned Ridge stood a few feet behind him. In her hands was Ridge's gunbelt and knife that had been taken from him when they'd arrived in the village.

Akecheta motioned for them to sit. Emma lowered herself to the ground behind Ridge.

"You will not be welcome here again," the gray-haired man began without preamble.

Ridge heard Emma's sharp intake of breath and his own chest squeezed painfully. He kept his expression emotionless. "We understand." He licked his dry lips. "Winona's son remains."

"He will be cared for and taught our ways."

Ridge nodded. "Thank you."

Akecheta grunted. "Go. It is time."

The stooped woman offered Ridge his weapons.
"Pila-mayaye."

He nodded his thanks and she merely lowered her head and returned to her previous subservient position. Ridge buckled the gunbelt around his waist, then ushered Emma out of the tipi. The sun was just beginning to inch above the coral-, orange-, and rose-hued horizon. No clouds blotted the lightening sky. It would be a warm spring day, but he and Emma would be hard-pressed to appreciate its beauty.

As they rode, Ridge darted concerned glances at Emma, but she kept her gaze aimed forward and didn't even turn for one last glimpse of her adopted family. However, the strain was plain to see in her pale, drawn face. Knowing he could offer nothing but meaningless words, he merely rode beside her in silence.

Throughout the long day, every bone and muscle in Emma's body urged her to turn around and return to her son. However, she'd made her decision, though there was little comfort to be found with that choice. The only comfort was Ridge's solid, reassuring presence beside her. Without him, she wouldn't have had the courage to do the right thing. Still, it didn't prevent her from hurting or worrying. Nothing short of having her son with her would fill the hollow anguish.

Emma followed Ridge blindly, her sight focused inward. She was aware that the sun was shining and that birds flitted past, but she took no pleasure in it, as she'd done on their journey to find Chayton.

She'd had hope then, hope that she'd find her son and they wouldn't be parted again. Emma was glad that Chayton was loved, healthy, and safe, but her loss and guilt at leaving him wouldn't let her take satisfaction in that knowledge.

At noon, Ridge stopped so the horses could rest and graze. He offered Emma some jerky, but her stomach lurched at the sight of it and she shook her head. She was relieved he didn't argue but remained by the horses as his hawk-like gaze scoured the craggy bluffs around them.

They traveled throughout the afternoon, stopping only once to water Clementine and Paint. As the sun slid toward the western horizon, Emma finally began to notice their surroundings and the stillness became intrusive.

"How—" Her voice broke after not being used for so long and she cleared her throat. "How far have we traveled?"

Ridge slowed Paint so Emma could ride beside him. "'Bout twenty miles." He shrugged. "I didn't push it."

Emma took a ragged breath. "I appreciate it."

Ridge lifted a shoulder in acknowledgment.

"I didn't think anything could hurt so much," she admitted softly. "Even when I almost drowned and thought I'd never see my family again."

"He's your son, your flesh and blood."

Emma's throat swelled and she glanced away until the lump in her throat wasn't choking her anymore. "You were right. He'll have a better life with the Lakota. He'll be free to grow into a fine man."

"He'd be a fine man no matter where he grew up," Ridge said quietly.

His confident assurance touched her and she reached over to clasp his hand, which rested on the saddle horn. "Thank you."

Ridge's expression seemed to ease and a crooked smile quirked his lips. "You're welcome."

He found a campsite a couple hours before sunset where they could settle for the night. Emma was grateful to stop early and did her share by getting the fire going, and cooking a meal of biscuits and beans. A pot of coffee was boiling over the fire when Ridge returned with a final armload of wood.

They ate in tranquil companionship, listening to the birds in the trees and the scuttle of squirrels in the thatch of shrubs behind them. After the dishes were cleaned and repacked in the saddlebags, Ridge made a last check of the horses and the perimeter of their camp.

Emma watched him circle around, his figure shadowed by the dusk. His steps were stealthy, his limbs loose, and she recognized the tilt of his head as he used all his senses to search for danger. Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, her body tingled and warmed.