To Find You Again (26 page)

When Ridge returned, Emma retrieved her book, which she hadn't touched since they'd arrived at the Lakota camp. She needed something to take her mind off Chayton, at least temporarily.

"Would you like me to read aloud?" she asked Ridge.

He frowned. "I figured you'd be tired."

"I am, but I won't be able to sleep." She glanced away. "Not right away, anyhow."

"Sure." He smiled crookedly. "I could listen to your voice all day and not tire of it."

Despite her embarrassment, she managed an impudent grin. "I never knew you were such a sweet talker."

His face reddened, endearing him even more to her.

"I never had much practice at sweet-talking a gal," he admitted.

She squeezed his work-roughened hand. "You're doing just fine."

He grinned, then glanced deliberately at her book.

She picked up the volume and shifted around to get the best angle of firelight across the pages. As she read, her own tension eased and before long, she reclined against Ridge's side. He curled an arm around her waist and his forearm brushed the underswell of her breasts, causing her words to falter for a moment. She couldn't draw in a full breath and her voice grew husky.

Ridge made tiny circles across her belly with light fingertips, further undoing her faltering concentration. When his thumb grazed her nipple, she gave up the pretense of reading. Allowing the book to fall to her lap, she leaned her head against Ridge's shoulder.

He dropped a gentle kiss to a sensitive spot beneath her ear and she shivered with passion. She tilted her head, allowing him more access to her neck and he trailed a tender line of kisses to her collarbone. He undid the top three buttons of her blouse and slid his hand inside, beneath the camisole and cupped her breast.

Emma wished she was strong enough to stop his seduction, but she couldn't deny the ever-growing attraction. She laid a hand on his thigh and roamed upward, to feel his hard length beneath his trouser buttons. She squeezed him intimately, and he throbbed beneath her palm. He moaned and his warm moist breath wafted across her neck.

He grasped her hand, putting a halt to her teasing touch. "You're going to be the death of me yet, Emma," he said breathlessly.

She kissed his whiskered jaw. "Then we go together," she said, her own voice hoarse with passion.

Ridge groaned and flipped Emma around so she lay on the ground beneath him. With deft fingers, he undid the remaining buttons on her blouse and tried to remove it as Emma struggled to get rid of her confining skirt and heavy stockings.

Emma laughed at their clumsy haste, but they finally had her clothes tossed pell-mell around them. She raised herself up on her elbows and pressed her lips to Ridge's Adam's apple, then licked and nipped it playfully.

Ridge rolled off her and she immediately missed his warm, reassuring weight. But when his fingers moved to his own shirt, Emma rolled onto her side with her head in her hand to watch him.

Firelight created planes and angles across his hewn features and his nostrils flared with desire. Keeping his sultry gaze locked with hers, he stripped. His pants came off last, and Emma allowed herself the luxury of perusing his masculine form at leisure. Little strands of hair graced his chest, but it began to thicken to a line at his waist which trailed down to form a triangle of coarse brown hair. From that nest jutted his erection, which curved toward his belly. Emma licked her suddenly dry lips.

In one graceful motion, he brought his flesh against hers and she ensnared him within her arms. For one brief moment, she thought of Chayton and her heart tripped, but she focused on Ridge's heated skin and his caresses. She kissed the hollow where his neck met his shoulder and dragged her tongue downward until her lips found his nipple. After sucking and licking until Ridge was squirming above her, she switched to the other side.

Suddenly Ridge rolled to his back, tugging Emma with him so she ended up lying on top of him. His hard length dug into her hip and she shifted until she had him poised at the juncture of her thighs. She gripped his biceps and raised her hips until she felt his tip brush her moist flesh.

"Oh God, Emma," Ridge breathed.

He found the tie at the back of her head and released her hair from its confines. She shivered when he buried his fingers in the long tresses and clutched handfuls of it to steer her mouth to his. Their lips met and opened, and his tongue explored her palate in maddeningly slow, delicious flicks.

Emma rocked her hips against him, and he responded by thrusting upward to meet her. Her breasts grazed his chest, and the sweet friction of his chest against her nipples scattered her thoughts. The driving need to join with him brought Emma up on her knees and she reached down to guide him into her.

She lowered her body over the blunt head and closed her eyes as he slowly filled her. She locked her gaze on his lust-filled eyes, which reflected the pleasure she herself experienced as their bodies joined. Once he was buried within her, Emma remained seated upon him, simply feeling his solid body in and around her.

Ridge gripped her hips and she raised herself up inch by inch, then lowered herself equally as deliberately. Emma wanted to prolong the ecstasy, but their needs were too demanding.

She threw back her head and rode him, excited by both the control she wielded and Ridge's obvious enjoyment of it. His fingers tightened on her thighs and Emma's breath gusted in and out as her heart sped out of control.

Ridge thrust upward and stiffened, firing Emma's release that immediately followed his.

"Ridge," she hollered as her body bucked and spasmed around him.

Her strength abandoned her and she fell forward onto him. His arms encircled her and hugged her close.

Sweat-coated and spent, Emma curled against Ridge's side. She laid her arm across his waist and used his shoulder as a pillow. His musky, masculine scent filled her nostrils, stirring her anew, but sleep tugged at her.

She was vaguely aware of Ridge covering them with their blankets. Lips pressed to her forehead just as she drifted into slumber. A small, bittersweet smile claimed her lips.

Emma bolted upright, coming all the way to her feet. She stared at the darkness around her, but flashes of crimson-red and the echoes of screams surrounded her. "What's wrong, Emma?"

She blinked, her mind disentangling from her dream, but the feelings caused by the dream remained as powerful, if not more so. "Something's happened."

Ridge stood and she became aware that they were both naked. However, that bothered her little compared to the afterimages that continued to make her stomach roil and her head spin. She clutched his forearms and knew she was digging her fingernails into his skin but couldn't stop.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"Chayton, the village. Something horrible has happened."

Ridge's eyes widened in disbelief. "How do you know?"

"I-I saw it. A vision." She snatched up her clothes and hastily tugged them on. Her limbs trembled, making it difficult to dress quickly.

"We can't go back there. You heard the chief. We're not welcome there anymore."

"I'll go by myself."

Ridge grabbed her wrist, halting her frantic motions. "The hell you will," he swore. "We're going back to Sunset."

She jerked out of his hold. "I can't. Chayton could be dead or hurt."

"Dammit, Emma, you had dreams before and Chayton turned out to be fine. This one's no different."

"Yes, it is." Emma's fingers shook so much she could barely find the holes for her buttons. "I can't explain it. I only know what I know."

Ridge stared at her, his hands on his trim hips. If Emma wasn't so shaken, she might have enjoyed the sight. But she couldn't think of anything but Chayton and the horrific vision that had visited her.

Once dressed, Emma quickly moved to saddle Clementine. She could hear Ridge tugging on his clothes and muttering under his breath, and she was glad she couldn't understand what he was saying.

By the time she had her horse ready to go, Ridge was tightening the girth on Paint's saddle. She mounted her mare and gazed down at Ridge impatiently. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, dammit," he growled back. Ridge leapt into the saddle without the use of his stirrups and gathered the reins in one hand.

Ridge didn't look at her, but reined Paint around to go back in the direction from which they'd traveled yesterday. Emma followed, gritting her teeth against the reminder of the previous night's loving as her mare shifted into a trot.

If she hadn't been so busy with her selfish needs, maybe she would have experienced the vision earlier. What if they Were too late because she'd allowed her body to lead her mind?

Her temples pounded with the rhythm of the horses' hooves, and she chanted as they rode.

Let him live. Let him live. Let him live.

It was nearly noon when Emma spied the first signs of the village's fate. Ridge had forced her to stop, insisting the horses needed a rest. He was right, but Emma chafed at the delay. She held the mare's reins as Clementine drank from a narrow, but swiftly running stream. Searching the horizon ahead, Emma spotted a curl of smoke rising into the blue sky. Fear clogged her throat until she thought she'd suffocate.

Ridge joined her, his gaze locked on the same sight. "It could be anything."

Emma shook her head, her heart thumping a harsh cadence. "It's happened again. Another massacre."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," she whispered.

Feeling as if her sore, travel-abused body was separate from her mind, Emma mounted her mare and kicked Clementine into a gallop. She was aware of Ridge calling her name, but she simply ignored him.

Ridge caught up with her just as she came to the entrance to the camp. No Indian boys stood guard in the rocks and that chilled Emma to the bone.

Ridge tugged on Emma's reins and moved ahead to take the lead. Although irritated, she didn't have time to argue. She followed closely even though she dreaded what they would find.

They rounded the last corner and froze at the scene in front of them. Half the tipis had been destroyed and soldiers dressed in the blue uniform of the cavalry milled around, keeping guard on a circle of braves, some of whom appeared to be dazed and wounded. Another group watched over a collection of women and children.

The only sounds were voices speaking English and horses snorting occasionally. The Lakota were mute, and even the children were silent.

Rusty splotches on the earth were evidence of spilled blood. Emma's vision tunneled and she swayed in the saddle. A strong hand caught her arm and held her upright.

Had Chayton survived one massacre only to die in this one?

Chapter 16

Ridge's nostrils filled with the nauseating stench of blood and burnt flesh. His stomach heaved, but he managed to choke back the nausea. He glanced at Emma, whose face was the color of ash. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she gagged uncontrollably.

Ridge looked away, afraid he'd lose the bit of control he'd managed to gain. Then he thought of Chayton, and guilt and fear sliced his chest. If he was dead, it was Ridge's fault. He was the one who'd talked Emma into leaving him behind.

He frantically searched for Emma's son among the women and children, but they were clumped together so closely he couldn't make out individuals. He swore under his breath and urged Paint forward.

"Ridge!"

The sound of his name caused him to pull back on the reins. Preston Wylie's uniform was usually spotless and flawlessly creased, but now it was splotched with brown and his left sleeve was cut off, exposing a makeshift bandage around his upper arm.

Ridge glared down at him. "What the hell's going on?"

Pres's jaw muscle clenched, exposing his own anger. But before he could speak, Emma launched herself out of her saddle and ran toward the circle of captives. Chayton tottered at the edge of the group. He appeared unhurt, but groggy and shaken.

Light-headed with relief, Ridge watched her fall to her knees and hug her son. The boy only stood there, his arms limp at his sides, and Ridge recognized shock in his features.

Renewed anger flooded through him and he turned back to the lieutenant. "What the hell happened?"

"Captain Rivers led the patrol," Pres began, his voice weary. "He—"

Before Pres could finish, Ridge caught sight of Colt, the commanding officer whom he'd counted as a friend. He dismounted and strode toward Colt.

The captain's eyes widened. "Ridge, what're you doing—"

Ridge's fist connected with Colt's jaw and he felt the impact all the way from his knuckles to his shoulder. Colt stumbled back and his hat fell to the ground, but the officer remained on his feet. Two soldiers grabbed Ridge's arms and bent them behind his back. Pain shot through his shoulder blades but he only glared at Colt.

The captain raised his head and glared back at Ridge as he used the back of his wrist to wipe away the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "Why the hell did you do that?" Colt demanded, fury reddening his face.

Ridge motioned with his chin toward the captive Indians. "Did Nyes promise you a nice promotion? Or did it depend on how many savages you killed?"

Colt's mouth closed, his lips forming a thin slash across his face. His pulse throbbed in his neck and it was a long moment before he asked in a flat tone, "What're you doing here?"

"We figured something had happened," Ridge replied, unwilling to share Emma's vision with a man who'd become a stranger.

"We?'

"Emma—Miss Hartwell and me."

"You found her?"

"Yeah, I found her. Mind calling off your guard dogs?" Ridge deliberately looked at the men imprisoning him.

After a moment's hesitation, Colt waved the two soldiers away. Ridge flexed his arms and shoulders gingerly.

Gabe Sanders joined them, his face made grimmer by a streak of dried blood across his brow. "I got him trussed up tight, sir," he said to Colt, then turned to Ridge. "You're a long way from home."